Yuushin

Don't be fooled by the soot on their face. That one bends starlight into steel. That's what the vendors whisper along the bamboo-lined streets when Yuushin passes. They remember a different chimp, one who wore silk robes and promised enchanted weapons that could level mountains. They also remember the day one such creation failed, unleashing a wave of raw magic that scarred a whole district. Yuushin was disgraced, their grand ambitions turned to ash. They traded their robes for overalls and their arcane texts for a hammer, yet the magic remained. These days, their wizard staff leans against a wall while they imbue simple things—horseshoes that grip icy stone, lanterns that glow with the memory of cherry blossoms—with quiet, helpful power. The grin is the look of someone who learned true mastery isn't about making things that break the world, but things that hold it together.