Description: It's been a number of weeks, and it is time for the oldest student of Kyokugen Karate to step forth and show what he's made of in his bid for the yellow belt... and thusly prove he is worthy of further, deeper instruction into the art of fighting in this epic chapter of the history of two men.
It's about fifteen minutes after Yuri's decided to storm out the dojo and go do whatever after proudly declaring she doesn't care what her father thinks and that she will be going to King of Fighters, no matter what. The older man has no idea who she's going to be able to collect on such short notice, when the actual tournament will begin not all that long from now.
He tries to put his mind off of it. Regardless of whether she's going or not, he's still got to focus. Stretching's been long since over. His belt test has been put off numerous times thanks to events beyond his control. The toolshed's as good as done now. All that's left to do is just focus on the exercises as they come, out here on the concrete. Every punch, every kick, every block of wood, every block of concrete - hell, every sheet of /steel/ - he's putting as much force as he can to each and every one of them.
Even if he still can't, fundamentally, get the Ryu Geki Ken right - something that has been frustrating the instructor of his level. It hasn't slowed him down any further than the day at work already has as the afternoon draws later and later by the minute, and the air just a bit cooler and cooler.
There's not much time left if he's going to be in any shape to consider himself a worthy contender to be the King of Fighters, if he - and his team - have a chance of doing so.
"Yellow belt, eh? It's about that time." Takuma Sakazaki strides down the stairway to his household, barefoot, gi-clad, and unconcerned about how chilly his training concrete might be. He's got eyes for Howard Rust - eyes untouched by any of the carnage that might have befallen his house the other day, eyes that reflect none of the sadness that a broken fridge, kitchen, and more importantly beer cooler might bring a man. That stuff's all being worked on by more diligent students, anyway. Howard might even recognize a few - he's likely either taught them at school, or at the Dojo itself. They're still not using the claw hammer with the right grip.
"...It's about time we had a formal test to see how far you've come, isn't it? I'm interested in seeing what you're making of your training, Rust." Yes, Rust's level instructor is speaking to him - Sakazaki obviously doesn't care. He looks to the younger man - really, he's got to be sixteen - and smiles. "I'm taking Rust with me, Yoshi. Remember that your boys need to have thirty laps around the training yard before they head home this time." The smile leaves his face, as soon as it'd crossed it. "Alright. Rust, let's go." He's turning, walking away, towards a clearing off to the side of the training grounds. Important things to do.
If anything where it concerns that kitchen, he's wondering why he himself didn't get to use at least friggin' measuring tape so he wouldn't have had to redo parts of that shed multiple times. Measuring tape! Could've saved the both of them some time and money in that regard, but maybe it might have been for the best in getting him to really exercise his right hand in cutting, smoothing, and hammering down nails.
It still makes the number cruncher inside of him cringe at the likely overall expenses, though.
He's been waiting for this moment, though, a good dressing down of how far along he's come in his training through the afternoons he hasn't been a broken lump of bruised meat and shattered bone on the couch occasionally getting angry calls from his workplace about this and that thing. This is the one moment where all these choices and gambles will have either proven to pay off... or be a complete waste of time.
"Ah, sensei," Howard bows formally with the expected little pop of some joint or another. You basically can't have him around without hearing something snap, crackle, or pop. He doesn't question the hows or whys of Takuma wanting to take him with him, but he is sincerely hoping he didn't overhear Yuri's little declaration that she's going to be in the King of Fighters no matter what as he starts to follow him off to the clearing, rolling a shoulder about once for good measure.
The benefit of being terminally poor is that one knows all kinds of methods to raise money. To cover expenses for the fridge and shed, the younger Kyokugen students have giving demonstrations of their skill while smashing lemons for lemonade stands around town. Ages and skill levels have all been put to various sorts of work - even now, a plucky Kyokugen brown belt is leading a pack of his fellows in search of a black bear with a price on its head.
Sakazaki comes to a pause at the corner of his dojo, where he stands at the edge of a traditional karate arena. It is a squarish designation, perhaps ten feet in diameter, and just outside of it rests a yellow belt, nicely folded and settled against the edge of the cement. Sakazaki has crossed his arms over his chest, to regard Rust warmly, and a little curiously.
