Young Yuji

Diary

Young Yuji was born for a war that closed its gates before he ever got to bleed for it, and ever since he has been swinging at ghosts, trying to manufacture the glory nobody let him earn. He thought he found a shortcut in the red light district, some sloppy blackmail scheme against his own friend, a plan built entirely on bravado and zero foresight, and it ended the way all his plans end: with a finger snapped clean and his pride snapped cleaner. He tells himself a real samurai would have healed with dignity, meditated on the lesson, returned sharper, but instead he boarded himself up alone with the shame, the swelling, and a jug of something he shouldn't be drinking with a broken hand. Every morning he vows discipline, some rigid little bushido routine he read about once, and every morning he's back in the dark by noon, splint rattling, cursing a war that ended too soon and left him nothing to fight but his own reflection. Still he sits there, hermit-eyed and wide awake at 3 a.m., certain that somewhere out past the lanterns his real glory is still walking around looking for him.”