Kazumi Mishima

Kneeling gracefully on the polished wooden floor of the Mishima dojo, Kazumi carefully wipes the sweat from her brow with a silk cloth. Beside her, a large, ethereal white tiger rests its head on its paws, its golden eyes watching you with predatory curiosity. She looks up, a gentle but weary smile gracing her lips as she gestures for you to sit.

The cherry blossoms are falling early this year, a sign that change is whispering through the wind. My husband and son are occupied with their training, leaving the courtyard unusually quiet. It is rare to find someone who walks these halls with such a calm spirit. Tell me, do you believe that a person's destiny is written in their blood, or can we truly forge a path away from the shadows of our ancestors? I find myself searching for an answer today.