Preview
It's been two months since the conclusion of the King of Iron Fist Tournament 5...
What happens when Ling Xiaoyu is forced to ask the LEAST expected person for much needed help? Is she prepared to go all the way to acquire assistance in this crucial situation?
Disclaimer: I don't own any parts of the Tekken franchise. All copyrighted materials belong to the appropriate owners. This is a non-profitable story, written purely for entertainment.
Author's Notes: After spending a lot of time being sidetracked with other stories, I decided to come back and finish this. So some of you may already recognize it, and new readers are welcome to read it as well. Reviews very much appreciated:)
Tekken 5, Aftermath: The Unlikely Hero
.:A Tactless Tales Production:.
Chapter 1
Asking The Wrong Guy…
"Argh!" he cried out as he flew back from the force of a boot's sole to his chest. His body pounced three times, and then skidded across the roughness of the grey gravel road, scraping red lines on parts of his unclothed flesh before finally allowing him a merciful stop. He looked up to his aggressor, wanting to curse at him. But the sight of the slim, muscular, red-haired man did nothing but intimidate him even more. He gurgled the saliva and blood solution in his mouth then dropped to kiss the road with his busted lip.
"Looks like I win," the victor ran a gauntlet covered hand atop his smooth, laidback hair as he looked at his downed opponent. "Pay up guys," he said to the man standing to his left. "B-but Hwoarang," the man shivered. "You cheated! You said no knock outs, only ring outs."
The silver accessories on Hwoarang's clothing jingled as he approached the man in an all-too-calm walk. He stepped over the circular, painted boundary to get a hold of the man's shirt. "Look, I did knock him out of the ring," he said in a menacing voice, tugging the scrawny man aggressively. "It's not my fault if he's too weak to withstand ONE kick!"
"B-b-b-b-but –"
Hwoarang's brown eyes pierced the frightened street thug's, deadlocked, waiting for something sensible to compensate for the mindless stuttering. But something else grabbed his intention. The mirror effect of the grunt's eyes reflected the scene over Hwoarang's shoulder: an approaching aggressor was holding the neck of a beer bottle and was creeping closer to his back.
The underhanded attack was launched with a loud groan, the attacker swinging the bottle and aiming for the bull's-eye he saw on the back Hwoarang's head.
Using the reflection as a guide and his quick feet as a means, the target swooped to the side, fully avoiding the glass-container-turned-weapon. The bottle was inadvertently driven to the skull of the scrawny thug with a bash. His eyes rolled back into his head as his body dropped to the street. The thump of his fallen carcass mingled with the trickling of the shattered pieces of glass.
The offender trembled with fear at the unintentional knock out, but even more fear when his expected target seemed to have vanished right before him. Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed his wrist and yanked the side of his torso into a hard boot's sole before his face was smeared with the same, gritty surface. Then, his head was snapped to the side, leaving his neck temporarily displaced. He involuntarily closed his eyes and his knees dropped to the road, followed by his body slumping over face first.
"Humph," Hwoarang grunted, grounding his foot from the attack. "Cheapskates, you deserve it," he sneered at the unconscious men. He adjusted his fighter gloves and crossed his arms.
This was what his life had become after the King of Iron Fist Tournament 5.
The smell of alcohol and immorally placed urine reeked throughout the deserted streets. Just when Hwoarang thought he'd never have to smell it again. Thankfully, a place like this would never be his home again. He watched as a terribly skinny dog mauled its way through the thin trash bags deposited next to overfilled dumpsters. Here, life strived to remain in its current state of existence.
The old bricks of the tall apartment walls were palettes for colourful graffiti, and their windows, excluding the ones that managed to hold it together after being defaced with numerous cracks and rigid holes, desperately needed attention. It was the perfect spot for drug deals and illegal money scams to go down, he should know. A few years ago, he was associated with some of the cruellest underground lords. And he probably still would've been if it wasn't for his Tai Kwon Do Master, Baek Doo San.
Baek was ashamed to see that his teachings were used for purposes other than self-defence or righteousness. He always advised his favourite and technically prominent student against it, but his complaints always seemed to fall on deaf ears. No, it hadn't, Hwoarang thought.
He may not have acted like it sometimes - more than 'sometimes' maybe, but he always did take Baek's words seriously. What was the point of it all, otherwise?
Ever since his draw, which he considered a loss, to his archrival, Jin Kazama, he had rushed his training to pursue the rematch he felt he deserved. This meant disobeying any orders against the mission, including Baek's. He had never lost once in a street fight before Jin. He had to reclaim his street credibility and most importantly, his honour. After two missed attempts at the King of Iron Fist Tournaments 3 and 4, he finally got his chance at the fifth...
He finally managed to defeat Jin. But...
