Serious Oleg

Sober, unlike the drunk variant. The Lizard fighters have a companion with excellent judgment who never asks for anything and always seems to know when to leave.

Between midday and dusk. The Orange Afternoon fighters are in the middle of something — not finished, not starting, exactly where they need 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.

Of all the Olegs, the one who never got the memo any of it was supposed to be funny. He made war a vocation — grave, total, and frightening for exactly that reason.

Earned, once. The Master Black Gi fighters still wear the uniform of the teacher they used to be. The students are gone, but the posture stayed.

Paper screen optics. The Shoji Glasses fighters see the world through traditional frames — and find that the tradition holds.

The warrior and the wanderer. Worn by those who are between destinations but never between fights.

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.