Terry climbed the steps to his apartment, feeling more tired than he had in awhile. That Tizoc sure wasn't a pushover; his back still hurt from that Izu...the drop.

But it had gone to three rounds and Tizoc had barely been able to pull off his big finish, so it wasn't like it was a total loss. The fans had loved it, and Tizoc turned out to be a pretty great guy outside of the ring. Not much point in regretting the past, was there? The aches and bruises were the marks of a good fight. Nothing to be ashamed of.

He hummed to himself as he opened the door, mostly thinking about dinner, and stopped in the doorway when he saw what was inside. Then he threw on his best smile and walked over to the mopey figure on the couch. "Hey. Didn't expect to see you back yet."

"Terry." Rock lifted his head and gave Terry the kind of woebegone look he usually associated with basset hounds. "You too, huh?"

"Yep, happens. Lemme see your face." Terry pushed Rock's bangs out of the way and gave him a once-over. "I don't see signs of a concussion or anything, and looks like you've already got some ice." Rock was going to be wearing a nice set of bruises and a hell of a black eye for the next few days to match the goose egg on his head, but other than that he looked all right. He'd already bandaged his hands, though Terry made a note to redo them more neatly later.

For the hundredth time that year, Terry thanked his lucky stars all the neighbors knew they were martial artists.

Rock had taken the opportunity to do his own check-up on Terry, and came back with: "You look well enough to get your own ice. Anything worse than your face?"

"Ha ha, I'm pretty tough. Don't worry about it," Terry said and regretted it when he couldn't quite hold back the hiss as he plopped onto the couch himself.

"Then what was that just now? Hm?"

"Eh...took a few hits. I'm fine." Rock glared until Terry gave in and took off his jacket. When had the kid gotten so sharp? At least he'd gotten the medics to patch him up a bit at the ring.

Terry put up with Rock's poking and prodding, which just turned up a shrug and "You're not bleeding; good luck sleeping with all those bruises. Nothing broken?"

"Don't think so. Wrestlers know how to land you." His ribs were sore as hell, but that was normal. Terry settled back down, this time being careful of his back, and looked over at Rock. "So, what happened?"

Rock looked down, the miserable expression back on his face. "It was that Kyokugen guy. I almost had him, Terry! We were both reeling, and I-"

"...got desperate and sloppy and left yourself wide open?" Terry grinned as a grouchy look slipped into Rock's moping and knew he was right on the money. "Happens to the best of us, rookie. You can't underestimate Kyokugen. Sure, most slobs can't be bothered to put in the time, but you get a real dedicated katera guy-"

"Karate. Ka-ra-te."

"Just what I said. Anyway, you get one of the real hard workers and they're gonna be the best practice in getting your ass kicked you'll ever have. Nothing for it but to pick yourself up and train harder. We'll wait a few days for the bruises to fade and get to work on keeping your head. Maybe go over to the dojo and get you some proper spars in...I'll talk to Ryo." The mopey look was still there, so Terry wrapped his arm around Rock's shoulder, waited through Rock's imitation of an angry cat, and said: "Buck up, kid. I didn't win my first tournament either. Get back up and use this to become stronger, okay?"

"...you won King of Fighters '91."

"Yeah, and it wasn't my first tournament. I started about your age," younger, really, but Terry /really/ didn't want to think about those first few, "entered as many as would have me, and lost almost all of them."

Rock chewed on that for a bit, and Terry could see the idea working through his head better than it had the last few hundred times Terry had said it. Good. Rock was a great fighter, and great fighters needed to eat dirt once in awhile. Kept 'em humble.

"You started about my age..." Rock trailed off, frowned, and tried again. "But this is different. The invitation...my mom..."

Terry was quietly relieved this wasn't going to turn into asking for a reminiscing session. He didn't need that trip down the razor-lined sidewalks of memory lane. But the invitation...that was a nasty little wrinkle.

