You know - umph - if I win, and you win - umph - we stand a good chance of fighting one another.
Hwoarang recoiled as Dai landed another blow on the kick pad. The look of extreme concentration on her face was as nearly as intimidating as the black gi she now wore. There was no patterns, no adornments, but for some reason it made her look threatening.
In a cute way, Hwoarang thought with grin.
Dai paused, grabbing a towel. She seemed to think about Hwoarang's words.
We're in the same tournament, she said. There's always been a good chance we'd end up fighting each other. She threw the towel on the floor and resumed battering the pad. Does that bother you?
Yeah, a bit, Hwoarang conceded, before his expression turned sly. After all, how am I gonna kiss you if your face is all messed up?
It took him a few seconds to realise that her expression had also changed to a mischievous smirk. She dropped low, sweeping Hwoarang's legs from under him, before nimbly spinning and landing astride him, pinning him to the ground.
I'm sure we'd find a way, she purred. She raised an eyebrow. Aren't you even going to attempt to break free?
Hwoarang's grin widened further. I'm happy where I am, thanks.
Well, we'll just have- OWW!!
Dai sprang off him, holding her head. Hwoarang sat up, wide eyed.
Dai? What- oh.
He flushed with embarrassment as he saw Mr Yamada standing with his arms folded, looking distinctly unimpressed. He held a metre-long wooden stick in one hand, and was currently tapping it against his shoulder.
Um, we were just training, Yamada-san, Hwoarang said as innocently as possible. Dai carried on rubbing her skull.
It doesn't matter how many times you hit me with that damn thing, I'm still not enlightened, she said. The spots in her vision were fading now.
I thought it was Tetsuji that hit you over the head with a stick? Hwoarang said. Dai snickered.
No, he hit me over the head with a bokken. He- she pointed at Mr Yamada, -He hit me over the head with a stick.
She got hit over the head a lot as a child, Mr Yamada dead panned. Probably explains a lot now. Like how rolling around on my floor like a couple of rutting bears bears constitutes training. Dai, if you had been alert, you would have sensed my presence. Don't forget your training! And- OWW!
Mr Yamada swung around to find his wife grinning at him, also holding a stick. Dai and Hwoarang began chuckling.
There's an English phrase, she laughed, About pots and kettles! Mr Yamada held his hands up in mock defeat.
Okay, I admit it. I just wanted to bash you around the head.
Mmm. Understandable, Hwoarang nodded. Why bother with an excuse?
Why not bash him? Dai said with mock indignation, pointing at Hwoarang, still on the floor.
Because he's going to get battered enough by Mr Marduk, Reiko beamed. I'm preparing ice-packs as we speak.
Ha ha. I'm laughing, Hwoarang said sardonically. No, really, I am-
Don't worry, my boy, we have every faith that you will win, Mr Yamada stated. Just not without a battering.
Hwoarang said wryly, whilst secretly acknowledging the likelihood that the statement was true. Well, if I get battered, Dai can do shiatsu on me again.
The Yamadas looked at one another. Reiko's eyebrows raised slightly.
Ah. Shiatsu'. Is that what you call it nowadays-
I think we should go, Hwoarang, Dai said smiling. Before this turns into Carry On Dojo', or something.
Hwoarang looked at her blankly.
Never mind, she sighed. Time to head to the sports hall.
********
Jin lay in a foetal position, still shaking. His body hadn't stopped trembling since - when was it, yesterday? Jin didn't know. Fear and confusion wracked his body, along with sleep deprivation. He was chronically tired, but he couldn't, wouldn't sleep, lest the strange madness that had taken him before took him again. In any case, he doubted that any dreams sleep would bring would be pleasant.
Probably better to stay awake...
He managed to roll onto his back, hands clutching at his head, clutching his ruffled hair, tugging it, sending tiny spikes of pain through his scalp. It helped him stay awake.
It was warm in his ramshackle hut. An intense fire burnt, giving off a slightly acrid smell; the main fuel was one of Jin's gis. More precisely, the one that was covered in Nina William's blood.
Part of him wanted to see her, to apologise, but what could he say? Hey, sorry I nearly bludgeoned you to death, but it really wasn't me'? Although she herself was apparently once a victim of mind-control; Ogre, Toshin, whatever it was, sent her to kill Jin, and she had mindlessly obeyed his orders, until her intended target had freed her from that slavery, by defeating the monster.
Jin moaned. He was chronically tired. What if that tiredness made him more susceptible? He didn't know for certain what he was fighting, but had ventured a guess. He suspected that his answer lay not in the world outside, but in his own blood.
The Devil Gene.
Over the two years since he had been on the run from the Mishima Ziabatsu, he had tried to learn as much as possible about his condition. The studies he had read weren't entirely helpful; other than knowing that the Devil Gene granted its possessor colossal power, they knew as much as he did - the origins of that power was a mystery. His misery had been increased by the knowledge that practically every bio-technical firm was after him, not just his grandfather.
Heihachi...grandfather...you taught me about betrayal. For your crimes, I will teach you about death.
Jin began to drift off into restless slumber.