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Intimate Rivals	By : Salysha Category: +S through Z > Tekken Views: 5835 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Tekken or any of the characters in it. I do not make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
HeartfulPeach,
thank you for your review! I gave a more detailed reply to you over at FF.Net,
where the site fancied displaying the entire message instead of cutting it in
half. Thanks so much for dropping by on both sites!
--
Chapter 11: Dangerous Games
Hwoarang turned on his side and tried not to get angry. Jin
still hadn�t returned to their room, and it was well past the time when they
usually turned in. He wasn�t his brother�s keeper, and Jin wasn�t obliged to
keep track of his whereabouts to him, but still....
This wasn�t the first time. The instant the new schedules
were announced, Jin changed. The first night, he had been good enough to at
least show up in bed. Tight-lipped and somehow agitated though he had been,
they had at least managed to fit in the same space. They had slept close, but
it hadn�t been cuddling. Then, he had stopped showing up altogether. The
furtive looks were gone; Jin wasn�t even looking at him anymore. He trained and
fought during the day, more reclusive and elusive than ever, but he didn�t return
until late at night, or sometimes even morning, when Hwoarang had already gone
to sleep. They missed each other in the morning when Hwoarang set out early and
Jin was left back, crashed out.
It wasn�t like Hwoarang had more extra time on his hands,
either. He knew Jin had been given real matches at a grueling pace before
theirs was due, but so was he. He had to train just the same, and he had to
attend and concentrate. Kazama was suddenly back in the game full force,
complete with a schedule that almost seemed designed to wear him out after a
leisurely start, but it was no excuse. It wasn�t enough.
Jin was avoiding him purposely, and Hwoarang found on the
verge of seething despite the earlier attempt to keep his cool and not act like
Jin owed him something, like common decency. If Jin wanted it this way, so be
it. And if he couldn�t show up to sleep at a decent time, that was his choice.
For the first time, Hwoarang monopolized the entire bed and spread himself on
it comfortably, instead of curling up in the corner so Jin would fit in easily
when he arrived.
Yet, in the morning, he felt like a downright bastard when
he found Jin sleeping on the floor beside the bed, huddled to himself under a
thin blanket. Hwoarang watched him, ache and guilt tugging at his heart. He reached
out to touch the silky hair or brush Jin�s arm for a good morning, but then he withdrew
his hand with a sad face. He got up quietly to avoid disturbing Jin and drew
the blanket off the bed and over him. Then he took his things and went to dress
in the bathroom.
--
Hwoarang carried on, associating with people when he had to
amid the ferocious training, but it was like he wasn�t even there. He didn�t
connect mentally or register the passing of days intellectually.
He had fights and, in all honesty, he didn�t remember them
afterward. Without the papers, he wouldn�t have known whom he had fought
against. In the second one, he nearly forgot to pay his respects after the
game. He couldn�t tell how he had won, either, and the haze cleared only when
he found himself holding onto his side after the matches, wondering why it
smarted so and why he hadn�t noticed getting hurt. He found himself clutching
his abdomen and coughing bile in the bushes, and still wouldn�t have known he had
won without the crowd chanting his name. He was making a name, and he didn�t
notice.
He was hell-bent to settle things
with Jin, and yet, as he was ready to go back, his step slowed, and the burning
intent to return changed to reluctance. The reluctance turned to hurt and anger
when, once he did venture to their shared accommodation, Jin was never there and
only passed by fleetingly in the common areas. It wasn�t like he couldn�t have
stopped Jin and cornered him, but for what? Jin obviously didn�t want to be
approached and talk about the fight or what would happen when one of them would
be eliminated. They were at sudden death already.
