Tekken Fan Fiction ❯ The King of Iron Fist Tournament 6 ❯ Welcome to Tokyo ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

“Now arriving…Non-stop from Tel Aviv. Welcome to Tokyo.”
A herd of people began to emerge from Gate 13 just as the computerized voice had finished that sentence. From this herd came an odd mix of numerous languages. Some of it was English, some was Arab, some was Japanese, but a good majority of it was Hebrew. Together they created a symphony of sound that was truly unique in its own way. It was really no surprise that the Middle East, where Tel Aviv was located, had once produced “the Tower of Babel.”
Soon the herd began to separate, and so did the mix of languages. When the people coming off the plane went to their family, friends, and parties, they took their languages with them. English would be the main language in some groups; Arab would be the tongue of choice in others, and so on. The languages would become individual once more. And when the people would have to go back to Tel Aviv, their languages would combine to create that symphony again.
But there was one man who did not have a party to go to. At least, he was not expecting to have one.
He was a fairly tall (and quite muscular) man, good six-and-a-half feet tall, wearing blue camouflage pants and a purple camouflage jacket with the Israeli flag on the back. His black hair was tied back in a ponytail. It was apparent to anyone watching that he was in his late 20s, but his bespectacled face was full of youth. Israel was often considered one of the holiest places in the world, and this man gave off an aura of calm that seemed to back up these claims. Many girls would turn to look at him as he went by, but he paid them no real attention. He was busy playing his Sony PSP by the time he had stepped out of the gate. Once he had turned it off, however, he simply gave a smile and a wave to anyone who passed him by as he made his way to the luggage checkout.
When he got there, he sat down and watched as the bags go by, waiting for his own bag to come in his eyesight. It's a good thing I have a spare pair of glasses, he thought as he took the glasses off his face and wiped them off with a hankerchief, I wouldn't want my only pair to get smashed in the tournament. Just as he put his glasses back on, he spotted his bag, and stood up to get it.
With his bag in tow, the man went out of the door and was about to get a taxi when suddenly, a redheaded man walked up next to him and began calling for a taxi. He was a bit younger than the man in glasses, twenty-two to be exact, and was wearing a black leather jacket with the flag of South Korea on his back, along with a pair of black jeans and spurred shoes. As the taxi pulled up, the redheaded man said, “I need to get to the Mishima Mansion.”
The man in glasses quickly shoved money in the driver's face. It was a mix of shekels and American dollars. “Wait, I need to go there too. I'll pay for the both of us.”
The two men put their luggage in the trunk before getting into the car themselves. The red-headed man looked at the man in glasses and said, in English, “So you're competing?”
“That right.” Doren gave a salute, “First Lieutenant Doren Sharon of the Israeli Defense Force. And you must be Hwoarang, the Tae Kwan Do champion!”
“Heh. So you've heard of me.” Hwoarang gave a salute back, and the two young men put their arms down. “And I've heard of you. I remember seeing your face on TV when you competed in that mixed martial arts tournament last year.” Hwoarang brushed back his crimson hair and laid back a bit.
“Oh, that one. The competition was very good there. But this…THIS tournament is what I've been dreaming of…”
Hwoarang let out a loud laugh when he heard that. “Oooh man, you sounded like such noob there!” He was about to playfully punch him in the arm, but just as he was about to hit, Doren grabbed the arm. “H-Hey!” Doren looked at Hwoarang's surprised expression (as well as hints of pain) and quickly let go of the arm while apologizing profusely. “S-sorry! I..I am just a little high-strung. I wasn't expecting that. Sorry!'
“Yeah…no harm done….” Hwoarang lightly rubbed his arm and looked out the window. Awww man, he thought, I don't know what will get me first: his fists…or his apologizing after he's used them!”