>>5172067

"I'm sorry you had to see all that, kid," you hear him say. "I don't know if you're old enough to understand why we had to do this. Maybe someday. Right now, I wouldn't be surprised if you hate me."

You don't say anything.

"Life is going to be hard for you from now on," the man continues. "You're going to need to fight to survive. If you want to go on living, learn to take the hits and keep moving forward. That's a road you'll to have to walk on your own."

A few moments pass. The wind picks up, once more enraging the flames on top of the tower, as well as pushing another wave of rain into the alley. "This rain is really something," the man says. He looks down at you. "Woah, you're shivering. You must be freezing. I don't have my jacket anymore, but ... here, I can at least give you this."

He takes off his baseball cap and puts it on your head. His hands are heavy and sure. The brim obscures your vision for a moment before he straightens it. "There. That should at least keep the rain off a bit. How does it feel?"

You reach up to touch the cap on your head. It feels worn and comfortable.

"Looks pretty cool to me." The man smiles for a moment, before his face becomes serious again. "You can't go to the police. It's dangerous. You understand?" The man lets out a sigh. "I don't know what comes next for you, kid. But let's start by getting you someplace warm and dry. Come on." He walks away down the alley, in the other direction from the burning tower.

After one last look back at your home, you follow him.

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>>5172072

Los Angeles, USA
199X
Today


In a dark corner of the city, underneath a railway line and between buildings spray-painted with graffiti tags, is an empty lot hidden from the brilliant lights. Here, a forgotten place of broken concrete and rusted iron provides a stage. Here, a group of spectators have gathered around the center to form an open circle, ready to see the action up close. Here, a duel is about to begin.

Two men stand in the circle. One of them is a giant, easily 6'6", maybe more. Massive shoulder muscles swell under his shirt. Countless scars criss-cross the knuckles of his huge, weathered fists. Sharp eyes have the cool stare of a veteran of street fights. This is a man who has fought and won countless victories with his own hands. Everything about him is powerful, focused, and dangerous.

The other man is you.

That hardly seems fair, does it?

Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you came here to L.A. and picked a fight with the city's toughest bastard.

"Word is you're some kinda nomad," the giant says to you. "That you been travelling all across America, challenging street fighters. And you won every time." He's looking down at you like a bug he's considering whether to squash. "You don't look so tough to me. Are you really him?"


>I've come out on top of a scrap or two here and there.
>What about you? Are you really the toughest guy in the city?
>You're about to find out for yourself.

>>5172074
>>You're about to find out for yourself.

>>5172074
>You're about to find out for yourself.

>>5172074
>Say nothing, and raise your fists. No reason to waste words on a soon-to-be unconscious man.

>>5172074
>You're about to find out for yourself.

Let's goooo

>>5172074
>I've come out on top of a scrap or two here and there.

>>5172074
>You're about to find out for yourself.

>>5172074
>What about you? Are you really the toughest guy in the city?

Oh shit, this is gonna be sweet. Great to see you back, Raven.

>>5172074

"You're about to find out for yourself," you reply, letting a smug grin cross your face. "Tell me again how tough I look, once you're looking up at me from the ground."

The giant doesn't move, just stares down at you. "Maybe you don't know who I am. I'm Prester Mack. Three-time Armageddon champion. I took down the Blue Warriors. Now I'm the king of these streets. You know what any of that means?"

"Nope. I'm not from around here, just passing through. Doesn't matter, though. I'll fight anyone good, and you seem pretty good to me, big guy. So let's dance. You want to go now, or do you need work up your nerve first?"

The giant -- Mack -- shakes his head, puzzled. He's still trying to figure you out. "You don't seem scared. Even if you don't know who I am, you got eyes, you can tell I'm stronger than you. You can tell I hurt people. This city is a jungle, and I'm the biggest fucking lion around. But you still want to fight. I don't know if you're crazy or stupid. You really think you can win?"

"Always." You reach up to swivel your trusty red baseball cap around to face backwards. then put up your fists and take your fighting stance. You're feeling good tonight. "Let's rock, bro."

"You got guts, I'll give you that." Mack uncrosses his arms and raises them, getting his huge fists ready. If he lands a good punch with one of those, you're history. "Tell you what. I'm not gonna kill you. I'm just gonna put you in the hospital for a few months. You can think about how dumb this was while you wait for your broken bones to heal."

You fire off a few quick test jabs, warming up. Starting to get impatient. "Are you gonna bark all night, doggy? Or are you gonna bite?"

>>5172119

That does it. You can see it in his eyes. He's mad now. It's a cold mad, though, the kind where he stays efficient and calculating. Too bad, you thought that line might make him lose his temper altogether.

Mack closes the distance faster than you expected. He throws out a swift jab to knock your defenses off balance, immediately follows with a huge right hook that would knock you clean off your feet if it lands. But you manage to deflect the initial jab with a light touch, which keeps your posture intact to step in and forearm block the hook.

"Not bad," you say. "What else you got?" You take a long step backwards, just in time -- a huge fist swings through the air, right through the spot your head was a moment ago. An unexpected follow-up punch at stomach level almost gets you, but you drop your hands to push it to the side while stepping away. "Woah! Nice one."

He comes at you again, but this time you're ready to show him your own moves. How do you want to start out?

>[Boxing] Stick to basics. Practice your fundamentals.
>[Kickboxing] Get a little fancy. Throw out a proper striking combination.
>[Street Fighting] Go for some gut shots to wear him down.

>>5172123
>[Boxing] Stick to basics. Practice your fundamentals
Hit him with rush style.

>>5172123
>>[Kickboxing] Get a little fancy. Throw out a proper striking combination.

>>5172123
>[Street Fighting] Go for some gut shots to wear him down.

>>5172123
>[Muay Thai] Hammer him with your knees and elbows

>>5172123
>[Muay Thai] Hammer him with your knees and elbows
Muay Thai would be pretty popular around this time, so I imagine our boy would have picked it up somewhere.

>>5172123
>[Street Fighting] Go for some gut shots to wear him down.

>>5172123
>[Street Fighting] Go for some gut shots to wear him down.
The game isn't called Street Fighter for nothing.

>>5172123
>[Muay Thai] Hammer him with your knees and elbows

Basically kickboxing I'm pretty sure

>>5172123
>[Street Fighting] Go for some gut shots to wear him down.
Fighting isn't about strict styles and rigid forms. It's about whatever works.

>>5172184
Seconding.

>>5172184
+1

>>5172123

It's a street fight, so why not street fight? You duck and weave low while lashing out with a heavy punch combo. The old anatomy diagrams flash through your mind as you land your strikes. A right hand to the center of the stomach, the solar plexus; a stiff left uppercut, hitting just below the ribcage, the liver; then a right hook around the back to the left, the kidney.

That attack staggers Mack. He wasn't ready for that. Didn't expect you to put up a fight, much less hurt him bad on your first attacks. He's still standing, though. Men have eaten that combo and gone down right there. You give him a moment to recover, to see what happens. He might already be done -- if he gets shaken and loses the fight in his head right now, it's over. But he steadies himself, takes a deep breath, reasserts his stance, gets his fists up again. Looks like he's finally taking you seriously. Radical.

Mack goes back on the offensive with a rapid series of punches, forcing you back on the defensive. The crowd of people parts behind you with panicked shouts, unwilling to stand up to the oncoming mountain of muscle in front of you. But the amount of space that buys you is almost nothing, as a support pillar for the railway line blocks any further retreat. Taking advantage of the pressure, Mack throws out a swift flurry of punches, each strike just heavy enough to force you to commit to defending it, before launching a heavy front kick. You're ready for it, and sidestep. The kick hits the pillar behind you with a crunch of breaking concrete, leaving heavy cracks behind.

Steel-toed boots, then. Okay, you don't feel like trying to shake off a lucky shot from those, so it's time to end this. Too bad. You were just starting to really enjoy yourself.

