Hwoarang breathed deeply as the sun's first light filtered through the forest canopy. His breath condensed in the cold winter air; it would soon be spring, but it was still bitterly cold. He bowed to the west, to his homeland of Korea, and began running through his tuls. Today was the day he had been waiting for; the day for which he had abandoned his duty, for which he had become a fugitive, the day which had been pretty much central to his thoughts for the past two years.
Why, then, was he preoccupied with other matters?
He had wanted to beat Kazama to prove that he was superior, to prove that Baek Do San's faith in him had been justified. But now...now he felt he was engulfed in something much bigger. Something more important.
A pang of guilt hit Hwoarang. Was he betraying his beloved mentor's faith by thinking such things? Or would Baek have understood? Other thoughts tormented him; how long could he run from the army? As the tournament's end drew closer, he had thought about it more and more.
Baek Do San would be proud of you, son.
Completing his pattern, Hwoarang turned to Mr Yamada. He sighed heavily.
I wish I had your confidence in that, he said softly. I'll never know. Would he have approved of me ditching my national service to fight Kazama? Would he be annoyed that what I thought was important...doesn't seem to be that important now?
Mr Yamada chuckled. You are young. The young are always changing, growing. Baek himself changed a lot.
Hwoarang was intrigued. How do you know?
During the second King of Iron Fist tournament, I met Baek. When he fought, it was with such savage brilliance, I was actually impressed. He chuckled again. Up until then, I had always been rather dismissive of Tae Kwon Do as a martial art.
Hwoarang said dryly. Mr Yamada spread his arms in an apologetic gesture.
I know better now. Anyway, I was there to observe the activities of the Mishima Ziabatsu's agents; they were under the command of Kazuya Mishima, during that time. At the start of the tournament, Baek Do San was a self-serving, arrogant thug-
Hwoarang began angrily, before Mr Yamada cut him off.
By the end of the tournament, he continued, His selfishness had been replaced by integrity, his arrogance by humility, and he approached his fights with honour. What changed? I do not know, and really, it doesn't matter. The important thing to consider is; have you changed for the better? If not, can you do anything about? If you can, do. If you can't...accept it.
They stood in silence for a few minutes while Hwoarang thought about Mr Yamada's advice. Hwoarang took a few paces around the yard, before pulling a golden locket out of his pocket. He opened it, and took a long look at its contents.
He never told me much about the time he spent working for the Ziabatsu, Hwoarang began. He told me that he realised one day that it wasn't his path, when he asked himself the question Would my father be proud of me?' The photo of Baek and his father looked out of the locket, the warmth of their smiles undiminished by the fading sepia of the photograph. This is all I have left of him now.
You have your training, Mr Yamada reminded him. And your memories. Tell me...what do you think Baek would make of your life now, if you are honest with yourself?
Hwoarang considered this, and then, hesitantly- I think I've spent so much time trying to be the fighter I thought Baek would want me to be, that I never considered what sort of man he would've wanted me to be.
Mr Yamada smiled, satisfied to see that Hwoarang had reached this level of understanding. Your fighting skills are beyond reproach, Hwoarang, but pure skill is nothing without the heart to back it up. If you had stayed in the army, you may never have discovered that part of you that was missing...and neither would have Dai.
I never knew Baek, as such, but I am certain he would be proud of who you are. And, he added, I think you know that, too.
Hwoarang managed a lopsided smile, and placed the locket back in his pocket. I wish he could have met Dai. He would have liked her.
Mr Yamada gave Hwoarang an affectionate slap on the back. I wish you could have met Kira - that's Dai's mother.
You think she would have liked me? Hwoarang asked curiously. The ninja stifled a grin.
Mr Yamada said matter-of-factly. But she would have gotten used to you.
He circled around Hwoarang, bowed, then dropped into a loose fighting stance. Well...you have a fight today, do you not? Care to train with me?
Hwoarang bowed, then dropped into stance himself, smirking.
Let's go.
********
Shaking his head in disbelief, the officer turned away from the screen in disgust, the image of the red haired youngster frozen in action, his legs flying high in a familiar display of arrogance and brilliance combined.
That's him, the Colonel said gruffly. He turned to his subordinate. I want a team to bring back our young runaway sergeant. He scowled. The sheer arrogance...
He tried to ignore the smirk on the subordinate's face as he snapped to attention before leaving the room. A sigh escaped him; when, exactly, did discipline go out of the window? Hwoarang', as the boy liked to be known, was enlisted, so a certain lack of conditioning was to be expected, but his lieutenant...
He wasn't comforted that the General was wearing a similar smile as he rewound and watched the fight again.
It should have been obvious, really, the General commented. In his heart, this is where he belongs, he said, tapping the glass. And watching him fight, one can perhaps understand why.
I would respectfully suggest, sir, the Colonel said, trying not to sound strained. That perhaps his talents could be better utilised by serving his country.
The General's expression turned sharp, and for a moment the Colonel feared that his thinly veiled irritation at his superior's attitude was too obvious, and had been a serious breach of military etiquette. Instead, the General decided to laugh.
I can understand a certain...annoyance, on your behalf, Colonel, he said dryly. After all, how long did this boy serve under you? After all this time, you still don't understand his intentions. If we hadn't have seen this, he said, tapping the screen once more, We may not have found him until it was too late.
If not being able to understand the mind of a petty street thug is a crime, then I am proud to be guilty, the Colonel scowled, his veneer of civility wearing decidedly thin. The sooner we arrest the arrogant little snot and court-martial him, the better I'll feel, and the better it will be for discipline. Sir.
the General sighed, sounding vaguely regretful. I suppose we do what we must.