A Father’s Sins, A Father’s Sons

By Fool’s Gold

Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.

In the Southtown Cemetery, a solitary tombstone stands.

They would have put up a memorial. It would be a fitting tribute to the man who lived – and died – in the name of justice. He gave his entire life for the good of all, relentlessly pursuing the unapproachable ideal of righteousness. And he was cut down in his prime, his last actions a final testimony even as his death reflected his life: a shining light, the flame of justice that burned long after the candle died.

It would have been the least they could do, they said.

But in Southtown, only the mighty rule. To them, justice is but a delusion, easily twisted and perverted to their own gain; their only reality is might. And they have no sympathy for those who would fall by the wayside, lost in their fantasies of truth, justice and the Southtown way… and especially those who would oppose them.

And even as the good intentions of the people were turned into Hell’s paving stones, their hero was lost to the caprices of a forgetful town’s memory. Now all that remains of the legacy of Kim Kaphwan is a tombstone, tucked away in some forgotten corner of the graveyard. And there it remains, worn away by rain, snow, and time, neglected by all save kith and kin.

Upon that tombstone rests an angel, its wings spread in a vain attempt to shield the grave beneath it, donated by those who remembered the man. To them, he was their guardian angel, dressed in white – now he is but a fallen one, lost to the people he had strived to protect.

And under the overhanging angel lie three envelopes.

They rest there, bone-white on slate-grey, illumined by the moonlight. And they bear messages, words from the living to the dead. Untouched, unopened, unread they lie, their contents unknown to all.

Now, let their tale be told.

A Father’s Sins, A Father’s Sons: Jae Hoon

Dawn, and the rain pours.

The cemetery is silent today, save for the constant hammering of water against earth and stone. And accompanying the deafening tattoo, another sound emerges, a dull, slapping beat; the footfall of mourners.

A couple walk amongst the gravestones, their footsteps heavy with grief. They weave their way through the tall grass, left unkempt by a caretaker who could care less about the occupants of this plot of land, and make their way towards the marker that serves as their only link to the past.

The boy’s dark blue eyes are wet from tears and rain; they cloud, and he fails to see the divots that have been carved out of the ground even as he stumbles. A hand is extended, steadying him with a trembling grip. He is grateful for it, and returns a weak smile to his companion – the saddened smile of a child who awakened from a nightmare, only to find that he has been forced to become a man.

Together, they walk to the neglected grave, and she holds the umbrella over his head while he pays his respects. He bends low and caresses the stone angel, wishing for one last chance to touch his father. But the time for such chances is long past. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws an envelope. It is unmarked and plain, and there is no address on it – another cruel reminder that his father is far beyond his reach.

He leaves the envelope under the angel and staggers away, his girlfriend still dutifully sheltering him from the downpour.

Father, it’s me. Jae Hoon.

It’s been a year since you passed on, and we’re still trying to pick up the pieces back at home. I suppose we’re falling into a passable routine, and we’re getting by one day at a time, but… it’s just not the same, now that you’re gone. There’s a void in our family now, and it’ll never be filled.

Mom was devastated when she heard the news of your death. She loved you – I suppose I don’t need to tell you that – and she misses you a lot. She’s tried to be strong, but your absence has taken its toll on her: I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and heard the crying from her room, or the days when we’ve woken up in the morning and seen her red-rimmed eyes and hoarse voice. But she continues to put up a strong front for our sakes, even though it costs her so dearly…

Dong Hwan found a job at a bar – they hired him as a bouncer. I know you’d disapprove of his vocation, but he’s doing his best to support the family. Besides, the job pays well (he earns more at the bar than I do at the school), and the owners are friends of Terry, so he’s not likely to get into too much trouble. I’ll keep an eye out for him, I promise. He still seems as flippant as ever on the outside, but I can see through that veneer of his: he misses you greatly, even though he’d rather die than admit it to my face. For an extrovert, he sure keeps a lot of things inside.

