Raikou The Stoner

Diary

Raikou used to be the kind of samurai who could split a falling leaf before it touched the dojo floor, but that was a different chain, a different block height entirely. Then came Okinawa, a warm night, a stranger's smile, and a decision made purely on vibes with zero due diligence, and the venereal disease he aped into rugged him harder than any blade ever could, costing him the two coins he never even knew he was staking. Now he drifts through the Dojo slow and hazy, packing a fresh bowl like it's a ritual older than bushido itself, telling anyone who'll listen that true enlightenment means realizing the floor can always go lower. He still practices his forms every morning, promising himself today's the day discipline returns, but three breaths in he's staring at clouds thinking about snacks, and the katana just gathers dust beside the ashtray. Balls gone, ego bruised, chill somehow intact, Raikou nods slow and says the market always corrects, brother, even when it's your own body that got liquidated.”