ROUND TWO:
Gold Lion Gate
The loud thumps and
pounds of the strikes resounded throughout the private alcove, followed by the
strained creaking of a long, tight rope. The large size of the iron weight
meant little to him by this point; the iron weight, his own machination, was
conceived to serve a single purpose:
To improve his strength. To train. To push himself
forward and keep fighting. If he slacked on his training for even a bit, it
would take him. The disease would bring him down.
Shen-Woo punched the iron rectangle with a straight fist,
causing a loud CLANG as it swung and the rope stressed itself to keep the
weight steady. He quickly followed up with a jumping knee that sent the iron on
an arc in the opposite direction. As soon as Shen-Woo’s boots touched the stone
ground of the platform, he twirled and his left arm swung, smacking the weight
with another CLANG.
The iron weight swung once more, the creak of the rope
growing louder as the weight’s arc went farther. He turned for a moment and
took a deep breath. The air around his body grew dense and small to medium
sized pebbles began to rise slowly from the ground. The weight came back like
an oversized cannonball, the wind whooshing behind it, and Shen-Woo contorted
at a strange angle.
“Dragon’s Spear!”
He cried through a guttural growl as the contorting turned into an upwards
thrust kick that surged with Qi. Shen-Woo resembled a small rocket as he
connected his attack with the iron weight, smashing a dent inward. The rope
creaked insanely loud and finally gave way as it swung back like a pendulum
gone off of its momentum. The weight collapsed to the ground, shattering the
stone upon its impact.
Shen-Woo turned and let loose a loud exhale, although it
was slightly…altered. He was a man that was masked… Originally, he was not
attempting to inspire fear in those around him. The disease did that for him,
scarring and blistering his face with unsightly sores and bruises. It had been
nearly twenty years since the disease first reared its ugly head, and every
single one of those days had been filled with agony. His body was constantly
wracked with pain. Every day this man felt that he was skulking around in the
shoes of the Phantom of the Opera, having to move around day by day concealed
in cloaks and a mask.
The mask…the substitute for his face. The mask wasn’t
there from the beginning; before it was just a faceless metal plate. Shen-Woo wanted no one to see him, a wretched shell of his
former self. It was ornate, bearing the visage of an Ogre. At its brow extended
two long and slightly curved horns, its face was locked in a permanently
bloodthirsty glare, and the face bared its teeth as a wolf would while
accepting a challenge. This was made even more intimidating by the two long
fangs extending from the lower jaw and out of the mouth.
He looked at the now-bent iron
weight and clenched his fists. With a single leap he cleared the space between
him and the shattered ground created upon the weight’s impact and split the
metal construct in two with a single chop.
“The great Shen-Woo,” a female voice
stated, sounding out from behind him. “You never cease to amaze me. Every time
I come here, I’m expecting to find your body strewn on the cold ground.”
Shen-Woo turned to see a young woman
in her early twenties standing behind him with her arms crossed. She had her
long blonde hair tied into a single ponytail and icy blue eyes, and her body
was formed into a voluptuous yet powerful build. Her clothing was a clue to her
profession; she wore a black coat, a white blouse with a red tie, and black
slacks that ended with her choice of shoes, a pair of high heel boots.
“The
lovely Ms. Elena Costanzia, it’s always so gratifying for you to grace my
little hole in the wall with your presence.” Shen-Woo’s voice streamed through
a filter built into the mask, and it always managed to weird Elena out whenever
she heard it.
Elena
raised her right eye brow. If she was a woman of lesser intelligence,
Shen-Woo’s last statement would’ve sounded half like a come-on. “You’re not as
fast as last time. The pickings must be slim.” As a silent remark, Shen-Woo
turned towards the young woman and breathed a low growl.
Shen-Woo…he
possesses a strange ability. Striking his opponent in a nerve cluster, Shen-Woo
can absorb the Qi that’d be released violently, gaining that person’s special
power. A person, especially those with special powers has a unique chakra gate.
Shen-Woo can drain it completely and then his body reverse-engineers it into
his own chakra gate.
Science
identifies it as “Intuitive Aptitude”, the ability to understand and manipulate
patterns with complex systems, i.e. he can deduce the working of the powers of
others, find the body’s connection to the power through its Qi, and immediately
replicates the power. It is this ability that has helped him fight death for
twenty five years.
