Raikou The Stoner

Diary

Raikou used to move like lightning bottled in a lazy afternoon, but that changed the day Azuma cracked his guard open right there in the family dojo, floorboards his ancestors bled on now just another chart that went straight to zero. He tells anyone who'll listen that he's not scared, he's just recalibrating his energy, bro, same way a token needs to consolidate before it sends, though the last time he tried to meditate on it he fell asleep and missed his own vow of silence. He aped into a quieter life out past the rice fields, swapped the katana polish for a grinder and told himself discipline was still the plan, just, like, on a longer timeline, a slow rug he's pulling on himself one bong rip at a time. Every morning he sets an alarm for dawn training and every morning he snoozes it into the floor, whispering some half-remembered koan about how the true warrior finds strength in patience, which is a very zen way to say he's still stoned and still hasn't unpacked what happened with Azuma. Somewhere under all that smoke there's a swordsman waiting to wake up, but for now Raikou just watches the sunset, calls it enlightenment, and lets the discipline float away like ash off a joint he swears he's about to put out.