>[Boxing] Rapid jabs into a powerful uppercut.
>[Muay Thai?] You don't actually know this, but it's like regular kickboxing with elbows and knees, right? How hard could it be?
>[Street Fighting] Slam him into the support pillar.
>[Arts] Rock his world with a Blast Knuckle.

>>5172227
>[Boxing] Rapid jabs into a powerful uppercut.

He isn't worthy of our finisher.

>>5172227
>[Boxing] Rapid jabs into a powerful uppercut.

>>5172227
>[Street Fighting] Slam him into the support pillar.
I see Mack is an acolyte of Steven Seagal.

>>5172227
>[Arts] Rock his world with a Blast Knuckle.

>>5172233
Everyone is deserving of our finisher

>>5172227


No need to use your arts on this guy. He's tough, but not that tough. Not worthy of showing off your real abilities. Keep it simple.

As Mack steps forward again, you dart inwards with a quick step to close the gap, then unleash a swift combination of pummelling jabs that break apart his blocks like rocks hitting glass. You feint an attack low, giving him just enough time to use his last-ditch defensive effort to guard. When he does, it leaves his chin open. Pushing against the earth through your feet, twisting your hips and shoulders, you focus all the muscles in your entire body, all of your combined strength, into one blow.

You know it's over before he even hits the ground. The crowd knows it, too. The fight caller does the necessary, going over to confirm it for himself, but everyone knows what he's about to say when he stands up. "Knockout!" he calls out to a loud mixture of boos and cheers, and points in your direction. "Winner!"

You raise your hands in victory, grinning as you turn around to take in the crowd. A lot of boos, probably locals who bet money on their favorite champion. On the other hand, there's a decent amount of cheers as well. Could be happy to finally see someone take down Mack, or they liked your style. Either way, you're happy. Wasn't a bad fight. Got your blood up a little.

You replay your mental image of that knockout uppercut you just threw. Pretty good. It wasn't the Rising Dragon art, not by a long shot. But it's good to know your boxing training can still come through when it counts.

The fight caller counts off your prize money for tonight's victory in hundred-dollar bills. This should be good for a few months of food and supplies on the road, maybe a night or two under a motel roof if you feel like a luxury. Not bad for a night's work. You should be able to travel and focus on your training now, without having to worry about money for a little while.

A few of the girls come up to you after the fight, but you're not interested, not tonight. You're feeling the call of the road again. No time to stick around. You plan on a quick stop at a late night diner to get a meal, use a pay phone. Then it's off to the railyard to hop a train, or maybe the highway to hitch a ride. North? East? You haven't decided yet. Somewhere out there is a fighter stronger than this Prester Mack guy was, and you plan on finding him.

>>5172356

Walking alone out of the run-down district, you're surprised to see a limousine approaching down the road. This isn't the kind of place you'd see a fancy car like that, right?

It's even more surprising when the limo rolls up to a stop beside you. And even *more* surprising when the window next to you rolls down, and a beautiful woman looks out at you. Pale blue eyes, wavy blonde hair, and a severe dark business suit.

"Good evening, Mr. Carter," she says. She knows your name, too. Of course she does. "Could I ask for a moment of your time? I have an offer for a man of your talents, one I think you'll be interested to hear. Would you care to step inside and discuss it?" She opens the door slightly. "We can take you to wherever in the city you're headed, as well."

>Sure, why not.
>Wait, what is this? Who are you?
>Yeah, right. Step outside and we can discuss it here.

>>5172359
>Yeah, right. Step outside and we can discuss it here.

>>5172359
>Yeah, right. Step outside and we can discuss it here.

>>5172359
>>Yeah, right. Step outside and we can discuss it her
I've seen movies! You're gonna take me to a warehouse where about twenty guys in suits are gonna jump me with pipes and chains, if I get in, and say no.

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>>5172359

>Yeah, right. Step outside and we can discuss it here.

"This isn't City Of Industry anymore so we're safe enough talking out here. Soak in the ambiance."

>>5172359

"Yeah, right," you say, suspicious of this whole thing. "If it's so important to you, why don't you step outside and we can discuss it here?"

"If you insist," the woman says. She gets out of the limousine and stands on the sidewalk beside you, looks you right in the eye, unwavering. She's surprisingly tall in only in modestly heeled business shoes, almost your height. Also cuts quite a figure in that well-tailored suit.

Huh. You didn't actually think she'd do it. What happens now?

"Please, Mr. Carter," she says, reading your confusion. "I'm not affiliated with the law, or any nation's government, in any way. I don't have a band of twenty men in the shadows ready to jump you. I understand your suspicions, but you'll find my offer is entirely genuine. I'm here to represent an organization which, as I said, is interested in men like you."

"Men like me? Lady, all I know how to do is fight. I think you got the wrong guy, unless you want me to bust up a gang, or take down a clan of ninjas."

"On the contrary. That's exactly why we've taken an interest. Mr. Carter, have you ever heard of the Kumite?"

"'Kumeetay'?" you repeat, unsure of the pronounciation. "Can't say I have. Wait, hold on ..." A distant memory. "It's some kind of tournament. A world-wide fighting tournament."

"Yes. Once every five years, the Kumite brings together the greatest martial artists from across the world. All styles, all fighters, are accepted. Other than a prohibition on the use of weapons, no techniques are forbidden, no rules are in place. Defeat your opponent. That is all. Only the winner of the Kumite can truly claim to be the world's greatest fighter."

A tournament of the world's greatest. And they want you.

>Is there some kind of reward?
>Are the fighters really that strong?
>Who's organizing all this?
>Not interested.

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>>5172439

>Who's organizing all this?

"Will this be recognized by the Olympic Commission eventually?"

>>5172439
>>Who's organizing all this?

>>5172439
>Who's organizing all this?

>>5172439
>Who's organizing all this?

>>5172439
>>Are the fighters really that strong?

I just realized, I haven't asked the most important question about our character yet.
What team's logo is on our hat?"

>>5172439

"Who's organizing all this?" you ask. "What's this group you represent?"

"The Kumite is a long tradition with an ancient history, upheld for many years. There are some specifics I can't go into, until you agree to participate in the tournament, and pass the preliminary round. What I can say is that the traditions of the tournament have been followed faithfully every five years since at least the 18th century."

"So who's in charge? Who's the head honcho?"

"I can say that the current head and grandmaster is a champion, undefeated in his time. After several victories, he chose to retire and take his current post. Some champions since have chosen to challenge him after winning the final round of the tournament. Few have succeeded."

"So who is this guy? What does he want?"

"Beyond holding a grand tournament of the world's strongest fighters, providing for them a contest to test themselves against true opponents and prove their worth? If the grandmaster has some nefarious scheme or ulterior motive for this, then he hasn't shared it with me. It's certainly not for money. Did I mention that the winner of the tournament receives a prize of a million dollars?"

"Wait, did I hear that right? A million?"

"Yes. In fact, if you agree to participate, you'll receive ten thousand in cash, right now. There's a briefcase in the limo."

"Look, I'm just surprised," you say. "If you think you can flash some cash at me to get me into this litle game of yours, think again."

You don't like this. You're on the verge of saying no and walking away, because:

>You don't care about money.
>You don't care about fame or titles.
>The whole thing is suspicious.

>>5172561
>You don't care about money.

>>5172561
>You don't care about fame or titles.

>>5172561
>>The whole thing is suspicious.

>>5172561
>>5172580
>You don't care about money.
Changing to this.

>>5172561
>You don't care about money.

This is starting to remind me fo the old Street Fighting Man quests,

>>5172561

"Look, if this is just some fancy contest for a cash prize, you can forget it. The last thing I care about is money. I make enough by fighting so I never go hungry. I can travel the country on the rails and interstates. That's all I need."

"You don't care about money?" asks the woman. "Are you sure? Think about the orphanage you spent those years in, after the incident in Miami. Wasn't it hard? Wouldn't you like to give kids in the same position you were in a better chance? You could give that money to them. Give them a chance at a better life, the one you never had."

"How do you know about that?" you ask, feeling a chill.

