Dai and Hwoarang walked down the tree lined avenue. It had been decided that the final fight of the first heat would take place on the edge of the forest - the crowd just loved variety. Hwoarang noticed that Dai had a strange, melancholic look on her face.

he said softly. Something up?

She smiled weakly and shook her head. Not really. It's just...my mother used to tell me about Japan, and how much she loved it. I think it broke her heart to leave.

Hwoarang nodded, unsure of how to respond. Dai sighed.

I remember once, when I was little - I was about five, I think - mom had been telling me about Japan again. I found a box - a beautiful shikki chest - and I was fascinated. I opened it, and there was all sorts trinkets in there. Her brow furrowed. And photos.

Hwoarang ventured. Dai bit her lower lip.

My mother walked in the room, saw me with the photos, and went nuclear. She was so angry, and didn't know what I'd done wrong...

Dai's voice trailed off, and she looked at the ground. Hwoarang glanced around, feeling slightly confused, and a little uncomfortable. How did they get on to this subject? Dai looked at him apologetically.

Sorry. I remember that in one of the photos, I was a baby with my parents in an area like this, and it just made me think...how did it go wrong? They looked so happy.

She shrugged. I wish I could tell my mother how much I miss her. Take back every hurtful word I uttered to her.

As the tears welled in her eyes, Hwoarang pulled her close, his arms around her before he realised what he was doing. She seemed momentarily taken aback, but she didn't object. Hwoarang stroked her cheek, wondering what to say to the troubled young woman.

She knows, he said, hoping that he sounded vaguely comforting. He smiled, with a touch of wryness, Mothers know everything.

Dai laughed softly, and reluctantly disengaged from his embrace. She met his gaze, and Hwoarang felt a strange churning sensation in his stomach.

And then she kissed him.

Hwoarang felt an incredible sense of relief, and in that moment he couldn't deny what he had been trying to hide from himself.

He loved her. Even though he knew virtually nothing about her, or her past, or her work, he knew enough that he was completely smitten with her. And now it seemed almost certain that she felt the same way about him.

He pulled back with a huge grin on his face. I've been wanting to do that for a while.

She looked away, almost shyly, an expression which looked strange on her face. Yeah. Me too.

Hwoarang's eyebrows rose. You've been wanting to kiss yourself?!

She shoved him playfully. You know what I meant!

His expression turned serious. But what happens next?

Next...I don't know, she conceded. Even now, I can't tell you everything. I don't know what the future holds.

They walked silently, feeling strangely content. After about twenty minutes, they came upon a group of people setting up camera equipment. One of them glared at Hwoarang, clutching his cables protectively - he remembered the Korean from the night before.

Leaning casually by a tree was a young man, pale skinned and fair haired. His casualness, Dai could tell, was false - he was uncomfortable with his surroundings. and he kept glancing round as he pulled on his scarlet boxing gloves. He tried speaking to one of the cameramen, but his Japanese was so atrocious Dai had to suppress a giggle.

The young man was Steve Fox, former worldwide boxing champion, and one-time darling of the UK's sporting media. There had been much confusion when he had suddenly, and inexplicably, disappeared. Several journalists had gotten close to the truth before suffering from untimely accidents'. Eventually, the press couldn't find journalists willing to investigate, and the whole thing seemed destined to remain a mystery.

But he was now, participating in a tournament that received worldwide coverage. To most people, this would have seemed incomprehensible, but Dai, with her extensive resources, knew what had happened. Steve Fox was under a Mafia death mark for refusing to throw a fight, and, knowing that the police couldn't protect him, went into hiding.

Had he got tired of his concealment, or did he perhaps miss the glory of winning? Dai didn't think so. She remembered interviews he had given on TV, and in the papers. How he said that, although he loved his adoptive parents, he felt incomplete because he knew nothing about his biological parents, or his early childhood. There had been many tabloid exclusives', claiming that they had found Steve's parents, but they always been proved false, being either cranks or gold-diggers.

Dai wondered whether the boxer knew that the Mishima Ziabatsu held the answer to his lineage, or whether he was merely hoping to get hold of the resources to trace his parents. Dai felt incredibly sorry for him; she, a complete stranger, knew more about his origins than he did...but wasn't allowed to say a word.

She approached the cameraman, who was looking at the young Englishman like he had grown another head. The cameraman looked at her helplessly, shrugging. She repeated Steve's question, but in intelligible Japanese. The cameraman nodded, finally understanding, and replied.

You can understand me? Steve ventured, almost daring to hope. She chuckled.

she replied in English. And quite fortunately for you, too. Your Japanese is diabolical.

Oh, sweet lord! he said, grabbing her arms. A fellow Brit! I don't care if you're a northerner, you'll do!

Steve stumbled back startled as Hwoarang forcibly removed his hands from Dai's person. As he glared at the boxer, Dai felt rather touched by his protectiveness, rather than irritated. From day one he had been protective of her. She placed an hand on his arm, and patted him.

Steve put his hands out in a placating gesture. Sorry mate, I wasn't trying to be improper, or anything. He looked at Dai. He does speak English?

Yes, I do, Hwoarang scowled. Dai smiled.

Now kids, behave she chided. The answer to your question is ten minutes'.

he said, cautiously eying Hwoarang. Well....I don't suppose you know the cup results? I've been trying to find out, but like you said, my Japanese is appalling. Can't read it, write it or speak it.

Spurs won against Everton, three-two-
Steve jumped up and punched the air. Yesss! Yes!

He turned to Dai. You, luv, are a star! I could kiss you- he turned quickly to Hwoarang, -but I won't!

Ah. Tottenham fan, I take it? she inquired politely. He grinned.

O'course. Yourself?

She bowed in mock apology. Derbyshire FC. Follow a team that never wins, and you can never be disappointed.

The boxer continued bouncing around, still grinning like an idiot. Hwoarang looked distinctly unimpressed.

It's an omen, my friends. Your team wins, you win. He eyed the growing crowd. All I've got to do is wait for my opponent to show, the bout to start, and-

He did three mid height hooked punches in quick succession. He then swung his arms backwards and forwards.

I've just got to wait for this geezer to show up...

Dai shot Hwoarang an amused look. He shrugged.

Actually, your opponent's already here, Hwoarang said. Steve stopped and looked and him appraisingly.

Ah. I see. Well, may the best man win and all of that. He extended a gloved hand to Hwoarang, who just looked at him, before pushing the proffered hand aside so it was facing Dai. He looked at Dai, jaw dropping slightly.

You?...You've got to be shitting me.

Dai battled with her amusement as Hwoarang muttered under his breath several derogatory remarks in Korean about the Englishman. She spread her arms.

Afraid so.

Steve looked troubled. Look luv, I really hate to do this, but I can't hold back. I have to win.

I'm not asking you to hold back'. I wouldn't want you to, she said gravely. She glanced at Hwoarang. And he doesn't want you to hold back, either. If I lose, or get hurt, he won't be coming after you-

I won't? Hwoarang asked, a touch of defiance in his voice. She looked at him sternly.

You won't, she stated, brooking no argument. Turning to Steve, she gestured to the ring.

Shall we?

After you, he replied, sounding thoroughly miserable.