Author's Note:The Scenario Campaign intro of Tekken 6 shed some light on a lot of things, such as the fact that the bosses of T1 and T2 competed as normal competitors, as well as Kazuya's thoughts on Jun. That is why I am taking it upon myself to attempt a Tekken 2 fiction based on these new factoids.

Now, someone from my oneshot Kurenai asked me, "Who gave me the authority to do what I do?" The answer is simple: I do it because I can.

I hope you enjoy!



Once the plane had come to a complete stop, the blonde-haired American stretched out his thickly-muscled arms and stood up from his seat. It was a very long plane ride from California to Japan, but the man was thankful that it was over and he was back on stable ground. If humans were meant to fly, in his opinion, then God would have given them wings. The innovation of planes and spacecraft did not interest him, because he would normally have no intention of leaving the ground: his inability to perform a full backflip despite his training was ample proof of God's intention of keeping the young man grounded.

However, Paul Phoenix realized that his dislike of flying was just another test set before him. After several hours of air sickness and vomiting in a plastic bag, the fiery martial artist was ready to prove his worth on the grandest stage of all. "Hey Marshall," Paul called out to his napping Chinese-American sparring partner that had been sitting next to him throughout the trip, poking him harshly to rouse him. "Wake up, man: we're here."

"Uuuuh," Marshall groaned as he brushed back his short black hair and opened his eyes. Turning to his right to see Paul standing in the aisle getting his bags, the young man cracked his neck and slowly stood out of his seat. "What…time is it? I'm still operating on Western time: does the clock go forwards or backwards now that we're in Japan?"

"I honestly have no idea," Paul admitted with a shrug before pulling down a duffel bag and handing it to Marshall. "Still, I bet we can figure it out once we get into the airport. There's no point staying here cooped up on this plane, right?" Picking up the bags that he left on the floor, Paul motioned his head over to the plane's exit and began walking along with the rest of the tourists and patrons. "Let's go, Marshall: if we hurry on to the hotel, we can go to the weight room and get some exercise in."

"Making up for time lost during the flight: you're still as dedicated as ever," Marshall said with a smile as he followed his sparring partner and friend. "I personally wouldn't mind finding a bite to eat first: all of the plane food gives me indigest-"

"We can do that after we build up an appetite," Paul interrupted harshly. "If we want to win this tournament and avenge our losses from the last time we were here, we need to toughen ourselves up! That means that our training comes first, and our biological needs come second!"

Paul Phoenix and Marshall Law were no strangers to toughening themselves through depravity. Both of them often found themselves heavily indebted to others. Marshall had dreams of running a restaurant in addition to running his dojo, and managing two businesses at once was a very expensive endeavor: one that quite often found him taking out loans after loans from the banks that he couldn't hope to pay back in time. Paul, on the other hand, knew no other trade aside from fighting: he considered opening a dojo of his own, but he did not feel like he was ready to share his secrets with other aspiring martial artists just yet. Until he proved himself to be number one in the world, he could not expect to tell others how to fight.

No…not just the world, Paul reminded himself as he and his friend stepped out of the jetway and into the airport terminal, taking a breath of air that didn't consist of the disinfectant-tainted smell that he had been breathing for hours. I'm going to become the number one fighter in the universe! Once I win this thing, there won't be anyone who can dispute that claim!

In the first King of Iron Fist tournament, Paul Phoenix sought to confront Kazuya Mishima, a mysterious fighter of Japanese origin who fought Paul to a draw. Before then, Paul was an world-class fighter who had been undefeated throughout his entire fighting career, dating back to when he first declared street fighting to be his official profession. Although he didn't outright lose, Paul was incensed that some Johnny-come-lately could take him to the limit, and declared Kazuya his arch-rival. Unfortunately for Paul, the feeling wasn't mutual on Kazuya's behalf: Kazuya saw Paul as a nuisance, and nothing more.

Paul entered the tournament hoping to become the undisputed number one fighter in the world by defeating Kazuya and his father Heihachi to win the tournament, but he instead found a rival that stirred his blood even more than either of them. This rival, in fact, was not even a human, but a giant bear! As a young lad, Paul Phoenix idolized a martial artist named Willy Williams, who was nicknamed "the Bear Killer" due to his ability to take on any opponent, even wild bears. If Paul could defeat this bear that had advanced so far into the tournament, then he could place himself on the same pedestal as his idol…and maybe even rise above him!