"I've done my homework on you, Mr. Carter. Rest assured, your secrets are safe with me."

"How can I trust anything you say? This whole thing is suspicious as hell!"

"Yes, but--" A devious smile crosses the woman's face. "Aren't you just dying to see the truth for yourself?"

Your stubborn streak wants to dig in against this, but you can feel yourself weakening.

"Mr. Carter, I already know you're going to accept my offer. You already know it as well." She takes a step closer to you. You can feel her presence, this close. She's not a fighter. But she still has the upper hand here, and she knows it. "'You just have to ask yourself, why? 'Why am I doing this? What is it that I want?' Once you find the reason, you'll be ready to say yes."

You can feel the truth of it even as she says the words. The smart thing to do would be to turn this down. But something inside you won't let you do it. You know that if you walk away from this, you'll regret it every day, maybe for the rest of your life.

Why are you doing this? What is it that you want?

>Maybe I do want the money.
>For the title of the world's strongest.
>For the challenge of going up against the world's greatest fighters.
>To overcome the legacy of your father.
>Because she's hot.
>Got nothing better to do.

>>5172681
>To overcome the legacy of your father.

>>5172681
>Because she's hot.

>>5172681
>To overcome the legacy of your father.

>>5172681
>For the challenge of going up against the world's greatest fighters.

>>5172681
>For the challenge of going up against the world's greatest fighters.

>>5172681
>>Got nothing better to do.

>>5172681
If double vote is allowed then:
>For the challenge of going up against the world's greatest fighters.
>To overcome the legacy of your father.

Otherwise, just overcoming the legacy.

We are looking for strong opponents after all, but I feel like this is to prove a point.
Cause otherwise we could have just gone into professional boxing, or something, but instead we took to the streets and we have clearly taken the effort to learn unconventional styles. I believe we're trying to prove to ourselves we are a different man from the dad we didn't really knew, and that we have strong enough to don't live in his shadow.

Or maybe I'm full of shit and Mr. Carter here just likes the thrill of being in a street fight more than anything else in the world.

>>5172787
that we are strong enough*

Minor spelling mistake, my argument is invalid.

>>5172681

Though there's no way you could hold yourself responsible for his actions back then, the legacy of your father still hangs over your life like a shadow. Maybe this is your chance to step out into the light.

That, and there's something about the idea of testing yourself against the world's greatest fighters. Why limit yourself to just America? To be honest, it's been hard to find difficult opponents these days. The thrill of the challenge is dying out. If there really is a bigger stage out there, with stronger fighters, maybe it's worth stepping up. Maybe you're ready.

"Okay, fine," you say. "Let's say I do agree to do this. What then? Do I have to a sign a contract, or ...?"

"No contract," the woman says. "Your verbal agreement is enough. Do you, Jack Carter, agree to participate in this year's Kumite tournament?"

"Sure," you say. "Fuck it. I'm in. Let's do it."

"Good enough," she says. "I accept your participation. Welcome to the tournament, Mr. Carter."

Nothing's changed, but you feel like you've stepped over a gateway. "Now what?" you ask, trying to distract yourself from the feeling. "Is there an arena prepared? A schedule?"

"If you qualify for the main tournament, you will be notified of its location, and provided complementary transport. During the preliminary rounds, fighters are free to select their own site for their match."

"So they just find each other, get together, and agree on a good spot for the fight?"

"No, Mr. Carter. There's no agreement needed. You may only fight the person you are matched up against in the preliminary brackets, and there may be no outside interference. Otherwise, there are no restrictions on when or where the duels take place. A fighter can approach his opponent any place, any time, and they have to fight."

Maybe you should have asked about this first. Just what have you gotten yourself into here? "Any place, any time? Seriously?"

"Seriously." A cold smile. "Now. Your ten thousand." She briefly disappears back into the limousine, and returns with a metal briefcase, which she hands to you. "The lock combination is already input. Go ahead and look inside."

You open the briefcase a crack. By the dim light of the street lamps, you can see the case is full of stacks of currency, fives, tens, twenties. Looks like ten thousand in cash, all right. You shut the case. Wow, okay.

"Now, if you have any other questions, feel free to ask them," the woman says. "Also, that offer of a limousine ride to wherever you're headed in the city is still available."

>How should I try to find the guy I'm matched up against?
>Can you tell me anything about the other fighters?
>Tell me about yourself. What's your deal?
>Can I get your number?

>I'll take the ride in style.
>It's a nice night. I'll walk.

>>5172806
>>How should I try to find the guy I'm matched up against?
>It's a nice night. I'll walk.

>>5172806
>>How should I try to find the guy I'm matched up against?

>>5172806
Kinda wanna ask her number.
Not because I want to go for her romantically but rather cause I feel having a hotline to the staff is really useful.

For the rest
>>5172814
+1

>>5172806

"Thanks, but it's a nice night. Think I'll walk. Still, I was thinking, maybe I could get your phone number. Not as, uh, a romantic thing, but so I can get a hold of a staff member if I need to."

"Of course." She hands you a plain white business card. "I'll be your contact for the organization. Please don't hestitate to call me if you require support of any kind."

A plain white business card, with a chinese character inside a circle in the top right. A phone number is listed in neat typing, underneath a name. "Miranda Lain," you say out loud. "That's you?"

"That's me."

"All right, then. Nice meeting you, Miranda. Oh, one last thing. Any idea how I should find the guy I'm matched up against?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Carter," Miranda says. "I assure you, they'll find you."

She gets back into the limousine, and you watch it drive off. Did she really have drop an ominous line like that and just leave? Damn.

Well, you're ten thousand dollars richer than you were this morning. Eleven thousand, if you count the fight's winnings. That's more money than you've ever had at once. A lot more. What do people even do with this kind of money? Do you have to figure out how a bank works?

For now, you'll just have to carry the briefcase with you, and keep a close eye on it.

What did you get yourself into this time? On the one hand, it could be a golden opportunity. On the other hand, this is crazy! Secret international fighting tournaments? No-holds-barred fights, whenever and wherever the fighters encounter each other? What the hell is this?

>>5172839

There is one person you can think of to ask for advice about this. Someone whose opinion you've always valued. They live across the Pacific, but thanks to the modern magic of long-distance calling, you can get in touch with them with an ordinary phone line.

After a midnight steak at an old-fashioned diner, you head to the pay phone just outside, shove in a fistful of quarters, and dial the number for the Saito residence. It should be early evening in Japan right now. The sun will be setting over the mountains to the west of the Saito estate, the tree in the courtyard slowly fading into shadow.

A few rings go by, while you think about the Saito family. They've helped you out a lot over the years, even though they had every reason to turn you away. Not only that, but they've become good friends. You try to show them gratitude whenever you can.

You hear the call pick up on the other end. A teenage girl's voice breathlessly answers, like she just ran to the phone. "[Hello?]" you hear her ask in Japanese.

"[Ayame-chan, it's Jack]," you say haltingly, in the same language.

"Ah, Jack-san! So good to hear you!" Ayame switches to English, which she's much better at than your rusty Nihongo. "Are you well in America?"

"I'm well, thanks. How are you? Still training every day?"

"Yes, yes! Grandfather helps me practice, although my brother says I shouldn't. You know how he is."

"I do, yeah. If you ask me, you should keep at it. Get big and strong, Ayame-chan! Strong as a sumo wrestler!" You hear her laughing on the other end. It's good to hear her voice again. The last time you saw her in person would have been a few years ago, when she was 12 or 13. You wonder what she looks like now, growing into a young woman, before pulling your thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Anyway, speaking of your brother, is he there? I was hoping to get his advice. He's a lot smarter than me, you know, so I wanted to know what he thinks about something."

"Sorry, Jack, but Ryoma is not here," Ayame says. "Actually, he is somewhere in North America right now. He would not tell me why, but he fly there just a few days ago. Someplace in Canada? It's called, ahh, I can't pronounce it, Ban -- Banku --"

"Vancouver," you say, realizing what she's trying to say. What could Ryoma be doing in Canada that he doesn't want to tell his sister about?

