The Devil In You

Power And Pride

Suggested listening: Myrath - Born to Survive

The morning after, Hwoarang woke up split in two: physically satisfied, mentally devastated. He had been given head by a man, none other than Jin Kazama too, and he had enjoyed it, way too much. He could still feel the shivers at the man's touch, his own trembling body surrendering at the swirls of his tongue. It had been so intense it almost hurt. But while thinking about it all, he couldn't picture Jin's face in action, he just couldn't; it brought too much shame to himself. The way he held his hair tight and his head closer when he came... "Shame, shame, shame", and he hit his own head with the palm of his hand while feeling the greatest shame since he hadn't been able to beat Jin the first time he encountered him on the battlefield. There it was, Jin again in his thoughts. Perfect. "Why is it Kazama and shame are always so damn bound together?".

But Hwoarang didn't like to torment himself on a sofa; he changed himself from his pajama to his black vest, jeans and leather chaps. He put on his leather gloves and his biker boots; "I need a ride". He went down the stairs, happily sighing at his motorcycle, parked in front of the building. With a slick movement he was on and in a matter of second he was on the road. At first, he just passed by buildings just like the one he lived in: dirty, grey, old. After a while, though, he finally was on the open road, and there began his fun. Going well above the speed limit, he raced between cars and trucks like a snake, never losing his composure. That was the best sensation for him: the wind through his hair, the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the speed, the risk of it all. Nothing could beat that, nothing.

He went on riding for a while, only to find himself in front of the Mishima Zaibatsu imposing building. The at least ten-stories edifice was completely black, except for a floor completely made of glass: the Mishima dojo. Even at that distance, Hwoarang could see a figure moving in there, kicking and swaying with his fists the punching bag in the middle of the room. "Rich boy does train sometimes, after all". A fit of rage went through his body. "I bet I was some kind of training itself to him, too". He pulled his bike the other way, pointing at the Zaibatsu building.

When he arrived, he was halted by four gigantic bodyguards, armed too.

-State you name and business.

-Your mother, none of your business. Let me through, I have to talk to Kazama.

-Listen, bigmouth, either you have an appointment, or you can carry your sorry ass where you came from.

The four men were surrounding Hwoarang, who decided to have a temper shorter than usual, and that this fight would be no more difficult than any mission he'd done in the army. With a jump, he spread his legs in a perfect line, hitting two of the four men right in the face and knocking them out. When he was back to the pavement, he was quick enough to prevent the other two from firing their semi-automatic weapons by swinging a kick that hit both of them, hard. Satisfied at his own work, he then proceeded at entering the building. Reached the dojo floor, it was empty. "Of course, just my luck. Where the hell am I supposed to find damn Kazama now". Then, he heard some steps right on the floor over his head. "Worth a try". He almost flew over the stairs, opened the door in haste and there he was: Jin Kazama, in a black suit and black leather coat, as surprised to see Hwoarang as the redhead was angry at him.

-Didn't expect to see you here, of all places. How did you... well, I can imagine- he half smiled.

-We need to talk. For real, this time. I'm sick and tired of... this.

-Okay. I'm listening.- his voice was totally calm.

-Look around you. See where you are. You are everything I despise. Richness, luxury, commodities, everything available at a snap of your fingers. You're the wealthiest Japanese man alive, you could fucking buy entire neighbouroods just because you feel like it in the morning. And I, I was just one of your passing whims of the afternoon, a toy because you were bored - and I fucking fell for it! There is nothing I hate more than this. I was born and raised in the streets, I belong there. You know nothing of me, of my life, of what it means to survive by any means necessary. You can have anything, but you know what? You won't ever have me any longer. You never had me, by the way. You had my body, once, and that's it. Never making that mistake again. Never want to see you again, if not in a fight.

Jin was half-sit on his desk while he listened to Hwoarang's rant, holding his chin in a pensive way. Never lost his calm, never even flinched. Finally, he spoke.

-If you despise me so much, why did you save me? You never really answered my question. I have many enemies, none of which would risk their lives for me.

-Because. There is no reason, Kazama, I already told you. It was an automatic reaction when seeing a bomb. I was in the army, remember? That leaves a mark. Not that you would know.

-Army you deserted to fight in the Tournament... to fight me.

-You owed me a fight. It was a matter of pride. Do you have any?

-The right amount. You, on the contrary, are pretty obsessed with it. Pride. The destruction of men.

-Power, the destruction of everything. You go and swim in it. I stay the hell away from it.

-To each their own, Hwoarang. But we're more similar than you want to admit. The sooner you realise that, the better you'll live. All that anger will destroy you. Other emotions exist with which you could replace it.

-I'll cling to my anger by now, it keeps me going strong. By the way, I think your bodyguards are pretty useless, you could use your money for something else. Women, maybe, since you seem to have some problem finding some on your own.

Hwoarang was almost heading out of the door, when he stopped, throwing some Yen on the desk, near Jin's hand.

-These are for the medicines and the groceries of that first day. I don't want to be in debt with the Godfather.

Before the Japanese could say anything, the other man was already gone, stormed out in a matter of seconds.