Shitose

"You see the cane and the hat," a merchant once warned a newcomer, "but what you miss is how their shadow moves half a second before they do." Before the bowler hat and the quoting of poets under cherry blossom trees, Shitose had no name. They were a tool, a silent blade in the service of a forgotten master. In that life, expression was a liability and identity was a mask worn only for a mission. When they finally broke free, they came to the city of high winds and purple skies, determined to build a person from scratch. Shitose the Trainee is their greatest creation: all starry-eyed wonder and dramatic gestures. But it's a fragile performance. The old instincts remain, a second self that walks the bamboo-lined streets with them, calculating angles and watching reflections. The carved cane in their hand feels dangerously like the hilt of a knife they no longer carry.