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Guest Otmel Strangler

The Impending Death of Yoshi Asahara [Backstory]

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Guest Otmel Strangler   
Guest Otmel Strangler

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Yoshi Asahara was born into a proud yet cold family with faded roots in low samurai nobility on his father's side, and shinto priesthood on his mother's. His father Kimitake, a struggling factory owner and war veteran (to his great shame a failed kamikaze), was a harsh man with strong martial values. He had decided to name Yoshi after a paternal ancestor and hero of the Meiji restoration uprisings who served as the figurehead of their more glorious past. It then goes without saying that Kimitake had great expectations of Yoshi, who to his shame turned out to be rather weak and sickly child. While he respected and enjoyed the thought of his warrior lineage, young Yoshi payed more attention to arts and culture, particularly poetry, theatre and other "effeminate interests", than to the duties his father had planned for him.

As the small family's only son, Yoshi – who at the time wanted nothing else but to be a writer, or a kabuki actor – came of age hearing what a constant and great disappointment he was. None the less Yoshi took after his father in terms of temper and morals, as well as his harsh grandfather's almost irrational contempt towards the Ainu minority of Hokkaido – where he spent his summers on family land. It was the custom for all the men of his clan to sport brilliant mustaches, which they never shaved, as a demonstration of respect towards their Ancestors – and Yoshi was no worse, though it grew slow and thin. As Yoshi himself grew he was sent to National Defense Academy in Tokyo to become a pilot like his father, but neglected it in favour of daydreaming and spending his days and nights in the world of books – pursuing his intellectual interests in secret. He was eventually thrown out of the Academy for his severe lack of discipline. His father died shortly after, refusing to see Yoshi on his death bed.

What followed was nothing short of an exsistential crisis for Yoshi, crushed by shame and now living a life of estrangement and alienation in the big city. He spent the days reading or sleeping, and nights confusedly roaming under the neon lights, in book stores and seedy gay bars around the red light district of Shinjuku. He was gradually losing his uphill battle to regain at least some control of his old life. He sank ever deeper into the black prison of his soul, sinking deeper into depravity as the walls just grew higher, more and more obscuring in the vast black void until no longer a faint glimmer of life was visible in his beady, pig-like eyes when he crawled back into his basement apartment every morning before sunrise, sickly - like some perverse vampire. Now nothing more but a grotesque bizarro-Yoshi: a mouth-breathing shadow of his former self.

On November 25th 2002 Yoshi attended a poetry night held in a radical student squat in the eastern part of Tokyo. He staggered drunkenly on stage, puffing a bent cigarette as he pulled a worn and stained piece of paper out of his pocket as the tobacco smoke drifted through his unkempt hair. He cleared his throat to perform his latest poetic piece: a free-form criticism of western involvement in Afghanistan, figuratively seen through the eyes of a Geisha. He breathed coarsely into the microphone:

-“I... my name is Asahara Yoshi, I would l-like to per-”

A taunting voice cries out from the corner of the room:

-“Not with that stupid mustache, dipshit!”

It was one of the activists from the squat, wearing a yellow hard hat and red sunglasses, a communist, Yoshi knew. He had seen him at the university. Yoshi hesitated, then grabbed the microphone with an unsteady hand. He continued on with his poem:

-“H-hey, Mr. G.I., why bother Afghani-san?

G.I... Gee, don't be shy.

W-would you not rather... h-h-have som f-fun?”

-“Boo! That's awfull!”

The crowd heckled him ruthlessly, throwing bottles and insults. Before Yoshi could finish, he was booed out and chased off stage, then thrown out for being too drunk and improper towards a coed. Outside, the helmet wearing communist and his gang was waiting, puffing cigarettes:

-“Hey Grassface!”

He turned around, they stepped forward.

-“Well well well, what have we here? The son of the proud Kamikaze himself huh?”

-“Leave me alone Haruka, I don't want any trouble” Yoshi answered with a trembling voice.

-“We don't like you Yoshi, you're just as bad as that coward imperialist father of yours! Quite the freak too.”

Yoshi tried to pace away from them, but they soon blocked his path.

-“I'm not- I.. Leave my father out of this, he's dead man. He's a hero.”

Haruka smirked and punched him right in the solar plexus so he dropped to the ground, croaking.

-“See, we don't give a damn: He was supposed to die for nothing, for fake imperialist ideals fighting the equally fake Americans anyway. Instead the fascist shit himself two thousand meters up in the atmosphere, probably burning a hole in the ozone layer in the process. How do you feel about that Yoshi? How's that for heroism? Hah!”

