Another fanfic by Ms. Cox, this one more typical of her style.
Again, this was done about three years ago, and her net access
has, sadly, since been severed.  In case you're wondering where
I first saw this stuff, it was in the usenet newsgroup alt.games.sf2
Hope ya like.

-rpm

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Ryu/Ken/Sheng Long/Sagat: "A Lesson To Remember"

						A LESSON TO REMEMBER

	"Again.  Do it again_," was the repeated, merciless command.
	For the ten thousandth time, Ken folded back briefly into  
guard position, bringing his hands across his left side as if  
grasping an imaginary sword pommel.  In less than an eyeblink, he  
released the coiled charge of inner tension, shifting smoothly into a  
long stance of standing width, front leg bent with the foot flat,  
back leg straight with less than a fourth of his body weight resting  
on the ball of his back foot, just as Sensei had taught him.  He  
pushed forth his arms, fingers curled, palms outward as if in heel  
strike, save that one hand twisted up while the other angled down in  
opposition.  The world narrowed to naught save the scarce area  
directly in front of his outstretched hands.  All his concentration,  
all his focus, all his will_ and even essence_ were to congregate and  
accelerate on that_ spot, a tightly controlled yet fluidly relaxed  
outpouring of determination.  His diaphragm contracted in sympathetic  
acceleration and, even as he enacted the strike, he used his voice,  
grating and harsh from hours of abuse, as reinforcement for the  
strength of his actions.  The sound and the explosion of strength  
were one and the same:  "HA DOU KEN!"
	Nothing.  