The turning point came one night before the fated match,
which had become the elephant in the living room. Jin was sitting on the bed,
but stood up as Hwoarang entered the room, a training bag in his grasp and a waning
adrenaline rush from practice on his back. He nearly jumped at seeing Jin; it
was like stumbling upon a rare species, and Hwoarang had been sure he was likelier
to chance across a giant panda than a domestic Kazama. He smiled ruefully. �Hi.�
�I have to talk to you about something.�
There it came: We need to talk. No softening the blow,
no exchanging pleasantries, not so much as a greeting. Just, we need to talk. Hwoarang went to the
dresser. �Yeah?� he said, reaching a friendly note. He could be overreacting,
and Jin could be talking about something else.
�It is important.�
Always was. The
blue washed over Hwoarang, and his eyebrows knit together sharply before he
mastered the surge of emotion. �Yeah, Jin, go ahead. I�m listening.� He reached
into the bag and tried to make out as though nothing was amiss and he was just
getting the gear out to air.
�The fight is tomorrow--�
I know.
�--and I don�t know what happens there.�
Hwoarang gave a dry laugh that died quickly. �No one knows.
Kind of the point.�
�No, what I meant was....� Jin squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed
his forehead with his fingers. �What I mean is.... I don�t know what happens,
but... if I win-- I need to know you won�t hate me.�
Come again?
Hwoarang turned. �You don�t know how it�s going to go. It
could be either way.� He wondered what had gotten into Jin�s head.
�This match is important. This tournament is important. I
have to win.�
Now, Hwoarang was getting a little riled. Where was Kazama
coming off with this? Did he think he was the only one placing his honor and
reputation on the line, that he was the only one playing for victory? He
frowned. �You don�t know if it�s you or me who wins. Don�t start acting like
it�s you automatically �cause you�ve no reason to
assume.�
Jin rubbed at his temple. �No, you don�t understand. If I
win....� Jin didn�t continue; he simply ceased talking and looked around
anywhere but at Hwoarang. Yet, the unfinished sentence wafted in the air until
it grew heavy enough to brew a storm.
�Or maybe you don�t, and maybe you need to stop saying you
will,� Hwoarang said between his teeth and took a step forward. On its own volition,
his hand clenched. �Or do you think you are so much better than me?�
�That�s not what I think,� Jin said, uncertain now. He
averted his eyes and licked his lips, trying to avoid confrontation.
�Isn�t it?� Hwoarang whispered. �What am I supposed to think,
Jin? You don�t talk to me for days; you act like I don�t exist--� He stopped
himself in time before the bleeding-heart got sickening. �And then you spring
this shit all over me, like you�re the one destined to win.�
The words didn�t matter anymore, when deeds spoke everything.
Overnight, he had become the least of Jin�s priorities, and now Jin was ending
it because he was already sure he�d win. Jin was ashamed. Jin couldn�t even
bear to look at him. Rejection hurt unbearably, yet angered Hwoarang to new
planes.
�Have it your way,� Hwoarang choked and slammed the door
behind him.
He did go out wandering, knowing that it didn�t make a damnedest
bit of difference. Where else would he go, if not back, sooner or later? It occurred
to him that he could always find Steve Fox and make good of his offer for a
place to stay. Yeah, he could do that, and he could also cut his balls off and
wear a skirt. Maybe he could go stay with his mother, too, while he was at it.
The entire line of thought was still eating at him when he
returned to the room, brusquely gathered any useful items, and made himself a
bed on the wall-side, as far away from the bed as he could. He saw that Jin was
trying to reach out to him, but he was too angry to acknowledge it. Jin tried
to say something contrite, but it was too easy to brush off the feeble attempt.
And yet, as Hwoarang waited for sleep in the darkness and the anger cooled, he
wondered if Jin was tearing on the inside as much as he was. How could they
have deteriorated so quickly?
In the morning, he still wanted to sort things out and
bridge the rift, but there was never a chance. He rose early, while Jin
remained passed out. Hwoarang felt rotten; he knew Jin wasn�t sleeping well--of
course he knew--and he wasn�t helping it any. He had lost heart. With a
dejected look at Jin, who looked worn out even asleep, Hwoarang left.
--
This was it.
