Takashi hails from Tsukiyo, a world where humanity evolved in ways eerily similar to feudal Japan on Earth. In the courts of lords and emperors, entertainment was a highly anticipated tradition. Leaders of every nation would gather and watch the elaborate performances of Noh and Kabuki theater, thinking themselves safe behind the palace walls. In their drunken stupor, none of them ever suspected that among the actors, hidden behind the masks, could lurk killers.

Takashi was one such assassin.

He was raised within the Tsukimori Troupe, a secretive group of actors who also made murder a silent occupation. His whole life was dedicated to the way of the sword and the art of subterfuge. The troupe was frequently summoned to royal courts, noble rituals, and diplomatic affairs where their murders were staged as part of the performance itself. Kills masquerading as an act.

Takashi had perfected his craft, balancing grace and lethality. His attacks were weaved into a dance making his strikes invisible. Every kill a performance and every step a dance.

One evening as the troupe was performing, their true purpose was exposed by a guest who had been investigating a string of political assassinations. The emperor, enraged by their deception, ordered a brutal punishment. Takashi was taken into custody, chained, and forced to sit idle while his sisters and brothers were tortured and murdered.

Death did not come so quickly for Takashi. The emperor took great pleasure in breaking his spirit. To mock him further, he commissioned a special mask crafted from lacquered wood with its mouth carved into an exaggerated, grotesque smile that forever twisted Takashi’s grief into a mask of madness. Day after day, Takashi was paraded through the court wearing the smiling mask, his mind slowly breaking as he lingered between agony and delirium.

Months passed until messengers of the Cosmic Law arrived. They informed the emperor that a neighboring civilization had challenged his world, demanding that a champion be handed over or be annihilated. The irony that Takashi would serve eternally as a slave to the Battlegrounds made the emperor laugh uncontrollably. In a final taunt to the dancing assassin, he chose Takashi as his champion.

In an unexpected turn of events, rather than fighting back Takashi exploded into a bout of maniacal laughter. The haunting sound of it echoing through the palace corridors. The grin of the mask made his own.

Now a twisted remnant of the Tsukimori Troupe’s former glory, Takashi embraces the Athelan Battlegrounds as the ultimate stage: a place where every match is a performance and every kill is an encore.