	Not one flicker of energy.  Not even a spark.  Deep within,  
Ken hadn't really expected to generate a flaming "energy-wave", any  
more than the last nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine times  
he had attempted it.
	"Again," said the Sensei flatly, without even pausing to  
acknowledge his student's failure.  "Do it."
	Ken summoned his will and drew off his fortunately vast  
reserves of strength, striving to enact his Sensei's will.  Although  
the physical effort alone was tiring, his stamina had much increased  
during his past six-month tenure as a student.  But--
	"Again!"
	"HA DOU KEN!"
	--he was feeling the mental stress of extended, absolute  
concentrated focus without rest or pause or--
	"Again!"
	"HA DOU KEN!"
	--tangible success_ to interrupt the monotony of sheer  
expended effort, always dashed into cynical despair at the sight of  
nothing_ but empty space and his own two hands--
	"Again!"
	"HA DOU KEN!"
	--while the rising frustration from the relentless defeat  
seemed to wash around him, ready like the rising tide to engulf him  
completely and suffocate what little sanity he had left--
	"Do it again!"
	(I'm trying_!) his mind screamed, half in rage, half in  
anguish, despite his effort to keep his thoughts precise.
	"Stop," was the Sensei's unexpected command, bringing Ken  
both a secret relief for the break in his torture, and a secret  
loathing for the feeling of relief.
	"You do not 'try' to formulate ha dou ken.  You do_.  'Try'  
is a word of apprehension and hesitation, two things that will only  
hinder your inner strength," lectured the Sensei in his cold, even  
voice.  Although Ken could have sworn that his outburst had been in  
mind alone, and not aloud--certainly, his vocal chords were far too  
raw to produce anything save another shouted exclamation of "HA DOU  
KEN!".
	"I don't understand, Sensei," he tried to say... but all that  
came out was a movement of the lips and a whisper of air.
	The old teacher understood him perfectly, though.  "'Try'  
simply does not exist where matters of pure will are concerned.  That  
is why I have never and shall never instruct you to 'try'.  Only do_,  
and do again.
	"So do it.  Do it again_!"
	Ken's response, although swift by most human standards,  
seemed to him a sluggish answer to the abrupt command.  He repeated  
the pattern anyway, beginning and ending with the same, rasping cry:   
"HA DOU KEN!"
	Nothing.  Not even a glint of light reflected from a dust  
speck.
	The Sensei sighed, and for just a second then, he was human.   
The instant died quickly... and he returned to speaking in that same,  
neutral, level voice that he always used, showing neither approval  
nor disapproval.  "Your mastery of the physical form is almost  
complete.  It is a lack of confidence that holds you back.  In  
nothing else more than this, you must believe_ before you may do_."   
A short pause.  "Rest for one quarter of an hour, then execute your  
forms--all of them--again, so that you may derive strength from that  
which you have already mastered.  Then rest again, for as long as you  
deem necessary, and return to this.  I shall check upon your progress  
come sunset."
	"Hai, Sensei."
	"And do not project while executing your forms--merely expel  
air without sound.  You need to save your voice for the task that  
lies ahead."
	"Hai."
	With that, the teacher turned and left, and Ken was too  
drained to see by which direction he had departed.  For now, he  
merely savored the rest, half-closing his eyes and letting the sounds  
of the practice field surround him.  Off to his left, two duelists  
sparred to sharpen their reflexes and hone their skills in the Art of  
Shotokan Karate, while a studious monitor watched their every move.   
To his right, a group of five initiates practiced their first form.   
Ken knew that they were beginners because their ritual exclamations  
were raggedly nonuniform.
	Behind him... Ryu was still_ going at it.
	Ken could hear the steady, repetitive <smack> of successive  
fireballs expounding their energy on a mortar board constructed  
specifically for that purpose.  Ken twisted one hundred and eighty  
degrees around, the better to examine his fellow student.  Perhaps he  
could learn something significant.
	Ryu trained doggedly, patiently, even tirelessly, always cool  
and calculating whether engaged in a simple drill (as he was now) or  
sparring with an opponent of any skill level.  He was never to be  
seen without his long, crimson headband, tied firmly in back with a  
simple slipknot.  The flowing strip of cloth never truly seemed to do  
an adequate job of keeping his stringy, jet black hair out of his  
eyes.  But if Ryu's vision were at all hindered, it had no effect on  
his rock-solid, defensive guard in combat.
	Come to think of it... there was hardly ever_ a moment when  
Ryu was not engaged in combat, moderating combat, preparing for  
combat, or training for combat.  He would only change out of his  
loose-fitting white dogi to attend to the most unavoidable routine  
chores.  One was only supposed to wear the dogi while engaged in the  
exercise of one's martial discipline, and Ryu changed out of his so  
infrequently that Ken doubted he owned more than one or two pairs of  
civilian clothes.  And yet, Ken thought he knew Ryu well enough to be  
sure that Ryu would soon cut his own throat than violate the  
traditional formalities of his discipline...
	Ryu was a Shotokan Karate workaholic.  In a sense, it was  
rather regrettable that he had been born in the twentieth century...   
Ryu could have been a hero, a subject of songs and legends to endure  
throughout history.  Ironically, though, Ryu probably did not care   
the width of a single grain of sand for things like glory or fame, or  
even immortalization through one's deeds.  He was profoundly unaware  
or uncaring of whatever status he might have held in any century,  
past present, or future.  All Ryu really cared about was the  
perfection of his Art--and the fight.
	But--beneath the harsh, methodical determination that seemed  
to govern his every waking moment, Ryu was_ human.  His process of  
transforming into an emotionless master of body and mind was well  
along, but far from complete.  The day that he achieved the plateau  
of the Sensei's harmony had not yet come.  Perhaps it never would.   
Few men indeed had the inner potential and the will to exude  
excellence that might one day mold them into a true equal of Sheng  
Long Sensei.
	For what it was worth, though, Ryu had that fireball down_.
	Ken approached his fellow student and--friend?  Would it be  
fair to call Ryu that?  Certainly, they were both at about the same  
level of training.  Both of them had earned the honor of advanced  
instruction from the mysterious Sheng Long Sensei at approximately  
the same time, passing his test and thus gaining the privilege of  
being trained in strange powers, in this small paradise near the  
eastern edge of the world.  They had each achieved the skills of a  
first-degree black belt in Shotokan Karate when they had first met,  
too... so that the two of them were at about the same level of  
instruction.  Ken was neither Ryu's senpai [senior] nor koohai  
[junior], but rather his classmate of equal rank.
	Still... while friendship tends to come far more readily  
among equals, being a colleague does not presuppose being a friend.   
Ken did not speak terribly much with Ryu, partly because his driven  
co-student was innately so taciturn--or so it seemed to Ken, who was  
still working to improve his functional-but-sketchy mastery of  
Japanese.  Ryu never spoke in English, nor had he ever acknowledged  
any English statement mentioned to or around him (and not only from  
Ken, either, who had quickly learned to address his fellow student  
only in Japanese--at least two other students of Sheng Long Sensei  
were foreign-born English speakers as well).  Privately, Ken  
suspected that Ryu did_ understand English, but he knew better than  
to confront his possible friend on such a trivial point.
	There were only two topics for which Ryu might be willing to  
temporarily set aside his laconic nature and converse.  One, of  
course, was Shotokan Karate, or more broadly, any other  
discipline--Tae Kwon Do, Aikido, Wushu, Kung Fu, etc.  Name the  
style, and Ryu had within his head volumes of information about  
strengths, weaknesses, ranking and training, history... if one could  
get him started (not as easy a task as it might sound), he might be  
willing to spend the whole night lecturing, debating, discussing,  
even bantering back and forth like old friends do.  This had even  
happened a couple of times since Ken and Ryu had first met.
	It was, however, beyond Ken's ability to fathom whether Ryu  
had ever actually practiced other disciplines prior to his current  
study of Shotokan Karate.  Certainly, Ken never saw Ryu use moves  
specific to other Arts... but much about Ryu's background was too  
thickly shrouded to be divined with certainty.
	The other set of instances in which Ken and Ryu had talked at  
length were whenever Ken came to Ryu with a question about Japanese.   
Ryu always seemed genuinely glad to help--which was in and of itself  
a break from his usual stance of emotionless neutrality.
	No, despite his hardening outward appearance of coldness, on  
the inside Ryu was still quite human.  But--a friend?  It was Ryu who  
had patiently explained to Ken that the Japanese word for  
"friend"--tomodachi--was in fact generally more restrictive in use  
than its English counterpart.  Among men, at least, "tomodachi" was  
reserved for those colleagues of equal rank who became close for a  
significant length of time.
	On the other hand... if Ken was not Ryu's tomodachi, then no  
one was.  Ryu had no family--Ken knew this because three weeks ago,  
he had just finished a letter to his girlfriend back in the States,  
and was preparing to make the fairly lengthy (five miles) trek to the  
nearest mailbox.  Ken had asked Ryu whether he had a letter to be  
delivered to his_ family, or something like that.  Whatever the  
question might have been, Ken remembered Ryu's answer very clearly:
	"Family does not exist."
	Well, that was the literal translation.  Perhaps a more  
accurate interpretation of his sentence, "Kazoku ga imasen", would be  
"I don't have a family."
	Was Ryu an orphan, or had he been excommunicated from his  
family group?  Or had he simply left his family, never to return?   
Ken did not know, and most certainly was not about to ask.  Some  
considerations of privacy transcend individual cultures.  But if Ryu  
ever felt at a loss, or missed the companionship of others (kin or  
friends), or experienced regret concerning the isolated life he had  
chosen for himself... then Ken could detect no sign.  Not that that_  
meant much; Ken was no master of gauging people back home in the  
States, let alone here.  He'd have more success trying to read words  
directly off a scrip of microfiche than he would actually trying to  
"read" a typical Japanese person... let alone Ryu, for whom the  
adjective "typical" just didn't fit.
	Ken, on the other hand, was almost certainly an open book to  
Ryu.  No, not a book--more like a giant black-and-white billboard  
posted for all the world to see.  Learning his Art had taught him  
enough about discipline and self-control that he had_ acquired some  
capability for restraint in his words and deeds, if not necessarily  
in face and body language.  He still had an explosive temper, though,  
and his newfound strength to keep it in check was "good" by western  
standards only... Here, in, near, or away from the dojo, he sometimes  
risked slipping into the role of the proverbial bull in the china  
shop.
	He would have had a much more difficult time adjusting if it  
weren't for Ryu's help, though.  By any standards that Ken could  
conceive of... Ryu certainly was a good and helpful friend.
	Ken could not help but feel at least a little envious of the  
way Ryu was successfully tossing off those fireballs, though...  He  
stayed a respectful distance away from his intense friend, trying to  
deduce the secret behind Ryu's edge.  He could not find a thing.   
Unwilling to give in to frustration just yet, he politely waited for  
a break in Ryu's toil, so that he could ask a question or two.
	When minutes ticked by and it became clear that Ryu was not  
about to take a break anytime soon, Ken's attempt at politeness  
fizzled, and he at last interrupted, "Doo shite-imasu ka?" [How do  
you do that?]
	If Ryu thought Ken's outburst to be even the least bit  
discourteous... well, who could truly say what Ryu thought?  He did  
not turn his head in response to the inquiry, but rather shifted his  
position from having produced the most recent fireball first to  
attention stance, then to a defensive guard, hands up, presenting  
only the edge of the body.  Finally, he stepped forward in a  
synchrony of movement and sound, at the same time both shouting and  
willing into existence:  "HA DOU KEN!"
	Ken knew at once that Ryu was simply answering the question  
via a demonstration.  Unfortunately, this particular exhibition was  
of no more help than the past eighty times he'd seen it. 