Hwoarang jerked awake; reality had woken him with a blow to
the head. He looked around. The colors showed luminous now and bore into his
vision sharp as a spike: fluffs of cotton-white shone against the blue night
like neon. The stage setting was superb.
The shady plains and the awe-inspiring image of a dwelling
looming in the background weren�t the only things around: Jin was there. Even their
dress accentuated the rift: Hwoarang presented himself in a perfect white
uniform of taekwondo; Jin, in brooding karate colors, which exalted darkness
despite their token spark. Jin himself lacked any: his posture slumped.
One thing struck Hwoarang most importantly: Jin was eyeing
him. He straightened up, all too aware of how the commotion was fading, a
dead-on signal that the start was near. They didn�t have long before the
cameras started rolling.
He wasn�t the only one who felt it. Eyes on the ground, Jin
spoke. �I am sorry.�
Jin�s misery wasn�t one-sided. The hell was wrong with them?
He was being stupid, and Kazama was being a selfish prick. They�d had a
good thing going, and here they were, about to blow it before anything had
happened. They were playing dangerous games with each other. �Me, too.�
They were seconds away from starting. Anything else said to
patch things up, it had to be now.
�We�ll work it out, after this. Let�s just see this through.�
Jin didn�t even seem able to acknowledge him, but he did
some kind of a distressed shake of his head, and then it started. The stage
came to life, and the emotions on their faces died. Jin sharpened and said
something in Japanese, a warning.
Hwoarang�s face tightened. May the better man win, he thought and wished that a morsel of him
could have believed that. This wasn�t what he wanted anymore. He punched in the
air and showed two kicks that landed him soundly on the ground. His opening sequence
came from the never-changing set of moves, and he drew upon it. Routine gave
him safety. Anything that came after the opening, he had to think on his feet.
Their time started running out.
--
Hwoarang balanced on his feet, continuously in motion. One of
them had to make the first move, but Jin was sitting on the fence as much as he
was. Entire seconds passed, but then Jin charged.
Jin�s strength was explosive, and his speed frightening. Hwoarang
had admired his qualities and known to expect them, and still he could only soften
the fast blows Jin directed at his midriff. The pain was excruciating enough to
make him see stars and send him doubling over, but his mind sped even quicker.
They really were doing this. Kazama was serious about wanting to win, and he wasn�t
holding back. He drew up and foiled Jin with his crossed arms. Jin was visibly surprised
at the quick counter, and their gazes locked.

Still riding on the surprise, Hwoarang grabbed him by the
arm, prayed to avoid nightmares despite the similarities to Baek�s match, and
landed a terrible kick at Jin�s neck. With a yelp, Jin was sent flying until he
crashed the ground with a sickening thud. At least the ground was more
forgiving than the asphalt. Hwoarang himself should have felt remorse, but the
feeling wasn�t there. He inhaled painfully, pressing at his side, but his break
was brief until Jin was up again and on the offensive.

Kazama had skill; that, Hwoarang had never contested. That
didn�t make Jin more skilled than he. Jin was strong, but so was he. Jin made
for a formidable fighter, but that didn�t mean he was better. Hwoarang really
wanted to believe that, as Jin was fast driving him across the arena with a stunning
motley of kicks and hits. He was blocking Jin with effort, but it was too much,
and he was taking damage in the process. He wouldn�t be able to hold off much
lo�
The last of Jin�s attacks hit, just as Hwoarang was one
strike from being taken down. Jin stopped, completely motionless. It was as
though the air around him cracked and electrified. That was when it hit
Hwoarang: he had seen this happen before.
Julia Chang had lost like this. She had allowed Kazama to regroup, and it had been her doom.

Hwoarang leapt forward and delivered two fast jabs that were bound to give Jin
a migraine. Jin recovered fast, and Hwoarang acted on wild intuition: he stole
a kick on Jin�s ankle from the back, and Jin�s footing wavered. In a flash, he switched
his attack and got Jin in the face. Jin fell down with a groan.
