Yagami's Little Girl – The Feud
Written By: RinoaDestiny
King of Fighters, Iori Yagami and Kyo Kusanagi belong to SNK
Time flew. The allotted number of days passed, his wife's ashes were interred, and life moved on. Ayase and Uchida, better acquainted with him now at the actual burial, insisted on keeping in touch. He added their names and numbers to his phone just in case. O-bon arrived; paper lanterns lit night waters like fireflies and for the first time in his life, Iori added one to the moving stream. It felt final, like a chapter closed but he knew it hadn't ended.
Orochi continued mocking him, taunting him. He woke up sometimes in a sweat, nightmares plaguing his sleep. He was always wary now, alert to the possibility that he could Riot and destroy the place unbeknownst to him. With Aoi right next door, this haunted him and at the slightest chance that he might lose it, Iori removed himself from the premises. It led to many nights of walking alone down empty streets, hands in pockets, waiting for the crimson haze and the mindless bloodlust.
It led, in turn, to many mornings when he slept late, exhausted.
He continued searching for an answer to Aoi's dilemma. He knew of only one time when he wielded orange flames but that didn't give him any answers. He didn't even know what caused it, then. Taking a look through his ancestral records again might give him a direction to pursue but that meant returning to the ancient estate and Iori had sworn never to return.
The clan guardians were there also and he didn't want them asking questions.
He'd thought with the funeral behind him that he'd come to terms with those nagging feelings he still had no name for; yet, he was mistaken. Sometimes, he found himself struggling with something beyond melancholy, beyond loneliness, and there was nothing he could do about it. The mornings his pillow was wet – unsettling – and the days where he looked at the family shrine and felt a lack continued to disturb him.
With everything shifting around him, Iori grasped the one thing left he knew to be constant.
He went hunting.
"Kyo!"
His timing, in fact, was impeccable. Even after several months of inactivity on this front due to the demands of fatherhood, he knew where to look. Unlike him, Kyo Kusanagi was a man of habit and this made finding him easy. On this day, his rival was with Nikaido and Daimon, already engaged in an easy-going sparring match when he burst onto the scene yelling Kyo's name.
That stopped their sparring fast.
He sized them up and also their environment in one glance. Nikaido was annoyed; Daimon sized him up as well; Kyo stepped forward, cocky grin already on his face, and it was fortunate that they were by the riverside at a time when spectators were at an all-time low. Iori noted the fact that they were on the decline of the sloped hill not far from the water. While he could survive a dunking, both he and Kyo relied on their flames and a rude shove into the river wasn't going to brighten his day.
Not that Kyo would shove him, but a kick or punch? That'll do the same.
"Yagami," his rival said, advancing another step. "Still at this? You don't change, do you?"
"Enough talk. Fight me, Kyo."
"Aw, man. Why don't we ditch this place?" Benimaru shot him a look of distaste. "You don't need to fight him, Kyo. Tell him to get lost."
"I'll fight him," Goro said, stepping forward. "Want to try some new techniques."
That made Iori remember the old historical records of samurai trying out new swords on convicts or the unfortunate commoner. Even if Daimon had a sword, he was sure he could handle him. If Daimon wanted to fight, he'd beat him and then move onto Kyo.
His rival, though, looked ready to fight.
"Thanks, Goro but unnecessary. Benimaru, we stay. I'll fight him."
"Aw, why?"
"It's been a while. Hasn't it, Yagami?"
Iori grinned. With all that has happened in his life, this was unexpected. Usually, Kyo wouldn't give him the time of day, would say something similar to Nikaido. And now he wanted to fight him? Last time he spoke to Kyo, the man was a wet murderous wreck. Now, he looked more himself. Perhaps his situation improved in the months Iori was absent from following him around.
His grin grew wider. This was going to be a good fight.
"Eeesh, Yagami. Stop creeping me out."
He ignored the blond pretty boy, focusing only on his rival. "It has, Kyo. Prepare for your defeat."
"Your defeat, you mean. Guys, back. Come on, Yagami! Let's do this!"
Let's, indeed!
Kyo opened with a rushing punch, which Iori blocked and it was like being back in the arena again. There was a forcefulness behind the blow that Iori knew Kyo didn't have during the last tournament – had he gotten stronger? – and because he knew Kyo, he continued maintaining his defense as the punch chains started. Once the last blocked hit terminated, Iori swept low, striking out with both legs to topple Kyo.
Which should've worked. Had worked before.
Instead, Kyo leapt high and struck out with one leg, clipping him in the head.
The hell? His reflexes are faster!
