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King of Fighters II
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King of Fighters '03
Shanghai
7 a.m.
The streets are already bustling with activity while the steam and aromas from open-air shops and stands ascend into the sky.
It is amply bright outside, but the sun has not completely risen; dark shadows dance on the ground in between the shops of the marketplace.
Alone, a behemoth of a man stands out from the throng.
"Nuts. That Ash. Calling me here at this time of the morning."
Dressed in his usual ultra-casual style, a jacket slipped over his bare torso, anyone passing along the street would recognize him. In Shanghai he is the man called "Shen Woo." Shen means "god" and Woo the Chinese word for "battle." Naturally, this isn't his real name.
"Ah, ha, ha, ha. You're here. Shen, long time no see! So, where is a place that will feed us some delicious crabs? You must know, right Shen?"
"Ash...who'd eat crab at this ungodly morning hour?!"
"Lighten up there, pal. Then how about a little dim sum before Duo Lon gets here?"
The young Caucasian with platinum hair gathered up in a katyusha is Ash Crimson.
Alabaster skinned with blue eyes. Freckles still remain on his cheeks positioned over the edges of a mouth contorted into an impertinent smirk.
You could call him a handsome lad or not, but it is certain that he is enveloped in a strange sort of magnetism that garners glances. His body is slight but sinewy.
"Crab, this early in the morning..."
Thrusting forward through the crowd, Ash finds Shanghai crabs dumped into a wooden crate, wriggling gloriously in the display window of a shop.
"Look, look. They look spunky. Your buying, right?"
"Who's buying? Give it a rest. And in the first place, do you even eat crab? Tourists from Europe tend to shy away from our local delicacy, you know?"
"I love crab. And after you hear what I got to tell you, I think you'll gladly foot the bill."
Ash's mischievous expression is reflected in the window of the shop.
"One guy said the clown who ate Shanghai crab for the first time was extremely courageous...or just amazingly intelligent. It's the truth, Ash. So what's your important story?"
And then: the reflection of the figure of another tall man appears in the glass of the show window which would be difficult to be called polished.
"......"
Ash and Shen, without looking back, continue pretending to keep judging the quality of the crabs.
Shen clicks his tongue slightly. Although distracted by the conversation, being snuck up on so easily...?
"Ah, ha, ha, Duo Lon. It's been awhile. How have you been? How about we talk somewhere out of the way while we fill our bellies?"
"This place looks good."
Even the fresh air of morning becomes cold and gloomy around this guy.
The figure of the tall man, dressed in a costume luxuriously embroidered, appears from the pallid shadows between the buildings. Duo Lon. All but the age of a young man, he is actually a member of the "Flying Brigands," a group of assassins who reside in the back regions of China.
He is laconic with a presence that naturally overwhelms people, and bears a sad countenance.
"Ta-dah! Can you believe it? This came to me in the mail. "
What Ash produces is an envelope sealed archaically with wax.
THE KING OF FIGHTERS.
The world's largest tournament of varying fighting styles.
Both Shen and Duo Lon are aware of this.
And they both know it is a team event of teams consisting of three fighters each.
Annually some sort of crisis accompanies it; in other words, an event with attitude.
"I won't pull any punches. I want to join this thing. So, I'm hoping you'll feel the same. How about it? Will you enter with me?"
"Sounds like fun. OK, I'm in! I've always wanted to be in KOF, at least once. I'll go anywhere where strong opponents can be found."
"That's the ol' pepper, Shen. Happy to hear it. How about you, Duo Lon?"
"...Yeah, OK."
"Ah, ha, ha, ha. Then it's all decided!"
"As a matter of fact, the application of we three has already been made. It would have been a real bummer if either of you had refused to accompany me."
"Say what? You already entered us? ...Ah, whatever. I'm pumped up for this!"
"...What are you scheming? Huh, Ash?"
"Oh, come, come, Duo Lon. It's nothing of any consequence."