Ignoring
her comment, Shen-Woo continued to face her direction and spoke, “Has Chow Kang
and Lou-Lang made it to the restaurant? It’s rare that I find myself in Japan
for an extended period.” Elena’s response was a curt one: “We’re already late.
You should buy a watch.”
Shen-Woo
disappeared in a wisp of dust and reappeared just a few feet in front of Elena.
He touched her chin with a gloved hand and raised it to meet his mask.
“You’re…the only one whose snarky manners haven’t gotten her killed by me…yet.”
He turned, releasing her, and placed a hand on his chin. “Chow Kang has been
doing a good job. I’ve decided to continue collaboration with him and let him
host the tournament.”
The
masked man reached into his tunic and withdrew a small artifact. It was golden
and crafted in the visage of a lion. He resumed speaking without turning back:
“Give Chow Kang the Golden Lion Plaque. It signifies that he and his people are
a part of Gold Lion Gate.”
Gold
Lion Gate was the cabal that Shen-Woo built in secrecy within the underworld of
Hong Kong. Within some time, their faction rose to prominence and like a
violent flash flood, Gold Lion Gate washed away most of their competitors with
torrents of curb stomps and blades and bullets.
Shen-Woo tossed the plaque to Elena,
who caught it and examined it. The object felt heavy like the weight of a
pistol, but nevertheless she pocketed the plaque and turned to exit the alcove.
She could hear Shen-Woo’s growl of a voice tone sound out before she shoved
headphones over her ears. “Ask him to keep working hard for us.”
The sweat rained from his brow as Ashura
kept waiting. This was his first date, and Melissa was really hot, hotter than
Azuki. He would’ve gladly picked her up, but she was a little hesitant to allow
Ashura to see where she lived. Still, it would’ve been much faster to ride back
home with Ashura. Melissa quickly gave a suggestion for their date, a
restaurant called “Daidaiya” that was south of the Nagashio Hospital and next
to the Ikebukuro Station.
“Daidaiya serves up innovative fusion cuisine
drawing on Korean, other Asian and Italian influences - their ‘modern’ sushi
variations are especially interesting. Smaller than most, the Ikebukuro branch
is snazzily decorated and it offers views of Western Ikebukuro. Lunch is served
till 4pm.” Ashura read the information he gathered about the restaurant from
the written page of his notepad. The words were in English so it took a moment
to translate the words and sequence them correctly. “I guess she wants me to
try Korean food. That would be a first; a man cannot live on rice, Ramen, and tea
alone.”
The
bus drove up and Ashura climbed down from his motorcycle to correct himself and
his clothes. His hair was spread across his shoulders and so he took a band
from his pocket and tied it back into a single lock. He tested his breath and
straightened his jacket; Ashura wore his school uniform when he stayed at the
dorms because he didn’t have a change of clothes.
Melissa
stood at the bus stop as the vehicle departed, dressed semi-casual; she wore
her “Sailor fuku” outfit and wore her auburn hair down across her shoulders.
Once Ashura spotted her, he felt a bit stupid that he tied his hair back.
Melissa merely went back to her place to “dress comfortably”, which meant that
she changed her shoes and put on a jacket.
“Well,
well,” Melissa giggled, eyeing Ashura from head to toe. “You look much cuter
with your hair up.”
“And I can’t find any words to do
you justice. You’re perfect as is.” Ashura stuttered, fighting a battle to
conceal the nervousness that managed to take hold of his courage. He took the
edge of his jacket and cleared the sweat beading on his brow. “Let’s head
inside, shall we?”
“Remember, that plaque represents the
Gold Lions. You’re still your own group, yet the plaque is an indicator of the
alliance between us.” Elena handed the plaque to a Chinese man clad in a
business suit and black hair with large hints of graying. In one hand he held a
golden plated lighter; he flicked the flint to ignite the flame and lit his
stogie that he grasped between two fingers. “It’s quite an honor, as well as a
huge responsibility.”
“Understand
the brevity of the situation: you know that the tournament is drawing near, so
you make your choice now. Join the tong and host the competition; we’ll let you
pick the venue.” Elena dictated, standing over the crime boss like a Queen
preparing to knight her subject.
