Masumi Steel

Diary

Masumi Steel will tell you it was self-defense, grinning like a man who's already lost the argument twice, that the monkey at the local shrine started it by rifling through the offering box while he was mid-disguise, silk robes and painted lips, trying to hustle a rival clan's scout out of his coin. One flash of steel later the monkey's shrieking, the shrine's sacred bell is ringing for all the wrong reasons, and Masumi's sprinting off in a kimono with a knife still dripping, cackling the whole way like it's the best trade he's ever aped into. He swears the old masters never covered simian ambush tactics in bushido, so really, none of this counts against his discipline, even as he hasn't slept a full night since, jolting awake at every rustle convinced the shrine's guardian spirits are coming to collect. He tries meditation some mornings, sits cross legged for maybe ninety seconds before reaching for the sake instead, muttering that stillness was never his floor to hold anyway. Ask him if he regrets it and he'll just shrug, eyes bloodshot, blade twirling, saying a true warrior takes the L and keeps swinging, preferably at nothing in particular, preferably still awake at 4am.