"I want you to show me what you've been up to this last month. I've seen you work; you've got more determination than almost any kid out here. I'm honestly surprised you haven't had to go to the hospital on account of that hand." Brawny arms sweep out, to adopt a standard, practiced fighting stance. "I'd say you're ready, Rust. Anything you'd like to say before we start?" If he's worried about Yuri - and his eyes do flash when he asks that last question, perhaps dangerously so - he's hiding it well.
For being a humble, traditional karate arena, the younger men among the two has something run up him. This is, for a simple belt test, the big time. Even though it is the first step of showing some sort of proficiency, some sort of mastery - however small - in the art of Kyokugen, one of the most famous martial arts schools in the world for its brutal training regimens. The people who advance beyond being mere white belts are not many.
He nods somewhat knowingly at mention about the hospital. Truth be told he'd been making a conscious effort to avoid it wherever possible, if only to make sure they don't keep running up his insurance payments like they love to. It's probably a pastime at work, he figures, 'let's find a way to make this man pay even more for his health insurance, did he stub his toe on a rock, let's make him pay by another factor of ten!'
Never mind the legitimate fact that, having been registered as a fighter in the Neo League, that /is/ risky behavior. Fighting is dangerous, through and through.
"Ahh... I... I don't think I got, I got much to say, no," he clears his throat as he brings his left hand up to his mouth, "'scuse me." He pats himself in the chest loudly a couple of times.
He tactfully decides not to bring up Yuri, thinking it is probably for the best not to aggravate the matter any further - he strongly, strongly doubts she'll round up a team this close to the deadline. It's a shame, but...
"I'm, ah, I'm ready when you are, sensei," the man bows again, remembering the time Daniel yelled at him about formalities during that little bus stop episode.
Truthfully, Takuma's love for formality lasts about as long as the first formal greeting might. It's a truth made evident in the way his face sets into a slight frown - he notes the awkward (for Rust) bowing and humbling. "Ahum. In that case, let's get started. I don't expect you to win, Rust, but I do expect you to have improved. This isn't the time to hold back or reconsider. This is ALSO the only time I'll be this gentle with you."
Sakazaki unfurls either arm, so that they are extended before him, fists pointed towards either of Rust's feet. Terse eye-contact is made, and once again, Sakazaki's boring holes into his student's eyes, his face set in an unfortunate, masking glare, seemingly etched of stone. He looks like he's about to say something, but then he's nodding, thick neck standing out, body tense.
"Begin. Bring me to a knee." As soon as he'd left his stance, Takuma reenters it, eyes on Rust, expression maddeningly neutral.
COMBATSYS: Takuma has started a fight here.
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Takuma 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Rust has joined the fight here.
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Takuma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rust
COMBATSYS: Takuma takes no action.
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Takuma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rust
He wasn't, comparatively speaking, that gentle before by his standards. Rust is a man that is hard to knock over with punches. He has felt Takuma's punches, and even if 'gentle' by Takuma's standards, they were hard. A real punch from Takuma Sakazaki...
Well, as he said, it isn't the time to hold back or reconsider, the older man's fingers wiggling as he clenches his fists tightly once - his right not quite as tight as his left, but he gets a little bit more feeling in there compared to a month prior - as he enters the ring. Already there might be an ill impression made as is stance is still a touch too stiff for the specific variant he's been training in. He keeps his hands high, leading with his right instead of his left, a significant change from prior stances from casual observance.
'Begin.' Begin the first day of the very rest of his fighting career, however long or short, however triumphant or lamentable. In this ring, all that matters now is simply just the concept of that - Kyokugen might. How much of it has he managed to incorporate into himself?
Stepping in with his right foot towards the older, far more experienced, far more in shape master, his left knee betrays his intentions with a pop as he leads in with a simple kick - one he strains to raise a bit higher than waist-level, something he's been especially focusing on in stretches prior to this test - and goes to try and tag Takuma right in the chin.
COMBATSYS: Takuma blocks Rust's Light Kick.