The school’s still operating, and our students are carrying on reasonably well. I can’t begin to describe how valuable Jun’s been to the running of classes: she’s been by my side helping me with the administration and the paperwork, and she’s a pillar of strength when the rest of the world seems to crumble around me and nobody seems to care. Yes, I haven’t been taking things too well either. There are those times when I’m the only one awake in the house, and everything is just too quiet, and then I’m suddenly back at that night when Officer Rian knocked on our door and said that you wouldn’t be coming home… She’s been a great help, and I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Uncle Jhun and May came over to pay their respects yesterday. They didn’t say much – he just stared at your grave, as still as a statue, and she was crying her eyes out. But they left us some news. Remember Chang and Choi, the two criminals who trained with us back when you took part in the King of Fighters tournaments? Uncle Jhun said that they sent their condolences, and that they vowed to finally turn over a new leaf. He said that your death was the one thing that turned them around, more than all the preaching and punishment that the two of you subjected them to. It’s funny… Uncle Jhun mentioned that if you’d been around to witness the moment, you would have said something like, “Justice finally triumphs!” Then he sneered and muttered, “Some triumph.”

He had a point.

Even today, they still haven’t found the killer. The monster they called Freeman… Officer Rian said that they shot him, but when they searched the surroundings, his body was nowhere to be found. He escaped: even now, he’s probably continuing his wicked ways somewhere else, spilling innocent blood.

Where is the justice in letting the evil ones carry on in their wicked ways while the righteous perish? Why is Freeman still at large, while we are the ones who are left staring at your grave? It’s a mockery of everything you taught us, that justice should triumph, that the good will always prevail. We’re not the ones who are winning. Kain is still ruling Second Southtown with an iron fist; there are no longer any heroes – they’ve all departed, forgotten by the people. And what remains of Kim Kaphwan, Southtown’s last hero? A tombstone.

Nobody cares about the sacrifices you made for this town, how you spent so much of your time fighting the evil that pervaded this city. They don’t remember how many times you put your life on the line, or how our family was torn apart after your death. They didn’t even respect your body after you died – “lost in transit”, they called it, leaving us with an empty plot in this graveyard and a hole in our family. And they call this justice?

Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it, fighting the good fight for people who don’t even care if you live or die. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your dream alive, especially when you’re gone, and it seems as though what we do doesn’t change a thing. The wicked people still persist in their ways, and the city is rotten to the core with the taint of evil. Why do we waste our energy, our spirits, and our lives in the pursuit of justice when everybody else has given it up?

I can only think of two reasons.

I fight so that your death will not have been in vain.

And I fight in the hope that perhaps, in spite of everything… you were right.

A Father’s Sons, A Father’s Sins: Dong Hwan

Dusk – the hour of long shadows.

The ground is still wet from the rain, drenched with a day’s worth of heaven’s tears. And a solitary figure strides through the graveyard, his energetic movements a stark contrast to the lifelessness of the place.

He looks around, surveying the countless headstones that litter the grounds, and makes his way to the one he seeks. And as he bends low, he catches sight of a flash of white on grey; an envelope has been placed beneath the angel on the stone, untouched by the rain.

His face remains placid, frozen into his ever-present smirk. So, his brother was here before him. Well and good: he was always the dutiful one. And as the newcomer reaches into his pocket, he hesitates. He rises from his bent position, looking around for any others who would intrude, his brown eyes darting from left to right in shifty suspicion. But the grounds are silent. All is still in the graveyard, and none are present to disturb his father’s peace.

And he lets the shield slip, his face contorting itself into a grimace of pain. He has withheld his emotions for an entire year, hiding his regrets and sorrow behind a clown’s mask. And he releases it now in a cry of anger, a plea of forgiveness to the one whom he has wronged.

There will be no answer: The dead do not speak.

There is nothing left for him but to place his own envelope beside his brother’s, under the angel. And he wears the mask once more, and departs.

Hey, Dad. What’s it like up in Heaven? I’m sure they save seats for the righteous over there, don’t they? And you deserve it.

Me? I’m a bouncer, working at the Illusion Bar. Mr and Mrs Sakazaki found me work there after you died, and for once I’m actually holding a steady job instead of bumming around. You’d be proud… not.

Look, I just wanted to say… I don’t know, really. I wanted to get this cleared up earlier, back when you were still around, but I was too damn lazy to do it. I thought you’d be around for a long time. Guess I was wrong. So here goes nothing.