They left Yoshi groaning on the pavement as they laughed themselves into the distance. Yoshi got up, brushed the smelly brown residue off his jacket and staggered on to a small dive bar where he drank until the stars were right. He came to his senses out of the blackout just as he has urinating against an inconspicuous stone wall. Shivers went down his spine as he looked up, and suddenly found himself right in front of the Yasukuni Shrine; the most sacred memorial to Japan's war-dead. A place very much between worlds, where the spirits of the dead heroes of undying Nippon go to reside: The house in which his father never got to reside. Yoshi dropped to his knees and wept, choking with tears.

He went back home and sat down at his desk and with a steady arm he swiped the empty bottles and stained magazines off his desk. He tore down Western books from his shelf and devoured the nudie posters plastering his walls. In the chaos Yoshi found a single book lying on the floor, a small step away from the rest of the filth. It was a book on Japanese fighter pilots, the divine winds, and the letters they had sent their loved ones, open. On the middle of the left page was a death poem composed by one named Kenzo Ishijima, Yoshi read it with trembling lips:

Since my body is a shell

I am going to take it off

and put on a glory that will never wear out

Now he emerged hardened from the darkness with a renewed interest in everything he had learned from his father and grandfather.

He realized that now was the time to finely polish the love of his samurai roots and contempt for the current state of affairs in old Japan, the land of history and legend. He learned the old martial poems and songs by heart and started to frequent different shin-uyoku nationalist hangouts, where he quickly started to properly fit in with his cultured knowledge of the old feudal ideals – and when needed, the normally reserved and gentle Yoshi would often prove to be both ruthless and unneccesarily brutal towards members of oppositional groups.

This sent Yoshi towards the most ambitious and violent circles of individuals wishing to restore Japan to it's former imperial glory. With the divine restoration of the monarchy as a point that spoke directly to Yoshi's own family ties, he was quick to join the up and storming Teikoku Doragonzu – The Imperial Dragōns – where he distinguished himself in his friendly idealism, though he was considered somewhat odd and awkward by his companions. Moving with the movement back home to Hokkaido, Yoshi was often seen at the marches, waving the war flag, and he was often among the first to start throwing bricks and attacking the opposition when things got out of hand. Adopting the full imperialist and bushido-oriented ideology of the Dragōns he started to dream about fighting and dying for the very idea of the Emperor's unfading glory.

As a symbol of his newfound spirituality, refusal of how he saw the decadence and dishonour rampant in the modern world, yet likely also a result of his internal struggles, Yoshi swore a sacred oath of celibacy; his love was selflessly for Japan alone. As the power of the Dragōns kept growing, so did Yoshi's fanaticism – now having joined the military regiments of the organization. Eventually he was arrested for the tragic torching of a nightclub popular with the opposition. However, Yoshi insisted he had no fault in that incident – and kept denying his involvement as his day in court crept closer and closer.

One early morning Yoshi was awoken by the loud bang of his cell door, it was the now very powerfull leader of the Teikoku Doragonzu; Shōgun Daisaku Mushashi. A man he had admired from afar ever since he had first met him as young street hooligan, now the very face of a revitalized Imperial Japan. Daisaku looked at him sternly, “Asahara Yoshi, you understand you are not only risking the death penalty, the court will have you hanged. Of that I am certain.” He tilted his head and smiled “...But that would be a great shame for you and your family, especially your late father, do you not agree? You have proven yourself to have such great potential. The Emperor needs individuals just like you and I, Yoshi. I have come to offer you the only real choice you have, I think you know what I am insinuating, I will not give you time to consider.” Daisaku stepped aside as the door opened. Yoshi bowed, he was ready to live as fate had intended.

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Guest magw33d   
Guest magw33d

Such a powerful mustache.

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Guest Otmel Strangler   
Guest Otmel Strangler

Yes, strong like a brush of ten thousand spears. Hardly effeminate.

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Guest magw33d   
Guest magw33d

Some say that the Emperor can carry the weight a thousand Hokkaidan children with the strength of his mustache.

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Guest Otmel Strangler   
Guest Otmel Strangler

And every word of it is true! Why aim for the stars when you can aim for the Kōtei himself??

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Guest Shākya   
Guest Shākya

The Emperor 高山釈尊 (Takayama Shakyamuni - Takayama Shākusōn) will be proud. Yoshi Asahara continues to bring great honour to the Teikoku Doragonzu with his faithful service to the Emperor. Tenno Heika Banzai!

//Amazing story man, really great read.

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