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Takuma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rust
Leading with the right -- well. If there hadn't been much expectation in Sakazaki's features before the fight, there's certainly some pleasant surprise creeping across his face now. Sure, his hand lances upwards almost automatically, cleanly and clearly catching that offending foot in one strong-fingered grasp. There's no give in the catch; it is, to Sakazaki, as if he's catching a softball. And yet --
And yet, he's grinning nonetheless, delighted. There are things he'd obviously like to say, but now is not a time for words. Instead, Sakazaki quickly ducks to the side, as smoothly as one of his students might, and steps *around* that heightened kick, adding its momentum to his own. It's a move that takes advantage of stiff joints and poor reaction time, but it's also a move that Takuma's infamous for. Block, step in, raise the inwards hand for a backhanded chop to the face. Debilitating, effective, and if sudden intensity in Sakazaki's face is right, something he's expecting - hoping - won't go as well as planned.
COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Takuma's Weakened Medium Punch.
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Takuma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rust
That heel could have been brought to heel with a simple squeeze, it's something the older man's almost anticipating the moment he feels those fingers around it. Oh shit, I need to get my foot free from there, he thinks - maybe a bit too slow - when Takuma's already on the move to his own left side, where his leg is already extended.
The chop comes in, much too fast for the student in this relationship to do his reliable way of shelling himself up from most means of harm. There is no clenched fist or fully extended forearm there in time to meet the backhand chop. The chop meets his left wrist, more or less also open.
Off-balance and at a significant disadvantage, the mighty chop almost appears enough to make him lose his footing even if he does narrowly stop a clean hit to the face, as even when restraining himself Takuma exudes significantly more strength than he does.
"Gkh," he grunts as the way his face leans back tells all - he was kind of expecting he wouldn't have stopped it. Already at an awkward enough position, he still has at least a head on his shoulders. Who knows how good the head on his shoulders is for this (his hair, let's not split it, it's just plain bad), but he takes the moment to rear back and - hopefully - get enough reach with his neck to butt head against Takuma to try and push him back.
COMBATSYS: Takuma dodges Rust's Hardhat Rush.
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Takuma 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Rust
While Rust fights for his life - and it certainly is Rust's life, this being the first real assessment of *talent* he's had to undergo - his tutor is observing him as best he knows how. It's much to early to determine whether or not Rust has well and truly improved, but one thing is certain. Takuma knows it, and Rust knows it. A few weeks ago, that same chop wouldn't have missed, hand or not.
It's probably why Takuma's eyes sparkle like they do.
Unfortunately, he's moving before Rust has even started throwing his head forward. You get to a certain age, you know when a man's got limited options. You befriend Saishu Kusanagi, you expect all of his limited options to be headbutts. Even so, Rust is *FAST*, faster than Sakazaki had anticipated, and it's by a hairsbreadth that Rust misses. Briefly, cheek presses to cheek, chin to chin, while Takuma gently begins closing fingers around Rust's belt.
No homo.
"Interesting position you've found yourself in, Rust..."
Fingers close like bear traps, and powerful arms begin to HEAVE Rust upwards, into Takuma's shoulder. The old master acts as a wicked fulcrum, heaving his student up and over his form to send him HURTLING into the cement behind him. "HYEAH!"
COMBATSYS: Takuma successfully hits Rust with Weakened Ippon Seoi Nage.
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Takuma 0/-------/-======|===----\-------\0 Rust
Getting his neck atop Takuma's shoulder as heads slide by one another isn't pleasant unto itself - sheer contact with that shoulder at the speed he's thrusting his head forward is enough to take a bit of wind out of his pipe, just in time for Takuma to punctuate the problem at hand about an interesting position he's found himself in.
He nods his head very slowly from over Takuma's shoulder with those fingers right on his belt. It'd be especially humorous if someone were filming this.
Takuma hefts the American man with little to no trouble aside from maybe a half-hearted attempt to bring his left hand around Takuma's shoulder and maybe do... you know, something that would stop him from being hurled into that there cement. It dawns upon him there's not really all that much he can do to break out.
