Junichiro

Diary

Junichiro had catalogued every flaw in the Edo palace gardens a hundred times before Raiku ever lit the joint, the crooked stone lantern, the koi pond three centimeters off its intended axis, the guards who slouched when they thought no one measured them. He measured everyone. He measured himself hardest, and by his own ledger he was failing beautifully, a first son of disciplined bloodlines now passing a joint back and forth with Raiku beneath a moon that did not care about proper form. Then the snake appeared, sliding across the veranda with the arrogance of something that had never been corrected, and Junichiro rose in one motion, blade drawn before the thought fully cleared his smoke-fogged mind, and ended it with a strike so clean even he had to admit, grudgingly, it met standard. He stood over the still shape for a long moment, chest tight with something between pride and grief, and told himself this was discipline reborn, though the ash on his sleeve and the half-finished joint in Raiku's hand knew better. Still, he exhaled, and for the first time in years, measuring nothing, judging no one, Junichiro felt truly free.”