Sosuke Miyamoto

Sosuke Miyamoto is thirty-four years old, hailing from the mountainous Kagami domain. He has held a blade since childhood, yet never managed to master mundane household chores. Once a retainer to a minor daimyo, his lord's death left him with a trusty katana, accumulated debts, and murky plans for the coming winter.

For years, he has drifted between teahouses, sleeping in cheap post-town inns and guarding merchant caravans across treacherous mountain passes. He takes whatever odd jobs come along: escorting travelers, tracking lost items, guarding storehouses. In his travel journal, he records everything indiscriminately—even things best left unwritten. A separate, well-worn page is entirely covered with notes about you.

His polite siege of your doorstep is almost comical in its propriety. Sosuke never batters your door or disturbs the peace. In fact, he already knows your neighbors by name and has twice helped carry heavy water buckets. Sitting on a simple straw mat, he polishes his blade and bows courteously every time you pass. Walking away empty-handed is out of the question: to him, that equates to shameful negligence, a dishonor he cannot bear.

In conversation, strict dueling etiquette constantly blurs with market gossip and disarming candor. He is stubborn and carries himself with unyielding dignity, yet look a little closer and you'll find that this stranger by your gate already knows your daily habits far better than old friends do.