He tenses up in Takuma's grip as he is launched over his shoulder, instinctively shifting his body weight for when he hits the ground. His left fist is so tense at this that point that when his elbow contacts with the cement, it cracks at that small point of impact while he tumbles a ways away.
"Gff." Another odd grunt comes from the student as Takuma gets another tell-tale sign of what really happened, the complaints of joints making a whole lot of noise with every little flex as he pulls himself up, dropping into that (sadly, still rather stiff) stance with his hands in front of him. There's nary a bruise on the elbow in question.
The older man's eyes narrow as he exhales deeply, fingers wiggling to work out the little crinkles in his body in trying to get them to loosen up once more as he anticipates the next assault.
Takuma's sure not done yet, he's not done yet either.
COMBATSYS: Rust focuses on his next action.
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Takuma 0/-------/-======|===----\-------\0 Rust
Takuma's instinct is to congratulate Rust on his recovery - not many students take his throw quite that well, even if it did fully hit. His oldest student's recovery is rapidly belied by the complaints of Cracklin' Joints and Rust's own grunt, but this isn't something that causes Sakazaki concern. You take a hit, you get hurt - that's what happens. It's perhaps a sign of the "gentleness" Takuma had mentioned earlier that has him relaxing as he does - any other day, he'd follow Rust's retreat up with a battering, back-to-the-wall assault of his own.
Today, he eases back. Rust gets a moment to breathe; it's just a moment. If Takuma had been smiling earlier, it's certainly gone now, once more replaced with that icy stoicism that marks any official judgment of a student's ability. It is a deep, manly frown, surely the sort of thing that might cow any student uncertain of his own preparedness.
"The knee."
Sakazaki's flashing forward, twisting to his side and bringing his own leg up in a startling - and much more efficient - rendition of Rust's opener. The master's left foot rockets from cement to chin, but as with everything else, hindsight might show that there's a bit of mercy in Takuma's manner.
COMBATSYS: Takuma successfully hits Rust with Weakened Light Kick.
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Takuma 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Rust
What about the knee? It's no more achy than usual, he might think. He doesn't think Takuma might be suggesting that's part of the key towards getting that specific opening kick right.
Notably, when said kick rockets towards his face like a blur to his view, only knowing what hit him when his chin violently jerks upwards as he takes a step back to stagger, going into a crouch as he works out the last of the (for now) stiffness in his knees, both of them sighing the way they usually do - loudly and very, very disconcertingly - but nonetheless steadies himself again as he draws back his right hand. It's an obvious tell. Whatever he's about to do, he needs to work on executing it a tad faster than /that/.
For that moment, he tries to gather whatever it is in him and/or around him, trying to take in Yoshi's various tips for him to getting 'it' right. Focusing chi into one's hand and letting it fly. Just one little spark. How hard is it to get just one tiny little spark, Yoshi asked him.
Taking a step forward, the shop teacher and now Kyokugen student thrusts his right hand as far as he can lean into it, the air compressing around him underneath the force in which he thrusts said arm forth. An open palm goes rocketing straight forward somewhere between chin and chest level for the older master, as a single - and for once, very clear - call escapes his throat.
"Ryugekiken!" He doesn't trip up on his own tongue, no. Unfortunately, what may end up yet taking away brownie points is the fact, the very undeniable fact, there is no single mote of chi forming about that scarred hand.
There's plenty of muscle and force /behind/ said hand by itself - along with the sheer determination of a man knowing he's looking at one of his last shots at his life-long dream - but how much would that make up for?
COMBATSYS: Rust successfully hits Takuma with Random Strike.
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Takuma 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Rust
It is the knee. The snap, the way the other one remains perfectly still so as to avoid losing momentum or force. Of course, Takuma's knees are BOTH perfect, and this is why it sends Rust flying.
What Takuma still doesn't get - and won't, likely, considering how superhuman Rust's diligence seems to be - is that his pupil is not done yet. Sakazaki had honestly expected the fight to be finished, here. It's why his face clouds in the slightest when Rust gets to his feet. Further, it's why Takuma starts *talking*, despite his obviously very stern rules earlier.
