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Hwoarang slammed into the pavement with a grunt. He could feel his skin tear and heard trickling of blood drip onto the asphalt. He groaned and swiped away the blood and tears from his face. All he could hear around him was the taunting laughs and sneers from the rivaling group.
“That all you got, kid?! That was fucking pathetic!” the older teen scoffed as his friends backed him with mocking roars.
Hwoarang gritted his teeth and tried to will his tears to stop falling. His raw and cut fists clenched around nothing as he pushed himself back to his shaking feet.
“I… I wasn’t ready!” he argued. His gaze turned from his foe to his fellow teammates. They all looked down at him with disapproval and malice. Their eyes flitted between Hwoarang’s pitiful form to the other gang members mockingly counting the money the Korean boy lost them.
“A-a redo! A rematch! Just-just give me one more chance!” Hwoarang pleaded as he tried in vain to keep his voice steady.
The leader of his group rolled his eyes. “And let you burn more of our cash? Fat chance!”
“I’ll… I-I… double it!” Hwoarang yelled. Eyes begging, he turned his gaze towards the other gang. “Double the pot!”
A cacophonous chorus erupted around him. Swears and profanity were spat at him from all sides. But he had to. He had to prove himself. He could do this! He could do this! He knows he can! They just have to give him a chance. Please give him another chance!
“Only if it’s coming out of your pocket!” his leader shouted over the noise. “If you lose, you pay with your life, you got that?!”
Hwoarang’s limbs shook. Tears threatened to fall. He felt so small.
But he could do this. He knew he could!
He was strong. He was strong, damn it!
“It’s a deal!” the rivaling leader laughed, “It’ll be fun to watch this little punk die!”
The circle around him and the other fighter erupted. Voices mixed. Money was passed. Bodies condensed into a ring. It was happening. Another fight was about to break out. Another chance for Hwoarang to prove himself. His body was shaking from the anxiety and strain. Prejudice looks and even worse slurs were thrown at him in prep for the fight. Hwoarang tried to not let it get to him, but it felt impossible for the words not to penetrate through his skin. It made him shake more. It made the nerves heighten. It made his fatigue sink further into his soul.
He could do this though. He could!
Could he?
With the volume of voices rising, his foe got into a fighting stance - if one could call it that. His hands were balled into loose fists and held barely up to his chest. He bounced on his toes and fixed a cocky smirk on his lips. Hwoarang didn’t have to be a genius to see the fighter underestimate him. The gang underestimated him. The crowd underestimated him.
Perfect.
His own cocky smile stretched onto his lips and he steadied his arms in a firm taekwondo stance. The mask of anxiety and immaturity melted away as the fight started with a ding of a crude bell. His foe could only pull a look of confusion for a split second before Hwoarang advanced with a crushing speed.
With a war cry, the Korean boy launched into a flurry of kicks and punches. The other fighter didn’t have a chance to steady themselves before powerful kicks sent them stumbling back. Hwoarang’s stance was perfect. His form was immaculate. And, most importantly, his power and speed were unmatched. Hwoarang gave the prick his strongest combinations that left his legs and fists aching for more bloodshed. His opponent didn’t even have a chance to counter-attack before their face was black, red, and bruised.
Not even a full 30 seconds passed before the fighter was stumbling and falling to the ground unconscious with a pathetic groan.
The crowd was stunned into silence. Well, half the crowd was.
Members of Hwoarang’s gang exploded in howling laughter as they quickly collected their winnings amid the opponent’s shock.
“Goddamn, Hwoarang!”
“Strongest fighter I know!”
“You’re a fuckin’ great actor!”
“You sure showed him, Blood Talon!”
Hwoarang couldn’t help but scoff at the pitiful, unconscious fighter and his bewildered gang. “I’d hardly even call that a scrap,” he taunted as he was pulled away from the rival gang with sneers and rude gestures on their coattails.
Laughs and taunts followed the group into the night. The air was crisp and the night was late, but the gang celebrated their win at a nearby bar. It was filled with howling, screaming, and a lot of passed drinks and it was just how Hwoarang liked to commemorate an end to a fight.
“Yo, Hwoarang, drink up!” his leader would say, voice already slurred. He was underage but he still accepted the beer.
“This shit is disgusting!” he chuckled as he finished the bottle. His gang laughed around him and continued to get wasted.
