A Break from a Break

Vincent beat a hasty retreat from the crime scene. There was blood, signs of struggle, and there was a single foreigner. And that foreigner is an illegal citizen. Staying here equals deportation! Thus, he fled at full speed, just like the other criminal who was the actual villain of this mess.

He might find some amusement in the fact that the crazy guy thought the same as him, albeit to an extreme extent.

The increasing sound of sirens made Vincent wonder. 

"These guys really are efficient. Coming so soon. Actually are they even coming for me? What if they're just coming to a different scene. A false alarm like that interrupting the fight sounds like some strange fortune."

But another thought came to mind. A more positive spin to things.

"Oh, it could've been that guy." Vincent didn't know how to react to that kind of concern from a stranger, but he couldn't really dislike it. It ended up being a bad thing, but the sentiment was something to appreciate at the very least. It just means he built up enough good karma for strangers to look out for him.

"Thinking of that..." Vincent's mind went back to the exposed face of the poor businessman's assailant. He knocked that helmet right off of him and he saw something he didn't know how to react to.

Those eyes bore a hole through him with a dark fervor. A deadly determination poised to kill or be killed with all of one's might. One could call it an all consuming tsunami of rage. At least, that's the perception Vincent got. He could be wrong. He might be missing something.

"Still an asshole though, and one with a bad hairdo." He massaged his jaw, his dash slowing to a slight jog as the police sirens faded into the distance.

"Woah."

"Outta the way!" 

A brief bump interrupted Vincent. It felt as if he crashed into a pillar of steel, but he regained his balance, twisting on his heel like a clumsy ballerina. Words of rebuke failed him as the dark figure was already in a full sprint away from him at speeds far too fast to even begin trying to compete with. 

"Those eyes." He was choked up not by the distance widening at howling speeds, but familiarity freezing his mind. The same as that killer who snapped his neck and the same as that crazy berserker from the past. 

He was frozen in place, leaving his mind to do the running for him. The sirens continued to howl.

A few minutes later and the American could no longer hear the sirens. He just stood in place.

"Is it just a coincidence that I keep running into scary crap like that? I'm not looking forward to the third meeting with those eyes." A sardonic smile rested on his face. He scratched his itching neck and began moving again.

He put a lot of distance between him and that alleyway, so he could get right back to his casual walk. Right, that's what he was doing in the first place.

It was supposed to be a simple walk, but he let his desires waylay him. He saved some dude's life, but that wasn't important.

He only followed the bloodstains out of an interest in something that'd break his boredom. Bloodstains would lead to danger, which would also lead to another trial for his body to undergo. Bruises, scrapes, broken bones, are among the many consequences, but the outcome is always a success.

Vincent lacks a self-control that any respectful martial artist would chide him for. He would only tell those so-called pretentious martial artists to screw off. It was born from old history. Many might say it's nothing but old history that holds him back, but the man himself would call it the source of his drive. 

Death in battle or death anywhere else as long as it hits him. Facing on the inevitable death and surviving it anyway as proof of his existence. 

No matter the abuse, he'll get through it, like he always has.

Vincent's thoughts began veering off on a familiar, beaten path. He's hunting for death, but he isn't giving it his all, like shooting himself in the head with a gun. Suicidal? He might be. Depressed? He doesn't know with all the adrenaline pumping through his body.

It's just that...he doesn't care if he dies or not in any moment. It's not like he has anyone that would care.

Vincent looked at his hand and tightened it into a fist. The sound of popping knuckles and sensation of skin being cut by his nail was the result of his conviction. That drop of the liquid of life was slipping out little by little, flowing toward the earth. Vincent would eventually reach his inevitable demise just like that, but not yet.

He hasn't found anyone that can kill him.

So, why doesn't he just end it all himself?

"Hmph." There's a single memory. That's all. 

A stubborn memory that led to his hardy body and a harder head along with his stubborn nature.

"If I'm already thinking like this after not getting a good fight for a while, then I really do need some kind of break. A real one without worries."

With that need audibly escaping his mind, he returned to the place he considers home...for now at least. Big boss Ohta's gotten used to Vincent wandering around on his long walks, but it doesn't mean he doesn't get worried from his troublemaking nature. 

He has a reputation to keep and if Vincent keeps messing around like he does in the streets then it could damage that! Vincent could practically hear the man flapping his lips about meaningless stuff like that, but he'd respect it. What he considers meaningless holds some precious meaning to someone else. One man's trash and all that.

Thinking about meaningful and meaningless things took Vincent's mind off of the past and placed him squarely on the proper tracks. His lazy stroll that was previously interrupted by something fresh and exciting once again returned to a lazy stroll back home. 

"Yo." He waved to one of the mansion's caretakers as usual. Their silent bow filled with dignity fit the mansion, but both him and the one who owned it messed with the whole dignified air about it. Vincent smirked and strolled on through the entrance.