I don’t want to end up like you.

Don’t get me wrong, Dad: I respect you a lot. Who wouldn’t? You were a great father, a devoted husband, a pillar of society and a man of justice. You provided for us and raised us well; you were always looking out for me when I did stupid things – and you know I’ve done loads of stupid things in my time – and you never gave up even when I proved to be more pigheaded and rebellious than Chang and Choi. Even the discipline… Oh, I hated the way you used to pick on my every mistake, how I was always watching over my back lest you should suddenly pop up and nag at me. I still do, as a matter of fact. But without you to constantly drag me back onto the right path, I’d probably have ended up on the streets as a junkie or a gigolo.

I looked up to you, Dad. But there was no way that I was going to become like you.

It’s not just a case of people referring to me as “Kaphwan’s kid”. No, it goes much deeper than that. You had a hand in it, certainly: Mom told us about how I was named for you, and Jae Hoon was named for Uncle Jhun. Jae wasn’t even offended, bless his soul, but I’ve found myself living under your shadow ever since the day of my birth. Everything I’ve done since then has been compared to what you did.

When I fought, people always commented about how my style was so similar to yours. When I bummed around, your friends would always nag, “Why can’t you be more serious, like your father?” And wherever I went, there was always the pressure from within and without, the constant expectation that I would, one day, take your place and succeed you.

So I rebelled. I became an out-and-out slacker and a playboy, losing any desire to carry on the Kim legacy, just to show your friends that I would never let myself conform to their plans. Let Jae carry the torch of justice – he certainly does more than enough for the both of us! (And, truth be told, he does a much better job at it than I.) I devised my own style of taekwondo, trying to break away from your techniques: but I can hardly call it my own style, can I? People still compare it to yours and say, “Wow, interesting interpretation, but it’s not as good as Kaphwan’s was.” And it’s true. No matter how hard I try, I’ll always be compared to you, and I’ll always be found wanting.

If you were looking down on me right now, I’d bet you’d be heartbroken. And you’re probably wondering why I’m trying so hard to disgrace you, an irresponsible layabout who does nothing but eat, sleep and chase girls; the black sheep of the family, if you will.

Everyone calls me irresponsible, and I won’t deny it. But answer me honestly: which of us is the one who has neglected his duties? The boy who lazes around, flirting and stuffing his face at every opportunity, but in the end still comes back to his family every night? Or the father who fights for justice non-stop, burning himself out for the sake of complete strangers, and leaves a widow and two kids behind? I swore that I would not end up like you: is it worth it, for the good to die young and leave nothing but regrets in their wake?

If only you knew how much heartbreak you’ve caused our family: more so than even I. Mom’s been on the verge of a breakdown several times over; I don’t know how much more of this she can take. Jae’s been holding up reasonably well, but you know how he takes after you – now that you’re gone, his ideals are starting to crumble around him. And without them to support him… I don’t know what he’ll do.

And me? I’ve spent the better part of my life wanting to get out from under your shadow, to break out of the mould that everyone wants me to fit into – the mould that you created. All I ever wanted was to live an easy life, to be allowed to grow old with the people I care for.

Now you’re gone, and my dreams are but dust.

A Father’s Sins, A Father’s Sons: Kim Kaphwan

Midnight, and shadows dance a macabre waltz in the moonlight.

None should be here now. It is the witching hour, a time of deepest dread and darkest horror, a moment when the dead shall walk amongst the living.

Yet even now, the living walk amongst the dead in Southtown Cemetery.

He stands by the grave, shrouded in night and shadows, wearing it as uneasily as the ill-fitting trenchcoat that drapes over his shoulders. And his eyes fall upon the two letters that have been left beneath the angel. There is no need to read their contents; he knows their writers all too well.

He should not be here – no, he should. It has been a long year for everyone, and the longest for him. He has witnessed it all: tears, sorrow, the slow crawl from the ashes back to a semblance of normalcy. Life goes on for everyone… unless you’re dead.

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a third envelope, handling it gently in the darkness. He has reached Hecate’s crossroads; now he must choose. Shall he walk down the path of death, to be lost to everyone forever, or shall he turn back from the road he has walked the past year?