It didn't feel right. When they faced off years back, Jin fought incorporating Mishima Style Martial Arts into his technique. During the fifth tournament, he seemed to have adopted a completely new fighting style; a significantly weaker style, in Hwoarang's opinion. It dampened the sweet taste of his longed victory, making the effort seem unworthy. Did Jin fight him like that because he felt he would have otherwise been no match? Or was it because Jin wanted him out of his hair?
Either way, Hwoarang never got a chance to ask him. Right after the fight, Jin fed him something about 'fulfilling the destiny of his cursed blood.' Then he left just like that, unconcerned about the result of the rematch. It really pissed Hwoarang off but there was really nothing he could do about it. He drove back on his bike, still feeling unfulfilled.
The tournament was over and now the most decent opponents he could find were the likes of these, he looked down at the knocked out men. He shook his head in disappointment. The distant cries of police sirens threatened him into hastening a departure, and the growing foul stench of decomposed food encouraged it. He sighed at the dark-blue, dusky skies before stepping over one of the men. Abandoned flyers and food wrappings scratched the gravel surface at the wind's command as he made his way to his bike.
His heel smacked the vehicle's foothold from its resting position. He mounted the bike, retaining its balance with his weight. The motorbike roared as he jolted the engine on with his foot and then raved the accelerator.
"HWOARANG!"
The booming high-pitched voice caught his ears and he turned his head around. In the near distance, a young Chinese girl was running towards him with a huge Panda bear following her. She wore long white pants and an open red jacket. Her long, sharp-tipped pigtails fluttered in the wind behind her. He remembered seeing her at the King of Iron Fist Tournament 3 talking to Jin once. He also recognized her from the fourth and fifth tournament.
"Leave! This place isn't for little girls." He ignored her sympathetic pants for breath as she reached him.
"How rude!" she whined, having caught her breath a little. "I should've known! Jin told me all about you!" Panda stood quietly on all fours besides her.
"Oh really? Did he tell you I kicked his ass at the last tournament?"
"How rude!" Ling Xiaoyu pressed her fists against her waist. "You just said – you said –"
"ASS!" Hwoarang shouted deliberately as he stopped the running engine. "Really, Xiaoyu, it's about time you start behaving your age."
But the young lady simply stuck out her tongue at him. "The fact that I don't see the need in saying bad words makes me more mature than you."
"Whatever," Hwoarang snorted. Her little childish argument was beginning to agitate him. "What do you want here, anyway? Look around you. This isn't exactly an amusement park."
"What do you want around here, anyway?" She mimicked his voice. "This isn't exactly a gay bar."
Hwoarang nearly fell off his bike when he heard the utterly false implications, feeling offended and enraged. He contemplated a response but decided it would only prolong the useless quarrel. Instead, he turned away from her and her Panda, and yanked the engine backed on with his foot.
Xiaoyu ran to the front of his bike and held her hands out, using her body as a barricade. "Don't go, please! I'm sorry. I'm here to ask you for a favour. A huge favour!" But Hwoarang wasn't listening; he continued to rave his accelerator threateningly. "PLEASE! I'm not getting out of the way until you hear what I have to say!"
"Then I hope you have as much of a loving father as Forest Law!" Hwoarang yelled over the rumbling bike. "Because you're going to have huge hospital bills after this!" Without any further warning, he released the clutch, putting the bike in a mobile state. But the sinister grin on his face was quickly whipped off when all of the sudden, a strong force held the rear of the bike, causing the front tire to lift into the air. His backside slid off the seat and onto the hard floor.
"What'd you do that for!" he yelled at Panda who was still holding the back of his bike.
'Because you're a jerk!' The Panda growled in a language only Ling Xiaoyu could understand.
"Er – Panda says she's sorry but she must carry out her duty of protecting me," Xiaoyu quickly lied, not wanting to trouble Hwoarang anymore until he heard her out.
'Xiaoyu! How dare you censor me!' Panda complained. She looked down at the young man, who was massaging his bottom from the pain. 'What's wrong? Aren't you gay? I'm sure it hurts more when harder things than that enter your –'
"Panda!" Xiaoyu said surprised.
"What did it say?" Hwoarang commanded.
'IT?' Panda exclaimed, raising a paw to Hwoarang's head.
"Er – she said she'll pay for any damages your bike may endure because of her," Xiaoyu created quickly. "See, she wants to shake your hand!"
Hwoarang stood up and hissed at the bear, disregarding its supposed goodwill gesture. "Seriously, Xiaoyu, what do you want?"
"Um," Xiaoyu started, fighting the giggles as she watched Panda shake her paw threateningly behind Hwoarang's head. She straightened up and cleared her throat. "It's Jin."
