Street Fighter: Dream Never Ends

  It wasn’t the most difficult command, to tap buttons rapidly, but Ryu struggled to control anything with his fingers. Under Sakura’s relentless teasing, he tapped as many buttons as he could, glancing at times at his opponent, who was playing the game with such ease.

  The life-meter on the screen drained to a harrowingly low level.

  “No, I’ve already told you,” Sakura squealed at top volume. “You have to press the square button, not the triangle. Toggle forward, down, then back while hitting the square. See?” she explained, executing another impressive technique.

  She spoke a little too fast for him to follow, and his character was now in the danger zone.

  Ryu was astounded that he had even offered to play video games with her. He couldn’t help but feel obliged to have learnt a few parenting skills from Ken and Eliza. He had observed how they handled Mel and Sean under challenging circumstances. Ken, in Ryu’s eyes, was a perfect role model, and he vowed he would do his best by Sakura, even at her young-adult age.

  “I didn’t understand a word you just said there,” he admitted, then surrendered. His character was already knocked out.

  But Ryu was relieved to see Sakura smiling again, even if the adrenalin-rush of playing video games would eventually subside.

  “I win again, loser,” she laughed, feeling pleased that she was able to converse in Japanese. “So this is what it’s like to be you, huh?”

  “What do you mean?” Ryu shot back, perplexed, turning to look at Sakura, who was propped up on the couch behind him. He felt her good leg jostle against his back, but he ignored it.

  “Well, you train hard, then fight and win. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what your winning streak is, if what you do all day is train to get stronger.” She heard Ryu sigh. “Well, I think so, anyway.”

  “It’s not winning that counts, Sakura.”

  “I know, I know,” she cut in. “It’s what you do in the fight that makes you a real winner. I was just saying.”

  “So long as it’s clear. Striving to win teaches you very little. Anyone can win using the right tools. How to use those tools takes more skill.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Sakura shrugged. “Like, if I really wanted to win, I could throw my shoes...or use a metal chair like they do in wrestling. I’m still fighting but without skill, right?”

  “Exactly,” Ryu nodded. “Using everything you know doesn’t make you a good fighter.”

  “What if you’re starting out?”

  “That can be allowed for the first match, but using repetitive combos and techniques in the second, third or fourth fight is unforgivable.”

  “But that’s exactly what you were doing in the video game,” Sakura giggled.

  “Then I’m clearly not a good fighter,” Ryu smiled back.

  Sakura looked at Ryu adoringly, feeling overjoyed that he took time out from training to look after her. In her current physical condition, she was unable to do much. She whined continuously about the pain caused by the strained hamstring, but Ryu overlooked her injuries with a sympathetic smile. She openly showed him her lacerations, and even felt proud to be sporting real bruises. She used to create fake ones with the pastels stolen from school. Such antics had done little to persuade Ryu to take her on as his official student, but none of that mattered anymore. Now Ryu was here, in her tiny American apartment, and he was here of his own accord.

  Sakura gleamed, admiring the back of Ryu’s head while he tried to play another match by himself. The man she had been wishing for was back in her life again, even if they were stuck indoors just pretending to fight in a game. She couldn’t have asked for a better carer.

  Sakura laughed at a sudden thought.

  “What is it?” Ryu asked distractedly.

  “I was just thinking,” she continued to laugh, “how funny it is that you know how to perform all these moves in real life, but you can’t even do it on the screen.” She laughed even harder. “Shame my apartment is so tiny.”

  “Why? You have a suggestion to improve my playing skills?”

  “No,” she blurted, stunned with how serious Ryu was. “I was thinking how awesome it would be for you to imitate some of those moves...considering we can’t train,” she finished off quietly. “I think that’d be really swell.”

  “Maybe,” he said coolly.

  “It’d be like old times.”

  “How?”

  “You’d be training and I’d be learning by watching you.”

  Ryu humphed, disagreeing.

  “Don’t you think I’ve done a good job on my own?” she said, crossing her arms on her chest. Ryu felt her tense up. In response, he dropped the control pad on his lap.

  “You’ve come a long way,” he said.

  “But?”

  “But, the way you are learning is dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? How?” Sakura yelled, over the sudden outburst of drumming from the neighbor’s apartment.

  “Training to fight isn’t like riding a bicycle. You are preparing your body to become a weapon. You can seriously hurt yourself if your technique is incorrect.”

  Sakura fell silent. The first time she had tried to fight someone had led her into trouble. She was sure she had learned to kick properly, mimicking moves from martial arts films, but in reality, she was barely able to keep her balance, let alone hurt her opponent.

  “Well, I think I’ve been doing pretty good on my own,” she said in a small voice, knowing that Ryu was right. “Why d’ya think I left Dan Hibiki?”

  “Ahh, Dan,” Ryu nodded, vividly remembering the flashy Hong Kong-raised martial artist who claimed to have the best fighting style.

  “Yeah, the dude in pink. He was a terrible teacher who screamed like a girl every time he punched,” Sakura sighed with disapproval. “I may be a novice, Ryu Sensei, but I recognize a fake when I see one.”

  “Everyone is entitled to their own style. That’s an important lesson I learned from Ken.”

  “Are you sticking up for Dan Hibiki?” she shrieked, her nose crinkled with astonishment.

  “What I’m trying to say,” he responded calmly, “is that a world with variety is one reason why I train so hard.”

  He scratched the hair behind his headband as he tried to explain why fighting meant so much to him.

  “If I fought the same people with the same style of martial arts every time, there would be nothing new for me to learn,” he said with the same tone of seriousness. “Even if we were physically built the same, their fighting style would reveal to me their personality and intention. Aggression is a terrible human trait and we must strive to evolve the arts without inciting violence. Martial arts isn’t about how powerful you are or about winning a fight, it is about self-discipline and self-improvement. That is why my style is continually evolving.”