The
second man that sat impatient like a disobedient child was Luo-Lang, leader of
the White Tigers, an assemblage of like-minded fighters who now lived for
nothing but moving to the next scrap. Brutal and untrained, they fought like
wild dogs. Luo-Lang himself resembled much of his group’s namesake; the rents
in his clothing, the parts that showed bare skin, displayed snow white body
hair. Covering his broad, sturdy chest was a tan shirt and a white jacket that
seemed to barely contain all of the hair. The hair was stuffed amazingly into
his black jeans and he tapped the ground with a pair of rough leather boots.
With
a gruff voice that was fit for a lumberjack, Luo-Lang barked: “So Chow Kang
gets the plaque and the White Tigers sit by and watch?”
She
turned her head towards the brutish man, focusing a single blue eye on him and
curled her lips into an arrogant smile. “Yes, sit and watch like a good little
mongrel.” Elena about faced as the feral man reared up behind her, towering like
a bear looming over its prey.
With
an instant twitch, Elena swirled around and drove her fist into the man’s
sternum area, drawing forth a loud gasp as her strike aired out his body.
Luo-Lang collapsed to the ground, hands clutching his chest and raggedly
gasping for air.
“I’ve
always been taught that bad dogs get beat.” The young woman approached the
bigger man and planted her boot on the side of his face, turning it violently.
With a few more pounds of foot strength, Elena could’ve easily broken the man’s
neck. “I suggest you act like you have an ounce of respect before you get put
to sleep, doggy.”
Elena retracted her foot from
Luo-Lang’s face and turned her neck to face the Triad boss, who began to clap
slowly. “Ruthless, strong, and beautiful: my idea of a perfect woman. I can
only hope that my daughter will mature into a woman like you one day!”
“We have a table reserved under ‘Shindo’
for 4:00.” Ashura told the waitress who sat behind a small desk twenty feet
away from the front door of the restaurant. By now, his nervousness dissipated,
replaced by anxiousness. Would he get a kiss afterwards? Would she break it off
with him following one date? Is he going to stutter like he did when he first
met Azuki?
Ashura
and Melissa walked towards their table as Elena passed them on her way back to
her car. As the separate parties crossed each other’s paths, Melissa and the
former locked eyes with each other. Ashura did not notice this. Moments later
they were at their table but another sight caught Ashura’s attention: the steps
leading up to the second level were covered with punks in white. He took notice
of street thugs before and even fought a couple, but these guys did not look
like Yakuza at all. A large number of
them looked Chinese.
The
couple sat at their table and a waitress poured them a hot cup of tea. Ashura
made sure to keep his senses alert, for fear that these thugs would ruin his
first date.
“Something
the matter?” Melissa inquired, pulling Ashura’s head back towards her.
“These
guys.” Ashura began, cutting his eyes back towards the stairs and trailing his
sight to the second floor. “They’re a part of some gang but I’ve never seen
them around Ikebukuro.”
“The
White Tigers,” Melissa provided an answer, causing her date to raise an
eyebrow. Once she noticed him looking in curiosity, he clarified her remark. “I
told you I came from Hong Kong for foreign studies. Well, around the streets,
they tend to take what they want and regularly pay off the HKPD.”
“So
what are they doing in Japan?” Ashura couldn’t shake his uneasy feeling.
Melissa placed her delicate hand on Ashura’s, manicured with pink and white French
tips. Ashura caught a whiff of her scent and his nose flooded with the smell of
cherry blossoms.
“Let’s
not let them spoil our date. You’re on guard like a pit bull.” She breathed,
drawing his attention away from the gang.
It was then that the entire
restaurant was startled at the sound of a loud banging noise.
“Chow Kang! Why the hell did they pass
me over for you?! Now all of East Asia’s smuggling is under your control.”
Puffing
on his cigar, the Triad boss responded amidst his cloud of smoke, “Well, it
takes balls and charisma to work with Gold Lion Gate. Shen-Woo has an eye for
success.” Chow Kang took another puff of the cigar and dashed the ashes in his
nearby tray. “You gotta work harder, Tiger!” The word “tiger” spilled forth in
a condescending tone, irritating Luo-Lang even further.
“For
fuck’s sake…” Luo-Lang uttered under his breath. “Balls? Charisma? I got much
more than you and your whole gang combined!” The feral nature began to ooze out
as his breathing grew heavier. “Honestly, I could care less about your
businesses! I just want half of your cut!”
