Late Night Truces

*Content warning: some violence and language*

Lee Park’s first thought when he discovers his childhood rival has a cousin is far from polite.

Shit. There’s more of ‘em?

The Tri-State Martial Arts Tournament had pitted him against newcomer, Chiyo Hamada, for his third match and while a fist to the face might not be the most formal of introductions, he can’t say he wasn’t the slightest bit impressed by her strength.

She knew how to pack a punch. How to properly generate the right amount of torque with every meticulous swerve of her hips. There was something vaguely familiar about her technique and although he’d known of her association with the Hamada Dojo beforehand, he hadn’t expected her to wield similar move-sets as her cousin had in previous tournaments. Ironically enough, it gave him the advantage.

His distracted musings proved meddlesome during the match, but in the end his experience and a single leg hook kick was all that was needed to subdue his opponent and secure his position in the tournament.

Needless to say, Chiyo was pissed.

But Lee’s master, Sung Kim, had always instilled upon him the virtue of humility. Win or lose, he expects every one of his pupils to uphold an equal measure of dignity regardless of their rivalry with the Hamada Dojo.

Although it pains him, Lee acts on principle and helps a defeated Chiyo up from the mat, offering to shake on it as a gesture of good sportsmanship.

“Good fight, kid,” he commends her as she regains her balance. “Still got a long way to go before you reach my level but at least there’s always the next tournament.”

Chiyo slaps his hand away, her eyes glaring with murderous intent. She says nothing as she turns her back and storms off the arena.

Lee watches her leave, feeling inexplicably confused.

He wonders if he’s destined to piss off every Hamada on the face of the earth.

 *

He sees her again a month later – at a gas station at two in the morning.

Lee already knows he’s in for it come sunrise at the Kim Dojo. It’s the first day of spring cleaning and, on top of the motherlode of chores he’s bound to be swamped with like a frantic maid, he’s been graciously tasked with instructing the children’s classes later that afternoon.

In short, he expects to get very little sleep before all the chaos and very little time to recover from the inevitable wave of headaches. Probably shouldn’t have spent the previous night out drinking and wreaking havoc at his favorite watering hole but he can groan about his inhibitions later.

It’s late (or early), and his motorcycle needs gas.

At the pump, he hears what sounds like a scuffle and briefly surveys his surroundings. Nothing seems out of the ordinary at first, something he chalks up to exhaustion and his mind playing tricks on him. As he starts pumping gas the muffled voices return, this time with a loud clash.

“There she is! That damn nosy kid! Get her!”

Lee instinctively jolts up and peers out into the darkness of the alleyway ahead, following the source of the ruckus like he’s in hot pursuit of a criminal.

The chase leads him to the most bizarre thing he’s ever seen at such ungodly hours of the morning, his heels buried deep in the dirt as his reflexes screech to a halt.

It’s her. Undeniably her.

Chiyo readies herself in stance as she’s cornered by three rowdy-looking men, fists raised and an unimpressed scowl seared on her face.

“Let’s get this over with,” she says, challenging them all at once.

Before Lee can so much as blink, the three neighborhood bullies rush Chiyo in fleet-footed rage, encircling her like a pack of wolves coming in for the kill. Unbeknownst to them, their severe underestimation of her abilities will prove costly – a lesson they learn a smidgen too late.

She evades the first bully with the swift shifting of her feet, plowing a steady jab into the second before tossing him over her shoulder as though he were no more than a sack of rice. With a smirk, she spins around and tackles the third bully into a headlock, his pathetic attempt at retaliation no match for her expert grappling.

Two down. One to go.

Chiyo hops back to full height and steadies her clenched fists, anticipating the final showdown.

She’s spared the trouble entirely, her eyes wide in disbelief as Lee topples the last of the bullies over with a series of kicks soaring across his face, his midsection, and down to his kneecap. He strikes his heel at his jaw, the final blow rendering him unconscious.

It’s a mess but it’s over.

With the neighborhood bullies down and out for the count, Lee sweeps his gaze over their handiwork, his breathing erratic and heart still pounding his chest to a palpable cadence. He lives for this kind of thrill; the adrenaline rush from street-fights, the explosive sensation of unleashing kick after kick.

Satisfied, he looks up and sees Chiyo frozen in her tracks.

Something stalls inside him when their eyes meet, and he finds himself momentarily speechless.

“What are you doing here?” Chiyo asks, tone brazen and low. Despite her tense demeanor she lowers her fists, acknowledging all prior threats have been properly dealt with.

Lee quirks a brow in suspicion, stepping over the unconscious body at his feet. “I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts. “Don’t you know better than to be wandering out this late by yourself?”

Chiyo scoffs and dusts the small traces of dirt off her shoulders. She ignores his lecturing and walks past him, cutting off eye contact as a means of ending the conversation there.

“A simple ‘thanks’ would be nice,” Lee calls after her, arms elevated in frustration.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she fires back.

Maybe he shouldn’t expect anything other than animosity from her.

But against his better judgment he follows her.

