Stresshead Rin

Diary

Stresshead Rin had spent nine tours scanning tree lines for ambushes that never came, and when the wars ended his nerves simply forgot how to stand down, so of course it was over a bowl of shoyu ramen that his body finally found a use for all that wasted vigilance, launching itself at Junichiro mid-slurp because the man reached for the shared chili oil a half second too fast for Rin's liking. He tells people he discovered his true calling that night, though what he actually discovered was that a soup ladle to the ribs hurts considerably more than any katana wound he took in his samurai days, and that the noodle house owner bans you for a full calendar year regardless of how sincerely you apologize. Since then he has tried, with the discipline of a man defusing a bomb, to rebuild some semblance of order: a laminated schedule taped above his futon, three alarms for one wake-up time, a strict no-fighting-near-broth policy he has already broken twice. His recovery is slow and loudly narrated, mostly to himself, a running inventory of exits, red flags, and worst-case scenarios muttered while he eats standing up near the door just in case. The dojo elders call it healing; Rin calls it