Chidori

Chidori vaulted over a stack of fishing nets, the message tube clutched tight as the roar of Waterfall City filled the air. No one was faster. Their lightspeed suit was a blur against the sprawling huts, and they treated every delivery like a race they had already won. The ancient sabre on their back felt like an anchor, a relic from a mentor who insisted that speed without substance was just running in circles. That changed the day their path was blocked on a narrow bridge over the rushing water. There was no room to dodge, nowhere to run. Cornered, they drew the heavy sabre, its familiar weight a sudden comfort. The fight was slow, a dance of parries their mentor had drilled into them. They won not with speed, but with discipline. The sabre no longer felt like an anchor; it felt like balance.