CHAPTER 1
Well, it's not like it was the end of the world. He'd lost fights before, after all.
Hang on…
Okay. So this – this loss (the word tasted bitter in his mouth and he had to force himself to even think it) – was his first. Still. No big deal. The world went on.
Only it didn't feel like it was no big deal. In fact, the last seven – no eight – months (or was it nine? He'd lost track) had made Hwoarang feel like it was a very big deal.
Hours of contemplation had turned into days of reflection as he replayed the fight over and over and over again. He analysed every move and went over every defence, but no matter how many times he thought about it, how many different scenarios and angles he worked into it, he came away with the same conclusion: It was not his fault.
His tactic had been perfect. His timing unfaultable. His execution flawless. Jin Kazama should have been – at the very least – in a hospital bed by the time Hwoarang had finished with him.
Only he wasn't.
And no matter how hard he tried, Hwoarang could not fathom how Jin had actually won the fight, let alone survived.
It was almost as if the young fighter had access to some sort of (and Hwoarang almost laughed, it was so ridiculous) supernatural strength.
Whatever it was, it wouldn't help him the next time Hwoarang ran into him.
Nothing would.
And with renewed determination, Hwoarang kicked at his punching bag.