And they would do it again just like they did every night.
The gang walked the streets, trying to eye their next target. The older members painted themselves to be big and bad to deter the average businessman from approaching them. Hwoarang stuck to the back and played his role as the little guy until they could find their next score.
It wasn’t the most honorable way to fight - Beak would have his head if he saw him now - but he didn’t care. The cash he was always divvied up was nice, but he was really in it for the thrill of the fight. There was nothing like the adrenaline pumping through him when fists flew. He hasn’t had a real rush ever since he transferred to the shitty Mishima Polytech, but he could dream.
As if he summoned it into existence, a member of his gang nudged him and muttered with a sneer, “Do you think those polytech kids would be a good score?”
Hwoarang’s eyes followed their crooked finger towards the small gathering of students. He recognized the uniform all too well but none of the faces immediately jumped out at him from this distance. He was surprised those guys were still wearing that stuffy uniform at this hour. Hwoarang would rip the damn thing off the second he crashed through his dorm once classes ended.
As annoyed as he was to see his schoolmates, he smiled, “Oh yeah. They’d be good. They’re all rich with mommy and daddy’s money.”
The gang chuckled, but one elbowed Hwoarang, “Hey, wait a minute. Don’t you go to that school, Blood Talon?”
“Shut the fuck up, man! I’m only there on a scholarship ‘cause I’m a good fighter.”
“They give scholarships for things like that?” a member muttered.
“Of course they do! Do you know who heads the Mishima Zaibatsu?!” another guy argued.
Hwoarang tuned out of the conversation, but he was still eager to see what these other polytech kids could do. He hasn’t sparred any of his classmates yet, but if they went to the same school at least one of them had to be a competent fighter, right? There was no doubt he was the best in their grade though. But, again, he could dream of someone being able to stand on the same footing as him.
The gang approached the group of students and it didn’t take too much goading until they agreed to a betted fight. Hwoarang was nervous that they wouldn’t agree because some young girl in pigtails kept wailing how it wasn’t right - or some morality shit like that.
She clenched her fists as she practically threw a tantrum. “This isn’t a good idea! They’re going to get hurt!”
“It’ll be fine Xiaoyu. There’s no way we could lose when we got our secret weapon,” some kid whispered.
“That’s what I’m worried about though!”
It made Hwoarang want to roll his eyes to the back of his head. She was getting so worked up about it he was worried he was going to have to fight her instead. He wasn’t worried that he’d have to fight her, but for the fact that he knew her.
Ling Xiaoyu.
She was a capable fighter, from what he’d heard. On the first day of the year, he saw Xiaoyu break a guy’s nose for trying to grope her. She left him in the dust which was admirable and impressive; however, he wasn’t in the mood to make a young girl cry tonight. It might sour his shitty celebration beer.
Playing up the feeble act, Hwoarang was shoved to the center of the fighting ring and was thankfully not met with Xiaoyu. But his opponent made him just as annoyed.
Jin Kazama.
Ugh. Couldn’t he have fought someone more interesting?
Hwoarang, admittedly, didn’t know a lot about Jin. There were plenty of rumors flying around him but none were particularly interesting to the Korean boy. Jin was poor and Heihachi Mishima adopted him. Jin was a robot created by the Zaibatsu. Jin was cursed and bad luck followed him everywhere. Just dumb and boring gossip like that. Hwoarang didn’t know the important stuff like how he was as a fighter.
But he supposed he would find out now.
With the ding of the bell, the fight began. Jin held up his arms in a typical karate stance and it made Hwoarang want to yawn. But playing up the act, he tentatively raised his fists in a half-assed position. Normally, Hwoarang would whine and complain a bit and pretend to be a novice, but he didn’t this time. For some reason, he wanted a bit more dignity before he threw the fight and ultimately crush the Japanese boy into the asphalt. There was just something behind those fiery eyes that made Hwoarang want to try and give it his all - but not yet of course.
Jin eyed his stance but made no comment. Why did that piss Hwoarang off?
The Korean boy made a weak advance and threw lukewarm punches and off-balance kicks. Jin dodged and blocked with ease but made no attempt to counterattack.
That pissed Hwoarang off more.
Why wasn’t this guy trying? Why wasn’t he attacking at all? Couldn’t he see how weak Hwoarang was? Even an unskilled fighter could probably take him and his (fake) weak ass down. So why wasn’t he?
