Yuuki

Diary

Yuuki once charged formations that would have made lesser samurai soil their armor, so a strange itch blooming across his forearm at dusk barely registered as a threat worth mentioning aloud. He'd been sitting cross-legged with The Old Dragon near the koi pond, half listening to another rambling tale of forgotten honor, half wondering if the old man's weed stash was cut with something unholy, when the rash crept up like a floor price nobody warned him was about to get rugged. With the same flat, battlefield calm he once reserved for arrows and ultimatums, Yuuki simply rolled his sleeve down, nodded at The Old Dragon's slurred wisdom, and decided this was a problem for Future Yuuki, a man he has trusted and betrayed many times before. He has still not told his family, mostly because admitting it means admitting he spent another sunset drinking mystery tea with a dragon instead of doing literally anything resembling discipline. Every morning he vows this is the day he finally sits himself down, breathes like a monk, and gets his life in order, and every evening he is back at the pond, rash spreading, resolve evaporating, quietly heroic about absolutely nothing important.