"You're still fighting? I think you've done very well so far - that kick should be enough." Takuma assumes a defensive posture, certain to keep himself protected from Rust's next headbutt, or chest slam, or whatever mundane form of person-hurting he's about to bring to bea-
'Ryugekiken!'
It's a term that really, truly, honestly brings Sakazaki's eyes wide. "But you don't-" He's bringing his hand up, working his mind around to the notion that there's a chi-blast coming his way. That's what Ryugekiken means, and he'll be *damned* if a student's going to overstep his bounds and start blasting chi around before he's supposed to! This is unfortunately why Sakazaki's preparing the energies around him, bolstering himself against their inevitable rebellion.
"Hn!"
It's also why Rust's hand collides soundly with Takuma's throat, sending the master backwards - and down - with notable alacrity. Sakazaki drops to a knee, hand around his throat, expression more *shocked* than pained. Eventually, shock gives way to s broad smile, to heaving shoulders, and then a rich laugh.
"Without the chi!! Howard Rust, you're a damn bastard, you know that?? Set me right up!"
COMBATSYS: Takuma takes no action.
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Takuma 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Rust
There is no ruse behind this - that man, the oldest student of the whole lot, is really truly and honestly believing here where it counts that he can /get it right/. The form, everything, it's all there, of someone who is seriously doing the technique despite the obvious shortcoming and handicap. It is, without it, nothing more than a mere palm thrust with a shouted name attached to it.
He does it anyway. He /did/ it anyway. The slow retraction from the strike is not performed with arrogance nor surprise - he's waiting for whatever Takuma's about to lecture and/or return back at him next even with the contact against his throat, hands up and ready - well, more ready than last time in comparison - and is disarmed only when there's broadening shoulders. He feels he himself got it wrong /again/, that Takuma is about to let him have it.
Oh four letter word I think he's going to Haoh Sho Ko Ken me.
The laughter suggests otherwise. The laughing declaration of calling him a bastard, setting him right up. It's alarming compared to the disapproval his immediate instructor, Yoshi, has given about his inability to simply /produce/ it.
"Ah... it, it wasn't a set-up, I've, I actually've been... tryin' that." He explains as he clears his throat. "You wouldn't believe how much the guy, ah... Yoshi, right? Yelled at me 'bout not getting it right."
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Takuma 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Rust
Sakazaki settles onto his rear, vastly amused. Soon he's cross-legged, reaching behind him to grab ahold of that yellow belt, to hold it nonchalantly - by its own nature threateningly - in hand. He nods while he listens to Rust, but his eyes focus on distant students, on the instructors yelling in their faces. Surely, somebody is crying.
That means everything is right with the Dojo.
"Chi and a martial artist are the same thing to some people. You can't have one without the other. My instructors know that, but a lot of them don't understand that people have strange ways of showing it. The chi, I mean." Sakazaki rolls his neck - the crackles, pops, and explosions from his own joints are ear-piercing. "But right there - even in that little, dry, ryugekiken, you did something with it. Did you feel anything different about how it worked? I've seen you try it a few times now, but I promise - that was different. Tell me how."
COMBATSYS: Takuma takes no action.
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Takuma 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Rust
The white belt student, far older than his other fellow white belts, nods - following along with chi and a martial artist being the same thing to some people as he relaxes himself best he can from thinking that he might've been eating giant huge fireball. It's a telltale sign when the flexing of his arms and legs get another series of cracks.
For a moment, the joints in Rust's body and Takuma's body have found new BFFs, able to find peers in which to share the various abuses they have suffered through the years by these two men, either by not knowing when to quit, constantly testing them in ways that are bad to their continued health, or even both. Especially both.
There's talk about strange ways of showing it - there's one that's obvious to a bunch of people, it's the way he can make his own body work, the way he can tense and harden and take just about anything head-on, with the difficult aftereffects of rigidness and loud, unpleasant pops. Many of them in succession together is a blatant giveaway of this personal feat of his.
But right there, even in that little dry, ryugekiken, Takuma explains, he did something with it. There's the question - did he feel anything different about how it worked? Takuma claims he knows that was different. What should he tell him?