"Yeah, I know," he said, and leaned back against the couch, still careful of his back. "But it's not like it's hopeless. If you really want to try and track down information about her...there are things we can try." He'd avoided it for a decade, but Rock was old enough to take care of himself, and that was too old for kidnapping charges to stick. Hopefully.

"Billy still hates us, you know."

"A little bird told me Joe and Lily were seeing each other again, so that's our in right there. And Billy's calmed down some. Not gonna say ten years is too long to hold a grudge, but it's worth asking. And there's Mary and her connections-" Terry didn't miss the way Rock stiffened at Mary's name. Geez. The jealousy had stopped being cute at thirteen. But he didn't say anything, so Terry went on. "-and I met a nice cop at the tournament. Kicked his ass, but got his phone number. He might have something."

"More than one way to catch a fish, huh?" The dark cloud hovering over Rock started to lift, and he almost looked like his usual self again. "It might work. Thanks, Terry."

"No problem. Hey, if you're feeling so much better, how about getting me a couple beers from the fridge?"

The look Rock gave him was the epitome of long-suffering, but the kid sighed out a "Fine" and got up anyway. It didn't take him long to come back with a couple cans he tossed at Terry. "Here you go. One to drink, one for your head."

"Thanks," Terry said. "But it's one for you, one for me. Here."

Rock gave the can and Terry a long, dubious look. "Terry, I'm seventeen."

"Exactly the right time to learn how to drink responsibly." Terry always wondered which parent Rock had gotten all the discipline from. It sure wasn't him. "Trust me, Rock, you're not going to get anything like smashed off of one of these."

Rock still looked dubious, but took the can anyway.

"All right, your first tournament! Cheers!"

"Cheers."

The cans came together with a small clink. Terry took a long drink, enjoying the refreshing coolness. Nothing like a cold beer after a long, hot day.

Beside him, Rock took a tentative sip. The second the beer hit his tongue his face froze, eyes wide. "This is disgusting!"

"Now, now..."

"How do you even drink this!?" He shoved his can at Terry, almost spilling it. "Here, yours. I'm finishing off that apple juice."

Terry shook his head. "Kids. No taste." He ignored the irritated "I have plenty of taste, thank you!" from the kitchen in favor of settling back and taking another drink.

A new King of Fighters, a missing mother, and inevitably, the shadow of Geese. Only Rock had gotten a personalized invitation with a lure; Terry and everyone else he'd checked with had gotten the plain version. It was blatantly a trap, which either said a lot about this Kain R. Heinlein's forethought...or his confidence.

Rock was valuable. Geese's only known child meant a lot in the underworld. Terry had spent the past decade and change doing his best to keep the vultures away, but it looked like the honeymoon was coming to an end. It was sheer luck this Kain had been so incredibly confident or just plain dumb enough to bet it all on Rock winning his first tournament. Terry had never expected an attack to come baited with Rock's mom - stupid of him, he knew perfectly well how much Rock missed her - and he'd never wanted to dig up more info than he had to. Cowardice, maybe. Just wanting the past to stay where it belonged. He should've known better.

Kain's plans hadn't worked out this time. There wasn't enough information to know if he'd try again anytime soon, but Terry couldn't afford to leave it all to chance. Looked like it was time to dig into the underworld and open the Pandora's Box of everything Geese had left behind, even if it blew up in his face.

The situation had held until Rock was old enough to stand on his own. Small blessings. And the kid had grown into a fine young man. Anyone trying to lure him into the darkness was going to have their work cut out for them.

Terry took another sip of beer. Nothing to do but take the problems as they came and trust it would always work out in the end. Had worked so far.

tfw you're the main character but the player picked someone else

tfw you put on an elaborate fighting tournament to manipulate a protagonist with a hidden ability and he gets knocked out before the semifinals.

(tfw you went out to a tournament and lost but you had fun and made a new friend)

I've always been fascinated by how you can sort of choose your own canon in fighting games (at least until the sequel comes out). And until SNK gives us MotW2, who's to say Butt DIDN'T win?