	<I am very sorry, Ryu-san,> Ken continued, slightly subdued,  
<but I still do not understand.  What am I doing wrong?>  Here, Ken  
himself proceeded to follow Ryu's pattern, attention stance to  
defensive stance to the aggressive channel that was supposed to  
crystalize his will into a flaming, flattened sphere of energy.
	Nothing.  Why should it be any different this time?
	<I am not a sensei,> was Ryu's calm response, <yet one might  
suspect that your difficulty might not lie in your mastery of the  
physical movements.  It seems as though your thoughts, if not your  
muscles, are tense.  Perhaps too tense.>
	<So, I must only relax?  Is that all?>
	<Perhaps.  I cannot know, of course.>
	<That sounds too easy.>
	<Is that so?  Perhaps it is.  And then again, perhaps it is  
monumentally difficult to relax upon order.  Consider the new  
initiates,> Ryu added, with no more than a slight flick of the eyes  
towards the hard-training beginners.  <How long will it be before  
they learn what you and I fought so hard to learn as well--that  
physical tenseness only slows down the body?>
	<Well...>
	<And then, if even your body were relaxed and fluid, but your  
mind were clouded with pessimism and the anxiety of failure, then how  
might it affect the ha dou ken, which is produced through the  
synthesis of body and mind?>
	Ken nodded his head.  <I do not understand fully yet... but  
it is clearer now.  I... believe I must practice the forms now, as  
the Sensei instructed.  Thank you very much for your trouble.>  Ken  
bowed slightly.  "Shitsurei-shimas," [Please excuse me] he added,  
figuring that if he hadn't exactly begun the conversation politely,  
then at the very least he owed Ryu a gracious exit.
	Or something.
	Ken composed his mind, no so much ignoring the background  
noise of the dojo (including Ryu's renewed exclamations of "HA DOU  
KEN!") as setting his concentration to a frequency that the  
surrounding world could not broadcast upon.  Then he began the first  
form.

