Sanshirou

Sanshirou slammed a skeletal fish fossil onto the negotiating table, its empty eye sockets glowing with the same eerie light as their own. Beside them, their partner, a stout frog named Kawa, calmly adjusted their abacus. This was their system. Sanshirou provided the supernatural shock, and Kawa provided the unshakable business sense. They met by the docks of Waterfall City years ago, when Sanshirou, newly returned from the grave and clueless about mortal commerce, was trying to trade a haunted teacup for a boat. Kawa, unimpressed by the embers scorching their back, saw not a monster but an untapped market. It was Kawa who insisted on the CEO suit. “If you must haunt the living,” they’d croaked, “do it with professional flair.” The ninja mask, a relic from a life before this one, was Sanshirou’s only condition.