"That's the one," Ayame says. "Is there anything I can help with, Jack? Or maybe grandfather?"

"No, no, thanks, Ayame." You couldn't talk to her about this kind of thing, and you already know that the grouchy Saito patriarch would tell you that this is crazy. Better change the subject.

>Ask about Ayame, and how her training is progressing.
>Ask about Ryoma, if she can think of any way you could find him.
>Ask about their grandfather, who was once your teacher.

>>5172846
>Ask about their grandfather, who was once your teacher.
This is proper.

>>5172846
>Ask about their grandfather, who was once your teacher.
Carter really should figure out banks soonish. Carrying a briefcase is a good to way to stick out and attract unnecessary trouble.

>>5172839
>A plain white business card, with a chinese character inside a circle in the top right
we could probably find something about this character at a library.

>>5172846
>>Ask about their grandfather, who was once your teacher.

>>5172846
>Ask about their grandfather, who was once your teacher.

>>5172888
In all likelihood, it's just the character for Kumite.

>>5172992
Kumite is two characters.

>>5172846
>Ask about the grandfather

>>5172846
>>Ask about Ayame, and how her training is progressing.
Haven't seen her form in years, might as well check up.

>>5172846
>Ask about Ayame, and how her training is progressing.

>>5172846
>>Ask about Ayame, and how her training is progressing.

>>Ask about their grandfather, who was once your teacher.

>>5172846

You ask, "How is the old man? His health still holding up?" Last you saw, he was still fit as a fiddle. Fit enough to kick your ass if he heard you calling him "old man" instead of "Sensei," that's for sure.

"He can't train all day like he used to, or run up and down the mountains, but he's still strong," Ayame says. "He does some painting and calligraphy, spends a lot of time in the bath, or walking up to the hot springs. I try to get him to quit smoking his pipe, but he still says no." Ayame imitates her grandfather's voice. "'[This old man only has so many pleasures left, so leave me my pipe!]'"

You laugh. "That sounds just like him."

Her voice becomes somber again. "He doesn't like to talk about it, but he visits the house shrine every day. It's still hard for him. You know. Not having Grandmother around. It's hard for me too, sometimes."

"I understand," you say. "I only knew her for a short time, but she was one of the kindest people I ever met. I'm grateful to have known her." Losing her would have been a tough blow to Sensei, even if he tries not to show it.

After a moment of silence, you decide to try to change the subject back to something a bit more positive. "So the old man is still spry enough to help you train?"

"Ah, yes! He says I have real talent. I practice every day. I'm still perfecting the 18 strikes, but grandfather says I'm almost there, and afterwards he'll teach me how to use arts! I'm not as good as my brother, of course. Ryoma says that he can carry on the family style by himself. But I want to help! Even if I can't catch up to him, I want to be strong in my own way."

>Go for it! Fight to the top!
>Do you want to start fighting competitively someday?
>Just be careful. The world of martial artists can be dangerous.

>>5173413
>Go for it! Fight to the top!

>>5173413
>Do you want to start fighting competitively someday?

>>5173413
>Go for it! Fight to the Top!
My headcanon for how she looks is now Noriko Takaya.

>>5173413
>>Go for it! Fight to the top!

>>5173413

"Go for it, Ayame-chan," you say. "Fight to the top! Become the strongest in the world!"

She laughs. "Thank you, Jack! I'll do my best! I hope that someday -- ah! I just realized, isn't this a long distance call? Aren't these expensive?! You should not waste your money, you need to eat!"

You have been shovelling quarters into this phone for a while now. Usually you only have a few dollars in your pocket, and Ayame knows that, so you can understand why she's concerned. You could explain that you came into some money, but you'd rather not give her any cause to worry about you. "Yeah, you're right. I'd better go. It was great to talk to you again, Ayame-chan. Give Sensei my regards."

"Goodbye, Jack! Take care!"

You hang up the phone, then start walking in the direction of the railyard. You've decided what direction you're headed in. Once morning comes, you'll hop a train going north.

Canada, is it? You wonder again what Ryoma could be doing there. He's a lot more level-headed than you, so it's probably nothing crazy. He'll have some good ideas about how to handle this situation. Besides, you haven't seen him for a few years now. This is as good an excuse as any to see an old friend.

Once at the railyard, you find a suitable spot on an empty cargo bed, in the shelter of a logging car, and settle in for a quick rest, using your travel bag as a pillow. It's been a long day, and you quickly find yourself drifting off.

>>5173496

Miami, USA
198X
12 years ago

The hard wooden chair you sit on is cold and uncomfortable. It doesn't help the pain of your bruises any. Your cut lip still stings, and the iron taste of blood lingers in your mouth.

Inside the claustrophobic confines of the small office, you sit across the desk from the woman who's controlled your life the past three years. To the other workers, she's Mrs. Crunchem. To the other kids, when none of the adults are around, she's The Bulldog. A kid once called her that to her face. You heard later that he had to spend a week in the basement with the door locked and lights turned out.

"Fighting again, then, Carter?" she asks, without looking up the latest report on you. She's taken from your file, sitting next to it on the desk. Another report gets added to that file every time there's an incident of fighting, truancy, vandalism, mischief, or other misbehavior. There are a lot of papers in that file.

>It wasn't my fault.
>They deserved it.
>...

>>5173506
>...
No point in answering when she can tell just by looking.

>>5173506
>It wasn't my fault.

Shift blame. Feels like something a child would do.

>>5173506
>...
No point trying to give her the runaround, we may as well be a regular here.

>>5173506
Yeah and I'd do it again too! Mind your own business

>>5173506
>They deserved it.

>>5173506
>Yes.

She feels like the kinda character who doesn't listen to excuses. Or anything else really.

>>5173506
Changing my vote here
>>5173528
to "..."

>>5173506

You don't say anything. There's no point in answering.

"Nothing to say for yourself? Typical. Ever since the first day you arrived here, always this sullen attitude towards any kind of authority." She starts writing something at the bottom of the report.

The first day you came to this place, three years ago. One of the boys knew who you were, somehow. He said that your father had ... had done things. To his family. That he was going to teach you a lesson. Him and his five friends, all at once.

You got in one good hit, but were quickly overwhelmed by numbers and size, kicked down and beaten into the dirt. And in the end, you were the only one who wound up here in the head office, being written up for fighting.

The good hit you got in was on the main boy. Gave him a scar under his eye. He never forgot about it. Made it his mission from then on to make your life hell, along with as many of the other kids as he could convince to join his side. It didn't take much. You've learned that kids are always ready to shove someone else down to the bottom, for any reason.

Mrs. Crunchem puts down her pen and looks down at you. "Now, you may have heard that we're reorganizing as a "group home" rather than an orphanage. This facility will be converted into a shelter for those children waiting to be placed in foster care. Any amenities will be scaled back as part of the budget reorganization. Those books in the library? Gone. The basketball hoop? Scrap metal. Luxuries like these will be considered wasteful spending. This place will be a temporary stopover from now on, and converted to hold as many kids as possible on a short-term basis. Of course, for a child with a disciplinary record such as yours, I doubt you'll have potential sponsors lining up for you. Nothing short-term about it at all." A snort, something like a laugh. "No, Carter, your foreseeable future is here, with us. Get used to it."

Her nose wrinkles distastefully. She takes out a tissue from the box on her desk and hands it to you. "Clean yourself up before you leave. I don't want you dripping blood on my carpet."

>>5173568

You walk outside to the yard: a place of brown grass, dead trees, and concrete. A tall chain link fence surrounds the whole area, blocking you off from the world outside. You climbed over it a few times, trying to run off. Then they added barbed wire on top.

You go to stand at the fence, staring out. On the other side is an empty, unused parking lot, and beyond that, a few run-down houses and shops. The outskirts. Miami itself, the tall buildings of the city center, the view you remember from your childhood, is behind you. It's blocked by the squat three-story frame of the orphange building. You can't see it from here. Haven't seen it for three years.