Kyo had moved off, gained some distance. Iori scrambled to his feet, gauging his opponent. Faster reflex time, blows were more decisive, and he hadn't even busted out the flames yet. His rival was confident of victory; Iori could see why. Some matches they'd fought to draw, while others were him eating dirt. While the possibility of him ever killing Kyo was fast shrinking, at least he wanted to claim a win.
He had gained some skills in the time he lost his flames.
Yasakani-style martial arts and the insane speed he had when he didn't have to play the distance game with his opponents, let alone Kyo. Why relegate it to the background when he still retained the muscle memory of those hard-earned skills?
Why not mix them up a little?
Why not…
He rushed Kyo, letting that animalistic instinct take over. Saw Kyo's eyes widen, then narrow and Iori raked the space between them, scratching the leather of the other's jacket. His nails shivered where they hit the zipper as the metal screeched. Three tattered slashes also appeared on his rival's forearm. He saw blood against exposed flesh, against the soft marbled texture of black leather. He felt his eyes dilate in glee; his nostrils flared at the scent of acrid iron in the air.
"Sonovabitch!"
Kyo lowered his arm from the swift block, dripping blood onto the matted grass. There was deadliness in his keen gaze – Iori noticed he'd ignored Nikaido's outburst – and it was an expression Iori anticipated. They weren't playing around. They were fighting seriously and this pleased Iori. His fingers twitched to follow up with fire.
"Heh. Come on, Yagami."
Now to play the distance game. Pain flared – it always did – at the base of his fingers, then up the length of his arm and then deep within him; Iori mastered it, channeled the fire, and launched the fiery projectile along the ground. Grass withered and burned in a dark track as the violet flames ripped through them. Kyo had three options here: One – to retreat until his projectile died off; Two – counter with his own, because Iori knew he had one, or; Three – jump over it and start angling in his direction.
Neither one nor two happened. Three did, instead.
With that jump forward, Kyo was in his range. Arching his leg up to hit Kyo and draw him in, what he did not expect was for Kyo to dodge and get close to him. Too close. Iori barely had time to react before the brunet grabbed his shirt, threw him downward and followed, smashing his elbow straight into his ribs.
The pain was unwelcome.
Something snapped – shit! – leaving him seeing stars for a brief second. Kyo rolled off him, letting him recover and while that was just like his rival, Iori didn't feel like conceding. He'd suffered worse – Goenitz, Ash Crimson, fucking Orochi were worse – and he'd fought through those battles with broken bones, Riot of Blood, bleeding and bruises, and he'd survived. What was a broken rib in a fight against Kyo Kusanagi compared to those?
He got up, although somewhat slowly.
He might've been eager to fight but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't looking to die.
"Yagami, you sure?" Kyo hovering on the edges, watching him. "I heard something break."
He needed to call on that training he underwent without flames. Maybe he could move fast enough to get in some blooded hits.
"Okay." He heard Kyo sigh. "Come on."
Iori focused, pushing the insistent discomfort to the back of his mind. The speed, the rush of adrenaline as he closed on his prey, the tiniest bit of bloodlust – he drew on those, allowed just enough so that he didn't lose himself. He wanted to land strikes, not go baying off like a wild animal. Kyo had been surprised before but the same trick wouldn't work twice.
Kyo Kusanagi was no fool, either.
With all his senses attuned, sharpened, he could smell the river, feel the grass grind and pulp beneath his shoes, see the clouds scuttle across the hot blue sky, and mark how Kyo's stance set. Blood still flowed under the slashed leather sleeve; besides that, the other man's footwork was steady and his eyes were calm and resolute. He couldn't have asked for a better rival, if it wasn't already given to him due to his ancestral history.
Iori grinned.
Opened up his re-entry into the fight with another blazing projectile.
This time, Kyo didn't leap over it. He countered it, an orange to his purple. Kyo rushed him, flames already flickering and changing colors from orange to crimson to yellow in his offensive hand. Iori summoned his, the length of fire snaking along his arm, violet with shades of blue highlighting its dark heart. They collided like battle lines merging – Kyo extending, flames rippling off him and scorching the collar of Iori's shirt; Iori ascending, a sheet of fire twisting off him, purple licking against the black of Kyo's jacket.
Iori fell back. Saw Kyo do the same. Heat burned under his collar.
The stench of burnt leather lingered in the air.
Before Kyo could regain advantage, Iori closed the gap, swinging out with his fists. There was a tugging pain but he ignored it as his first blow connected, smashing hard against Kyo's temple. The other man staggered, only for his second hit to land. Entwining his fingers together, Iori leapt forward and up, slamming his locked hands square into Kyo's face.
His rival sprawled, stunned.
Iori grimaced. The pain in his chest had worsened. He had to continue or he lost his advantage. Just the thought of leaning down and seizing Kyo, though, made his body scream in protest. It was just a little break. Why?
