Goro

Diary

Goro was always the last-born of his dojo brothers, the one who learned early that silence outlasts every shout, so he took to the rooftop tiles at dusk where the gossip drifted up like incense smoke mixed with something greener. There he found the other degens sprawled among broken shingles, trading rumors about the floor price of honor and who got rugged by their own sensei's promises, and Goro simply listened, the way he always listened, waiting for the truth to settle like sediment in cheap sake. Weeks passed in that patient crouch, and slowly the roof became a temple of its own, gossip turning into confession, confession into a strange brotherhood he never asked for but somehow needed. He tells himself now that he is wiser for it, that watching fools chase quick coin and quicker highs taught him the old discipline of stillness his masters once preached, though the empty jug beside him each morning argues otherwise. Still, Goro waits, patient as ever, certain that one day the lesson will finally outlast the vice, even as the roof creaks under one more long, unhurried, half-defeated sigh.”