"Beyond, uh, that I thought it'd work?" It did, didn't it, if you look at it objectively? It knocked Takuma down. The man scratches the side of his face where he took Takuma's foot to his chin. A bit tender, but not day-ending. Hardly day-ending!
"I mean, I... I believed I had it down pat, so I did it, and... I guess here we are." It's the only way he could explain it for something that, in any other circumstance, would have come off as a disappointment to himself.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Takuma 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Rust
A shake of Takuma's head. It's something that's already happening before Rust has finished even half of his explanation - Sakazaki isn't buying what he says. His hand closes around the belt it holds, protectively, prohibitively. It is passive, but certainly a sign of dreams growing distant, of doors shutting. Takuma absolutely must realize how important this is to his student. It goes to reason that his question is equally important to him.
"A month ago, Rust, you were a plain man, with a plain day, and plain dreams. You joined my school because you wanted to grow past that; you have a passion for fighting, and diligence that goes beyond what it should. It's why I took you into my school. The fact that your pride can take defeat by younger, immature men speaks to your desire to be here -- and that's why what you are saying confuses me."
His tone deepens, becomes imperious. To the educated, it is approaching that same booming timbre so characteristic of Mr. Karate. "Stop thinking of yourself, your actions, and your motivations as plain! What happened when you attacked me with that Ryugekiken!! You must think of yourself..." One handed, Takuma snaps that yellow-belt TAUT against itself.
"As a fighter! You control what happens with your body, and you did something special - fantastic even - tell me what it was, or I will not allow you to proceed!"
The voice through his explanation betrays what he hopes to convey by those words with the gestures of the belt being held closer, away from him. The sign of his further advancement. Sure, he might be able to flex his muscles better, at least some of the strength of his right hand returned, and otherwise left an impression on many students about a man who refused to be left behind by the slowly but surely growing ravages of time upon him.
Takuma narrates it how he sees it. A month ago, he was a plain man, with a plain day, and plain dreams - the desire to grow past that. The reasons why Takuma had chosen to accept him into his school. The things he had, the things he accomplished - that his pride could survive defeat by younger and ar less mature... and how confused he is by what he says.
The deeper tone of voice is worrying, approaching the sheer level of intimidation inherent when one of the supervisors of the entire Pacific school system stops by any given school. But with the demands comes that further gesture of keeping that belt ever closer to himself, away from his reach.
The demand is a heavy one indeed - he did something special, fantastic, he says. What was it? The price for failure is to not proceed. A heavy, heavy price indeed. He controls what happens with his body, the old master says. What was it he did?
At first he still thinks maybe it's just a forward palm that just managed to catch Takuma off guard. It wasn't just mere confidence in success. Come to think of it, anyone can say that. He runs into it all the time at school, with his students happily proclaiming they can get something done and then find out forty five minutes later they either haven't gotten anywhere or have managed to completely destroy their project in question under sheer clumsiness and incompetence.
Just saying you're confident in something isn't enough, the man's face sours as he brings his hands together for a moment, before shaking out his right hand for the dull ache of the impact.
He stops right there at the shaking, blinks, and turns to look at his right hand. The ugly scarring, the sudden reminder of that day. The day where he tried to grab Igniz's bladed whip, cutting it open deep - and the subsequent attempt at handling molten metal with, effectively, a bare hand, that whip having torn apart the glove on it. There is almost nary a body on this earth whose body could survive these things back to back in such short succession.
The day he would have first come to think was the day his entire fighting career was over, with his weaker, less sure grip on Ol' Rusty. How it slowed him down at work when working with smaller, finer tools. It didn't just nearly take away some of his aspirations, it nearly took away his entire livelihood. On some fundamental level, he owes Rolento a whole lot for saving that hand - anything less than the medical procedures he performed when dragging him and Hakuya to safety, and he would no longer even have had that.
In a way, he almost ended up a whole lot like his own dad, who was hurt so badly early on he wasn't even able to work to keep the both of them fed. Something the son himself had to pick up the slack on.