In the short span of time he hesitated – damn his body for throwing the fight – Kyo had regained his feet and now approached him, careful and slow. "Yagami, let's call it a draw. No one won. You're hurt. I refuse to keep fighting if you can't continue."
"I had you."
"I believe that," Kyo said, surprising him. The Kusanagi heir rarely conceded even to this. "You probably did, but you're hurt. The fight's over."
"Next time, Kyo."
The brunet looked grave. "I know. You just can't quit, huh, Yagami?"
Iori didn't say anything.
Kyo sighed. "Where do you live? If it's not far, I'll drop you off."
That took him by surprise. "What? But –"
"Far as I'm concerned, this stupid feud ends with us and I don't think you really want to kill me, Yagami. You've had opportunities. You never took them. Why?"
Iori didn't know himself. He did have chances – could've killed Kyo while in Riot of Blood, but somehow didn't. Did he just enjoy the fighting? But that couldn't be. Hatred of Kyo – of the Kusanagi clan – had been beaten into him. He'd hated Kyo for years on end now. So why didn't he kill him when opportunities arose? Why was he prolonging the inevitable?
"Your silence speaks for you. Come on, I'll give you a ride."
"Unnecessary. I'll walk."
"With a broken rib?" Kyo raised an eyebrow. "Don't be stupid, Yagami."
Iori huffed under his breath – the pain was getting worse – since he had no retort. Only his pride kept him from clutching his chest and given enough time, he would do that. While he would've left Kyo to deal with the situation himself, his rival offered him a ride home. On his bike. His declared enemy and known rival.
Somehow, it didn't seem fair.
"Kyo, you okay?" Benimaru Nikaido loped by, stopping before Kyo and giving his arm a critical stare. "You need that taken care of."
"It can wait. You and Goro go on without me. I'm dropping him off."
"You what?" The blond man's jaw dropped open. "Kyo, you sure you ain't knocked upside the head there?"
"I'll be fine. He's hurt. Snapped a rib."
"Then let him deal with it. He comes out of the tournaments okay."
"We're not in a tournament right now." Iori blinked. Kyo's tone was testy. It reminded him of Kyo sopping wet, furious, and dealing with issues beyond his control. He noticed Nikaido register the sudden shift in his friend's voice, holding up his hands to placate him. "It was a fair fight. I'm not leaving him here to walk home, wherever that is."
"You trust him?"
"He hasn't killed me, yet, Benimaru."
"Yet," the other said darkly.
"Enough. I'll catch up with you guys later. Let my folks know I'll be back in time for dinner. Mom's cooking, so I'm not missing that."
"Watch yourself, Kyo. Don't trust him a bit."
"You let me deal with that. Go." It astonished Iori how easily Kyo was able to dismantle Nikaido's concerns and then dismiss him. If they were in feudal times, Kyo would've been a great lord. He could see why Kusanagi was Japan Team's leader. "You need a hand there, Yagami?"
"I can walk."
"Let me know if you need help. My bike's there," the other man said, pointing to a gleaming vehicle above the incline. "May be difficult going uphill."
"Hmph."
"Suit yourself." Kyo shrugged and began walking but never left his side. It was strange but many things in Iori's life were already incomprehensible. What was one more? As though Kyo read his mind, the other man glanced at him. "You're wondering why I'm doing this, right, Yagami?"
Iori kept silent.
"Benimaru won't understand because he doesn't know."
He knew, then, where this was going.
"I owe you, Yagami."
"For what?" The words gritted out of him; the pain was icy now and it was getting difficult to breathe.
"For what you told me that day. You're right – my dad was worried."
"He would be."
"You okay, Yagami?" The brunet extended a hand, concern writ all over his face. "You're sweating and pale. Let me help you."
"You've done enough."
"Don't be that way. Look – give me your address, I'll drop you off, and then you can forget this ever happened, okay?" Iori saw the drying bloodstains through the slashes in Kyo's outstretched arm. The man's jacket was ruined but his rival didn't seem to mind. Odd that Kyo was more worried about him.
"Nikaido's right. You should get that looked at."
"Eh, it's healing. Don't think I need stitches. What about you?"
"I'll take care of myself."
"Yeah, that's you." Kyo reached out a hand, caught his shoulder when he stumbled. "Okay, you do need some help. Don't look at me like that," the other man said; Iori glared with as much intensity as he could muster. "You can do whatever you want after, but now?"
He wanted to retort but it hurt to breathe. Point conceded – how humiliating.
"Damn, Yagami. Don't get you sometimes."
"Can say…the same."