You realize somebody is in the parking lot, on the other side of the chain link fence. A man, a big one. He's walking up to the fence now. Right in your direction, actually.

A shock of familiarity runs through you as you recognize the man approaching you. It's the man from that night, three years ago. The one who gave you his hat.

He stops on the other side of the fence from you, stands there looking down through the fence at you. "Hey, kid. How you doing?" A wry smile. "You don't have to answer, I can tell from looking at you. Rough day, huh?"

The man takes a knee to look at you at eye level. First he examines your bruises, then he looks you in the eye. "Has it been like this the whole time?" he asks quietly.

You nod, slowly.

"Damn." He stands up straight again, lets out a long breath. "I never thought I was cut out for this, but I guess I have no choice." He points at the top of the fence. "Kid -- Jack -- if you come over to this side of the fence, you can come with me. I'll look after you, as best I can. I'll teach you how to fight, the way I know how. I can't be your dad -- not your real one, anyway -- but I'll do what I can. Or, you can stay here. Try to forget about all this, and move on. In the long run, maybe that's the better choice. But It's your call. If you want out, I'm here."

>...
>Why would you help me?
>Did you kill my father?

>>5173571
>Did you kill my father?
Gotta ask. Even a kid would be able to put it together.

>>5173571
>Did you kill my father?
Maybe a bit of a gut punch to say to someone who just said he could adopt us, but it feels like something we'd like to know and we probably don't care much for tact.
>If nothing else, it would explain why he never came back for me.

>>5173571
>Why would you help me?

I like this as a character beat. Carter sounds like he's not really had a life where people help him all that much so far, adult or child. Asking why he would be the exception is so cynical for a child that it's probably a bigger knife-twist than asking if he killed our father. He'd expect that question sooner or later, but this one is rougher.

Or so it goes in my head.

>>5173599
Supporting this. It makes more sense. Honestly I see him asking the question later because if I was in this position I'd ask why help me first, and probably accept the help before asking that big ol question

>>5173571
>Why would you help me?

>>5173571
>Why would you help me?

>>5173599
I want to add a thing
>Show me your strenght, you could be all talk for all I know, so show me how you fight

>>5173677

You saw him fight once before. Three years ago. On that day ...

>>5173571

"Why would you help me?" you ask. "What are you getting out of this?"

"I'm not getting anything. To be honest, it's going to be a pain in the ass hauling a kid around with me. But--" He turns away, unable to look you in the eye anymore. You watch his back as he speaks. "That night, three years ago. Things didn't go the way I wanted them to. Some of it was out of my control. But, in some way, I'm still responsible for what happened to you. Maybe this is my attempt to make up for that, in whatever way I can.

"That and, you know." He shrugs. "I never had a kid of my own. I'm not the settling down type. But my own dad, he always used to say that I should grow up and take responsibility for something. This might be the closest I ever come to that."

He turns around with a grin on his face. "Well, that was embarassing. Enough mushy talk. What do you say? You want out of this place, or what?"

You don't have to think it over long. You're done with this prison of grey stone and chain fences. Here, you're just trapped. An endless cycle of nothing, one day after another. On this new path opening in front of you, you don't know what's going to happen, but it feels like a chance to find out who you really are.

You don't have to say anything. The man can see your decision in your face. "Okay, then." He takes off his leather jacket and, with a smooth toss, throws it on top of the barbed wire. "Go on, kid."

You swiftly scramble up the chain link fence and, using the leather jacket as protection from the sharp barbed coils, you're able to carefully maneuver your way over the top. The man stands back, seeing what you'll do. It's not a far jump, you've made it before. You land easily.

"Not bad," he says.

"Your jacket," you say, realizing you left it up there. You have no idea how you'll untangle it from the barbed wires.

"Leave it," he says. "I can always get a new one." Something occurs to him. "What did you end up doing with the hat I gave you?"

"I kept it as long as I could, but ..." You look back at the orphanage. "They took it away from me, when I first got here."

"I see," he says. "Guess you'll need a new one of those, too. Well, come on kid. Let's hit the road. First things first, let's get a burger. I'm starving."

He walks away, in the direction of the city. Once again, after a last look at the place you called home, you follow him.

>>5173699

Los Angeles, USA
199X
Now

You struggle awake from troubled dreams. Something about your time at the orphanage. Can't remember now. The morning light shines through your closed eyes. That isn't what woke you up, though, you realize. Something has alerted you, some danger sense that needs you to wake up right now.

Curious, you open one eye to see a fist heading straight for you.

Adrenaline surges, and you snap to full alertness while reacting on instinct. Swinging your travel bag around to block the attack, you then shove the bag forward to buy a moment's tempo, then jump up to your feet and assume your fighting stance. There, you take your first proper look at your attacker.

The man in front of you is about the same height as Prester Mack was, but where that guy was a truck, this guy is a sports car: lean, efficient, flawlessly sculpted. Blonde hair, immaculately swept back. Biceps barely contained by the rolled-up sleeves of a button-up shirt. He looks engineered to be the perfect warrior.

He withdraws a few feet, laughs, and says something in a language you don't recognize, something European. Then he points at you, and in English, says, "You, American. Jack Carter. Yes?"

You respond by putting up your fists.

He taps himself on the chest. "Me, Kurt Reiter. Germany. We fight now!" He drops his arms into an unusual fighting stance, and advances on you.

You're about to respond, when you feel the train car jolt under your feet. A whistle sounds. The train is moving. "Okay, hold on, time out, let's get off the --" You have to pause to duck another punch. "Bro, seriously?!" You try to dodge from one side to the other, but he has you cut off at each turn.

File: Los Angeles, Train Car.gif (79 KB, 624x368)

79 KB GIF

>>5173750

With the log pile blocking your retreat, and this ubermensch stopping you from moving to the sides, there's no way off this ride. The train pulls away from the station, with you both still on board the empty flatcar. Guess this is happening.

"All right, fine!" you shout, feeling your fighting blood rising. "You want to do this, here and now? Let's do this!"

>[Advance] Take the fight straight to him.
>[Defend] Put up your block and search for an opening.
>[Evade] Slip past his attacks and get a better position.

>>5173754
>[Evade] Slip past his attacks and get a better position.
Once we corner him, we can start picking him apart.

>>5173754
Fuck playing neutral
>[Advance] Take the fight straight to him.

>>5173754
>[Evade] Slip past his attacks and get a better position.

>>5173754

Fighting backed into a corner like this is no good. You need to get into a better position. Once you have the advantage, you can start picking apart his defenses. That's what you tell yourself, anyway.

Now all you have to slip past his attacks. Easy, right? Not when he's firing lightning-fast jabs at you from left and right it's not. But you have to do something. You risk a feint attack, and he bites on it; he has a counter ready, but the feint allowed you to limit the directions the strike would come from, enough so that you can anticipate the move and evade it. A quick lean and sidestep, and you've got the drop on him. Or so you think -- faster than you thought possible, he turns and fires off a huge spinning hook -- you use the momentum from your dodge to step back again, just out of range as the attack hits nothing but air. You punish him with a couple straight punches to the face, then quickstep back again, dodging a heavy kick counterstrike.

Reiter was able to throw that kick right in the middle of getting punched in the face. Tough bastard. You do see a trickle of blood coming from his nose, though. Tough, but not invincible. He pauses to wipe his face, looks at the blood on his fingers, grins at you. "Bitte."

Okay, good start. you've landed a few strikes, and now the positions are reversed, with him backed up against the logging car. Advantage: you. But you're pretty sure you haven't seen everything this guy has. All he's done is throw out basic strikes. Faster than anyone you've fought against before, sure. Heavy enough to feel like a piston hammer, definitely. But there's got to be something else.

>[Attack] You have the better position, strike hard and fast.
>[Retaliate] Wait for him to throw something out, then block and counter.
>[Observe] Watch him carefully, see if you can figure out what's coming.