He'll skip eating at the table, but that just means Ohta will have to fret over the mini-fridge that's not actually a mini fridge. It's just a regular fridge that rich people call mini-fridges.

"Hehe, it's a good thing there's still takeout here." It wasn't his food, but what's Ohta's is his and what's his is Ohta's. The boss must bear the burdens of his employee even if it's something as mundane as hunger. "Need to be at full strength for any possible Kengan Match after all!"

Exercise. Eat. Walk. Eat. Exercise. Sleep. Repeat. That daily schedule was reduced to something one could make an extremely short bulleted list out of it, but it was just stimulating enough for Vincent to not go stir-crazy. Unfortunately, it wasn't stimulating enough for him to do eccentric things like stealing the take-out of a CEO and treating it as a pre-exercise meal.

As the microwave in Vincent's room continued to hum, another source of sound made noise in his pocket. The buzzing alerted the man and he responded appropriately by looking at the number, realizing who it was, and waiting until the last ring to pick up just to annoy/worry Ohta the most. Praying that it's about a fight, Vincent answers the phone.

These bloodsports aren't just for pure fun to satisfy watchers like they're at some underground fight club. These battles live and die by the whims of those with wealth and power strong enough to shake countries.

If Ohta doesn't want to fight in the Kengan Matches then there's nothing Vincent can do unless he tries to get hired by a different company. 

He had a powerful desire to fight endlessly in those dangerous matches, yet he restrained himself and allowed himself to follow the lead of his boss. Not just because he was simply Vincent's boss, but because of something simpler and purer. A burgeoning friendship managed to sprout enough to act as an anchor to the foreigner's lust for battle. 

"What's up boss?" Vincent casually leaned on the wall, closing his eyes to open his ears further to the sound of a friend's voice.

"Well..." He started off uncertain. 

"Well?"

"We-I have a Kengan Match lined up for you. There was a good opportunity for my business and a good opportunity for a rival business and we're competing over the same one." Vincent nodded, expecting something like that. His eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"What's the date?" His foot rapidly tapped on the ground, impatience seeping through his otherwise calm countenance.

"It's in exactly two days."

"Nice~ Got any neat details on my opponent or is it a fun mystery that nobody knows about?"

"Um, well, he's truly a tough opponent. I'm really not sure if you can win, but..."

Vincent was confused at all the pussyfooting and hesitating. However, he reigned in his impatience and waited for his boss to spit out the pertinent info. 

"Your opponent's name is Yoroizuka Saw Paing. He's affiliated with the Village of the Dawn, a rather unique member of the Kengan Association, but you don't need to pay attention to that. Saw Paing currently has sixteen wins and zero losses. His strength proves you need to fight seriously from the start. He's a fierce fighter who practices Lethwei, a martial art very similar to Muay Thai. He's a fighter with great endurance and power that exceeds yours. He's not an individual that will go down easy to head on strikes. Your opponent possesses an ace up his sleeve, a dangerous headbutt from a skull forged into steel."

Vincent nodded with every sentence, surprise coloring his face. The way he worded this felt slightly off, but he didn't bother paying attention to much to the unimportant details.

"Hey, you've been researching this guy quite well, haven't you? I don't really need all this, but I'll take it anyway."

"Well, um."

Vincent's interest was successfully piqued, though such a success is nothing to celebrate in the slightest. His standards are lower than a drunken man searching for a woman to spend the night with. His beer goggles are always on when it comes to potential partners to dance the tango of violence.

But it was ever so slightly different this time. The devil lied in the details, and the devil on his shoulder was tempting Vincent.

He was interested in every possible opponent, but to hear about someone who has greater endurance than him is nothing short of a direct challenge. He wants to see just who can outlast the other. Even if it isn't the proper way to win, even if it could lead to a loss, he needs to prove that there is nobody who is hardier than him.

"Are you prepared, Walker? You don't have to fight if you feel any reservations." Ohta was concerned by his fighter's silence, but that was only because of a lack of understanding. They might've struck a bond close to friendship, but it wasn't something strong enough for them to truly understand one another.

Vincent grinned at the friendly concern though and laughed it off.

"Heh. Who do you take me for? Of course I'm fighting. And you better prepare a full course meal after the fight. I already know I'm gonna be exhausted by the end of it.

"Well, if you're confident, then I'm confident. Make sure you're prepared on the day of your fight." The phone hangs up with a click. 

Vincent sets it on his bed and opens his microwave. Since he has a match coming up soon, the exercise will have to be on the lighter side. He has tomorrow free, so should he just use that day to relax and prepare or should be try enjoying himself?

"Hm, a dangerous headbutt? Just how dangerous could it be?"

Just like every match, he'll give it his all...in his own way of course.

Vincent's lips curled into a smile right before diving into his meal.