HA HA HA

 The man’s posture was perfectly rigid, yet with no tension. A stance like the tall structures of urban Japan. Perfection to more cultured eyes. An area so familiar to her, could come off as foreign. Her very workplace and the street existed on, barren. 

She broke the alien silence of the modern landscape. The westerner, brushed imaginary dust from his gaudy tuxedo.

“Ansatsuken.” He said firmly. “Or rather, Shotokan?”

A malicious grin crept across his face. 

“ Whoa-ho! I remember this guy! Talk about power, he had Kim on the ropes! “

“ Yeah! Maybe we could learn a thing or two from you! Anyone who can fight toe to toe with Master Kim gets respect from me!! “ 

Rugal gave the duo a quizzical look. Regarding them with the same look he would a can of rubbish, in his field of view. Of course Rugal’s own visage was iconic from the tournament. 

But who were these pests? Did they even attend such a prestigious event?

Suddenly his puzzled expression transformed into a glare. 

“Kim. Kim Kaphwan, the legend of Taekwando? He made it that far in MY tournament, with goons like you? What a joke.”

He clenched his fist, audible scrunches emitted from the tortured leather glove.

      “R-Rugal?” Terry looked to the man totally startled by his presence. He knew what had happened to him after the tournament and Terry knew full well that he was not drunk to see dead peoplee knows. 

“A god can’t die.” 

Rugal smugly ran his thumbs up the lining of his tuxedo jacket, stopping mid lapel to give them a quick pop outwards. Red light briefly flashed from his cybernetic eye as a smirk crept across his face.

There was something about a guy in a red suit that just screamed ‘filthy rich’. It also potentially screamed ‘evil scumbag’, but that was beside the point. Probably. Straightening her hat with a self-assured smirk, Poison put a swing in her step as she approached the unfamiliar man.

Rugal was deep in thought, probably the kind most wouldn’t want to hear about. Resurrection was a busy hobby and he had a lot on his plate. Snapping to attention, he tugged at the lapels of his tuxedo before folding his arms. A business appropriate pose. When all was said and done, he was a businessman, right? 

❝Is there something I can do for you? ❞ 

The stern voice   of a young Southtown Rookie spoke up, staring ahead at a man, a threatening one, and one that made him feel absolutely disgusted. Rock didn’t know him, but he was already finding himself wishing that he hadn’t even laid eyes on him, or crossed paths with him. Normally with strangers  , Rock was pretty accepting and friendly.

But .. This guy seemed different.

A warrior could always recognize another warrior. But Rugal recognized something about this one. A certain spark in the eye, or familiar painting of his ki. It was unmistakable who this boy was, or rather, related to. Unfolding his arms with a ‘hmph’. It dawned on him, an idea for an experiment. Rock got a one word reply to his question.

“Live.”

Briskly the arms dealer wound an arm backwards, “Reppu-” and underhand pitched it towards the young man. “ken!” 

Ah, new face, lets lower those goggles and analyze…

Results would show the name of Rugal Bernstein, however…the further data she collected caused an overload on her system and her goggles eventually snapped and broke, resulting in a loud “Ah!” coming from the sneaky hacker.

The warlord sneered, what pest was this? Maybe they had a use, if his intuition was true. Rugal thrust his arm upwards triumphantly, clenching his bionic fist. Malefic energy seemingly seeped from it before being reabsorbed. The glove around it audibly scrunched in textile agony.