The next part is longer and richer in dialogue; this one is a mood-setter. Mood music: Theme for "Requiem for a Dream" (2000), also known as "Lux Aeterna," by Clint Mansell.
Part 2 of 4: Estrangement
The bike advanced half a mile before Hwoarang pulled over. Dirt road, no lights, no habitation, no passing traffic at this hour of the night... There was no one to see how Hwoarang doubled over, clutched his midriff, and was violently sick.
God, it hurt so much.
The nausea passed and left behind only a torturous pounding in his head. Yet, as Hwoarang pushed himself up and swayed on his feet, a twitch of lips ghosted his face. He was back. The front of his skull was on fire, and he supposed the freefighter had done some real damage. His breathing hitched. Oh yes, right there. That was it. He couldn't keep his posture straight, but he dragged himself on his bike. Out of here, he'd bandage himself and then...
He was back.
Next morning, Baek was rearranging the mattresses in his dojang and inspecting the equipment. Truthfully, he would have preferred repose, but he refused to acknowledge the strain of a short night. He forced back a yawn that incessantly tried to escape and blinked his vision sharp. Even as he examined the ude makiwara—Baek did not subscribe to the pedantic separation of martial arts—and pondered if he should replace it with something less precarious, his mind drifted to the same subject it usually did: Hwoarang.
In his absence of two years, his best and brightest student had evolved from a gifted youth to a skilled man who wasn't ashamed of his abilities or hesitant to use them. Yet, something had happened that had turned the undaunted spirit to headstrong hellraising and put a mask on his student's face.
He had seen that mask slip only once: after the first cage match, which Hwoarang had lost. Hwoarang had told him he was going, and Baek had witnessed a match that had torn his heart out.
It hadn't even been competition. Hwoarang had gone to that fight too soon, too unprepared, and too delirious to fulfill some dark purpose that Baek sought to understand. It had been too soon, and he had been too weak. Afterward, when the fight was done and Hwoarang finished, Baek had so much as carried him home and kept vigil for the night.
And he had felt a deeper failure than during the endless hours in the hospital, waiting for Hwoarang to regain consciousness.
In the dead of the night, Hwoarang had awoken, frantic. He hadn't responded to any of Baek's soothing or realized where he was, and he had fought to escape. Baek finally managed to restrain him as gently as possible, and that was when Hwoarang had looked at him in open terror.
It had lasted for too long, long enough to alarm Baek, until a flicker of recognition had passed in the glazed eyes. Hwoarang had then ceased struggling and sunk limply on the bed. As Baek had released him, he had turned his back wordlessly and burrowed into the sheets, withdrawing himself into a tight bundle even though it had to hurt.
After that, the mask had stayed in place, and Hwoarang had returned under his tutelage. Truce was the word to describe their fragile bond. All was well to the outside eye; Hwoarang trained like a fiend, honing patterns relentlessly move after move, never complaining, never disputing Baek's instructions, even if he already had the technique to match the master's. He showed punctually and unfailingly, except when he disappeared for two days without an explanation, and that was when Baek knew... Knew that Hwoarang had gone out and would return in longer-than-usual sleeves to cover the marks and an air of coldness masking the bruising to his face, and treat them as air and deflect any questions with an amalgam of indifference and pretended obedience.
The truth tied Baek's hands effectively: Hwoarang didn't trust him anymore. Hwoarang was masterful at disguising it, but Baek knew. He could read the truth in his manner, and he could issue no blame. He had been around for a year without contacting Hwoarang; in twelve months of hardship, back from a coma, he had not passed word once that he was alive. It had never been a good time, the contact had been delayed... As they both knew, at the end of the day, Baek had no excuse.
Hwoarang was an adult, and an adult could not be ordered around, even if Baek sometimes wished otherwise or wished he had insisted early on that Hwoarang obey his elders rather than follow his heart.
There was a fine saying in English that Baek abided: You've made your bed and now must lie in it.
Hwoarang materialized two days later and set out to train. As predicted, he wore a long-sleeved shirt under his uniform; a discourtesy to the dress code, perhaps. The high cheekbones betrayed streaks of darkened color. Baek observed his moves and noticed stiffness, subtle though the changes: the kicks didn't reach as high, and the moves lacked fluidity. Hwoarang seemed sore on the sides.
"Is something wrong, master?" Hwoarang had halted the pattern and now faced Baek, standing tall and defiant. The eye contact he maintained was bold and unwavering.
Baek sighed inwardly and shook his head. Just as Hwoarang had turned with an impeccable bow to the instructor, Baek spoke, "You fought well."
The pattern that Hwoarang had been about to commence never made it past the first move. Quick on the uptake, Hwoarang didn't react with a start; the move simply never finished or converted into another one. "I was unaware of your presence, master." The words were truthful and rolled off his tongue with cold precision.
Baek wanted to ask him about his injuries; the American hadn't been a street brawler, and he had known where to aim for damage, even if Hwoarang had saved himself miraculously before turning the tables into a vicious victory. But Hwoarang's manner was so forbidding, Baek simply found himself unable to penetrate it. He lacked the means to push past the civil rebuff.
Eventually, he only said, "You fought well." But your attitude is all wrong, Hwoarang.
Ude makiwara is an upright, round training board used by karatekas for practicing strikes and kicks. It originates from Okinawa, Japan.
Big thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!
Published Jan 23, 2009.