“Who were those guys?” he probes. “What did they want from you?”

His answer comes in the form of her broken bike. One tire slashed, the handlebars bent out of shape, the chain tattered. It’s beyond repair.

“Dammit,” she mutters through grit teeth. She kicks at the contraption with an exasperated grunt, hands raking through her hair. “I can’t ride this.” Another grunt.

Sparing mere seconds in contemplation, Chiyo resigns herself to a long walk home, sporting a new look of resolve as she heads off for the road.

“What the hell?” Lee moves to block her path. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going home,” she snorts. “Those jerks wrecked my bike so looks like I’m walking.”

“Why don’t you call someone?” Lee asks, like it’s obvious.

Chiyo narrows her eyes. “It’s two in the morning. I’m not gonna wake up my father for this. He has to get up early.”

“You can always call that cousin of yours,” Lee quips, though he’s partly serious.

“Hiroki can eat dirt,” is all Chiyo has to say about that.

At least there’s one thing they can agree on.

“You’re seriously going to walk home?” Lee presses. “At this hour?”

Chiyo folds her arms across her chest, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Why do you care so much?” She doesn’t give him the chance to respond. “And why did you have to butt in back there? Gloating at the tournament wasn’t enough? You just had to swoop in so you could rub it in my face all over again, huh?”

Lee has to do mental acrobatics to keep up with her. “Damn! I was just trying to help!”

“Do us both a favor,” Chiyo says, stern. “Don’t.”

For Pete’s sake, are all Hamadas like this?!

Lee sags his shoulders, relenting - but not without offering one last recourse.

“Look,” he begins, exhaling loud and deep. “You got two options here. You can walk home, alone, in the dark, and risk running into more trouble.” He pauses, like he’s waiting for her to pick up on the implication hanging from his words.

“Or…?” she asks, indulging him with a roll of her eyes.

“Or I can give you a ride home,” he says, pointing out his motorcycle. “Doesn’t make a difference to me either way. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you if some crazy shit goes down on your walk.”

Chiyo’s stern expression dissolves into something a bit more pensive. Then…

“It’s not exactly down the road,” she says, whether as a heads up or as an excuse he can’t tell.

“All the more reason,” Lee insists. Better to be safe than sorry.

Chiyo takes her time deliberating over the lesser of two evils, sizing his ride up as though whatever assessment she procures will be the deciding factor.

She takes one last look into the alleyway where the three bullies had received the ass-whooping of their lives, figuring she’s had enough fun doling out street justice for the day. She’s tired and just wants to go to bed already.

“Fine,” she concedes. “What’s the catch?”

The question startles Lee. Previously, there was no catch but now that he thinks about it…

“The catch. Right.” Lee plays it off, calm, cool, and collected. “You’ll have to come into the dojo next week.”

Chiyo cringes. “To train?”

Lee is only slightly offended by her repulsed look. “No. To help out with a few chores,” he replies. “It’s spring cleaning.”

“You’re not joking… are you?” She hopes he is, but she’s heard enough rumors about Sung Kim and how the man is known for being a hardass when it comes to the cleanliness of his dojo.

Lee shakes his head. “So how ‘bout it? Do we have a deal?”

Silence looms in the air, but only briefly.

“Seriously... Why are you helping me?” Chiyo asks. “You hate my cousin. Everyone knows you two have had it out for each other since you were in diapers. All because of some stupid tournament.”

Lee sizzles in embarrassment. When she puts it that way, right down to its most primitive and rather childish form, he admits their rivalry and his disdain for the Hamada Dojo are utterly ridiculous.

But if this is about making amends, one small step at a time, he must be willing to lower his fists and call for a truce. Not every battle can be fought the same way.

“This has nothing to do with Hiroki,” Lee replies, voice betraying no frailty. “This is only between you and me.” How it should be.

With moderate level of difficulty, Lee makes one final attempt to sway her.

He smiles. Kill ‘em with kindness. He’s never tried this move before.

At that, Chiyo reluctantly commits herself to the arrangement. “Fine. Whatever,” she says, facepalming herself. “Just take me home.”

Phew. “You got it.” Lee gestures for her to follow him, leading the way to his prized motorcycle.

He hops on and instructs her to sidle up behind him. He braces himself when she obediently scoots closer, nuzzling her chest against his back, her arms wrapped around his waist for support.

Chiyo sighs at length, like she’s going to regret this but couldn’t be half-assed to care when she’s so physically and mentally drained.

Lee revs up the engine, eager to feel the wind on his face.

“Ready?” he asks. Chiyo gives a noncommittal hum as her response. “Hold on tight.”

They ride off into the night, under the stars and the dim glow of streetlights.

Lee feels invincible as he speeds down the freeway, opening the throttle wide like it’s his lifeline, his thoughts fading with the purr of the engine.

Chiyo marvels at all the bright neon signs and billboards whizzing past in a blur, her eyes alight with innocent and child-like wonder.

It’s a taste of freedom just beyond their grasp.

And somehow, Lee knows he’s on his way.