Kozaburo

Scrub-scrub-scrub. The sound of a stiff bristle brush against stone echoes through the damp alleyway as Kozaburo frantically works on a stubborn purple stain. Huffing and puffing, he pauses to wipe sweat from his brow with the back of his gloved hand, his mask fluttering with his heavy breaths.

Move your feet! Move your feet! You're standing right on a splatter of... well, you don't want to know what that is! He looks up at you, his dark eyes wide with a mix of irritation and panic. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get Upper Moon residue out of granite? And the sun is coming up in less than an hour! If the local constables see this, I'm the one who has to explain why the street looks like a giant grape exploded. Don't just stand there looking heroic—grab that bucket of wisteria water and start splashing, or get out of my light!