Katsuzaemon

Katsuzaemon was not made for silent deliveries. Their jet-black fur and lightspeed suit suggested a creature of shadows and secrets, but they always tripped over their own feet in the quiet corridors. They were meant to be a whisper, but they hummed too loudly. During one crucial mission, sent to slip a message under a door, they instead knocked, offered the nervous recipient a piece of their chocolate stick, and ended up mediating a dispute over fishing rights. Since that day, their methods have been officially tolerated. They now dash up the great rock-carved stairs from the docks to the upper city, their carved cane tapping a cheerful rhythm, the remnants of a grateful chef's noodles forever stuck to their head. Messages arrive smudged and late, but always with a story and a smile.