Chapter 8
Hwoarang Choi stood away from the door, his back to the mirrored wall of the dojang. Just over his master's shoulder he could see the Japanese pull something out of his jacket and hand it to Baek. They exchanged words briefly and then the Japanese placed his right hand over his left shoulder as though to hold it in place as they bowed to each other and turned away.
'Yeah, you'd better run,' Hwoarang wanted to call out. 'Japs. Cowards. Dogs.' He had many names for the Japanese, but this was not the time for them. Baek turned the paper in his hand over a few times as he walked back into the dojang before slipping into his dobok. Baek pointed to the ground at his feet and the gang knelt to the ground in front of him. Hwoarang was the last to knell.
Hwoarang pushed his knuckles deeper into the padded floor. He had laughed before when other students had displeased Master Baek and were forced to show their submission to him and had vowed long ago to never be in this position. Fortunately, the school was closed at the moment so only Hwoarang, his gang, and Baek were around so nobody was laughing.
Not that it really mattered, Hwoarang thought. Anyone foolish enough to laugh at him would later be picking up their teeth up from sidewalk. That was the only comforting thought he had as Baek lorded over him.
"I have told you about your public brawling before. I will tolerate it no longer. This is not why I taught you tae kwon do. You especially, Hwoarang, I expected much better from you."
Knowing he should keep his mouth shut, Hwoarang was horrified when he found words spewing from his mouth. "Well, what did you teach me for? You must have expected this. It's the only thing I'm good at. I'd rather die than be a fetching dog for the Japanese. Coming every time they call."
"Silence!" Baek tightened his fists for a moment before slowly relaxing them. "Don't mistake civility for submission. You can be civil and still be on guard. Do you know why you get into so many fights, Hwoarang? Not just because you go out looking for them. Even if you didn't start them you'd still get into fights. No, you get into fights because you show off too much. People want to challenge you because you're always bragging."
"Well, I've a right to. I'm the best there is."
"Really? If so why did you let me stop you out there, hm? You could have easily taken another shot at him. One more would have been all you needed to finish the fight, right? Prove you're best? But you didn't. Why?" Baek paused and regarded Hwoarang's leg. "Don't tell me this little bump was too much pain."
Hwoarang let out his breath in a hiss, struggling to not throw himself at Baek in his rage.
"What's the matter? Hit a nerve in more places than one?" Baek chided. "It was the bruise to your ego that kept you down. The fear that you had met your match. Use that match to start a fire within you. Stoke it and then temper it with discipline. That is the path to victory. That goes to all of you. Now, up. There's plenty of work that needs to be around the dojang and since you have excess energy let's put it to use." Baek began handing out brooms.
* * *
Bo nudged Hwoarang. "Yo, Hwoarang. Ten minutes and we split."
Hwoarang looked around the dojang to find that Baek was nowhere in sight. He must have left to get something to eat before the midday classes. The ten minute window was just to make sure that Baek was really gone and would not come back too soon in case he forgot something on his way out. "I can't. Baek asked me to help teach the junior class."
"Aw, come on, man. Screw the kiddies. They'll learn one way or another. Either here or on the street like us."
"We didn't learn everything on the streets. Baek looked after us," Hwoarang reminded Bo.
"Yeah, and look how we turned out. Besides we're still kids, and it's unhealthy for kids to not go outside and play. Don't tell me you're going soft, man."
Hwoarang snapped the broom that Bo held in half with a knife strike.
Bo dropped the two pieces of wood and backed away. "Okay, man. Chill. I didn't know you took the kiddies so seriously, but what if we need you out there?"
"If you need me then you don't deserve the money."
"I guess, but we all know you take the largest cut."
"That's because I do the most work. If you don't think that's fair, feel free to negotiate." Hwoarang shifted his feet to prepare for an attack.
Bo backed away further. "It's cool, man. You know, you deserve a break. Take it easy here with the kiddies. We'll get some money and meet up with you later."
Hwoarang jerked his head towards the door. "Get going. I'll cover for all of you." He watched them toss their cleaning supplies in a corner of the room and scramble out of the dojang like squirrels sensing a predator. Hwoarang went back to sweeping. The dojang was empty, yet he did not feel alone. This was home. As misguided as the rest of his gang was, Hwoarang knew that it was here that he learned to fight, to defend what was his, to live. It had been a place to let out his pain, to focus it to a finely honed knife to jab into the ribs of those who sought to keep him down in the gutters. He had been given a future here, regardless of whether it was the future Baek had hoped for a little boy on the streets.
He had spent years in this very room, staying after class to learn advanced moves from the older students and sometimes even from Baek himself. With Tae Kwon Do, he had finally found something he excelled at. As his reflexes quickened and his muscles learned the movements so completely that they soon became instinctive, he had found that there were few who could hope to match him. Today was his first draw, the first time he had actually been put to the ground without allowing it, and that was the most painful feeling of all - that he had been powerless to stop it. Perhaps he would have won, but it would have been just as much luck as it would be skill and that was no way to win a fight. The broomstick handle snapped in his hands. Startled he looked at the splintered ends briefly before easing the tension in his arms that had been building since he started thinking about his last fight.