*****

	In retrospect, it was extremely difficult for Ken to remember  
just why willing the ha dou ken into existence had been so arduous...  
Ryu had been right all along.  All one needed to do was relax, and  
let both one's mind and body flow without tension.  By now, months  
after he had once quizzed his friend, he had become so skilled at the  
action that he, too, could send fireball after fireball slamming into  
the mortar practice target until the object was utterly destroyed.
	It was his Dragon Punch that still needed work.
	"Shouryuken," Sheng Long Sensei called it; literally, 'rising  
dragon fist'.  He had once even mentioned the reason behind its  
curious name:  it was "backed by the power of the Ancient Dragon," or  
something like that.  This move, this powerful jumping uppercut,  
supposedly tapped into certain mystical energies that could make a  
man temporarily invincible to all harm...
	Yeah, right.  Ken had a little trouble believing that.  On  
the other hand, though, Ken wondered if his girlfriend believed him_  
when he wrote to her of his gradually mastered ability to exude a  
blue-white reflection of his own will and determination.  Sometimes,  
when he was training, he viewed the phantasmagoric mirror image of  
his own two hands within the fireball, and wondered if dragons  
didn't_ still roam the face of the earth, as Sheng Long Sensei seemed  
to suggest...
	Half of him loved his newfound abilities--the ha dou ken, the  
"tatsu maki sen puu kyaku" [hurricane kick] that seemed to defy  
gravity, and most recently, the Shouryuken that he struggled so hard  
to learn well.  He truly relished sparring with strong opponents,  
testing his capabilities to their limits.  Especially, he enjoyed  
sparring with his fellow student and friend, Ryu.
	From another perspective, though... a split personality of  
himself wanted to go back home.  Back to the States, and to Eliza,  
who waited so patiently for his return.  Except that now--a great  
underground fighting tourney was upcoming, a competition sponsored by  
an old rival of Sheng Long Sensei.  A dark man known only as Sagat...  
Ryu had entered his name into the contest, to fight for the honor of  
his school (or heck, maybe just to fight.)  How could Ken refrain  
from doing likewise?

