Nahomi

The Azure Scowl of Waterfall City knew only the cold logic of the mission. For years, Nahomi followed the bloody principles Momochi laid out: sentiment was a flaw, and attachments were anchors meant to drown you. Their world was the roar of water, the glint of a target, the silent retreat. Then they began stopping at a small stall in the lower districts, one that sold paper fish that danced on strings in the wind. The maker of these fish never asked about the azure visor or the scars. They only asked if Nahomi had eaten. It was such a simple, disarming question. An anchor, yes, but one that felt less like a weight and more like the only thing holding them steady in the current.