This bear, however, was not exactly like the bears that the previous "Bear Killer" had traded fisticuffs with. In addition to being extra-ferocious and having a taste for human flesh, the bear dubbed "Kuma" by his owner Heihachi Mishima even had its own martial arts style! Paul knew that victory would not be easy against a bear, but a bear that knew how to fight was an opponent that he couldn't hope to prepare against. After a very close battle, Paul managed to escape with his life, and the victory. Unfortunately, his own wounds were too great and he was unable to complete his run through the tournament.

Nevertheless, Paul did not lose hope: fighting Kuma only strengthened Paul's fighting spirit and made him even more eager to compete again. Whenever he wasn't eating, sleeping, or riding his motorcycle, Paul trained with a zealot-like vigor so that he could be prepared for the next time such a tournament came around. Having a fellow King of Iron Fist alumnus in his best friend Marshall was a great benefit, but even that did not make Paul feel like he was number one. He had to earn that right, and he found himself longing for the day when the next King of Iron Fist Tournament would come around.

Two years later, Paul got his wish when he and Marshall received their invitations to the next King of Iron Fist tournament. "It's all or nothing this time," Paul told his friend Marshall as they quickly made plans to head to Japan so that they could compete. "This time, we're going to prove that we're the toughest SOBs around! It doesn't matter who they are, and it doesn't matter what they are: everyone in that tournament is going to be staring up at the ceiling as we waltz on up to the top!"

"Hey…hey, Paul!"

Snapping out of his trip through memory lane, Paul turned his head in the direction of that voice that was calling his name. Seeing Marshall standing several feet away from him, the young man hurried over to where his sparring partner was standing at resumed walking side by side with him. "You spaced out for a moment and began wandering off," Marshall stated as they turned left to head for the cab terminal so that they could get a ride to their hotel. "Is something on your mind?"

"Just thinking about the fights ahead of us, buddy," Paul said with a boyish smile as they continued walking towards their destination while he straightened his brush-like hair. "I can't wait to try my newly-sharpened fists against the best of the best…and I especially hope I can test it out against that stinkin' bear Kuma!"



Turning his feral head towards the sky, Kuma grunted curiously. Although no one had called his name to his knowledge, his animal instincts kicked in as he heard something or someone call out to him. After staring into the sky for a good twenty seconds, the famed "fighting bear" lowered his head and walked away from the edge of the boat to roam around the rest of the deck. There wasn't must else to do on the boat except think about the tournament that lie ahead of him…and enjoy the comfort of his beloved master.

"What seems to be the problem, Kuma?"

Hearing his master's voice call out to him, Kuma turned his head to the middle-aged man wearing a red fur coat and purple dress pants. Despite how his suit was covering up his frame, it was obvious to everyone on deck that the man was no one to be trifled, as noted from his body-builder physique. He was, like most other people on the boat, of Japanese descent, with a black horseshoe mustache and a bald head save for two pointy stalks of hair growing out of the side of his head and spreading out like eagle's winds. Once Kuma had come over to his side, the man leaned down at gave his pet a pat on his head with his black-gloved hand. "Don't worry, friend: we should be there soon…"

With the sound of footsteps approaching him, the middle-aged man turned around to see a well-dressed waiter that had been going around the boat deliver his cup of tea. "Thank you very much for waiting, Heihachi-sama," the waiter said with a sincere smile. "We should be arriving onto the mainland within the next ten minutes. I hope both you and your pet are satisfied with the service…though we ask that you follow your pet whenever he goes about roaming the boat: he has been frightening some of the patrons."

"Understandable, but as long as you feed him what I ask you to feed him, I do not think he will attack anyone," Heihachi Mishima said with a smile before looking down at his pet, who was leaning against his hand. "He's a warrior: he knows better than to pick fights with those smaller than itself without a just cause." Once the waiter began walking away, Heihachi placed his cup of tea onto the table he was sitting at and looked out towards the mainland that was gradually becoming closer and closer. "Of course, once this tournament starts, Kuma, I expect you to tear apart anyone smells like an enemy. We cannot make any mistakes this time...either of us."

Though he was now sailing with the commoners, Heihachi Mishima had once been an aristocrat of the highest order. As the head of the mighty Mishima Zaibatsu, the world's leader in military weapon production, Heihachi's name was feared and respected in all corners of the globe. This was not only because of his political sway, but because of his physical prowess, as well: his nickname of "the King of the Iron Fists" was not just for show.

