One of my earliest childhood memories was opening my eyes to the tan texture of a tatami mat. It felt so cool under the pressure of my cheek, yet at the same time uncomfortable as it forced the tender flesh of my cheek against the bone under it. Upon lingering examination and my askew, horizontal position, thin strips of dark crimson were slowly creeping away from my gaze, like snails on a mission. As consciousness finally seeped into my weary body, I felt the telltale trickle of blood dripping out of my nose and onto the mat under my head. The sanguine trail looked like a river up close, burning a horrific image into my mind. I was only a ten-year-old boy, and I had already seen more blood up close than any person should in their entire lifetime. Most of it did not belong to me. Unfortunately, some did.

As I pushed myself up from the mat with my small, shaking limbs, a thin stream of blood continued to drip from my nose. I watched it, transfixed, as it joined the already growing line in the cracks of the tatami with a soft noise only I could hear. I was so focused on my bleeding orifice I couldn't hear the concerned chatter of voices surrounding me. They were all talking, no action. As they chattered, I shut my eyes and tuned them out. There was a red river of blood in my mind's eye, flowing with the fury of a rapid down an endless path with no beginning, and no end.

Then there was nothing.

~*~*~*~

"Hyun-Jin!"

I turned with a sneer at the sheer familiarity of the voice that called my name. In the forefront of my mind, I knew I should control my emotions and facial expressions around those that were the Emerald Mother's chosen, but blessed or not, some people deserved less respect than they were given. The Kitsune-child, Jae-Yeon, was one of those people.

My smile was tight-lipped and forced, lacking any semblance of friendliness, but the expression was lost on the Shinju-born brat. He obviously needed more schooling on the recognition of human facial expressions.

"Good morning, Kinfolk!" he exclaimed cheerily. I immediately bristled, lip curling in distaste. The Kitsune stopped prancing towards me, halting in place; oh-so precariously balanced on the ball of his foot. "What is it, Hyun-Jin? Are you not happy to see me?" Delicately, he lowered himself back into both feet, folding his hands behind his back. He gazed up at me with soulful brown eyes, tilting his head to the side unconsciously.

I sighed, forcing my back muscles to go limp so I could manage a polite-looking bow. "No, Jae-Yeon-šši, I am delighted to see you this fine morning. But I had politely asked you to," I swallowed down an abrupt flare of humiliation and rage, "not address me by such a demeaning word."

"Oh, Kinfolk?" Yeon murmured thoughtfully. "But it's true, is it not?"

A conversation we've had a hundred times, on a hundred different occasions. And still, it boiled my blood. My requests would be ignored, on account that I was a meager Kinfolk, not even Kin to his Breed, and therefore twice as inferior as any other. Minus the oblivious humans, of course.

I set myself straight, lowering my head to the short fox-child. It was a chore to look submissive to someone a foot shorter than yourself, but when you're six-feet tall, it's hard. "Yes," I uttered through clenched teeth, "We've talked about this before, remember?"

He waved his hand at me in dismissal, "The past is past, it is gone. Don't you enjoy the today? Are you angry at the past, Hyun-Jin? Then you are silly. Can't change the past, little Kin."

My eye twitched. I could feel the tick settling into the fine muscle of my eyelid. Shaking my head, I tried to let my hair shadow my features, which it did quite readily. The black curtain fell over my face, effectively shadowing my visage from the inquisitive gaze of the Kitsune. I thanked sheer laziness for not tying it back into a ponytail this morning. A puff of breath wiggled the ends of my hair dangling at my chin. It wasn't my own.

"You can't hide from me, Hyun-Jin," Yeon laughed, pursing his lips for another jet of breath.

It was too much. The pursing lips, the effective violation of my personal space, the annoying tone of his voice, his short, shrimpy stature, his fox-blood; all the jealousies and frustrations of that moment congealed into one tightened fist that solidly connected with the pouty lips of the Shinju.

Needless to say, I knocked his perky fucking ass out. Cut my knuckles on his perfect teeth, but whatever. They weren't perfect anymore.

I smiled and headed to my motorcycle, leaving the Kitsune unconscious and bleeding in the garden of the Court. There would be hell to pay later. But for now, I had things to do.

Nothing felt better than zipping through the streets of Seoul, free of the smothering clutches of the Hengeyokai court. Claws, fangs, blessings and fur: who needed those? All I wanted was my freedom. Acceptance. The only place I could find those was within the streets of Seoul, Korea.

I pulled to a stop in front of my familiar tabang, smirking proudly to myself as I pushed open the front door. The bar, unsurprising for this time of morning, was empty. The bartender immediately turned with slight glower, but his face softened as he saw me waltzing through the door as if I owned the place. He shook his head and laughed.

"A little early to start drinking, Kim-sonsaengnim?"

