Kenshirou

When the fishers hauled the Great Silverback onto the main plaza, nearly everyone from the lower docks to the upper city came down the stone stairs to see it. The old frog merchants say they all came, except for Kenshirou. They were upstream, splashing by the temple that sits half in the rushing water, wearing that ridiculous display device on their head. That day, it held a single, perfectly round river stone. The markings on their face aren't for battle; it’s just berry juice they re-apply every morning. They don’t train with the others, yet they always seem to have enough to eat. While the rest of us celebrated a catch that could feed us for a month, Kenshirou was cheering at an apple-shaped stick they’d pulled from the rapids. They see value where no one else bothers to look.