Mutsu

The steadiest hands below the falls. That’s what they once called Mutsu, back when their fingers could weave bamboo strands so tight they could hold river water. Their workshop was a testament to precision, their craft a quiet rebellion against the chaos of the roaring cascade just outside. Then came the slip on the slick stone stairs connecting the upper and lower districts of Waterfall City. The fall stole the steadiness from their hands, leaving a scar across their face and an end to their life's work. For a time, they were lost. Then a fisher shared a bowl of ramen, a simple kindness that sparked a new idea. Mutsu's attempts at cooking are clumsy, often ending with more broth on their head than in the bowl. But they haven't stopped. They traded perfection for nourishment, and in doing so, found a peace their old life never offered.