Cheery Haru

Diary

At the foot of the Emperor's Palace, Haru peeled off his kimono like he was unwrapping the world's worst going away present, grinning the whole time so the guards would laugh instead of stare too long at his eyes. Somewhere between the second sleeve and the cold stone underfoot, the master plan arrived fully formed and absurdly serene, a plan to restore his lost honor through one clean, decisive act of seppuku, the ultimate hard reset on a life that had rugged itself in slow motion. He announced it the way he announced everything, cheerfully, as if scheduling a picnic, joking that at least this floor could not dump any lower than the one he was already kneeling on. Inside, though, the old discipline he once wore like armor rattled weakly against the vice that had replaced it, weed smoke and empty sake cups where morning drills used to be, and he promised himself he would meditate at dawn to prepare properly, a promise he broke by noon with a nap and a bowl. Still smiling, blade untouched, robe crumpled at his feet, Haru told himself tomorrow was the real dawn, the one where the samurai finally outran the degenerate.”