Toxic Azuma

Diary

Azuma once believed himself a slow poison working through the empire's veins, patient as a stain spreading through silk, but on the palace roof tonight he was nothing so elegant, just a man losing his temper with his palm open. Raiku the Stoner had been up there for hours, cross-legged among the tiles, blissfully rugged by his own lungs, mistaking the moonlit rooftop for some private nirvana, and something about that soft unbothered grin curdled the venom in Azuma's chest until it demanded an exit. The slap that followed was not the calculated cruelty he prides himself on, no toxin measured in careful drops, just a clumsy, petty crack across the face that left Raiku blinking through a fog he never asked to leave. Azuma knew instantly he'd behaved badly, unbecoming of a man who once moved like a quiet verdict rather than a tantrum, and the old samurai discipline in him hissed in disgust at how easily he'd been provoked by a stoner's peace. So now he descends to the sake hall to drown the shame in drink, telling himself it's strategic retreat, though everyone watching knows it's just another slow poison choosing to poison himself first.