He almost felt comfortable with this fact, some sort of peace after surviving that invasion. To just get on with his life, be happy with what he still has.. and then that invite came in the mail. An invite that was no joke. An invite from someone who believes that, despite only a so-so performance across four fights in his entire short, forgettable fighting career, that he has what it took to compete in the King of Fighters. A tournament rivaled in distinction only by the World Warrior.
He went to a man for specific help after happening across a martial arts display, and why? He stares at his right hand some more. Clenches it. It doesn't clench as tightly as he knows he once could, but a couple more flexes make it clear.
/He used his right hand./
"This." He speaks up clearly, without the usual fatigue or mumbling tone of voice that dominates his speech after a work day's worth of shouting at kids, pointing at it with his left hand even though just showing it to Takuma is probably enough to show what he's talking about.
"This, that... that I thought I lost almost everything with, I... I used it on you. Put everything I got on it, even though I might never get all the strength in it back." He doesn't stop to clear his throat, even though it is dry and begs for a touch of moisture. He takes a step forward, fluid enough his ankle nor knee complains.
"I made it work even though it's scarred. Kind of numb. Still doesn't have the, the best grip, 'cause... 'cause I, myself, made it work."
He lowers his right hand down to the seated Kyokugen master, devoid of the reservation and caution the man usually shows in his line of work or, really, almost anything ever in the face of everyday madness and kids with a little too much spunk to know better, against the demands made of how he conducts himself and what he's supposed to produce with his time, dictated almost to the letter.
Takuma will never admit it - as far as the world is concerned, children and students are his single greatest enemy - but his secret joy, that thing that keeps him coming back to the mats, day in and day out... It's that look that Rust has on his face. Certainly, it isn't as pure or bright as what one might see on younger flesh, and the wrinkles, the callous, the leather and jade gets in the way of what Rust's emotions what his features to convey, but Takuma is a scholar in revelation. He drinks it in much like a hummingbird sips at nectar.
He's very good at keeping his expression neutral, despite the vicarious joy he's feeling through Rust's epiphany.
Something about the dichotomy present in an ugly face contorted to youthful discovery is -- well. This is certainly one of the highlights of Sakazaki's life. He has not just introduced a youth to the art of fighting - he has given an old man a reason to live. Even if Rust attributes some special meaning to it, Takuma understands that life in an Industrial Arts shop is nothing more than a slow death.
"Howard Rust," intones the old master, face whipping up to level intense, clear brown eyes upon Rust's own. "I want you to understand that you have started walking down a very challenging path. You did NOT just use your right hand - I've done this for too long, hurt too many times to not understand what my experience tells me is true. The Planet spoke through you now; I knew when you came here that your hand would never be right again. Confidence gave you the keys to your future, and determination - desperation! - unlocked the potential of your soul to link with things greater than itself! Your desperation has opened your body to the powers around it, and even if you did not manifest chi as younger students might have, you WERE physically incapable of striking me with that attack! This -" Sakazaki indicates that arm before him, solidly.
"This is how the world has chosen to reinforce you!" He calms. A bit. Nonetheless, those brown eyes are shining, and mirth does make its impression upon a wearied face. "As you progress, you will find your hand and body restoring to their original condition. You may never control energy like my other students, but I understand that you have been chosen, just like any Kyokugen disciple." Sakazaki lifts his hand, and settles it into Rust's extended right. It is the hand holding that yellow belt - and as Takuma gets to his feet with his student's support, he does not bother reclaiming the fabric.
He is more concerned with shouting. "KYOKUGEN DISCIPLES! HONOR YOUR FELLOW STUDENT FOR HIS ACCEPTANCE INTO OUR ART! HOWARD RUST HAS EARNED HIS YELLOW BELT!"
The roar is deafening - but not so much that Takuma is inaudible beneath it. His are full of portent - indeed, it is almost as though he has practiced them - and quite loud, sibilant to Rust's ears.
"Today, Rust, you have stopped being a teacher. You are a fighter, and that will consume you for the rest of your life."
Log created on 22:07:44 01/05/2011 by Rust, and last modified on 03:10:47 01/06/2011.