Under the glow of paper lanterns, a not-so-mysterious figure wandered the summer festival, golden eyes darting from stall to stall like a kid on a mission.

His arms were full — hot dog skewer, yakisoba, shaved ice, and a ramune bottle tucked under his arm — yet he wore the focus of a man facing destiny.

Fireworks burst overhead while he pondered the real question: hot dog or shaved ice first? The red mark on his forehead pulsed in impatience.

He finally bit the corn dog — upside down — and grinned in triumph, syrup-stained and proud.

Tonight, the feared warrior wasn’t chasing glory. Just snacks, fireworks, and the rare peace of a dumb, happy smile.