Katsuhiro

Katsuhiro has the calculating mind of a rogue who could bypass any Teikodian sentry, yet they use it to ensure a pot of soup reaches a snowed-in elder before it gets cold. They first arrived at The Dojo for a contract, their reputation as an independent operator preceding them. The job was supposed to be transactional, emotionless, like all the others. But the message wasn't a state secret; it was a letter from a young trainee to their family, filled with clumsy drawings. Seeing the joy it brought was a payment of a different kind. Katsuhiro never left. These days, they are its most diligent messenger, their old head warmer a gift from someone they kept safe. Their face may look permanently shocked, but their defiant spirit is now reserved only for the winter winds that try to slow them down.