>>5174040
>[Retaliate] Wait for him to throw something out, then block and counter.
He's probably aware of his position, so he'll either try to make a play to reverse it again or throw out something big to end this quick.
If we can see it coming, we stand a decent chance of weathering it and subsequently catching him off-guard.

>>5174058
Also, further food for thought;
Reiter is an obvious striker given his tactics and build.
Anybody could see that whatever he's got up his sleep, it's more than likely another striking technique.
I know that info doesn't help that much, but it rules out the risk of most grappling techniques.
Meaning he probably doesn't know how to handle somebody grappling him.
Unless I somehow fell for the ploy and he's actually gonna hit us with the Atomic German Suplex.

>>5174040
>[Retaliate] Wait for him to throw something out, then block and counter.

>>5174040
>[Observe] Watch him carefully, see if you can figure out what's coming.

>>5174040
>Retaliate

>>5174040
>[Observe] Watch him carefully, see if you can figure out what's coming.

>>5174040
>[Observe] Watch him carefully, see if you can figure out what's coming.

>>5174040
>>[Retaliate] Wait for him to throw something out, then block and counter.

>>5174040

You hold back, waiting to see what this guy's got. Whatever he dishes out, you're going to give it back twice as hard.

Reiter cautiously shuffles forward, eyes fixed on the space between you, carefully judging the distance. Using his superior reach, he fires off a jab at long range. You think you dodge it, but instead get clocked by it. He uses the opportunity to step in, throwing a blindingly fast series of punches. Too fast to keep up with. Did he just get faster? Was he holding back on speed until now? Not only that, but he seems to be able to extend the range of his punch by a few inches whenever he wants. Holy shit, you've never stood up against this kind of attack, not even when your teachers were kicking your ass! The speed is unbelievable. Despite your best efforts, several blows slip through your defenses and strike you. His full weight isn't behind any of them, nothing breaks, but you still take a hammering.

"Oh yeah?" you call out through the pain. "You can dish it out, let's see if you can take it as well, big guy!" You drop any semblance of defense to counter-strike blow for blow, slamming your fists into your opponent. He might have size and reach and speed, but you've never met an opponent you couldn't out-punch. Your first blows land true. You feel a rib snap under your fist. Another punch clocks him in the temple. But when you go for the stomach, a sudden hardness makes your fist stop short, like you just hit a wall. A low ringing sound, like hollow metal. Is this bastard wearing armor? What just happened?

You step back to regroup. Reiter raises his hand for an overhead strike. You're out of range, you know for sure you're out of range, but some instinct warns you to throw up a block. Something cuts through the air, slicing through the flesh of your forearm. Still mentally engaged in counterattack mode, you turn with the blow and launch a spinning back kick at Reiter's head. It encounters the same resistance as before, but a good amount of the force gets through this time, and you see Reiter take a few steps back himself.

Both of you pause there for a moment, catching your breath, waiting to see what the other will do.

>>5174240

You blink and refocus your eyes. You can see a strange shadow, laid overtop of Reiter, surrounding him, moving as he does. For a moment, you can see it clearly: a ghostly shape like a suit of knight's armor. You recognize the manifestion of chi energy. "Arts!"

"Jawohl," Kurt says, grinning. He steps back and withdraws his fist, preparing for a powerful punch. You have just enough time to realize what's about to happen and throw yourself to the side, before he throws the attack. The fist itself doesn't reach you, but a wave of energy sweeps through the space you just stood in. You glimpse the ghostly form of an armored fist, before you land on your side and have scramble back up to your feet.

This dude is manifesting his chi as a suit of armor, and can use it to extend his punches as well.

Okay, that's pretty badass.

You knew that there were other arts users out there, but it's been a long time since you fought one of them. Time to get serious, then.

You're about even in damage now, but he's been forced to reveal his arts, and use up some of his energy in doing so. You still have all of yours in the tank, so maybe it's time to let her rip. On the other hand, he might still have something up his sleeve, but you can't win a fight just by defending and observing. Whatever you attack with, it's got to be something serious to get through that armor technique!

>[Arts] Show him what you got! Hit him with a Blast Knuckle!
>[Kickboxing] That spinning kick got through his armor earlier. Hit him with your biggest strikes.
>[Evade] You can maybe evade those extending punches now that you know the secret. Keep dodging and wear him out.

>>5174241
>[Arts] Show him what you got! Hit him with a Blast Knuckle!

Jesus, you guys really backed a man into a corner and then ceded the initiative to him to let him work out a way to rectify the situation?

Enough fucking around. Hit him.

>>5174241
>[Evade] You can maybe evade those extending punches now that you know the secret. Keep dodging and wear him out.
Let's get him to slip up

>>5174249
Way I see it, he didn't get out of that until he popped his arts and played his hand. We broke a bone, he got a cut in so I'd say the situation is about even

>>5174275
Fuck, please, the QM is telling you to stop. "you can't win a fight just by defending and observing". If we keep sticking to the same tactic he will work out our game and rock our shit. We're the ones who are risking slipping up by continuing to evade.

>we had an advantage and came out of it about even. We made the right choice!
Please think about what you're saying.

>>5174241
>[Arts] Show him what you got! Hit him with a Blast Knuckle!

>>5174280
The way I see it, we robbed him of the opportunity to surprise us with his Art at short range where we couldn't evade it.

>>5174241
I told ya'll fuck neutral.
But now we got more meter and and about the same amount of health. Let's lame him out, no point in bruising ourselves over armor.
>[Arts] Show him what you got! Hit him with a Blast Knuckle!

Cause rushing him wastes our advantage and playing defense is just asking to be clipped when he can fake his effective range. More than that, it's even lamer than to use an Art and I want to see what ours looks like.

>>5174299
His Art seems more like a defensive and range boost. Getting in close means the range doesn't do anything, and while defence is great it doesn't 'surprise us' quite so much. I don't see much close-range burst damage coming from it. Sure, he ORAORAORAORA'd us, but that was him using his range boost and not putting his full weight behind it.

He might not have had the focus or room to make proper use of his Art if we were crowding him. Instead we gave him full breathing room to get his Art off unhindered. It was the wrong decision.

>>5174241
>[Arts] Show him what you got! Hit him with a Blast Knuckle!

>>5174241
>Arts] Show him what you got! Hit him with a Blast Knuckle!

>>5174241
>Arts (KNUCKLE BLAST)

He showed his hand, let's show him our knuckle.

>>5174241
>[Arts] Show him what you got! Hit him with a Blast Knuckle!

>>5174241

Okay! If you're going up against another Arts user, there's no need to hold back. Time to show him what you got!

You let your awareness sink inwards, focusing everything on your right hand. You've done this so many times in training, doing it now is easy, even under this pressure. You can feel your body's energy currents surging like raging rivers, delivering all the power to where you want it to be.

You were never much good at Arts training. Definitely not when it came to finesse or versatility, as Granda Saito grumbled at you many times. Ryoma, even Ayame, had more fine control than you. All you could ever do was blast off unfocused bursts of raw power.

You only really learned how to manifest one thing. But you got pretty good at that one thing. And that one thing can solve a lot of problems. It's a swift, powerful burst of force and flame, like an explosion at the end of your fist.

It's not subtle or complicated. It gets the job done with direct, brute force. It's flashy and powerful. It's perfect for you.

You call it the Blast Knuckle.

The energy collecting in your hand is your own. Chaotic, fiery, unpredictable. Like holding an exploding bomb in your hand, trying to stop the explosion midway just by clamping down hard enough. A hell of a thing to hold on to.

Let's see how Reiter here likes it.

Crouching low and leaning forward, you spring off your feet in a mad lunge, committing totally to the attack. Strikes from the armored fists hurt bad, but not enough to stop you in your tracks. Your momentum keeps you going forward into range. You swing your fist with all your might, putting everything into a wild haymaker, and just as your fist hits, you unleash all that built-up chi in a fiery explosion, all focused dead center on the point of impact.