Heihachi set out to prove his nickname was more like a title by pooling all of his resources to set up the inaugural King of Iron Fist Tournament. Warriors from all across the globe, including Heihachi Mishima himself, pitted their might against one another for the honor of claiming Heihachi's title of "King of the Iron Fists" as well as a very hefty amount of prize money that would allow the winner to enter an early, well-deserved retirement. Of course, to obtain this prize they would have had to go through Heihachi himself, who was ready to prove to the world that he wasn't all money and politics.

For most of the tournament, Heihachi decimated his competition. The opponents were often younger, and highly overconfident, but age meant nothing to a battle-hardened veteran like Heihachi. The name "Mishima" was synonymous with warrior in the fighting world, and Heihachi embodied that warrior spirit by smashing the overconfident adversaries like the insects that they were. By the time the tournament was winding to a close, it would appear that Heihachi would retain his title and his pride…

…but there was one fighter that stood in his way at the finals: his son Kazuya. After losing his wife over complications that arose during Kazuya's birth, Heihachi made it his life's goal to toughen Kazuya to the same degree that he toughened up after her death. To become the head of the Mishima Zaibatsu meant to be without weakness, especially the weakness known as compassion. Heihachi was excessively cruel to his son Kazuya, even going so far as to adopt a young boy named Lee Chaolan so as to infuriate Kazuya further and make him feel threatened by the newcomer. However, Heihachi did not do that solely out of hatred for his son Kazuya and how he was responsible for the death of his wife: he did this so that he could have an heir worthy of carrying the Mishima Zaibatsu into a new age, and devoid of any compassion. After all, if a leader was without compassion, then he would be without sadness…and to be without sadness would mean that if Kazuya were to marry someone, he would not feel any remorse or hesitation when he would have to choose between family or "the greater good" of leading the Zaibatsu.

Normally, Heihachi would have considered it an honor to be defeated by his son, and would proudly step down from his position as head of the Zaibatsu so he could head into retirement while the new generation lead the way. Unfortunately, reality proved to be uncooperative for Heihachi: during the final battle of the tournament, Kazuya revealed an evil, deadly power that overpowered the unsuspecting warrior. When Heihachi raised Kazuya with the extreme harshness that he did, he was under the impression that Kazuya persevered due to being a Mishima: a true warrior that shone through even at his very young age. However, when Kazuya defeated him, Heihachi knew the real reason Kazuya came that far: he had invited into himself an unholy power that could not possibly have been gained from training.

He had done something no warrior should ever do: he cheated his way to power.

After emerging victorious, Kazuya left Heihachi for dead and took his place as the head of the Mishima Zaibatsu. Through sheer force of will, Heihachi crawled away from his would-be grave and gave himself a new mission. Kazuya had taken everything away from him: his wealth, his pride, and his empire. That wasn't even the worst part of it: Kazuya had defeated him by cheating: the power of the Mishima was that their strength came from hard training. To invite foreign powers into their system was a transgression of the highest order, and deserved nothing less than the ultimate punishment.

I lost because I had grown complacent with my title as 'the best,' Heihachi thought to himself as the cruise ship came within mere meters of the docks. For the past two years, I have reminded my mind and my body of what it's like to suffer like a warrior is meant to suffer. I had competed in the previous tournament expecting my victory to be a mere formality: something that was entitled to me. I will not make that mistake again: I will take back what is rightfully mine and weed out the dishonorable usurper to my throne!


Hearing a crystalline smashing sound, Heihachi looked down and realized that in his frustration, he had crushed the tea cup that he had been holding in his hand. Due to wearing his gloves, he could not really feel the piping-hot tea that was covering his hand, or the porcelain shards that used to be the teacup. "Damn," Heihachi grumbled as Kuma looked up to see what the problem was. "I still need to figure out a way to control my temper. If I want to win this tournament, I will need to do so with a clear mind."

As soon as he said that, the boat gradually came to a stop and became even with the docks. "We have arrived on the mainland," the captain of the ship announced via loudspeakers that were mounted across the deck. "Please leave the boat at this time: we hope to enjoy your services again."

