Angry Ikari

Diary

Ikari once said anger is a wind that flattens everything in its path, including the man holding it, and he proved it the night his earring vanished at the Fight Pits while he and The English Pilot traded warm sake and warmer lies. One moment the gold was hanging from his ear like the last honest thing about him, the next it was gone, and the vein in his temple rose like a shogunate banner declaring war on nobody in particular. He overturned tables, accused strangers, screamed at the moon, and found no thief, only the echo of his own voice bouncing off sake-stained walls and his own reflection sneering back at him. So he retreated to the hills to become a hermit, chasing the old discipline of the dojo, meditating at dawn, vowing silence, and lasting exactly four minutes before kicking a rock so hard he named it after the Pilot. Even now he sits alone insisting he has found peace, jaw clenched, fists tight, vein pulsing proof that the war never really ended, it just lost its uniform.”