  “Okay,” Sakura pondered, rearranging herself on the auburn sofa, “so if I was to watch you fight someone right now, I’d notice a difference in your fighting style?” She was completely engrossed in the subject.

  Ryu stood up from the carpet, startling Sakura with his suddenness. Her excitement soon increased, however, as she watched him settle into his basic fighting stance. There was barely enough room between the sofa and chest of drawers where the TV rested, but Ryu looked like a pro, even though he was wearing Ken’s old gray sweatshirt, which fit him perfectly.

  “When I was younger,” he began, looking at Sakura as he sidestepped, “my techniques were too rigid to the point where my opponent was able to predict my next move.”

  He punched forward, followed by a straight toe-kick.

  “From my very first fight, I had to learn to flex the techniques taught to me so that I was able to move fluidly without repeating the katas which I used in training.”

  He ducked then snapped a straight low punch. Sakura’s eyes shone as she watched Ryu perform basic maneuvres.

  “The ability to move fluidly without trading off power is a skill that took time for me to adapt.?
??

  He crossed his fist quickly over his chest. With every small step he took, a sharp draft hit her.

  “It’s easy to punch but harder to strike with accuracy. I was neither fluid, strong, nor accurate. Never at the same time. I lacked imagination. I was unable to see what was beyond my fist, the real potential I lacked in training. But my first match with Sagat taught me to be perceptive.”

  “Wow,” Sakura said in amazement, admiring his physique and integrity. “I never thought of that before. I guess the only thing I really cared about was winning and proving myself as a fighter.”

  “Through winning?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said as if the answer was obvious. “What’s the point of looking like you can fight if you can’t win?

  Judging by his expression, Ryu was unimpressed.

  Sakura hummed to herself, then tried again. “I know you said you can rarely learn if you keep winning, but doesn’t it make you feel bad if you keep losing, like how you kept losing to me at the fighting game?”

  “Practice makes perfect, Sakura.”

  Sakura sighed. “Oh, Ryu Sensei, you are too honorable.”

  Ryu stopped short. “Stop calling me that.”

  “Okay,” Sakura agreed, “but I’m only calling you ‘sensei’ so you can get used to it. I may not be able to use my legs yet,” she said, pointing at the bandaged leg, “but I’m already learning heaps from you. You’re going to train me again, right, Ryu Sensei?” she said in a small voice.

  To her disappointment, Ryu stared at the TV screen where the game was self-playing.

  “I could have done better, you know,” she continued glumly, scratching at a spaghetti stain on the armrest. “If I had trained like I used to, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital. I hate hospitals. It’s for losers.”

  “You’re not a loser, Sakura,” Ryu persisted, stiffening up from her apparent sadness. He walked up to the window, blocking any light that came into the room.

  “Well, I will be if you leave me again.”

  Without being her teacher, she knew Ryu was bound to leave her once she had recovered. The thought suddenly made her feel lost. She not only needed him, but she depended on him for guidance.

  “I’ll be damned if I returned to that dead-end job, doesn’t matter if it’s here or in Japan.”

  The fervent fighter in her was desperate to come out, but she didn’t want to fight without Ryu by her side. She stared at him with hopelessness, in a despairing search for answers. Why had she been so badly injured by Tawnya Blaze, of all people? The fight couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. All she remembered was rain splattering hard against her aching body, and falling unconscious after seeing a huge flash. She had no recollection of how it all began, or why.

  “I thought, you know, since you’re back,” she mumbled half-embarrassed, “maybe we could continue where we left off. I don’t need my parents’ permission anymore. I’m totally independent.”

  Ryu didn’t know what to say. As much as he wanted to protect Sakura, he didn’t believe training her was the way forward. She was still young, impressionable and over-enthusiastic. He was sure that if he told her about the Dark Hadou, Sakura would become curious to learn more about it. Protection, he reminded himself, must be at the forefront of his mind. Training while trapped by this dark energy would be irresponsible.

  “She isn’t even a martial artist,” Sakura muttered sourly, looking down at her injured leg. “I should have beat her, hands down. Blindfolded even. She was tougher than I thought...”

  As a teenager, equipped with the knowledge of movie fighting, Sakura had been able to beat up a few kids bigger than she was. Even though she had never entered martial arts grading, she had still managed to participate in tournaments, if somewhat illegally.

  In the back of her mind she knew that when it came to being his official student, Ryu would blow her off again. This time, however, she had no idea why.

  “I thought I was doing well,” she went on moodily, “I mean, I actually pulled out a Hadou-ken, and I’ve never fought in a rain storm before. It was pretty cool, come to think of it.”

  “Sakura,” Ryu stopped her before he was torn by guilt. “You’re doing better than I could have ever imagined, but...”

  “Oh no,” she groaned, then waited for his response.

  “But,” he continued, unable to look at her. “I’m not ready to teach.”

  “NO WAY!” she yelled, pointing her fingers accusingly at him. “You fed me that same line when I was sixteen. I’m twenty three now, and you’re still not ready?”

  Ryu pursed his lips, stopping himself from revealing some damaging information.

  “I heard you at the hospital, you know,” she revealed with a sly grin.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nope,” she said defiantly, grabbing the joystick back into her lap. The TV came to life again with loud crashing sounds and boisterous yells.

  “Sakura? What are you not telling me?” Ryu anxiously demanded, but in return she exaggeratedly pursed her lips. “This is as far as your training will go,” he said, pointing at the control pad before settling himself back on the carpet.

  “Fine,” she blurted back, “but you promised you will protect me, even if it meant teaching me martial arts from scratch.”

  *****

  Chapter 20:

  DREAMS