The chi burst pierces right through the armor, like a cannon through a castle wall. Most of the attack's force punches straight through, hitting Reiter in the torso. He stumbles, loses his footing, falls down on his back.

You take advantage -- no rules here -- and step forward with a quick stomp, but Reiter is already in motion, using a roll to get some distance and regain his footing. His hair is finally getting disarrayed, you notice. He's breathing heavily, still bent over and clutching the site of the impact with one hand. Uses his other hand to wipe his mouth, says something to you in German.

You raise a hand to give him a "come on" motion. "What else you got? Don't tell me that was it!"

"Nein," he says, and smiles.

The train is slowing down, you realize. Already pulling into the next station. Have you been fighting that long? No time to think about that. Stay focused. But still, a part of you realizes. You're having a blast. This is the best fight of your life. And it's not over yet.

>>5175408

Reiter stands up fully, centers his posture, takes a deep breath. The knightly armor shimmers into being around him again. Then -- it shatters. Sparks of chi flitter away, like fireflies. For a moment, you're taken aback. Why would he blow off his own armor? Then, as Reiter takes up a new combat stance, you realize, it wasn't the whole thing. His fists are still there.

You see his left arm start to move, but not the punch itself. You just eat shit, straight to the right side of the face. You reel backwards, half your vision obscured by bursts of starlight. The attacks come in again, too quick for you to keep up with one after another, did he get faster DID HE JUST GET FASTER what IS this --

A sudden burst of pain and darkness interrupts your thoughts as a blow connects with your jaw. For a moment, weightlessness. Then the hard impact of the wooden flatcar under your back.

Your head is still ringing, but you acting on instinct and training, drawing your legs into the air and balancing on your shoulders to kip up to a standing position. Your legs wobble, unexpectedly, and you almost lose it -- that would have really undermined your cool move there -- but you manage to stay up.

Okay, so he's sacrificed all of his defense for speed. Seems like a desperation move. But you're about to be on the receiving end of it. So what do you do?

You fight, that's what you do!

Another train streaks past, on the adjacent rail, with a deafening roar, as you put up your dukes.

>[Attack] This is it! Hit him with everything you've got!
>[Advance] Get in close to cancel out his range!
>[Smash] Break something on the train to destabilize him!
>[--//--Defend--//--] No way!
>[--//--Evade--//--] You're not backing down from this!

>>5175412
>[Smash] Break something on the train to destabilize him!

>>5175412
>[Attack] This is it! Hit him with everything you've got!
Just hit him

>>5175412
>Advance
Get in close and start hammering in on his elbows.

>>5175412
Based QM not letting us back down.

I kind of like Reiter. He's a tough bastard.

>[Advance] Get in close to cancel out his range!

His advantage is range and speed. We should hit harder if we get in close.

>>5175412
>>[Advance] Get in close to cancel out his range!

>>5175412
>[Smash] Break something on the train to destabilize him!

>>5175412
>[Advance] Get in close to cancel out his range!
Zoners lose to rushdown, right?

File: Garouterry2bg.gif (513 KB, 624x382)

513 KB GIF

>>5175412

Reiter's advantages over you, especially in this stripped-down armorless form, are range and speed. That means you just need to keep getting in close. Don't give him an inch. Hammer on his blocks until he can't block no more. So that's what you'll do.

Keeping your forearms up close to your face to deflect attacks to your head, you work your way in, weaving when possible, enduring the pain of the pummeling body shots. Bob and weave, block and maneuver. It's tough work, but you get inside.

Once in close again, you're able to mount your own offensive. Reiter might have dispelled his armor-like arts, but that doesn't mean he forgot how to defend himself. His elbows and forearms intercept your blows, but you don't give up, and keep striking. You're getting through, you can feel it!

A sudden switch from Reiter, going low for an inside kick to disrupt your balance. It catches you off guard, but on pure reaction speed you're able to leap over the kick; twisting your shoulders in midair, you fire off a punch on the way down with all your weight behind it. The blow lands home, clocking Reiter in that perfect overman jawline. He steps back, and you move in to follow him, slamming away with a close range fists-and-elbows combination, finishing in a heavy front kick that sends him flying, landing flat on his back.

Dazed from the attack, Reiter doesn't recover from the ground right away like before. Stepping over top of him, you once more focus all your energy into your hand. With a yell, you slam your fist down, unleashing a blast knuckle at point blank range.

>>5175531

The blow lands on the wooden planks near to Reiter's head, blasting them apart. His eyes look to the side, at your fist lodged in the destroyed wood next to him.If you had landed that, it might've killed him. This way, he'll just have a few splinters.

"Had enough?" you ask him, trying to catch your breath. "You good? Are we done?"

"Ja, ja," Reiter says. "You win. USA, OK." He closes his eyes and lets his head thump back against the wood. The pain of defeat. You know it well. Also regular pain. He's bleeding in several places on his forehead where you caught him with a punch, and he winces as he moves a hand to the place on his stomach where you landed the first blast knuckle. He should be all right -- Arts users generally know how to use their body's meridians to heal faster and more effectively -- but you imagine he's not having a great time right now.

You're in slightly better shape, but barely. You don't think anything's broken, but both your forearms are bleeding all over from blocking all those armored fist shots, and your stomach and sides will be bruised as hell. You're exhausted, your chi and stamina are drained, and you're hungry.

But, damn. That was a fight. A proper fight, like the ones your teachers have talked about. That was the real deal.

You become aware that, without the trains passing by to shield the scene from curious onlookers at the station, this could get awkward. You'd better get a move on. Time to grab your travel bag, and the -- "Oh, shit!"

>>5175533

You turn to look, but it's way too late. The briefcase, the one that had your ten thousand in cash? It's lying nearby. Open. Almost empty. It must have gotten knocked open during the fight. Looks like most of the money has already fluttered away on the wind, somewhere on the train line between the railyard and the station.

So much for your plans of travelling north in style. With a sigh, you walk over to the briefcase and look down at what little money remains inside. Easy come, easy go, right? You collect up the cash, which totals about $500. Better than nothing. More than enough for a good breakfast, which is your main focus right now.

After getting the cash and your travelling bag, you look back at Reiter. He's pushed himself up into a sitting position, still working on standing. He waves you off.

>Walk away, leave a wounded warrior his pride.
>Say something cool first.
>Help him to his feet.

>>5175534
>Say something cool first.

>>5175534
>Walk away, leave a wounded warrior his pride.

>>5175534
>Walk away, leave a wounded warrior his pride.

Of course we lost all the money.

>>5175534
>Walk away, leave a wounded warrior his pride.
MY FIGHT MONEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

>>5175534
>Walk away, leave a man his pride

>>5175705
Shoulda learned how to use a bank...

>>5175534

To say something cocky would be to rub salt in the wound. The same with helping him up, trying to be buddy-buddy after you just defeated him and ruined his chance at joining the tournament. Best to just walk away. Leave the man his pride, or at least some dignity. And so that's what you do, turning your back and walking away from the train.

From the station, you head out into the northern L.A. outskirts, trying to find someplace to get food. You draw quite a few stares on the streets -- you imagine your appearance is a bit frightening right now with all the blood and scratches and bruising -- but nobody stops or questions you. They just get out of your way.

Eventually you find a burger place, where you order half a dozen cheeseburgers, fries, and a shake. The acne-spotted teenager working at the counter looks terrified, but he obediently punches in your order into the register. Soon you're seated at a table near the window, chowing down on the burgers, ignoring the scared whispers and sideways glances of the other customers.

Part of you is feeling dead inside, just concentrating on eating and regaining your energy. Another is racing through your mental images of the fight that just happened. That was intense. Your hands are still trembling a little. That was more chi than you've ever spent in an actual fight, more than any time except a few real intense training sessions that intentionally pushed you to the limit. At the time, you were pretty mad at your teachers. Now you can see the value in that training.

The phone on the wall behind the counter rings. The teenage cashier picks it up. You see his eyes gradually go wide in fear as he listens. A few moments later, he's shuffling up to your table, like a rabbit trying to get close to a wolf. "T-t-t-t-telephone for you, sir ..."