"They'll never amount to much." Hwoarang jumped at Baek's voice behind him. "Relax," Baek told him. "I know where they're headed. I'm hoping you won't follow. That's why I taught you tae kwon do. Discipline. Focus. How's the leg? Better than that broom, I hope."
"It's all right."
Baek gestured for Hwoarang to approach. Hwoarang's eyes were level with Baek, both teacher and student were tall and lanky. They stood motionless for a long time before, without warning, Baek lashed out. Hwoarang instinctively blocked the low kick with his left leg and used the solidarity of Baek's stance to push himself back and away from any successive attacks.
"Good. You see?" Baek asked. "Tae kwon do is not just a technique for fighting. It is a way of life and the path to death - balanced on the ridge of your hand. It teaches you to always be ready, to never underestimate your opponent, to take the hits and keep fighting. This is what I hope you would have learned throughout these years, but you're like an unruly wind: light, swift, but lacking substance. Focus your energy, concentrate inward and become like a hurricane. Calm your center and you will become a whirlwind of fury to your enemies."
"Is that what you're going to do at the tournament?" When Baek eyed him, Hwoarang continued, "I could hear your conversation."
"I will."
"Let me go in your place, Master."
"You? Why? You've always told me that your fighting is for the streets, not tournaments. Why do you think I never bring you to them despite being one of my most talented students?"
"Because that Jap is gonna be there and I intend to settle the score."
Baek swatted the back of his head. "Don't be so hasty. Focus now. The Iron Fist tournament is very special. It's sponsored by a very rich Japanese named Mishima Heihachi who, if you really overheard the conversation, is Kazama's grandfather. You are fighting on their turf and that is not something to be taken lightly. You're not ready yet, Hwoarang."
"I'll be back in the morning, Master. I'll show you that I'm ready."
Baek nodded. It was a lesson that would take time to teach Hwoarang. Finding your center didn't mean everything centered around you, but there would be time to teach him this lesson tomorrow. He watched Hwoarang snatch up his leather jacket that hung at the dojang's entrance and storm out the door in the vain and useless manner of a summer rain.
* * *
At dusk, Baek closed the door to the dojang and began folding the padded mats and stacking them against one of the walls in the corner. Once a combination of scarlet and azure reminiscent of the Korean flag, they had become dingy, a few had even been broken open and had to be fixed with duct tape. One of these days he would have to scrape up the money to purchase new equipment. Satisfied that the dojang was once again back in some semblance of order, Baek sat at the desk in the back office. Most of the lights had been turned off after Hwoarang left to wherever he decided to spend the night, and shadows crept in from the corners to sit like a pack of hungry wolves at the edge of the light.
A binder had been left open on his desk. Sighing, Baek took a pen from a nearby holder and placed a large zero within the column for this month's new registrations. He totaled up the money from registrations and slowly opened the stack of envelopes that had been placed in a wire bin at the desk's corner and began totaling those. When finished, he shook his head and reached for a red pen. It was the MMA "sport" that was doing this - rotting the core behind the idea of combative arts. It had started out under the premise of pitting style against style, no time limits or weight divisions to simulate a real world fight. The reasoning was that a smaller fighter would have to have better style or skill to negate the physical strength advantage of a larger opponent. All of this was slowly eroded to just large people clubbing each other with fists bigger than their brains; there was no strategy, no art to it. It had morphed into its own "style" of fighting and advertised as the only real-life self defense system. Why? Because they didn't get true masters of the respective arts in the beginning tournaments.
Did they ask Baek to represent Tae Kwon Do? Did they have Marshall represent Jeet Kun Do or Ganryu to show the power of sumo? No. They got no names with paper degrees in martial arts. The sumo they put in the first cage match stood upright and just walked into kicks until his knee gave out and said later that his whole strategy was to "take some damage" but that he didn't expect to take so much. Stupid! Most of the martial arts school in the United States, which started the whole MMA syndication, were paper mills giving honorary degrees. The black belts weren't black belts because of their actual skill, but because they've spent enough time, and sometimes not even that. Baek figured they just got promoted to the next rank every year just because that was what is expected. What was he to do? Had he volunteered to fight, he would have had a problem of a different sort. Becoming "King of the Cage" just meant you had to keep coming back. You couldn't prove yourself just once and leave. You had to keep defending that title and sooner or later the odds would catch up to you.
MMA was all the craze now and there was nothing that Baek could do about it. The world had already ruled out traditional martial arts as just "sports" or "ways to stay fit." Even that didn't trickle down much to Baek's school because he didn't teach kickboxing in the contemporary sense of the world. Tae Kwon Do had kicks and punches, but in a style that required discipline of the mind, not just conditioning of the body. To use Tae Kwon Do required a certain amount of finesse, not just kicking banana trees with your bare shins to make them into clubs or punching in rhythm to some beatbox music and pretending you're in a club. It all seemed so ridiculous.
