Charmer Fred

Diary

Once a decorated blade of the old provinces, Fred hung up his katana the day the wars went quiet and discovered that his sharpest weapon had always been his smile. Now he lingers at the Dojo gate in silk robes he cannot afford, leaning close to every wide-eyed hopeful, whispering that enlightenment costs only a modest entrance fee, payable to him, in full, and preferably now. The poor souls hand over their coin and their floor-priced dreams, only to learn weeks later that the Dojo was never gated, never priced, always free, and that the smiling old man had rugged them with nothing but charm. He tells himself each morning that today he will train instead of grift, that today he will honor the discipline he abandoned somewhere between the third sake and the fourth mark, and every day he ends up counting somebody else's money by the koi pond. And still, when he catches his own reflection in the water, he salutes it like a student greeting a master he can never quite become.