"Ha," Hwoarang let out. "So he is alive! I knew it! He wants a rematch doesn't he? Tell him I said NO! It'll teach him not to throw matches in the future. You know how long I –"
"No," she said in an unusually serious tone. "Actually, he needs your help. He needs all of our help."
"Help?" When it came to Jin and the Mishimas, Hwoarang never heard of a concept more puzzling. "Why would you think he needs help? And even if he did, what the hell made you think that I will be willingly to do anything for that bastard?"
Her cute little pigtails slapped her forehead as she shook her head in disagreement. "I know you don't mean that, you're just angry."
"How much are you willing to bet?"
"Listen, I'm asking you to put your little beef aside for just a second. One second," she said, holding up a finger before him. "Please." At his reluctant sigh she continued. "After Jin disappeared two months ago at the end of the King of Iron Fist Tournament 5, in my heart I always knew he was still alive. I knew he was somewhere out there, cold ... and alone. I just didn't know where. Not until now."
"Please, Xiaoyu," he said unconcerned. "Even I could've told you that he was in hibernation, sulking over his loss to me and his –" But an open paw to the back of the head shut him up.
"Thank you, Panda." The bear nodded at her thankfulness, happy to be of service as usual. Xiaoyu looked at Hwoarang again. "I've received information that he is being held captive somewhere in the Mishima Fortress, not too far away from Honmaru. You see, after the tournament, Heihachi used treachery, once again, to capture him. My source told me that if it wasn't for Jin's Devil gene being carefully examined and experimented on, he would have been dead long time ago. But even so, it seems Heihachi is in the final stages of his experiments and Jin will no longer be of use to him. That's why I, we, need to get him out of there as soon as possible. And that's where I need your help. If you really did defeat Jin in the tournament then you could prove useful if he decides to go all crazy and attack everyone or something."
But Hwoarang had lost focus long time ago. He was scoping her slender body from head to toe. His eyes were fixed on the visual display of the tops of her small breasts uncovered by her tight fitting, short, black tank-top. "Okay, I'll help you."
"Really?" She jumped up, happily. Then she thought again, considering the uncomfortable simplicity. "Wait a minute, what's the catch?"
Hwoarang didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and stepped closer to her.
Xiaoyu was puzzled as he got within an inch of her space. His left hand found its way to her unclothed waist. She gasped at the sudden coldness of his fingers, which were now drawing circles on her abdomen. "That tickles," she giggled. His hand used that as a signal and continued on, feeling around her waist before stopping at her lower back. "Umgh," she complained as her body was abruptly pulled even closer to his. "Hwoarang, what are you do-"
"Sssh," he hushed her with a finger to her mouth. "You've got soft lips," he whispered, then smiled at her perplexed expression. The fact that she had no idea what she would be screaming in a couple of seconds motivated him even more. His finger left her lips and slowly slid down the smooth path of her chin, neck, chest... then it latched on to her tank-top's rim, gently and slowly pulling it back, relieving it of the hug it had on her bust.
But Xiaoyu pulled away before anything he wasn't supposed to see decided to pop out. "What do you think you're doing?" she yelled, backing away and concealing herself with a zip of her red jacket.
"Ling, Ling, Ling." Hwoarang smiled. "You still don't get it do you?" The crossed arms and silence she exhibited answered his question. "YOU'RE the catch."
'See why I wanted to knock him out?'
"Me?" Xiaoyu exclaimed, disregarding Panda's comment. "But-but why?"
"Well, for one, it will prove that I'm not gay," Hwoarang pointed out.
"Yeah? Well it also proves you're a perve!" She reconsidered her decision to ask him for help. She believed that his mere hatred or jealousy or whatever feeble feelings he held towards Jin would be demolished in the name of grave danger. But apparently, she was wrong.
Hwoarang mounted his bike once more. He kicked the engine on but Ling stood in his way again. "Look, you said no to me and so I say NO to you. If you want my help you know what you have to do. Otherwise, step aside now and let me go."
Xiaoyu stood her ground, thinking about it. He was the only person, she believed, possessed the animosity to match that creature's that Jin would turn into. Sure, there were plenty of other strong fighters in the tournament, many probably even stronger than Hwoarang, but as time was not on her side and with the chances of recruiting someone like Kazuya being a negative number, he was the only choice she had. But was it really worth her body?
She had been taught by various women she held much respect for that doing something like this was totally unacceptable. There had to be another way, another person who would be kind and strong enough to help her.
VROOM! The croaky humming of his bike reached a peek, signifying the time for making the final decision was upon her.
She put her arms down and stepped out of his way.
Hwoarang shook his head, disappointed. "Good luck finding him! With all that Mishima security, you're definitely going to need it!" He pulled his front wheel up performing a wheelie before driving off, his exhausts coughing out black fumes for her to choke on.
End of Chapter 1