Keizaburou

Should a traveler ask the trainees at The Dojo about Keizaburou, they would hear a dozen different tales. The younger ones say they are a ghost who forgot how to pass on, forever drawn to the discipline of the training yard. A senior student insists they are an ancient master, whose body gave out centuries ago but whose will did not. The only facts they agree on are these: Keizaburou never speaks, is always followed by a soft drizzle of rain, and never removes their spectacles. One trainee, watching from a high window, once saw them adjust their glasses not to see the sparring below, but to better watch a single raindrop trace a path down a wind chime. They never taught a single stance, yet every student learned patience from their vigil.