The First Crack in the Metal shows the impurity of Design
Heihachi Mishima sat before his rosewood desk, a snifter of brandy gripped in one hand, the amber liquid swirling lightly against the cool, polished glass. He sat for long moments, looking down at the book sprawled out before him, rereading the same passages with vacant eyes.
So, it is true then. Kazama Jin has not only inherited Kazuyas vehemence but his darkness as well. Son of the Devil. Son of a bitch. Heihachi cursed. And living right beneath my nose, supping from my table, learning an art that is no longer a right but a theft. The living embodiment of the Devil Gene…was sharing my every day breath. I have cut off the proverbial head of my own son and now the hydra returns, encased in the body of my grandson.
Heihachi rose and began to pace along the confines of his home office. For the past four days, he could keep nothing on his mind but this discovery. The tournament roster was awaiting his approval, the arrangements for the finals would have to be made…a massive undertaking to another continent. Toshin had not fallen for the trap, had not been lured to Japan. Refusing to be thwarted in capturing his prey, the gathering was moving to South America.
And one way or another, Jin Kazama, Heihachis' perfect bait, was going to be on that plane.
Taking a draught of brandy, Heihachi turned and looked once more at his desk. The roster lay beside a stack of hastily closed books…his research. It was then the idea came to him, tugged a smile at his thin, wizened lips. He would evoke the right as previous King of Iron Fist…to replace his slot in the semi finals.
Kazama Jin would fight in his stead, reducing the matches down from 2 to 1. Jin would fight the winner of the first draft semi final…and the winner of that match would come to Heihachi himself.
Two competitors remained. The American Judo fighter, Paul Pheonix and the Korean upstart, Hwoarang. It was time for the metaphorical show to commence.
Oh, Kazuya. A shame your blood once more must meet an end at my hands. The whole of your boy is worth less than the sum of his parts…the sum of his blood, his genetics, the foul curse that will be my boon. His destruction, my salvation.
And, with that, Heihachi smiled. No matter the outcome of the tournament, only he would be coming back, alive.
To Be Continued……