With another dodge after a faux miscalculated punch from the Korean boy, Jin huffed and put his hands down. The roar of the crowd died down in confusion. What was this guy doing?!
“Wha-what’s wrong?” Hwoarang asked, but he couldn't help the irritation slip through his words. His mask was slipping and it was pissing him off even more.
“I won’t fight you.”
Hwoarang’s eye twitched. What did this kid say? “Eh?!”
Jin gave a small shake of his head in disappointment. “I won’t fight someone who doesn’t take it seriously.”
Hwoarang felt his veins pulse. He felt his jaw clench. His eye wouldn’t stop twitching. This fucking asshole! Who does he think he is?! Was Jin looking down on him? Did Jin think he was weak? Well, fuck him! He wasn’t! He was just playing it up! He’ll show him! Oh, yeah, he’ll fucking show him alright!
“The fuck you say?!” Hwoarang yelled, his mask shattering completely. He might’ve heard his teammates scolding him for dropping the act too quickly, but he couldn’t hear them over the rush of blood and adrenaline in his ears.
Hwoarang’s muscles tensed and he snapped into his proper taekwondo stance. With fury in his cry, the Korean advanced with a flying kick aimed right at Jin’s head. The Japanese boy easily blocked the hit and finally counterattacked. He finally threw a punch that Hwoarang easily dodged. But he was relishing being able to put in some effort that he couldn’t react fast enough to the second punch that connected with his jaw with a crack. Hwoarang grunted in pain and stumbled back, but readied himself quickly.
Even as rage coursed through him, Hwoarang couldn’t help but smile. That one had some sting to it. Good!
Teeth bared, he flew in again for another round.
It was the best fight of Hwoarang’s life. This kid could actually keep up with him! Hwoarang was able to land his most devastating combinations, but Jin still stayed on his feet. The guy even was able to get Hwoarang to spit up blood with his powerful blows. His body ached. His fists were going numb. He knew he would get new deserved bruises and he was elated that they meant something other than an act he had to put up for some spare cash.
This was it. This was the rush he was missing. The kinship of sharing battle scars and bruises was something he hadn’t experienced since moving to Japan. It was hardly something he felt in Master Baek’s classes ever since he became the top student. This feeling - his bones creaking with effort and his body doused in sweat - was what he wanted. What he needed!
But exhaustion was hitting him hard. He hasn’t been able to go all out like this in some time and it was wearing on his lungs and stamina. Every breath felt like fire, but it was a feeling he was slowly getting addicted to. With a smile on his lips, Hwoarang went in for another high kick that Jin was able to match perfectly. Their shins collided and it should’ve been so painful, but Hwoarang couldn’t help the pull on the corners of his mouth.
They broke away with a grunt and right when Hwoarang was about to jump into another attack, a flash of blue and red illuminated their little ring. Bodies and voices froze as everyone turned towards the source.
“Hey! What are you kids doing?!” an elderly man called with authority.
“Shit! Who called the cops?!” someone whispered, “Scatter!”
Panic struck everyone at once. They ran. Everyone turned tail and disappeared into the shadows of the night, including Hwoarang. He pivoted on his heel to book it but spared a glance behind him and saw Jin still just standing there like a deer in headlights.
Hwoarang rolled his eyes. “Come on!” he ordered as he grabbed onto the kid’s wrist and dragged him away from the blaring lights.
A new dose of adrenaline pumped through his veins as they ran. They dipped into alleyway after alleyway. Turned corner after corner. Sprinted down street after street. They kept going until Hwoarang’s lungs begged for mercy as he tasted blood with every breath.
He slowed them to a stop and the Korean pushed Jin behind some trash at the corner of a dingy alleyway. Both of their breaths were rapid with each short puff. His muscles finally gave way as Hwoarang slid down the cement wall and onto the pavement with a plop. The Japanese man followed suit - albeit more gracefully. They just sat there for a moment - catching their breath. Both kept a weary ear out for anyone following them, but it was thankfully silent.
Jin was able to compose himself faster as he turned a tentative head towards Hwoarang whose head was tilted back against the wall, eyes closed as he fought for more air in his lungs.
“Why are we here?” Jin asked in a hushed tone.
Still a bit breathless, Hwoarang muttered, “If we stay here for about 20 minutes, the cops’ll get bored and stop lookin’ for us.”