Chow Kang nearly choked on a plume
of smoke at the declaration. Half of his
cut, his revenue? He had to be kidding. “Are you shitting me?” He set the cigar
down and crossed his fingers together. “Owning Gold Lion Gate’s plaque nets you
all the work and you want half? What do you bring to the table to even convince
me to bring you on?”
Ashura and Melissa brought their heads
down after the conflict upstairs died down. It was at that moment that Ashura
noticed a couple of guys from his school staring at them intently, and more
importantly, at Melissa. Ashura immediately turned back and slid his hands
under the table, cracking his knuckles. His breathing deepened; Master Wong
informed him of this moment of sudden anxiousness and taught him how to manage
it. This is the factor that could make or break a fighter before a bout.
“…shura?
Ashura? What’s the matter?” Melissa said as her muted voice regained volume. “You
totally spaced out for a second there.”
“You
see those guys behind me?” Ashura said, motioning his eyes behind his person.
Melissa looked and saw the punks eying the two, one licking his lips vigorously
as he perverted her image in his head.
Uneasily,
she nodded her head. Ashura continued: “They’re known for sexual harassment.
And we’ve been chosen as their newest quarry.” Ashura moved slightly to check
if that weapon was still there.
Thank goodness, it was. He was
worried that it fell out during his ride there. Ashura didn’t dare reach for
the weapon yet, not while his backside was still in their line of side. Now, it
was time to play the waiting game.
“Look, Luo-Lang. Shen-Woo gave me the
plaque. If you want it so bad, if you think you’re ballsier than my whole gang,
then try to take it.” Chow Kang held the plaque tauntingly out in front of him.
“Don’t
patronize me!” Luo-Lang barked.
“Oh,
look; he’s learned a new word!” Chow Kang snickered. “Here, I’ll make it easier
for you.” Chow Kang stood up and placed it on the table in front of Luo-Lang,
no more than five feet in front of him.
Luo-Lang leaned forward and reached
for it slowly…
The punks from Ashura’s school
approached the couple, causing Ashura to exhale in minor frustration. It was
ever so tempting to whip it out right then and there, but it was better to
wait.
The
punks reached their table and Ashura did not look at them. “Such a pretty girl
you have here, Shindo. Mind if we get to know her a little bit?”
“I
wouldn’t do that if I were you. First and only warning,” Ashura said, bringing
his hands to rest on the table.
One
punk disregarded Ashura’s warning and reached a hand to grope Melissa’s breast.
She closed her eyes in fear…and felt nothing. Once she opened her eyes, she saw
Ashura holding the punk’s wrist with the force of a vice-grip.
“I’ll
warn you again. LEAVE NOW.” Ashura’s grip tightened as the punk whined in pain.
His two buddies moved in on Ashura, prompting him to slap the former backwards
with a stiff blow to the face, strike the second in the scrotum with a hammer
fist, and elbow the third in the solar plexus, following immediately with a
back fist.
Ashura
turned his head at the sound of a whimper and discovered a fourth punk prepared
to smash him over the head with a chair. The entire restaurant was in silence.
Ashura stood from his seat and calmly walked over to the punk, who then set the
chair back in its place.
There
was a tense silence between the two as Ashura looked at the punk completely
deadpan. “You know that’s no way to treat a lady, right?” He said, causing the
punk to sweat.
The next thing the punk knew was his
backside crashing into something hard…then he looked and found himself lodged
in the ceiling.
The ground shook violently and the table
rose up suddenly, smacking Luo-Lang in the face and knocking him to the floor.
Blood trickled from his nose as he snarled ferociously. Chow Kang merely sat upwards
and laughed boisterously, hand on his belly like jolly St. Nick.
“Who
the hell did that?!” Luo-Lang reared up to look through the gaping hole in the
private dining room. He saw Ashura standing in the bottom floor spot, peering
up through the hole.
“Who
are you?” Chow Kang inquired to the young man.
“Ashura
Shindo,” he responded. Chow Kang looked to the bottom level, spotting Melissa,
and smiled.
Luo-Lang
snapped his fingers and the White Tiger gang all rushed downstairs…all thirty
of them. Chow Kang and his men came merely to watch what was going to happen.
“Leave
her out of this,” Ashura said, nodding to Melissa. “I’m solely responsible.”
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