Fukujirou

When the great monoliths of The Crystal Highlands of Armaria began to hum, Fukujirou was the only one who didn't look up. They were too busy ensuring a child’s kite string was untangled. This gentle persona—the blue cap, the easy charm—was a careful construction, a shield against who they used to be. Years ago, wearing the black morph of a shadow agent, they served a master who valued results over life. That service ended in a flash of dark magic and the screams of people they were never meant to harm. They fled and found shelter in a hidden enclave, unlearning violence by mastering the purely defensive art of Kaunto-juba. It was an atonement. These days, their warmth builds trust, but the old instincts never fade. The poker face is always there, just beneath the smile.