Minatohiroko

Minatohiroko keeps two lists. The young apprentices at the dark stone fortress will tell you about the first: ingredients for their ramen stall, meticulously sourced. They claim the broth can help one see the intricate patterns in the spinning magical rocks above, making the long lines worth the unamused stare they receive when ordering. The fortress guards, however, speak of the second list, the one no one sees. They have watched Minatohiroko training at sunset with that combat pole, a blur of motion against the vibrant sky. Each precise strike feels like a name being crossed off. As for the spilled ramen on their head, no one asks. Some things are simply part of the landscape.