The break bought him the precious time to visualize his progression.
Jin nearly made him lose his balance as he rose, but Hwoarang got a lucky
break. Jin readied his fists, but Hwoarang charged near, grabbed him by the arm,
and pushed himself in the air.
The journey up was slow, and time stopped. Jin was
momentarily stunned; Hwoarang�s eyes drifted closed as he recited the trajectory
in his head. The arc came to an end, and he began falling. Hwoarang began to
twist himself around his axis. One foot landed near Jin�s head, sending him crouching
in pain. The other followed suit, bringing him down. Hwoarang let go and landed,
well-coordinated.
He put distance between them as much as he could before Jin
rose. He was nearly at the end of his rope. Jin, too, had to be, but he
persisted. Jin approached him, and he made for a final attempt: instead of
relying on his beloved kicks, he used his strikes. He struck Jin thrice, and the
last hit sent Jin flying backward. It was a showy move, but not one that would hurt
too much. Kazama would be up in no time.
Hwoarang had cashed in his last chance of a breather, though
he tried not to let the exhaustion show. He was catching his breath, readying
himself in a stance for the final showdown. He wouldn�t have it in himself to
fend Jin off any longer. All the other fights had been over soon, but this nightmare
was endless.
The bell tolled for them.
The time stopped.
Hwoarang looked at the numbers, now running on glaring single
digits. But if the fight had finished... and he was the last man standing... the
fight had been ruled to a knockout, and that made him the winner. It was over,
and he had won. He had bested Kazama Jin.
The entirety of it boggled Hwoarang�s mind. After all this time of not knowing
which one of them was the best, they finally had an answer. He finally knew.
He had won, and a conclusion was expected of him. He pulled
a set of moves to meet the rules of engagement. He had won, but it didn�t seem too
important. Jin was still down.
�Hey, Kazama... no hard feelings,� he called out.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Tick...
...tock.
�What the hell? What
are you--�
--
The call came in at daybreak.
Since the conversation the previous day, Baek Doo San had
had an ill feeling he hadn�t been able to shake off. He had answered the phone
then. Official Moon would like to know
where Baek Doo San�s letter could be forwarded to. He expressed his sincere
apologies that the task had not been completed to the fullest satisfaction.
What? Official Moon apologized that Baek
Doo San�s letter had not been delivered already and would like to know�
They had never forwarded his letter to Hwoarang, despite his
specific instructions to do so. Someone had misplaced the letter, and they had
noticed it only now. That meant....
Worry chiseled Baek�s face. Hwoarang hadn�t learned of his
survival, nor received his instructions regarding the tournament. Baek was
troubled; in a fit of anger, he had done the boy great injustice. He wanted to seek
Hwoarang out, but Hwoarang was scheduled for a fight, so he would wait, against
his better judgment.
His sleep had been erratic until he had gathered his
belongings and moved to the other tournament house. In the old days, the
fighters had stayed together, but he supposed the times must change. The change
had even worked to his advantage, since he was still allowed to stay on despite
a defeat early on. At the other lodging, he had run into a wakeful Marshall Law.
The old sins had been atoned for in the twenty-odd years, and they had engaged
in a pleasant conversation, even if something had seemed horribly wrong to him.
He had surmised it must be Marshall himself, and he expressed his condolences
over the family tragedy. Just as they had moved on to lighter subjects, as Baek
was nearly chuckling at something Marshall
had said, the call came.
Baek listened to the speaker numbly. He ended the call and
left Marshall
without a word of goodbye. Baek threw himself into making arrangements, and
within minutes, he had gone.
The official announcement was made half an hour later.
Hwoarang, from Korea,
had been dropped out of the tournament and taken to the hospital. Another
Korean, Baek Doo San, had forfeited. Jin Kazama, Japan, was proceeding to the next
round.

Cordial thanks to Gypsie for the
proofreading!
Published February 18, 2010.
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Intimate Rivals