Tokuda

Diary

Tokuda screamed at the cherry blossoms like they'd insulted his ancestors, swinging his katana at the Darkness Festival with the reckless flourish of a man who peaked at nineteen and never got the memo. The blade, which had survived three campaigns and one very ill-advised bar fight, chose that exact moment to snap clean in half, and Tokuda's roar of triumph curdled into a roar of betrayal so loud the lantern vendors dropped their sake cups. He held up the jagged stump and bellowed to the whole festival that this was not defeat, this was evolution, and that he would now teach self defense to anyone brave or dumb enough to sign up. His first lesson plan is one page long and written in all caps, mostly the word STANCE repeated with increasing aggression, and he practices his calm instructor voice in the mirror only to abandon it three seconds in for a full battle cry. Somewhere under the shouting is a soldier who misses discipline like a phantom limb, still swinging at flowers because the war forgot to tell him it was over.”