“Does this happen to you often?”
Hwoarang peeked an eye open to look at the other. “Eh, the cops hardly show up, but when they do we all know to break for it. But the fighting? Yeah, you could say I do this often enough…”
Jin simply nodded, brought his knees to his chest, and waited. His eyes were trained on the asphalt but Hwoarang noticed that fire still didn’t leave his irises. Jin still had some fight in him - after all that running and even after their bout. Blood trickled from his split lip and the deep purple bruises already began to blossom on his skin. It was odd, but with the moonlight twinkling down, Jin looked ethereal. Like a fighting god taking a respite before his next challenge.
What an odd thing to think that this kid resembled some sort of god. How ridiculous. But Hwoarang couldn’t help but think about him in admiration. He was strong. Really damn strong. Even though his muscles were jello, the Korean couldn’t wait for a rematch.
Before he could voice it - and thank fuck he didn’t for he wouldn’t know how to handle the embarrassment - Jin asked another question. “Why did you save me back there?”
That made Hwoarang flinch. Save? No! He didn’t save Jin! He was already running from the cops and… well, the idiot was just standing there! He couldn’t let the doofus get caught. He wouldn’t get his rematch then. Yeah! Yeah, that’s why he did it!
“I…” Hwoarang started, but the words got caught in his throat as Jin gave him a curious sideways glance. Why was he looking at him like that? Did he have something on his face? Why was he looking at him so intently with those sparkling, fiery eyes?!
“I-I don’t know alright?!” Hwoarang yelled, “I panicked! D-don’t get used to it though, Kazama!”
Jin blinked with a look of surprise gracing his features. “How do you know my name?”
Hwoarang paused. He gave Jin a pointed look. He couldn’t fucking believe this asshole. Was this kid serious?!
“Are you shitting me? We go to the same school.”
“You go to Mishima Polytechnical?” Jin asked incredulously.
“The fuck! Yes, you son of a bitch! We’re in the same class! You sit right fucking behind me!”
Jin’s head tilts and furrows his brows like a fucking lost puppy. An adorable angry puppy.
“Oh…” he lamely said.
Hwoarang rolled his eyes again. “Geez. ‘Oh’ is all you gotta say for yourself. Tch.”
Silence surrounded them again. Hwoarang didn’t attempt to converse with the Japanese man because he didn’t have anything left to say. His fists itched for another fight but with the cops still rounding up his gang and his sliver of stamina left, he bit his tongue and kept his hands to his side.
The moon continued to rise in the sky and the stars twinkled overhead. The night was silent save for the few stray cats scouring for their next meal. No sign of the cops. No sign of his group either. All was quiet. Which meant they were safe.
Hwoarang grunted as he rose to his feet. Some of his joints popped as he muttered, “Seems the coast is clear.”
“Hm,” Jin agreed as he stood as well.
Hwoarang began to walk away - back to his dorm that Jin was probably going to head back to as well - but couldn’t help the words slip past his tongue. “Hey, Kazama. That fight back there… it was a tie. I hate ties. I want a rematch. And I’m gonna fucking win next time, ya hear?”
Jin didn’t say anything. He just stared into Hwoarang’s soul with those intense eyes and gave a curt not.
“Tch,” Hwoarang said with a click of his tongue not satisfied with that answer - or lack thereof. He turned his head back and headed home for the night. He was beat.
“What’s your name?” Jin called at the last second.
“You fucking asshole,” the Korean man muttered under his breath. He seriously didn’t even remember his name?! Turning on his heel, he faced Jin head-on and practically screamed, “Name’s Hwoarang! Don’t you dare forget it ‘cause I’m gonna be the one to pound you into the dirt! Got that, Kazama?!”
Jin didn’t look impressed with the short speech, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. “I look forward to that rematch, Hwoarang.”
Hwoarang’s eye twitched. He turned on his heel and sped-walked back to the dorms. A trail of muttered insults and steam from his ears followed him back to the school grounds. He spat under his breath and ground his teeth right until he collapsed onto his plush bed where he promptly buried himself in the thick covers.
His face was pulsing with heat and his mind hadn’t stopped replaying the past half-hour of his life. He covered his face and groaned in misery into his palms as he willed his cheeks and mind to cool down.
Fuck, he’s never seen Jin smile before.