*****

	<Ryu-san>, Ken had asked, the night they had both signed up  
to take part in Sagat's tournament, <I could be wrong, but... it  
seems to me that something troubles you.>  

	For it had been drastically out of character for Ryu to  
still_ be training, this late in the evening... usually, he retired  
by nine p.m., the better to get up at five the next morning and  
resume practicing once more.
	<I am not troubled,> Ryu had replied, calm as always, <save  
in one respect.  Do you remember what Sheng Long Sensei told us about  
Sagat-san?>
	<Yes, Ryu-san.  I remember...>
	(Sagat-san is as dangerous as he is reputed to be), Sheng  
Long Sensei had warned.  (There is only so much that I may tell you  
about him, even though I used to know him fairly well, in the older  
days...)
	(His totem is the Tiger, and his ties are to the ancient  
Rakshasas, the tiger-spirits that are known to sometimes wear flesh  
and walk the ways of men.  Not all those who follow the Rakshasas'  
dark road were, or are, precisely 'evil'; they are the flip side of a  
coin which holds both 'good' and 'evil' on its other side.  I do not  
believe that there are any Rakshasas currently left on this world, in  
any case; although I could be wrong.)
	(Sagat-san has his own code of honor, but it is a merciless  
code, a fighter's code.  He_ is_ dangerous_.  Understand that.  He  
lacks one eye, but do not think that he lacks depth perception.  His  
black eyepatch is more than it appears; with it, is able to gauge  
distances as well as you or I.  Even if he did not wear it, even if  
he did not have its assistance... I would strongly recommend that you  
not seek to exploit his 'blind side'.  Others have tried as much  
before, and failed.)
	(Above all, be careful.  Sagat-san once walked the way of a  
global crime ring known as the Shadoloo, and he is familiar with  
their leader.  In fact, that instance was the cause of our  
separation... Sagat-san and I were on good terms, once.  But then, he  
wanted to test his prowess among strong opponents amidst the  
Shadoloo, and we had to part ways.)
	(I would tell you more of the Shadoloo, and its Shadoloo  
Lord, if I could.  I cannot.  All I may say is that even though  
Sagat-san is currently estranged from that ruthless organization, his  
ties to it remain.  Should you choose to enter your names in  
Sagat-san's tournament, be wary.  Be careful.  You have been warned.)
	(As one, final explicit statement, I desire to add that I do  
not_ expect you to participate in this underground, 'street fighting'  
competition.  I would think no less of either of you for choosing to  
boycott the invitation.  In fact, you are the only two of my students  
advanced and skilled enough so that I cannot forbid you to go.)
	Ryu and Ken had both signed up anyway.  Sheng Long Sensei's  
warning remained with them, though.  Ken was not all that_ impressed  
by this Sagat, but as for Ryu... cool, calm, calculating Ryu was for  
some reason so concerned that he was breaking his usual habits.
	<Which part of what Sensei told us is on your mind?> Ken  
asked, with his usual bluntness.  <The mention of this 'Shadoloo'?   
The fantastic stories about 'Rakshasas'?>
	<No... although both are doubtless good cause for the  
Sensei's warning.  What comes across my mind is that Sheng Long  
Sensei was once a friend, perhaps a very close friend, of Sagat-san.   
I worry.  I wonder.>
	<Why should that trouble you, Ryu-san?  What does it have to  
do with the upcoming challenge?>
	Ryu folded his arms and looked away.  A cool evening breeze  
chanced to blow just then, toying with his headband and his hair,  
even as it ruffled Ken's golden locks.  <Nothing, I suppose... it  
probably means nothing.  Nothing at all.> 


******

	Ken and Ryu fought stunningly well, in the tournament.  