"Come, Kuma," Heihachi called out to his bear, who instantly pushed himself off the ground and began walking towards the dock. "Our fate awaits us. Let us head to our hotel so that we can be rested and prepared for the upcoming days of chaos…"


"Ugh, finally," the deeply-tanned taxi driver said with an exasperated grunt. "The traffic in this city is absolute chaos, especially now that there's a new King of Iron Fist Tournament coming up. People are coming in from everywhere to check this thing out: from what I see on the street, I don't think some of these people have even seen modern society." Turning around to take a look at his customer, the taxi driver gave her a warm smile. "Who knows what kind of savages are here for the tournament, miss: are you sure you want to be involved in this kind of thing? Someone as beautiful as you is going to be a target…"

Rather than give the taxi driver a verbal response, or even a smile, the young customer quietly gave the taxi driver his fee and stepped out of the car so that she could open the trunk and remove her bags. "Hey, let me help you with that," the taxi driver said after a pause, stepping out of the vehicle hoping he could still get on his customer's good side. "When I said that you would be a target, I wasn't saying that you couldn't defend yourself: with arms like those, you could probably break a fool's wrist when they try to cop a feel…"

"I only break wrists when I have to," the young woman responded, finishing taking her bags out of the taxi before the driver could assist her. Closing the trunk of the cab, Jun turned to the driver and politely bowed her head. "Thank you very much for taking me here: I hope that you have a profitable day."

"Yes…you too, ma'am," the taxi said after a pause, returning the bow and tipping his hat before heading back into the car. "Just be sure to be careful: there are some real cutthroats here, and they aren't just from the tournament. The Mishima Zaibatsu will do anything to make sure that the tournament goes according to their plan: it's not like anything else hasn't since Kazuya took over."

Watching the taxi drive off, the young woman picked up her bags and walked into the large, high-scale hotel that was in front of her. At first glance, the young Japanese woman wearing a white waistcoat and tight black pants that accentuated her impressive curves, along with a white hairband in her short black hair, seemed peaceful and serene: like a lovely cherry blossom that would fall from a tree during the autumn. However, upon closer expression, the muscle tone and definition in her exposed arms showed that she was not all that she appeared to be. I didn't mean to be rude to that taxi driver, she thought as she walked through the entrance of the hotel and entered its wide, luxurious lobby. I suppose I am on edge: this is my biggest assignment to date, and success can either make or break my career.

"Welcome to our hotel, miss," the hotel manager greeted the woman with a sincere smile as she stepped to the counter and put her bags down. "May I please have your name?"

"Kazama," the woman replied, doing her best to smile despite her nerves, "Jun Kazama."

"Jun Kazama, huh?" an unfamiliar voice repeated, causing Jun to turn around to see a young woman with a deep tan and an even deeper muscle tone who looked to be around her age wearing a white tanktop and teal shorts along with brown hiking boots. Her brown hair went down in a long braided ponytail, and it shone with the same healthy luster that Jun's hair had. "I figure I might as well get acquainted with the newcomers in the tournament: my name is Michelle Chang," the woman said with a bright smile as she outstretched her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"…of course," Jun returned the smile and shook the woman's hand, remembering that it was the custom of foreigners to greet people in that manner. "I have read your profile: you advanced to the final sixteen in the previous King of Iron Fist tournament. For someone so young, that is an incredible feat: as a fellow martial artist, I am quite envious."

"You don't look any older than I do…and from the looks of those arms, you didn't come to this tournament unprepared," Michelle said with a smirk as she tilted her head to get a look at Jun's muscle definition. "Who knows: you might get pretty far in this tournament yourself. Of course, you won't be getting past me, but it's the thought that counts." Clearing her throat and picking up one of Jun's bags, Michelle walked over to a nearby couch with her newly-acquainted rival and sat down. "So, what brings you to the tournament? Fame, fortune…revenge?"

"…that is what you seek," Jun said quietly, her smile fading as she sat down next to Michelle. "In the previous tournament, you entered because you wanted revenge on the Mishima Zaibatsu for the death of your father. You were unable to exact your revenge on Heihachi Mishima, because Kazuya Mishima defeated him first. According to my current reports, you are now entering the tournament because the Mishima Zaibatsu, for whatever reason, kidnapped your mother and you wish to retrieve her."

"How…do you know all that?" Michelle said after a pause, surprised that this total stranger knew so much. "What organization do you work for that you would know so many things?"

"I am an animal protection officer for the WWWC: my official title is 'Inspector Jun Kazama,'" Jun explained as she reached into her pocket to pull out her badge. After showing it to Michelle, the young woman continued. "I have reason to believe the Mishima Zaibatsu is illegally trafficking animals and using them for experimentation: we have several eyewitness accounts of kangaroos being seen around one of the Zaibatsu's research facilities. I am entering this tournament to discover the truth behind this trafficking."

"So you're here on business," Michelle summarized Jun's point before smiling again. "Well, you seem like a pretty sharp woman: I don't doubt that you'll get to the bottom of whatever is going on…and I don't doubt that I'll be able to get what I want, right as I pummel Kazuya's face in!"