"And if I had said I wouldn't do it...What would you have done?"
"...Hmm. What would I have done?"
Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Ash laces the invitation between the fingers of his left hand and plays with it.
Supple fingers are they, which look like they have nothing to do with combat. And his nails are adorned with nail art.
From the four corners of the invitation interlaced in Ash's fingers burst emerald flames.
The entire invitation is swiftly consumed by flames, but the vigor of the flame does not abate and a pillar of flame bursts from Ash's left hand.
A spiral of wind breaks out at his feet, blowing up Ash's platinum blond hair, and the flames burn even higher and stronger. He laughs. At the depths of his innocent and capricious giggle an inscrutable something certainly squirms. A few passers-by notice the green pillar of flame but are dumbstruck with astonishment.
Ash shakes his left hand dramatically outward.
The emerald flames jump from his arm. Drawing a gentle arc that slips between Shen and Duo Lon in an instant, it brushes by the face of a girl passing nearby and then disappears.
The draft blows the girl's hair. Promptly thereafter at her side, the thing that was a bee a second before falls to the earth motionless, burnt to a crisp, in a pile of white ash.
"That was close, young lady. Ah, ha, ha."
"Uh, th-thank...you."
"Il n'y a pas de quoi."
Ash replies with an exaggeratedly old-fashioned bow
"OK, playtime is over. To make things worse I'm totally whacked from being called out so early in the morning."
"I love mornings in the spring. They say, 'The season is spring. The time of day is morning. The time of morning is seven.'"
"Who says that?"
"Hmph. For someone raised in France, you have strange tastes."
Duo Lon breaks out in a rare wry smile. Although he feigns a cool, adult air, his youth is given away when he laughs.
Ash continues.
"As God makes evident in the sky. All in the world is nothing.
Well, that's it. Take it easy. Just take it easy. Ah, ha, ha."
ASH CRIMSON
DUO LON
SHEN WOO
Their participation in the tournament had already been confirmed by the KOF Management Organization three days ago.
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King of Fighters XI
Dublin, capital of Ireland.
The new old city, developed successfully for untold years.
Though it was once covered with glaciers, the ocean currents blessed it with relatively mild winters... or so it once was.
"You're lying, Shen."
"I did say 'relatively' mild, Ash."
Ash gathered his coat closer to his body and tried to keep moving.
Pleasant though it could be, this city was on the same latitude as Moscow and Hokkaido.
When it got cold, it got SEVERELY cold.
The two missed Grafton Street and entered an alley.
Ireland is full of pubs, and this alley was crammed to the gills with little signs.
The two made their choice and opened the door.
There were dozens of barstools and tables.
It was not yet evening, but there were still a few patrons.
Just as one would expect of an Irish pub, all of the patrons were locals from the neighborhood, and the atmosphere was calm and relaxed. At one table sat a middle-aged-looking man, lining up cards.
"Hey, Ash, how about him?"
"Maybe."
"Hey, you... uh... 'Are the clover in bloom?'"
The man looked up from his game of Solitaire and fixed his gaze upon Shen.
"...I take it you have an appointment with someone."
The man wore an expression of doubt.
"Bah. Guess not. Sorry, old man."
Ash had already taken a seat at the bar.
"Hmm, I heard the stout is good, but do you have anything to help me warm up?"
The bartender behind the counter looked up from mashing potatoes and gave a warm, friendly smile.
"When it's this cold, the best thing in the world is an Irish coffee.
You a traveler, then? Welcome to Dublin."
"Yes, give me one of those."
A hot cocktail made of sugar, whole cream and coffee in an Irish whiskey base. In no time, the scent drifted out to fill the pub.
"If you have time, I'd like to take you on."
The old man called to the two while cutting the deck of cards.
On closer inspection, it became apparent that the man was rather tall. Although he was slight of build, he did not appear weak. He gave off a sense of hiding his own motivations, but he was exceptionally polite.
"Heh heh heh, all right. Let's go a round!"
