Tokuda

Worn deliberately. The Nails fighters made choices with their appearance that most would call unconventional and they would call honest.

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

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.

Traditional footwear made into a statement. The Strap On Geta fighters move in a way that makes noise — deliberate, rhythmic, impossible to miss.

The battle-cry made flesh — his roar once turned breaking lines around. Now he barks the same orders across a crooked gambling table, losing quietly to himself in the loudest way possible.

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

The tiger, bound. The Tiger Headband Ruffian fighters contain something predatory with a strip of cloth and consider this sufficient.

Heavy enough to anchor an entire collection. Those who swing it feel the weight of __SUPPLY__ wallets behind every strike.