"Attention, all King of Iron Fist competitors: please walk over to the man wearing the powder blue suit holding his briefcase to receive your tournament packet and instructions."

Hearing the loudspeaker of the lobby give out instructions, Jun and Michelle turned their heads to the right to see the aforementioned man with the thick black briefcase, which he was in the process of opening for some of the other people who were in the lobby. "I guess that's our cue," Michelle said as she sprung out of the couch while Jun calmly stood up without quite as much spring. "Come on: let's see what kind of party favors those scumbags at the Zaibatsu are handing out this year."

"Tournament packets…hmph! Back in my day, showing up to a tournament was all a competitor needed!"

Upon hearing an all-too-familiar voice in her head, Jun paused and addressed the voice accordingly. I do not need to hear this, father: please, let me focus on the task at hand.

"Sorry, Jun, but this is just one more trial that you must overcome as a warrior," the voice responded nonchalantly as Jun picked up her bags and walked over to the man in the briefcase. "You didn't come to this tournament just to look for animals, after all: you came here to find Kazuya Mishima and teach him the error of his wicked ways. That is the ultimate mission of those who possess Kazama blood, after all: to smite evil wherever it may roam! That is why our family came up with our own brand of Aiki-Jujutsu to get the job done…I'm just sorry that I wasn't able to live long enough to teach you the more powerful techniques personally: that would have made this tournament a lot easier."

In addition to being an officer of the WWWC, Jun Kazama also had the rare ability of sensing spirits: immaterial beings that could not be seen with the naked eye, but existed nonetheless. Thanks to this ability, Jun was able to sense something was amiss the moment she first laid eyes on Kazuya Mishima on television. Kazuya radiated an aura of malice that was apparent to her even through the confines of the television, and the voice of her deceased father rang true to her ears and told her that he was possessed by an evil spirit, and it was her duty to smite it.

My duty comes first, father, Jun told her father before ignoring his voice completely to get back to what she was doing: a skill that she had taught herself for moments such as these. I will first investigate the animal smuggling and see if there is any truth to the accusation WWWC has placed on the Zaibatsu. Then I will make plans to arrest Kazuya and free him from the mysterious forces surrounding him…and in order to do that, I will have to advance as far into this tournament as I can so that I can earn an audience with him.

Receiving her tournament packet from the man in the powder blue suit after showing her invitation, Jun Kazama opened the packet to see a packet of paper money, a passport, and a metallic pin about the size of a quarter. Taking the pin out of the packet, Jun inspected it carefully: a black pin with the red kanji of "Tekken" etched into it, and the number "8" on top of the kanji. "I wonder what this is," Jun said out loud before putting the pin onto her waistcoat.

"That is how Master Kazuya will keep track of the competitor's movements: it also doubles as a communicator," the man in the powder blue suit explained matter-of-factly. "Keep that with you at all times, as tournament announcements will be made via that pin. In fact, Kazuya Mishima is preparing to give his speech through that device within the hour."

"Why can't he do it face-to-face on a podium?" Jun asked curiously.

"Master Kazuya has many enemies who would try to assassinate him should he make a public appearance: the only ways to meet him during this tournament will be through a prior arrangement, or during the tournament where he will be participating as a normal competitor," the man continued. "Also, he does not wish to know any names and faces during the tournament, so that everyone is in the dark as to who they are facing. From this moment on, you are not 'Jun Kazama' but 'Participant Eight.'"

"…interesting," Jun commented before turning around and walking over to the elevator to go to her hotel room. "I wonder why he would do that…"


"Why would you do that, Kazuya?" the entity known only as "Devil" asked none-too-nicely as Kazuya looked from the window of his room on the top floor of the Zaibatsu tower, staring at the city below. "Why would you refuse to actually look at the names and faces of the competitors that you have invited to this tournament? You have the power and influence to arrange for certain 'accidents' to happen to each of the competitors so that you can breeze your way to the top."

"I do not want that kind of victory," Kazuya replied as he looked up to see his reflection of the glass. What he saw was a young Japanese man with black hair slicked back to a point, giving it an almost duck-tailed shape. With his purple tuxedo that he always wore during times of business, he had to admit he looked rather sharp. "Now that Heihachi is dead, I can use the Zaibatsu's power to cement myself as the ultimate world power. However, the people of this world will not bow down to someone who cannot take matters in his own hands. When I win this tournament, it shall be on the terms of the commoners: that way, no one can dispute my claim as the one true master of this forsaken Earth."

