Serious Oleg

Diary

Oleg does not remember the petals as beautiful; he remembers them as witnesses, falling in slow judgment while he waited beneath the sakura trees for The Kingpin to answer his challenge like a man of honor instead of sending three lackeys and a rumor. He caught something that night, something the dojo's healer only shrugs at and calls a vibe, and Oleg has decided, with the grim finality of a man who once meditated four hours before breakfast, that it is a mark of distinction rather than a mistake. He tried to purify himself the old way, cold water at dawn, rice and silence, but by noon he had aped his savings into a coin called Blossomrug and spent the evening explaining to a vending machine why it had disrespected him. Still he walks the training yard each morning with his spine straight and his jaw set, informing anyone who will listen that the disease is proof he stood his ground when The Kingpin would not, and if his hands shake now it is only because destiny is heavy to carry. He has not laughed once since the sakuras fell, and he considers this his last unbroken discipline, though everyone else in the dojo simply calls it Tuesday.