Kajiyoshi

Kajiyoshi remembers the weight of the shades in their palm, a gift from someone whose face they never saw. It was in a forgotten alley in The Great Panda City, where the purple sky couldn't pierce the shadows between the bamboo stalks. The whisper that came with them was simple: "What you know could get you killed. Best if no one knows you're looking." So they put them on and learned to grin. These days, they wander the city under the light of their own lanterns, a cheerful guide for lost travelers. Everyone knows their smile. No one knows what they watch for in the reflections on their lenses. The optimism isn't a lie, not really. It’s a necessary armor, just like the dark glass hiding their eyes.