"The world will bow to us all the same, Kazuya," the voice taunted. "With the power I have granted you, you have no equal in this world. Under our watchful eye, the world will fall into utter chaos just like you've always wanted, and they will understand just how much we have gone through. When that happens, the world will need a strong, ruthless leader to lead it into a new age…and that ruler will be us. There is no need to worry about feeble concepts like honor and fairness."

"…and that is exactly why I am arranging this tournament the way I am," Kazuya responded as he saw a familiar figure next to him in his reflection: a demonic, humanoid winged creature with dark purple skin and red eyes. "When my father Heihachi threw me into the ravine all of those years ago, we made a pact together saying that we would get our revenge. Two years have passed since I exacted this revenge, and now I have been following my end of the bargain. You want a world in chaos and a vessel to project your will from, and here I am…but do not forget that you are not my master. Heihachi is gone, which means in this new tournament I will win fairly, without your help."

"Why do you care about winning fairly?" Devil asked once again, causing Kazuya's face to form a sneer of annoyance. "You have nothing to prove: you are on top of the world. A victory is a victory, and it does not matter how you claim it. So why?"

"Because…because," Kazuya's voice trailed off before his lips curled back into a snarl, "because I do not want to live in your shadow, Devil! I am Kazuya Mishima, the one true heir of the Mishima Zaibatsu: my name is now even more feared and respected than my father's, and I do not want to peasants to even think that I am afraid of doing things myself!"

"There is a term for that, Kazuya," a new voice added, causing Kazuya to glance over to his right to see another figure next to his reflexion: a blonde woman with a hearth in her hair and a shimmering white robe. "That is called honor: it is something that all true warriors are confronted with when they know something is amiss. You know in your heart that your victory over Heihachi was tainted, and now you want to set things right by winning this tournament fairly. Do not ignore this uneasiness, Kazuya, because honor equates to strength, both physically and spiritually…"

"…you have been popping up a lot lately," Kazuya pointed out dryly. "For most of my life, it's just been the Devil and I, but for the past several weeks you have been interfering in my conversations for some time. Do you have a name, stranger, or should I just call you 'Angel' for a lack of better term?"

"You should ignore her, Kazuya," the Devil added in. "She is just your weakness given spiritual form. I have never led you astray before, and there's no reason for me to stop now when we're so close to achieving our dream."

"'Our dream?'" Kazuya repeated before letting out a scoff. "Tch! My dream was to get my revenge on Heihachi and claim what was mine: the Zaibatsu throne. Your dream is to throw the world in disarray, and right now I am merely your puppet. How do I know that you will not leave me high and dry once the world is in ruins, and I won't be stuck with a No Man's Land to rule?"

Before either Devil or "Angel" could answer, Kazuya heard his adopted brother's voice over the intercom. "Nii-san, all of the invitations have been confirmed: everyone has received their packet. We are ready to begin."

"Patch me through to all of the pins, Lee," Kazuya commanded before stepping away from the window and turning around to a map of the country that he had set up in his room. "It is time to make my statement."

After hearing a metallic tone that confirmed that he was live, Kazuya gave his speech. "Welcome to my tournament, you martial artists who live only to fight. Some of you have entered this tournament for fame and fortune, others have entered for enforcing your sense of righteousness, and others still have entered for some perceived trangressions the Zaibatsu might have done against you."

Kazuya's voice became stern, almost angry. "I care absolutely nothing about that! In fact, as far as I am concerned, none of you are even worthy of having your name remembered! If you want to make a name for yourself, and earn the respect of myself and the world, then you will have to fight for it, just as I will fight for the respect of everyone on this planet alongside you! From this moment on until the tournament is over, you are a number and shall be referred to as a number when I summon you."

Lowering his voice, Kazuya paid close attention to how stern his voice was becoming, making it a forboding growl. "Starting tomorrow, each of you shall be called upon via the pins that you are wearing, given a time and a location to fight. If you are more than five minutes late to the location, then you will be disqualified: there will be no exceptions! Fights shall be decided by an offsite official that will remain incognito throughout the battle but will be watching regardless. I would prefer that you not kill your opponent during the fights, as that will bring about unwanted attention for the athletic commissions. If you do feel the need to settle things by blood, however, you may do it AFTER your fight is declared over."

Clearing his throat, Kazuya walked back over to the window and prepared to resume his conversation with the voices in his head. "I will not wish you good luck: only good battles. I shall see all of you on the stage of combat: the stage of the King of Iron Fist Tournament 2!"