"Cut the formal bullshit, Han, you know it doesn't fuel your tips from me," my remark was good-natured enough to get another laugh from the middle-aged Korean. I pulled up a stool and took a seat, resting my chin in my hand. His eyes immediately went to the torn skin of my knuckles, blood dry and flaking on his immaculate bar. A small grin spread across my lips. Would he ask about my well being, or complain that I was soiling his freshly wiped counter?

Han's bushy eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. He had seen things like this from me before. Various states of injury were not uncommon to Kim Hyun-Jin. "You know, walls don't fight back."

"Yeah, neither do unconscious, short little pretty-boys," I shrugged. "Right in the teeth."

Han poured a shot and slid it across the counter. Before I could lift it to my lips, I felt the weight of his hand on my arm. "No, Jin," he chuckled, "pour it on your hand. Do you know where your little victim has been?"

The thought disgusted me. What do Shinju Kitsune like to put in their mouths? With a grimace, I poured the alcohol onto the broken flesh, hissing, as the sting burned right to the bone.

"Was a … small shot … anyway," I growled as Han patted my hand dry with a clean rag, along with the rest of the bar. The only thing I could do was to cradle the wound close to my body, as if the proximity would ease the pain.

He shook his head. "Let me guess, you're not going to go to the hospital and get stitches because your father would kill you and your mother would be worried sick. Same old story, right, Jin?"

"Right," I managed a smile.

"How old are you again?"

"Twenty-one."

"When are you going to strike out on your own?"

"I think I just did that," I emphasized my statement with a wave of my burning hand.

Han shook his head, leaning across the counter to close the distance between us. Shit, was he actually being serious with me? I hated it when he was serious with me. "Jin," he sighed. Yeah, it was serious. "Leave your home. Shake your dad's hand, kiss your mother, hug your sister, and go. You're a big kid, and you've got talent. Find yourself. You come in here every other day, meet the same people, drink the same round of drinks, smoke the same cigarettes, and leave, only to come back wielding some trophy of your last victory fight, or victory girl."

My green-brown eyes met his dark brown ones hesitantly.

"I remember what you say when you get drunk. How much you despise your father, how much you love your mother, how you want to kick everyone's ass who looks at you the wrong way. Remember that time I locked you in my storeroom closet for harassing my customers?"

I chuckled, shaking my head slightly. "I was so drunk I didn't realize that there was more liquor in there to take the edge off. At least I had enough sense to puke in your mop bucket, right?"

"Yeah," he laughed, "Yeah. Good sense, kid. But seriously. When are you going to tell your dad you're a big boy now, and leave that place you grudgingly call home?"

If you would only understand the life of Kinfolk, I thought to myself. "Soon, soon," I humored Han, just like I always did. "Until I get…"

"…Enough money to leave," Han interrupted, taking the words right out of my mouth. "I know the story, Jin. But you have to know that fighting for cash can be more trouble than it is worth sometimes. I've seen you fight. Kicking out the rowdy, drunk customers like my personal bouncer."

"I only do it for the free drink, you know."

"You little shit. You and your Tae Kwon Do can go so far, but you have to take the initiative. Get out of Seoul. Hell, go back to America again. Your mother's from America, right?"

"She's half-Korean," I shrugged. Half American just sounded so generalized.

"You speak English?"

I coughed into my good hand and broke into English, "Sometimes I get really, really tired of your paternal guidance bullshit, but you're a good guy."

Han looked blank. "I have no idea what you just said."

Laughter bubbled up in my chest, but I choked it down. "Yeah, I speak English." I replied in Korean, of course.

"So, go! What are you waiting for?"

Honestly, I didn't have an answer for that. I could only shrug and glance down at my hand. The throbbing was a dull, constant ache. It kept me aware. "Just give me a drink, will you? My hand is killing me."

Han shook his head but did what any good bartender would do: let it drop until the customer was drunk enough to continue talking. He poured the shot and passed it across the table. I let it sit for a moment as I lit up a cigarette, inhaling the noxious smoke that so readily soothed my nerves as it stimulated them. Nicotine was a wonderful thing.

The front doors swung open with a rush of balmy summer wind that tossed my hair around my face, threatening to light the ends on fire upon the end of my cigarette. I turned my head, swiftly plucking the cigarette from my lips and holding it between my fingers.

I was abruptly glad I removed the smoke from my lips. My jaw went slack as I noticed and recognized the figures sliding through the door. One was a short Japanese man, with close-cropped black hair and eyes so dark you could hardly see the pupils. The man behind him was a tall, well-muscled Korean who moved like liquid mercury. His hair was jet black, perfectly cut so that not a single strand seemed out of place. He was all angular features that radiated menace, the type who didn't have to say a word to get his point across. Immediately, I felt the sudden throb of Rage, and no doubt Han did also. He left abruptly into the back room, muttering something about restocking the bottles.

I knew the first man to be Hakken. And the second man was a Khan. My father.