Futarou the Waiting

The small pot of white and red paint is the first thing Futarou touches each morning. Before the katana, before the haori, there is the mask. It is a ritual of shame, a stark reminder of the student they once trained, the one whose eager questions masked a spy’s intent. That betrayal cost the lower districts of Waterfall City dearly, and Futarou’s honor along with it. They were not exiled; a punishment that would have been easier. Instead, they remain, a ghost in their own home. Every day they stand on the great stone stairs, a silent, painted sentinel watching the endless flow of water and chimps, waiting. They wait for the student to return, for a chance to right the wrong, or simply for a blade to finally end their vigil.