He tosses his envelope down with its two companions: his decision is made.

So it’s been a year already… and yet, time doesn’t make it any easier to forget the pain. The scars remain, and so do the fears.

I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve put our family through this past year. I hate myself for having to abandon you, to have to disappear and then subject you to the pain of loss. If only you knew how I’ve been watching over you all this while, how terrible I felt as I watched our family suffer from the despair that ate away at its foundations. I wanted so desperately to return, to comfort you and say how sorry I was for leaving you. But I couldn’t.

That murderer… when I went off to fight him, I was only concerned about bringing the man to justice, confident that I had the might and the right to take him down. I had no inkling that the enemy I fought was no longer human, that he only bore the form of a man – a mockery of the humanity that we possessed. I never knew… not until I looked into those eyes.

And there was a dark soul reflected in those windows – a bleak emptiness, as black as the pits of Hell. And this murderer would have swallowed thousands of souls in order to satisfy his hunger, if that devouring desire could ever be sated. I stared into the eyes of the madman, and saw only Death there. For once, I felt an emotion that I thought had been lost long before… fear.

And at that point, I was lost.

Only one thing kept me alive after that fight: the desire to see the family again. But that monster had broken my spirit and destroyed the very foundations that I had built our lives upon. The right was mine – I knew that well enough to take that murderer on. But in the end, righteousness was not enough to defeat that evil. The might failed me.

So I was wrong all along, wasn’t I? Justice doesn’t always triumph; the good guys don’t always win. “My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure” – it didn’t help at all. If there was one thing I knew then, it was that I was too weak. I was completely incapable of protecting you, or defending the ones I loved. So I ran away: Kim Kaphwan, the coward.

I couldn’t come back. Selfishly, I thought only of my reputation: the memory of a brave man is much better than the ranting of a senile old fool, clinging on to his scraps of reflected glory. But more importantly, I feared for your safety. If I could no longer protect you, then what would I do when that murderer came back to finish the job? I thought that by faking my death, Freeman would give up the chase. And he did.

But I couldn’t leave the family. And so, while you slowly picked up the pieces of your shattered lives, I was left watching from the shadows, unable to console you. I raged against my impotence, frustrated at my inability to be there when you needed me.

Then, there was the tournament.

I panicked when I learnt of the two entries in the competition, of how you boys entered to avenge my death and bring Freeman to justice. I broke your mother’s heart by running away – I would be damned if I let you two hurt her again on my account. But the two of you surprised me. And as the tournament progressed, I saw my two sons battle with a fighting spirit that would have done any man proud. You didn’t let me down.

But it was when you defeated Freeman that I found the answer that I had sought all this while; for indeed, I had placed too little faith in my children. Now, I knew that I could finally return, and leave the safety of my family, and even that of the town, in better hands.

Jae Hoon, I’m glad that you’ve decided to follow in my footsteps. Don’t despair like I did. The victory of justice is not a sure thing; nevertheless, it only means that we have to fight harder to ensure that we win… no matter what the cost. You’ve done well, and I have no qualms about you. I leave justice’s torch in your hands.

Dong Hwan, you won’t hear me nagging at you any more. I’ll not force you to go down the road I’ve taken; what matters is that you hold on to what is important. But remember that if you intend to enjoy your freedom, you have to be prepared to fight for it in order to maintain that ease. Don’t get too cocky.

Myun… It’s been a lonely year for both of us. I’m sorry for having put you through all of this, and I can only hope to make amends to the best of my ability.

I’m coming home.

He brings his foot down hard onto the tombstone, reducing the marker to dust with a single blow. It no longer serves its purpose, marking a spot of mourning for a man who was never there. And as he turns back towards the town, he can see the streetlights shining through the night, guiding his return to the realm of the living.

The lights lead homeward.

Notes: Bleh. This has probably been the most uninspired of all my fics thus far. Apologies to all readers who may be offended by the peculiar characterisation. For the purposes of this fic, the Kims have been settled in Second Southtown, and I have hazarded a possible name for the girl in the pink gi (Jun).

Comments, corrections and constructive criticism are welcomed.

Credit goes to Yagami (a.k.a. Organised Kaos) for the pre-read. Thanks.