Jitsugorou

Every morning, Jitsugorou polishes the gold leaf on their bushidō mask, not with reverence, but with the flat, practiced motions of someone scrubbing a pot. A trainee in The Teikodian Empire, their position was secured by family honor, a debt they now pay in daily drills under the blinding sun. Instructors commend their stoic nature, mistaking silent boredom for discipline. They don't see the little trick Jitsugorou picked up from tales of Sakkaku: the ability to see the world as if it were a mushroom-induced dream. This lets them view the pompous ceremonies and gilded halls not as reality, but as a passing, absurd vision. So they carry their sword, wear their beret, and endure. Their unamused gaze isn't defiance; it's the look of someone watching a very long, very silly play.