Jin woke up, and for once felt strangely good. For the first time in two years he felt...clean. He couldn't explain it, but it was like when his mother was alive. The fury and resentment that had been eating him was still there, but it was controllable. He looked at his small collection of photos and smiled. The expression felt strange.
He began dressing for his fight, an overwhelming sense of curiosity sweeping over him. He was certain that he wasn't going to lose control to the Devil Gene in his blood, was certain that he hadn't lost control while he had slept. There was still a concern that perhaps this was only temporary- like a cancer going into remission, he thought - but he decided to appreciate the new day for as long as he could.
He stretched, then bowed towards the rising sun. He had gone into the city the previous night, and had received the odd fearful glance, but in general he went unrecognised. As he had passed loud sports bars, he had seen snippets of that day's fights; Hwoarang had put in a particularly good show against Marduk, it seemed. Jin idly wondered exactly what the Korean had said to the vale tudo fighter to so enrage him. In the other fight, the English girl had defeated Paul Phoenix. It had surprised him, he was ashamed to admit, that such a frail looking girl had defeated the American veteran...and fairly comfortably too.
The hairs stood on the back of his neck as he remembered it, although he didn't know why. He had to face this girl today, this Dai Martin. He felt vaguely regretful that his opponent wasn't Hwoarang; the Korean Tae Kwon Do master was eager to face him, he knew that. He would have enjoyed fighting such a skilled opponent, and he rather hoped that Hwoarang would survive his encounter with Kazuya Mishima. Maybe Hwoarang could actually beat him...
Slinging his holdall over his shoulder, he started to head out of the forest. He wondered wistfully if Ling would attend any of the fights today.
********
The Hotel Oban was as extravagant and luxurious as ever. The audience was of a decidedly different calibre to those that attended the bouts held in the streets and the underground fight clubs; gold, platinum and diamonds dripped off every finger, hung around every neck, sometimes partly hidden by expensive designer garments. Jin smiled to himself; no, only the packaging was different...the contents remained the same. The crowd had exactly the same blood lust and voyeuristic desires as those that attended the less salubrious venues.
Jin eyed his opponent; she looked even more petite than she had on the giant screens of the sports bar, but he could somehow sense the strength she possessed. Standing with her was Hwoarang, who shot him the occasional glare. For the most part, though, he was engaged in deep conversation with the girl. He stroked her cheek tenderly, and Jin felt a pang of envy; he wished, not for the first time, and probably not for the last, that Ling could be there with him.
Don't wish for the impossible.
He sighed, pulling his sparring mitt on, then smoothing his gi. Feeling a strange tingling sensation, he glanced at his opponent. She was staring right back, wearing an inscrutable expression. She held his gaze for a moment, before returning her attention to Hwoarang.
I'll be fine, Hwoarang, Dai insisted. Hwoarang shuffled nervously, and placed his hands on her shoulders.
You ready? Even you think he's gone nuts, and you can't handle him-
You'll have already entered the fray a few minutes earlier, she said, sounding amused.
I'm serious, okay? Hwoarang said earnestly. Got the tracer?
she said, patting her pocket. Got yours?
He nodded. We're gonna catch us some Mishimas, he smirked. Why couldn't you take up a nice hobby, like insect collecting.
The announcer began talking; thankfully, he didn't refer to her as ferocious blossom' again. Hwoarang impulsively pulled her into an embrace, not caring who saw. She gently disengaged.
I've got to go, she said. I love you.
She grinned and rolled her eyes, and trotted quite merrily to face Jin Kazama. Hwoarang realised that he had never felt so nervous in his entire life. Of course, he wasn't about to share that fact with anybody. He was lost in his thoughts when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
Hey kid, a familiar American drawl sounded. She nervous?
Hwoarang turned to Paul. Doesn't seem to be. She should be.
Paul nodded. You can say that again, he agreed, easing himself against the wall. He was obviously still feeling rather delicate....although having seen the beating Dai gave him, Hwoarang would have expected him to be much worse. The bell rang, and Paul nodded. Time to see if she's gonna take my advice about going easy on the next guy.
Jin was surprised when Dai bowed before falling back into a loose fighting stance. He returned the courtesy, before falling into his own favoured stance. She nodded, and they began.
She was fast...very fast, Jin soon acknowledged. She was also very perceptive; it was almost uncanny the way she counter-attacked his every move. It was obvious that she had studied traditional karate to some degree, even if she wasn't using it, and that she was also familiar with his own attack patterns. After five exhausting minutes of skilful exchanges, Jin backed off, and nodded respectfully, before resuming.
I think Kazama may have met his match, Paul said, sounding slightly awed. He looked at Hwoarang. You still denying that she's your girl?
Hwoarang smiled. She wasn't, but now she is.
A word of advice, Paul said. Remember, hell hath no fury', etcetera.
Hwoarang asked, turning to Paul. The American grinned lopsidedly.
Basically, kid...there's one lady you do not want to piss off. Then, as if talking from experience, he added solemnly, Remember her birthday. And your anniversary.
Hwoarang nodded, watching the fight.
His kick had thrown her high into the air, and he had planned a forceful kick for her descent. However, she didn't descend, and Jin had to marvel at her quick wittedness as she had grabbed the chandelier, sending the odd crystal falling to the ground. That didn't matter; his grandfather could more than afford to repair any of the damage inflicted any of the venues.
The girl now hung upside down, legs entwined in the fixture, her raven hair swaying as she threw her weight towards him. Not expecting this attack, Jin received a flurry of blows to his unguarded face, which ceased as momentum swung her away from him. She flipped off the chandelier in acrobatic fashion, dropping into a low stance. As Jin settled into a defensive stance, ignoring his bleeding nose, he saw that his opponent wore an odd expression. She looked...unhappy, Jin decided. He couldn't think why; she doing better than he was at the present moment.
Jin went on the attack, trying to wear down her defences with a series of kicks and punches. Then...she made a mistake.
He saw her punch coming from a mile off; all her previous movements had been tight, precise - he hadn't known what she had planned until halfway through he move. But now her fist was heading his way, sign posted by excess movement. He wondered how such a skilled fighter could have made such a casual mistake.
He caught her arm, twisted it, and wrestled her to the ground. He increased his pressure as she resisted, still remaining partially upright through what should have been crippling pain. Despite that, she looked at him...and spoke.
she said Japanese, as if it was her mother tongue, Fight Hwoarang - win, lose, it doesn't matter. But for the sake of the world, don't go to Heihachi Mishima!
Then he felt her suddenly drop all resistance, and he landed on top of her heavily, still twisting her arm. Jin thought he heard something pop, and climbed off her quickly. She wasn't moving.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Paul Phoenix restraining Hwoarang, who obviously wanted to run to the fallen woman. The announcer counted her out, and raised Jin's arm in victory. Jin pulled away and went to his opponent, who was now being tended to by a medic. As he approached, the medic looked up, fear and anger in his eyes.
You've won! Leave her alone! he said shakily. You've won!
Jin opened his mouth, then shut it again. Of course this would happen, after the fight with Nina Williams. Everybody probably thought he was a psychopath, or something, or worse. Which, Jin reflected, he probably true. But she had spoken to him...what did she know? He took another step towards her, almost subconsciously. He found his way barred by Paul Phoenix, who placed a restraining hand on his chest.
Look kid, he said, a touch of menace in his voice. I think you want to be leaving her alone.
Jin's grasp of English was fair, if a little rusty, but even if Paul had remained silent, his expression spoke volumes. He took one last look at this Dai Martin', and, relieved to her sitting up talking, walked away, with more questions than answers buzzing through his mind.