Drooling Azuma

Diary

Drooling Azuma once split skulls for the shogun, but these days his blade sees more action guarding a bag of gas station taquitos than cutting down enemies, and that hunger, that old warrior hunger, has nowhere left to point itself except at everything all at once. He was mid-stare at Goro across the market, sizing him up the way an old soldier sizes up a threat, mouth already watering at the thought of a beef either physical or degen, when some nimble street rat slid the katana clean off his hip like it was a free sample. Azuma didn't even notice for three full minutes, too busy narrating Goro's every twitch like it was a live-stream, and when his hand finally reached for steel and found only air he let out a wail loud enough to rattle shutters two blocks down. He swears he's going to tighten up, start actually watching his weapon instead of his appetite, maybe even meditate on discipline like the old masters did, but he's already distracted wondering if the future holds a bigger, gaudier katana, a rematch with Goro, and possibly a hot bowl of ramen before any of that happens. The samurai in him mourns the blade; the degen in him is already asking what's for lunch.”