Description: Ryuhaku Todoh, as far as he has ever known and ever will know, has never truly gotten a one-up over Takuma Sakazaki and the Kyokugen style. The final tallies are being marked in the wake of the world falling apart at the very seams, and he can no longer bear to look at the scoreboard.
Ryuhaku Todoh disappeared from the site of that battle in the city of Ise. This is not a noteworthy event. His appearances and departures are typically sudden affairs without much in the way of warning. He's always been notoriously difficult to anticipate, even when one may finally have pegged something of a pattern about his behaviors.
The greater surprise isn't that he's left a triumphant Yun Lee and Yuri Sakazaki to go celebrate doing their part to try and save the world at a time where it's hard to truly say that there can be any celebration at all.
Some eyes catch hold of him leaving as the military presence tries to maintain some semblance of order as the unnatural weather patterns grow more intense around the vortex of the historic shrines of Ise.
Under the constraints of observation - assuming that is a limitation and not some ruse or conceit in the rare respect of one actually paying him attention - Ryuhaku Todoh walks the length of the road leading out of Ise with head hung low, shoulders slumped, and dragged feet.
This continues to persist even when the desire to watch a defeated man wanes in the wake of far more interesting happenings for one to find themselves caught in, with the capable fighters of the world all descending upon the vortex. It is a thing of greater urgency than this man, probably.
Todoh casts it all behind on the slow walk between Ise and Southtown, for however many hours across a landscape torn apart by political strife and ecological disaster over a span of time far too short to be able to stomach it all.
In a time and space that now and forever will never again cross paths with this one, a nefarious alternate Dan and a considerably less ill-intentioned Todoh lick their wounds with their surprise replacement Time Sphere delivery having been foiled, sent home on the giant press of a steamroller he had brought to bear.
'My final, greatest scheme to rewrite history and defeat Takuma once and for all has failed,' the thought runs through him, 'I have accomplished nothing in all these years.'
He passes along a populated area he'd frequent for reasons that continue to be obscure even to himself. A rare Costco opened all the way out in this now troubled nation has numerous posters plastered in the front, bearing numerous photographs warning shoppers of a certain moustached man who bears a strong resemblance to himself, and another in a bright red long-nosed mask and karate gi.
'I am not respected by anyone, nor feared for what strength I have,' Todoh concludes as he walks by this gigantic warehouse store without paying it a second or even a first look, 'I am seen as a joke.'
It's a long road home on foot that he appears to make without need to stop or rest, losing none of what passes for stride - or any further quantity of stride compared to what might have already been sacrificed - going into the city just barely spared a fiery end.
'I'll always be second to Takuma Sakazaki no matter what I do,' he says as he comes home to the familiar sight of his dojo, blemished only by the quantity of volcanic ash that has been allowed to settle on the lawn and roof, the porch and walkways having been meticulously swept at every opportunity to allow the dojo to show the beauty of its immaculately rebuilt structure in recent times.
Opening the sliding door to head inside without a spoken word, he walks himself past a photograph showing advanced student Daniel "Jack" Little among one of the largest gatherings of regular dojo students seen in Southtown's history, nestled among many awards and newspaper clippings detailing the virtues and fortunes of Todoh-ryuu Kobojutsu across even expert opinions untouched by the blood feud that reigns between the Todoh and Sakazaki families.
'My legacy will be buried and forgotten in time as just some forgettable face in the crowd,' he muses without spoken word as he walks by this display.
He walks by the form of a young woman dressed much like himself, stoic in her demeanor but fierce in her spirit as she addresses a man she projects nothing but respect and even admiration to, unbowed compared to the weariness of who walks by her. There is a gentle smile and an enthusiasm that can barely be hidden under the respect she holds dear.
Beyond her, an older woman already kneels before a table with teacups at the ready. A woman of nearly infinite patience, and an increasingly keen grasp on when a certain someone may care to show themselves when the rest of the world - even someone else of his own blood - seems to struggle to ever pin such a pattern down.
Joining her at the table, he takes this cup in hand, staring blankly out a window out into the expanse of a Southtown colored by black ash and dreary skies, seated in the presence of those who love him, present in a home well cared for, in a school that is rarely ever empty save for those who live there.
He summarizes in thought, to all he can see and acknowledge around him as unrefutable proof of his final conclusion...
'I never win.'
Log created on 14:54:42 10/18/2014 by GLaDOS, and last modified on 14:54:49 10/18/2014.