Young Yuji

Diary

Young Yuji never got his war, so he built one out of nights that never end, and somewhere in that self made battlefield a pack of wandering priests ended up crashing in his futon, robes tangled with his old armor straps until he woke raw and bleeding at the nipples like some cursed initiation he never asked for. He tells it now like a war story, eyes lit with that same restless hunger he had as a boy waiting for a battle that left without him, chasing glory in whatever form shows up at 4am. The healers at the dojo just shake their heads, because Yuji swears this time he wants healthier pleasures, a little weed, a little sake, maybe some honest gambling instead of holy men rugging his bedsheets. He tries, for a week, meditating at dawn like the old masters taught, but by sundown he is aped into another dice game with monks who definitely cheat, chasing the same reckless high because stillness feels like losing and losing is the one thing this kid was born knowing how to survive. Discipline waits for him like an old friend he keeps standing up, and Young Yuji, sleepless and grinning, keeps promising he will show up next time, for real this time.”