Cheery Haru

Worn as trophy or warning — nobody is quite sure which. The Chicken Bones fighters have a ceremony for everything and share it with no one.

Royalty that refused the crown. The Purple Night backgrounds belong to fighters who could have been somewhere easier and chose not to be.

Every cracked card. White is the beginner's belt, and torn is how the crack left it, border and all: a White card is never printed. A repair earns Blue.

The man who decided grinning was braver than breaking. He held a line so long his smile became the squad's good-luck charm; now he beams through the wreckage of peacetime, a very tired samurai behind the widest smile in the Dojo.

The dragon lives on the body now. The Dragon Head Tattoo fighters carry their ambition on the surface — it's not hidden, and it's not a metaphor.

Clear eyes. No filter. The unshielded gaze that sees things as they are — not as they're presented or sold.

Organization meets chaos. The Yakuza Hooligan fighters have discipline from one tradition and abandon from another, and they've combined them into something entirely their own.

The turned. 419 fighters who crossed into the demon form — hungrier, harder, and unmistakable on sight. The Dojo's second race, and its darker half.

Primitive, and proud of it. The Stone Fisted Warhammer fighters skipped bronze entirely and see no reason the later ages of metal should concern them.