Nishiwakimichiko

There's a saying whispered around the training grounds near the great lake: 'The sharpest arrows are sold by the kindest hands.' It’s a reference to Nishiwakimichiko, the cheerful merchant in retro attire whose puppy-dog eyes could disarm the most hardened warrior. They trade in old maps and polished arrowheads, but their real currency is information. The majestic quiver on their back is never for sale. It’s a tool for a job no one knows they have. Their recent ascension wasn't a public triumph; it was a dangerous complication, a surge of power that makes it harder to seem harmless. Even the great pragmatist Kyoju respects their 'achievements,' though they never buy a thing. Kyoju simply reads the coded notes left in the grain of a discarded bow. Their smile, so convincing in the daylight, doesn't follow them into the shadows.