Mihisa

Mihisa remembered the sound most clearly: the sharp ring of steel on stone in the training yard, long after midnight. They found Fudee cornered, disarmed. The intervention was a blur, a desperate clash that sent the attacker fleeing into the shadows. Back at The Dojo, they were hailed as a hero for saving their friend's life. But in the chaos, Mihisa saw the attacker’s face. A familiar face. One they now spar with every morning, bowing respectfully before each match. They have never told Fudee, or anyone else. To do so would ignite a fire that could burn the entire Dojo down. So Mihisa smiles, adjusts the silly duck hat on their head, and trains harder. The stars in their eyes aren't dreams of glory; they are the reflection of a single, dangerous memory.