	They travelled to nation after nation, always staying to take  
on two challengers, and they always won.  The power of the Shouryuken  
alone was so deadly that it nearly blazed a victorious path in and of  
itself.  Backed by their twin fighting fury and cunning, it was  
unstoppable.
	They each had a different approach to the contest.  Ken  
tended to be brash and even arrogant at times, meeting his opponents  
with such fury that they could not withstand his intensity for long.   
At times, his self-discipline would slip just a bit, and he would  
stand over his fallen opponents and laugh at them.
	Also, he had a weakness for showing off.  One of his  
favorite, most passionate forms of attack was to knock his antagonist  
senseless with a fireball or hurricane kick, followed by several more  
quick strikes before finishing him off with the awe-inspiring Dragon  
Punch.
	But as for Ryu...
	Ryu, if anything, became more indrawn, more reserved, more  
aloof than ever as they won victory after victory.  In combat, he had  
the patience of an immortal.  His nature was to wait for a moment of  
weakness--and then_ strike with the unstoppable power of the Dragon  
Punch.
	Ryu was not one to merely taunt his adversaries, though; at  
least, not most of the time.  While they were in Great Britain, Ken  
once had the opportunity to hear Ryu speak to an Englishman that he  
had just defeated.
	"You did quite well," Ryu said to his fallen adversary with a  
bow, "but you need more training to defeat me."
	It was the first time Ken had ever heard his friend speak in  
English.  It felt kind of strange to hear Ryu--precise, even,  
flawless Ryu--trip and stumble his way through a sentence in an  
unfamiliar language...  Ken later realized that Ryu's words were slow  
and his accent was thick because of his inhibitions against  
practicing the foreign language in the first place.
	Ken should have felt anxious the night before the final  
battle in the tournament, but he had no trouble getting the rest he  
needed.  Tomorrow, he and Ryu were going to kick some serious_ tail.   
And then, at long last, he would go back home.
	Something still bothered him in the back of his mind,  
though... something about Ryu. His friend had acting so emotionless  
lately, even more so than was usual.  Why?  Was Ryu simply reacting  
to the stress of the tournament, or was Ken misreading the man  
entirely?

*****

	This was it--the final battle.  They had at last earned the  
right to challenge Sagat himself.
	Correction:  exactly one_ of them had at last earned the  
right to challenge Sagat.
	"What?" asked Ken of the impassive monitor.  "Which one of  
us?"
	Why, whichever one of them remained standing after the other  
was no longer able to get up, of course.
	"But--" Ken didn't manage to get another word out before he  
was attacked from behind.  Caught unawares, he was too late to  
attempt to block the hit, followed by the twice-impacting fury of  
Ryu's lethal Dragon Punch.  He tried to stagger to his feet, but the  
damage had been done, and he was nearly knocked senseless.  Ryu was  
leaping towards him now, and he tried to summon the strength for a  
Dragon Punch counter of his own, but he was just a little too  
overwhelmed to get it right, and he failed to summon the power.  Then  
Ryu's aerial attack crashed into him, followed by another strike too  
fast to block, followed by a ha dou ken that knocked him backwards to  
the ground, stunned once more.
	The rough hands of his friend seized his dogi, and he caught  
a glimpse of Ryu's red, fingerless fighting gloves before he was  
hurled away and back, crashing onto the hard ground.
	By no means was he able to get up.  Merely hanging onto  
conscious awareness was too great a chore for him to do for very  
long...
	The last thing he heard was a creaking, backwards-curling  
voice that must have been Sagat's.  "Very good.  You, whoever you  
are, look to be born a fighter.  A strong opponent, indeed.  Who are  
you?"
	"I am Ryu.  I challenge you."
	"Accepted."