Baek placed the pen back in the holding cup and closed his eyes as he shut the binder. Another month of more expenses than revenue. Replacing the padded mats would have to wait. There was the sound of wood splintering and the door to the dojang was thrown from its hinges. Baek's eyes snapped open and he was on his feet before the door fell to the floor. Framed in the light was a tall, heavy figure.
"Get out," yelled Baek as he grabbed a staff from a weapon rack.
From the shadows, he could see a set of teeth smiling at him. "Baek Doo San: Master of Tae Kwon Do. Come face me, Ogre, the Night Drinker."
Baek twirled the staff around his body and brought it down hard atop of the figure's head. The staff snapped in half. Unfazed, Baek took the half he held and jabbed the jagged end into the figure's chest. A large fist crashed into the side of Baek's head, sending him hard into the floor. Turning onto his back, Baek watched his opponent step forward, nonchalantly brushing at the splinters sticking out from its chest. It was massive, with eyes that glowed red in the darkness and teeth that chattered with the laughter of murder.
Quickly, Baek kicked from the ground at its knee, pushing it back while he positioned himself back and onto his feet. Not wasting any breath in taunting the creature, Baek lashed out at its knees twice before side-stepping and kicking up to catch his opponent right beneath the chin. The head whipped back with enough force to put a man out for good, but instead of falling limply to the ground, it landed solidly on its back and rolled to its feet. It grinned again.
"This shall be most fun. A delicious battle and when you are broken, you shall become just another part of me."
Baek switched stances and attacked again. He had to keep moving, attack from unpredictable angles, hitting fast and hard. Sooner or later the damage would add up to the point where either the mind or the body would fail and give up. After a particularly good combination of kicks that staggered the creature, Baek jumped and spun, stretching out his rear foot so that by the time he rotated 180 degrees it would be fully extended and at the height of its velocity when it struck his opponent's temple. Instead of contact, his foot flew right past its head as it ducked down. A hand clamped down on his ankle and jerked down. Baek crashed into the hardwood floor, but the hand didn't let go. Instead, it jerked him sideways, swinging him up and around by his leg. When it did let go, Baek went flying into weapon racks lined against the wall, snapping spears, staves, and sending practice swords sprawling around him.
He had barely been able to push himself up to his feet when Ogre was next to him. Baek threw out a punch, but Ogre blocked it by raising its forearm. Its other hand shot forward and crashed into Baek's chest to send him head over heels backwards. He skidded to a stop lying on his back.
Ogre lifted him up by the lapel of his dobak. "Like that one? I learned it from someone you knew - Jun Kazama. And now I will drink your soul as I did hers." It opened its mouth and inhaled.
It was a strange feeling staring into that dark mouth. Baek's vision clouded and all he could hear was the air being sucked down Ogre's throat. He felt as if his lungs were collapsing, like a hand was clenching down on his chest and pulling the very soul from his body. In the whiteness of his vision, she appeared. Jun Kazama was as he remembered her from the second tournament. She had the same wisdom in her eyes, the same clean and simple beauty of purity and he suddenly felt as though his struggle was misguided. This being - this Ogre - was offering him what had been denied in life, a chance to be with Jun, to be one with her, merged so completely their souls would be intertwined. Jun turned to Baek and shook her head.
"Keep fighting, Baek. You mustn't give up." She pushed back when he reached for her. "You cannot help me here. Your presence will only strengthen it. Escape. Deny it its source of power and give my son the allies he needs."
The Ogre appeared behind her and with a single backhand sent Jun's image flying to pieces. Baek instinctively attacked. He speared his fingers into its left eye and felt the orb give way beneath the strike. The creature howled and weight returned to Baek's body.
He found himself on the ground at Ogre's feet. The beast was still holding the left side of its face, blood running thickly between its fingers. Baek decided against further attacks on Ogre - the adrenaline rush from the injury would kick in soon and there was no guarantee he would be able to attack the other eye. He had escaped its clutches once and wasn't about to press his luck now. He pushed himself onto his feet and ran.
From behind, he could hear the beast raging within the dojang. Baek kicked off a wall and onto a nearby side ladder that would normally be used as a fire escape and climbed to the roof. From his vantage point he watched Ogre burst through the side door into the alley had escaped to and hunt furiously for a few moments before ripping open a manhole cover and descending into the darkness. Ogre reached out and pulled the cover back over the hole and all was silent again.
Only when Baek was sure that Ogre had left did he climb down to the street level and reenter the dojang. Nothing within it had been spared Ogre's wrath. The weapon racks, the desk, training dummies, all of it had been smashed apart. Baek reached into his dobak and pulled out the envelope he had received from Jin.
"For you, Jun," he whispered. "I will live with only your memory. I will give your son the best ally I can provide whether he is ready or not." Baek placed the invitation upon the broken desk where he was sure Hwoarang would find it and left.