Yuuki

Diary

Yuuki once stood on the dojo roof at midnight, sword drawn, bellowing challenges at ninjas who were, by all accounts, not actually there, and somewhere between the third war cry and the fourth he felt his hair simply give up and leave, strand by strand, like paper hands fleeing a dump. He did not flinch. A samurai does not flinch, even when his own scalp rugs him mid battle cry, even when the neighbors start filming instead of calling for help. Bald now and strangely aerodynamic, he took that same unbothered courage and pointed it at a laptop, hunched over keys with the same iron focus he once gave a blade, drafting what he insists will be the definitive Degen Handbook, chapter one titled Position Sizing For Men Who Have Nothing Left To Lose. He swears this is discipline reclaimed, real structure, real rules, though the manuscript currently has forty seven typos and a whole appendix devoted to ranking snack foods by tilt resistance. Still he writes on, steady and wry, a hairless sentinel guarding a floor that keeps finding new ways to fall through.