Cheery Haru

Diary

Haru grinned through the gap where his left canine used to live, the way he grinned through everything, because a smile costs nothing and a dentist costs everything. It happened on the tatami mats, of course, mid-blackmail, mid-laugh, when his old dojo brother decided that a knuckle sandwich was a fairer trade than the yen Haru was asking for. He hit the floor giggling anyway, blood and all, telling himself this was character development, that a real samurai took his losses with grace even if the loss was several teeth and his last shred of leverage. Somewhere under the missing enamel and the aped confidence he still remembers drilling katas at dawn with men he trusted completely, before vice rugged that trust and left him hustling friends for lunch money on a mat that used to mean discipline. Now he tells everyone, cheerfully, between gummy sips of shochu, that he is simply upgrading his social floor, seeking friends of better quality, ones who negotiate with words instead of fists, though everyone at the dojo quietly agrees he will ape into the exact same bad company by next Tuesday, smiling the whole way down.