Annoyed at having to pause your meal, but not wanting to give this poor kid any grief, you rise from your seat and head to the front, still eating the last half of your third cheeseburger. The kid scurries back behind the counter and passes the corded telephone handset over to you. You lounge against the counter, put the phone up to your ear, and with your mouth still full of cheeseburger, say, "Yeah?"

A woman's voice says, "Good morning, Mr. Carter."

"I had a feeling I'd be hearing from you, but this is sooner than I expected. Couldn't you wait until I finish my meal?"

"My apologies," Miranda says smoothly. "I wanted to make sure I caught you before you boarded the train once again. Let me be the first to congratulate you on passing the initial round of the tournament."

>I might have won the match, but I lost all the money.
>This is what you meant last night by 'they'll find you,' huh?
>Want to congratulate me in person? Say, over drinks tonight?
>You're keeping an eye on me, huh? Is somebody watching me right now?
>Buzz off. I'm eating.

>>5176634
>You're keeping an eye on me, huh? Is somebody watching me right now?

>>5176634
>You're keeping an eye on me, huh? Is somebody watching me right now?

>>5176634
>This is what you meant last night by 'they'll find you,' huh?

Asking if we're being watched is a bit redundant. How else would she know exactly where to call to get a hold of us?
Complaining about losing all the money probably invites some smarmy "oh I thought it wasn't about the money? :^)" reaction.

>>5176634
>Buzz off. I'm eating.
But our mouth is full so she can't understand us anyways.

>>5176640
Supporting

>>5176634
>This is what you meant last night by 'they'll find you,' huh?

>>5176634
>>5176639
>Buzz off. I'm eating.
changing to this

>>5176634
>This is what you meant last night by 'they'll find you,' huh?

>>5176634
>You're keeping an eye on me, huh? Is somebody watching me right now?

>>5176634
>So that's what you meant by "they'll find you"

>>5176634

"Thanks. I guess you know all about my little morning constitutional just now. This is what you meant what you said 'they'll find you', huh? You couldn't have, like, warned me that a huge German uberman boxer and arts user was in Los Angeles right now and that he was my first round of the tournament, and that I might be getting the shit kicked out of me less than twelve hours after I signed up?" You glance around to see the teenager cashier gawking at you. Covering the phone's mouthpiece, you tell him, "Movie stuff. Don't worry about it."

"Mr. Carter," Miranda says. "If you were the sort of person who could have lost in such a match, then trust me. It would be better for you to lose in the preliminary round. You would only embarass yourself in the main tournament. Also, possibly, die. However, you were up to the challenge, as I believed you were. For whatever my opinion's worth, I have high hopes for your future in the Kumite."

She's so cold and professional, you're not sure if she's being sarcastic or genuinely praising you. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," you say, guarded.

"The next round will not be for a few days at least. There are many other participants who have yet to fight their matches, and until those duels are decided, the next round will not be determined. Until that time, you're free to go back to your life. I'll contact you when there's more information." A quiet cough as she clears her throat. "I understand there was an incident with the ... briefcase. As your contact, I can provide financial assistance, as long as it's necessary for logistical contigencies. I have some authority to determine what those contigencies are, so ... what I'm saying is, if you run out of money, I can help."

"Oh, well, thanks," you say again, a bit more genuine this time. "I'm used to living on the cheap, but if something comes up, I'll give you a call."

"Please don't hesitate to do so. Once again, congratulations. Until next time, Mr. Carter."

"Later." You hang up the phone, then look at it for a moment, trying to figure out what her deal is.

>>5177004

A short time later, you depart the burger joint, still drinking the last of your shake through the straw. For now, you plan to go through with your original idea of heading north, searching for Ryoma in Canada. But you better not head back to the same train station you just left. Any security or cops who got alerted about the two crazy assholes beating the shit out of each other will be watching out for you.

Time to hike north for a while, and you'll meet up with the railway again a ways down the line.

You hear the sucking sound at the end of the straw that means you finished your shake. You drop it in a trash can on the street. As you step away from the can, you realize that a muscular man is heading down the sidewalk in your direction.

You can't tell if he's a fighter at this distance. But you can feel your heart start to quicken. You can feel the crackling energy of your fighting chi start to lance through you once again, energizing tired muscles and nerves, getting ready to fight again.

The man looks at you oddly as he drops a food wrapper in the container. "Problem, bro?"

You realize you've been staring at him this whole time with a determined glare on your face. "Oh, uh, no. Sorry, dude. Just zoned out there."

The muscular man walks away. You let out a deep breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Miranda told you it would be a few days at least until you hear about the next round in the competition. She also said that the only rule is you can only fight the person you're matched up against. But you don't know that for sure, right? What if the next asshole on the tournament's list is somebody on this street, watching you right now?

Your first suspects are any big men in your view, but when you consider what you know about slimmer guys like Ryoma, or even girls like Ayame, and what those two are capable of -- well, any rules you've previously known about only big men being fighters are out the window. Your next opponent could be anyone on this street. They could look like anyone, use any style, be any kind of challenge.

What if they ignore the tournament rules, try to take you out and cover it up later, the second they see an opportunity? Miranda seemed like she had eyes on what was happening, so the tournament organization clearly has observers of some kind, but can you trust them to catch anything weird from happening? What if they get paid off? Damn, you're starting to get paranoid.

You start walking north, still thinking.

Are you up for the challenge of maybe having to fight anyone, anywhere? Are you prepared to live your life on guard at all times?

>Hell yeah. This is a warrior's world.
>It'll be tough, but you have to do it, to overcome the shadows of your past.
>It's scary, but it's worth the challenge of going up against the world's greatest fighters.
>This is nuts. Just what have you got yourself into?

>>5177006
>This is nuts. Just what have you got yourself into?
>It'll be tough, but you have to do it, to overcome the shadows of your past.
We can fully acknowledge the craziness without turning away.

>>5177006
>This is nuts. Just what have you got yourself into?
>It'll be tough, but you have to do it, to overcome the shadows of your past.

>>5177006
>It'll be tough, but you have to do it, to overcome the shadows of your past.

>>5177006
>Hell yeah. This is a warrior's world.
imagine wanting to play the straight man in the wacky fighting game setting, pretty lame if you ask me. embrace the insanity

>>5177006
>Hell yeah. This is a warrior's world.

>>5177006
>>It'll be tough, but you have to do it, to overcome the shadows of your past.

>>5177006
>>Hell yeah. This is a warrior's world.
Let's do this.

>>5177006
This is nuts. What have we got ourselves into?
>HELL YEAH!

There is a brief moment, when you consider the utter insanity of everything you know and everything that will occur. . and when that moment passes, you shall have the biggest grin on your face and only three words. "Bring It On"

>>5177006
>>It'll be tough, but you have to do it, to overcome the shadows of your past.
We're in it to win it, but we're not some nutjob who thrives in chaos.

>>5177006
>Hell yeah. This is a warrior's world.

>>5177006
>Hell yeah. This is a warrior's world.

>>5177006

Hell yeah. This is IT, baby. What else were you training for all this time? What caused you to roam the highways of America looking for a true test of strength, never slowing down or stopping, never putting down roots or forming attachments, always ready to move on?

It was because you were searching for this. A world where every place is a battlefield, every style is fair game, every fighter is an opponent. A world where you win or lose, live or die, by the strength of your own fists, and nothing else. A warrior's world.

The shadows of doubt about your past, your future, your legacy; all these are burned away by the bright, violent purity of this truth in your heart: this is everything you hoped for.

Whistling a tune, you sling your travel bag over your shoulder, and keep walking north.

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>>5178102

TOURNAMENT ARC will resume March 5th.

Thank YOU for playing!

>>5178105
Thanks for running. This was awesome. Looking forward to more.

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>>5178102
>A world where every place is a battlefield, every style is fair game, every fighter is an opponent. A world where you win or lose, live or die, by the strength of your own fists, and nothing else. A warrior's world.