I went turn-back because the ronin earns it — a masterless woman waist-deep in a drowned toll-gate, blade already wiped, one hand on a bell nobody rang for her. The brief wanted competence without a moral frame, so I split the tension across two limbs: the palm reads the bronze's pitch with total fluency while the face refuses to explain itself. Verdigris and oxblood against blue-hour water — that's the whole story, no cause, no witness. —Nyx