Mitsugu

The Old Fox of the plaza wasn’t always so wary. As a youth in Waterfall City, Mitsugu would give their day's catch to any traveler with a sad story, believing kindness was a currency that always returned. Then came the merchant with eyes like river stones, who traded a worthless trinket for the carved cane their grandparent had made. Mitsugu spent a month tracking them down, not for the cane's value, but for the principle. They got it back, but the ease of the lie left a permanent squint in their gaze. Years later, they would sit by the great fish statue, tapping that same cane. They still share their food, but only after watching the recipient for a full hour. The warmth is still there, just buried under hard-won caution.