Cheery Haru

Diary

Haru grins the way a man grins when the tiles are cracking beneath his sandals, which is to say enormously, because he had chased his mistress clean across the dojo roof at midnight and the resulting scandal got him rugged from his post by sunrise, no severance, no goodbye bow, just a scroll that said thanks for your service in the politest possible way to say you're floor now, buddy. He tells everyone it's fine, actually it's great, he's finally free, he's basically retired at thirty like a degen who aped a meme coin and somehow didn't lose it all, ha ha, please stop asking about the roof tiles. Underneath the grin though there's a whole other Haru quietly sharpening a blade and drafting a seppuku note with excellent penmanship, because some part of him still believes in the old bushido math where dishonor equals blood equals balance restored. He gets three words into the note, decides the calligraphy needs more flourish, cracks a lukewarm sake instead, and tells himself discipline is basically a state of mind he'll get back to on Monday. Every Monday since has looked suspiciously like more sake, more grinning, and the blade still sitting there patiently, un-sharpened, un-used, waiting on a man who copes by smiling so hard the ache never gets a word in.