Fuhihiko

Fuhihiko ducked as a shard of energized crystal screamed past their ear, the tactical goggles automatically tracking its trajectory. The fish bait they kept tied to their helmet flopped against their cheek, a familiar, briny scent in the ozone-heavy air. They were never supposed to be here. They were told their preternatural patience—honed over years of waiting for a bite—was a sign of immense magical potential. Fuhihiko believed it was a sign they would rather be holding a fishing rod. The Mega Sabre on their back felt heavier each day. They flawlessly disarmed the crystal trap under the setting sun, but their only thought was of a quiet stream and what might be biting.