*****

	"Trying to sneak out, I see," snarled Ken.  His body was  
still in terrible shape from the pounding he had taken only that  
morning--heck, most of the rest of him hurt, too.  He ached_.  The  
raw scrapes on his cheek and his swelling black eye were the least  
symbols of his aching.  Damn, but Ryu had given him a workover from  
hell, stopping just short of broken bones.  "Aren't you going to go  
to the award ceremony, 'friend' Ryu?  I hear you beat Sagat into the  
ground--even used your Shouryuken to blaze a scar across his chest!   
You're the fucking man of the hour!"
	Ryu betrayed no emotion at all.  It was half by chance that  
he had been intercepted, here, on this lightly forested road out of  
town.  Ever since Ryu had been proclaimed the victor and new  
champion, he had been seeking a road out of this Thai city where the  
final contest had been staged.  Now, although at long last he had  
found a way past his many admirers, he encountered one last  
individual blocking his path...
	"Eigo ga warkarimasen," [I do not understand English] he  
muttered.
	"Don't you dare_ lie to me, backstabber.  I heard_ you talk  
to--"
	<I was not 'lying'.  I have been struggling to acquire a few  
phrases to supplement what little vocabulary and grammar I... am able  
to recall, as of very recently.  But Ken-san, your Japanese is  
unquestionably superior to my English.>
	The sheer shock_ of realizing that Ryu was speaking the  
truth, that he had been effectively 'winging it' in a tournament  
where English was the common tongue, nearly disrupted Ken's train of  
thought.  But only nearly.  <Have it your way, then.  Did it ever  
occur to you, even once_, to ask me for help in learning my language,  
just as I asked you for-->
	<Yes.>
	<So why didn't you?>
	No answer.
	<You knew,> Ken continued, finally piecing it all together.   
<You knew all along that only one of us could challenge Sagat-san,  
and you wanted to be absolutely_ sure it was you_.  That_ is why you  
have been acting so machine-like lately--you were planning all along  
to ambush me from behind, and you were mentally preparing yourself to  
do so!>
	<We fought on equal terms.>
	<I said_ ambush and I meant_ ambush!  If we had squared off  
against one another, then that would have been one thing, but you  
took me out from behind!  And now, Ryu-SAN, you're just going to walk  
away like nothing has happened!>
	<I am leaving in search of the fight.  That is all I have  
dedicated my life to.  That is all I shall seek, as I walk down this  
road.>
	<Stop being so poetic!>  Ken wished that he had learned even  
one worthwhile curse word in Japanese.
	<I was speaking literally.  If you have nothing more to say  
to me-->
	"Shitsumon-ni kotaete-kudasai!" [Please answer my question!]   
If Ken had learned a less polite way of making the request, he would  
have used it.  "WHY did you hit me from behind?"
	<The difference lies between classroom and field.>
	"Moo ichi-do itte-kudasai!" [Please say it one more time!]
	<In the classroom, there is always warning.  There is always  
strict formality in sparring.  We were not sparring.  We were  
fighting on equal terms.  The moment we were instructed to battle one  
another, we were fighting.  It made no difference to me whether your  
back was turned, nor should it have to you, had our positions been  
reversed.  In the classroom, in sparring, you must always follow  
strict rules.  In the field, in fighting, there are no 'rules'.   
There is only the struggle.>
	<Nice speech.>
	<Ken-san, go home.  Go back to the woman you care about.  We  
may meet again; we may not.>
	"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, 'NO RULES'?!" Ken spat, in  
English, in order to be able to swear_ at this non-feeling automaton  
of a traitor.
	<Ken-san, if someone ever genuinely desires to harm you, then  
use your Art in self-defense.  But a true enemy will not announce his  
intentions before he strikes.  He will simply seek to destroy you.   
And if you are caught unawares, expecting a formal warning before you  
are struck, then your enemy will crush you.>
	<You just described yourself, Ryu-san!>
	<You have suffered no permanent injury.  Perhaps you have  
even learned a valuable lesson, this day.  Just because you are  
always direct does not mean that it is wise for you to assume that  
everyone else is as straightforward.  Remember the lesson, Ken-san.   
It will serve you well.  And now, I have answered your question.  It  
is time for us to part ways.
	<Oh, no you don't,> Ken glowered, even as Ryu turned to  
leave.  <You are not_ just walking out of her like--->
	Ken had only intended to grab Ryu's sleeve, but the smaller  
man suddenly turned and seized Ken's red dogi first.  Rolling onto  
his back, Ryu used Ken's own momentum and an upward kick to send the  
American hurtling into the brush.
	<Remember the lesson, Ken-san,> he said, tonelessly, as Ken  
(still aching) tried to recover from the throw.  <Never expect your  
opponent to announce his intentions.  Always be aware of the risk of  
an attack.  And be sure to think twice before warning your potential  
target.  You have mastered the classroom.  Welcome to the field.>
	"Dammit, man!" Ken snapped at the retreating back of his  
fellow student, even as Ryu walked west.  "I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY  
FRIEND!"  He might have taken Ryu on again, but merely standing was  
too great an effort for him, just yet.  Ryu's dwindling silhouette  
remained framed against the setting sun, as Ken strove to overcome  
both physical and emotional pain, and rise to his feet.
	"Tomodachi da, to omotte-imashita," the wounded man mumbled,  
under his breath.
____________

O-sewa-ni narimashita.  Dare da ka shite-imasu.

Bethany Cox
coxb@carleton.edu (if you'd like to drop a line)
coxb@tethys.mathcs.carleton.edu (if you're looking for e-mailed  
stories & stuff)