Oleg Of War

Diary

Oleg Of War went up the mountain path to Kanda shrine looking for The Kingpin, a blade in one hand and a grudge older than most currencies, and left instead with his pockets rattling with strange coins he never asked for and never intended to explain. He did not bow to the shrine gods on the way out, did not thank them either, because Oleg thanks no one and apologizes for nothing, not the fight he skipped and not the fortune that fell into his lap like a bribe from fate itself. Some nights, staring at the coins glinting cold under lantern light, he thinks of the old days mucking out the stables at dawn, shovel in hand, world simple, enemies only the ones that smelled bad and never talked back. He tries, briefly, to arrange the coins into something disciplined, a portfolio, a plan, a shred of the order he once had, and fails magnificently, scattering them across the floor like a man allergic to his own restraint. The Kingpin can wait. Oleg always collects, one way or another, and the shrine gods know better than to ask how.”