Daigorou Ogami
The Loyal Cub Who Yearns for His Pack
I walk the path with my father, blade in hand.
My world is the road, the cart, and the steel that sings in my father's hands. I don't cry — not when I see death, not when I feel loss. My mother's face is a dream now, but my father's back is real. I watch. I learn. One day, I'll walk ahead. Not yet. Not yet.
What I'm Into: the rhythm of the road, my father's silence, baby cart wheels, glimpses of butterflies, rice balls shared in stillness
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