"I swear. You never could pass up a chance to gamble, Shen."
"How about poker? Or is bridge the local game?"
"That'd be English. Poker is fine by me... so shall we?"
The two were dealt five cards each, lined up as flawlessly as if they'd been measured out with a ruler.
"Now that the cards are dealt, you may place your bets, though I suggest you aim low at first. Open the game."
"..."
Shen's expression shifted. Far from the confident smirk he wore before, it had crumbled into disappointment.
Ash gave a lighthearted laugh, but this was hardly unusual.
It was a strange comparison with the middle-aged man, whose face may as well have been carved out of granite.
"I'll bet, of course."
"...Why not fold?"
"Are you nuts? I can't back out now."
All of the discarded cards were now facing up. King, 5, king, 5, 5.
"That is a shame. To the next hand, then?"
The middle-aged man silently and skillfully collected the cards.
"You know, Shen..."
"What."
"You do know what a poker face is, right?"
"What do I look like, an idiot? Of course I know what it is."
"All right, then."
The gentleman shuffled the cards with the dexterity of a master stage magician, then had Ash cut the deck. It had a pleasant, dry sound.
"You're pretty amazing with those cards. I'll bet you could make a pretty penny with those skills."
"You flatter me."
He began to deal the cards again.
"By the way... 'Are the clover in bloom?'"
"Hey, Ash, he heard it the first time."
"'They don't bloom until spring.'"
"Wha--... you ass! Why didn't you reply when--"
"Open the game."
Shen grumbled under his breath and examined his cards, only to be disappointed once again.
"Dammit!"
"Oh, come on, Shen."
"Yeah, yeah, poker face, I get it, I get it. I still want to know what's going on."
"There's time for that later. First, let's finish playing. I'll bet."
"Heh, there's a shock! I fold."
"Raise."
The gentleman laid down another bill.
But there was no sign of any paper money or chips on the table.
Because of the tint of the man's classes, it was impossible to read his eye movements.
Or maybe he'd calculated that angle on purpose?
"Hmm. Well, I'll raise also."
"I'll see that, and raise again."
"Another betting round? In that case, I'll raise one more time."
Though the two had both elected to raise the stakes, the table still bore no sign of money or chips.
Having come this far, the gentleman was left with no other options.
He took a sip from his whiskey glass.
"Okay, Ash, what the hell were you betting on?"
"So that we could get him to take part in the KOF tournament with us. Didn't I tell you?"
"No, you didn't. So what happens if you lose?"
"I'll just owe him money. But if I win, he's going to participate in KOF."
"Heh, neither way sounds like much of a victory to me."
"I couldn't pass up a chance to bring a Karnoffel player out of retirement, now could I?"
Karnoffel? He'd never heard the word before, but the old man interjected before he could ask.
"All is well, then? Showdown..."
Shen peeked at Ash's hand.
Jack, queen, 7, 7, 7. Three of a kind.
"...It would appear that I lose."
For the first time since beginning to deal, the gentleman's expression changed, and he drained his whiskey completely.
"My name is Oswald. I'll do what you ask of me."
Oswald shook each of their hands (though Shen did so only reluctantly), and the deal was done.
"If we're going to talk further, we should go elsewhere."
As the three stood up, the barkeep came by to tidy up after them.
Ash left a sizable tip.
"It was quite good, sir. Merci beaucoup."
Oswald's cards lay where they had been left on the table.
Oswald had his coat on, and was already headed for the exit.
Once they left, the atmosphere of the pub became light and genial again, as was usual.
The barkeep lifted the face-down cards of Oswald's hand.
A spade, a club, a heart. Three aces.
As he stood and inclined his head in puzzlement, Oswald reappeared.
"I'm sorry. I forgot my hat."
Oswald took his had and pushed up his glasses with his middle finger, staring at the barkeep through them. The back of the barkeep's neck suddenly broke into a cold sweat.
"Farewell, then..."
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