"That's two of us." Kyo offered his arm again with that same infuriating concern. "Take my help this time, Yagami. You helped me last time. We're even, okay?"
With an argument like that, even Iori couldn't refuse.
Besides, he was hurting. Only a fool would deny it.
The bike ride was uneventful. Iori had never been on a bike before but Kyo had taken passengers besides Yuki and was aware of the trepidation of each newcomer. That put his mind at ease. As well, Kyo's bike came with a new form of a back seat belt, which removed the awkward question of how the hell Iori was going to hold on during the trip. He sure as hell wasn't holding onto Kyo – Kyo wasn't up for that, either – and when Kyo showed him the setup, Iori almost sighed in relief.
So he gave Kyo directions, leaned his back against Kyo's, and watched as they sped by cars, trucks, bicycles, pedestrians, and the general muck of traffic in Suita. They passed the crosswalk he'd often crossed before and began to head towards the quieter residential neighborhoods. The rumble of the bike wasn't too discomforting, even though the pain continued to burn cold in his chest and Iori needed painkillers soon before he passed out.
He tended to self-medicate. He also hoped he had enough cloth bandages on hand to wrap himself. Being immobilized for a week or so sucked, but he'd been there before.
Thankfully, for most of the ride, Kyo was silent. Iori couldn't see him from his position, but feeling the other man tense or relax when the traffic ebbed and flowed told him he was attentive. Good for that, because ending up as paste on the road wasn't how Iori saw himself going out.
At one point, though, Kyo whistled through his helmet. "Nice little area here, Yagami. You can afford this?"
"Yeah," he said, the one word alone bringing an inevitable spike of pain.
"Thought you'd live somewhere rougher."
"Ha."
A minute more and Iori glimpsed the exterior of the apartment complex where he lived. "Right here. I'll walk the rest."
"You kidding, Yagami? Don't want to pick you off the road."
"I'll manage." He unbuckled himself, made sure both feet were planted firm on the ground, and tried walking. If staggering like a blind drunk could be called walking; Kyo grabbed him by the arm as he lurched, almost losing his balance.
"Whoa shit, Yagami! Careful."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." His rival's expression was stern behind the helmet's face shield. Iori tried to place his eyes, distracted by his wan reflection in the visor. "You're not and I'll walk you to the damn door before you kill yourself doing so."
"Why so helpful, Kyo?"
"Why'd you help me last time? You did, you know."
"I spoke to you. I didn't do anything."
"Yagami, I spoke to my parents after that. When I got home. My dad was worried. My mom listened. She's turning my dad around. Told him it wasn't worth our reputation if their son went mentally unstable."
"She said that?"
"In so many words, yeah. She's a great persuader."
Iori didn't know what to say. Instead, he jerked his arm a bit; Kyo released him, still watching to make sure he didn't plant his face on the ground next. He tried a step. Made it but the resulting pain folded his arm across his chest. He thought of the painkillers in his bathroom cabinet and wished his feet would obey and move faster.
"Yagami."
"What?"
"We're even now, right? Score settled, even if you'll be back to fight again."
"I'll find you next time."
"Yeah, we both know that." Kyo waved his remark off, like he had that day during the rainstorm. "Hey, if you need any help –"
"What?"
"You helped me. We're even but my offer holds. If you need help, just ask."
Iori kept his mouth shut. He had several things he could've asked Kyo about, even standing here half-turned in the street but those questions would give too much away. How was he to ask about Kusanagi ancestral records – why would he even be interested? – without revealing that it wasn't for himself? If he did that, Kyo would ask and then Kyo would find out he had a daughter. Which meant giving away that he had an heir. Which meant…
Kyo meant well. But in the end, they belonged to rival clans and there were some things Iori dared not trust him with. His inner circle was small – he meant to keep it that way.
He nodded. Turned to leave. Saw Kyo nod back. Heard the man's bike speed off.
Somehow, he made it across the street – gritting his teeth the entire way – and through the door, digging the keys out of his pocket. Each movement was a stab of agony – one fucking broken rib – that he swore at even as he climbed the stairs one slow step at a time. Sweat beaded and poured off him. His teeth chattered; he ground his molars, keeping his pained cries locked in his throat. Show no weakness.
He'd shown enough today.
By the time he reached his door and went through it, Iori was on the verge of passing out. Stumbling, forgetting all else, he hurried to the bathroom, ripped the cabinet door open, palmed his painkillers and swallowed them dry. Let his feet carry him into his room, where his knees gave out and he collapsed onto the floor. The world fuzzed, sparks of light in the encroaching dark.
Before the darkness claimed him, Iori let out a wry laugh.
He'd thought he was done being surprised.
He was very very wrong about that.