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Chapter Text

“Awaken, my servant, there is work to be done…”

Jin Kazama’s eyes flew open as he jolted awake, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The smell hit him first: acrid smoke, burned flesh, and the bitter scent of charred wood. He sat up slowly, his body sore and trembling, and took in the devastation around him. Downed trees and scorched earth surrounded the clearing, a grotesque monument to the destruction he had wrought. The distant cries of animals caught in the blaze still echoed in his ears, though there was only silence now.

His hands were slick with blood, his clothes stained a dark red. It happened again.

Jin rose to his feet, numbness creeping through his limbs. Wordlessly, he trudged down the beaten path away from the destruction, his eyes trained forward, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he had destroyed a portion of his childhood home. 

He had thought that returning to the beautiful mountain paradise of Yakushima would be enough to quell the vicious nightmares, but it had done the opposite. Instead, the serenity of the forest around him seemed to amplify the malicious dreams and Jin felt his Devil becoming more and more restless. 

As he continued to walk, the trees and shrubbery around him slowly began to thin out and he soon arrived at the hot springs. He remembered coming here as a child, his mother’s voice clear in his mind as she called to him, her laughter mingling with the birdsong. Seeing it now, untouched by the fire that had ravaged the clearing, twisted his stomach with a mix of longing and despair. He knelt at the water’s edge and plunged his hands into the warmth, scrubbing furiously at the blood that clung stubbornly to his skin. It wasn’t just the dirt and blood he wanted to wash away; it was the weight of everything he had become.

“If this thing keeps eating away at me, I don’t know how long I can hold on,” Jin thought as he scrubbed at his nails, desperately wanting to get rid of the dirt and blood.

It was obvious that Jin could not stay in Yakushima for long. He would need to find answers. An inner pulse confirmed this thought, it’s usual seductive whispering nothing but a dull drone in the back of Jin’s head now that he was actively focusing on clearing the noise. The dreams were all the same, a large, menacing shadowy figure beckoning Jin to release him, but providing little to no instructions on how to do so. Jin was convinced that this was a manifestation of his Devil and he endeavored to ignore it, but the more he did, the more demanding and insistent the dreams became.

Besides this, he began to notice that he would lose periods of time, suddenly blacking out and awakening to destruction. His Devil Gene was manifesting itself more and more, seemingly triggered by those malevolent nightmares, but Jin also had the distinct feeling that there was something else happening.

Devil Jin was a feral being, a creature who seemingly thrived on cruelty. But with no humans in sight, he focused his wrath on animals—the very same creatures that his mother, Jun Kazama, loved so much. He left nothing but death and devastation in his wake. Jin realized that he remembered nothing from his rampages, yet carried a tremendous amount of guilt. 

Jin allowed the water’s warmth to ease his tense muscles. He closed his eyes and quieted the chaotic chorus in his head. An incantation appeared in his head and his mind clung to it like a life preserver. He focused on the rhythm and the cadence of the words, repeating it over and over like a mantra to himself. The repetition soothed him and soon, the loudness dissipated.

When he opened his eyes again, a flock of white birds fluttered overhead, their wings catching the sunlight as they perched in the branches above. Their song was bright and jubilant, filling the air with a melody that contrasted sharply with the darkness that lingered within him. 

“Mother…” Jin murmured, the word escaping him, quiet and fragile. 

He thought back to Hon Maru when she had appeared to him almost as if she was standing directly in the room. Her presence had stayed his hand when he was poised to kill Heihachi. She saved him from crossing a line he wouldn’t have come back from. But doubt gnawed at him; had sparing Heihachi been the right choice, or had his hesitation left him vulnerable?

Finally feeling refreshed, Jin waded out of the springs. Before dipping himself in the water, he had rinsed his clothing out to the best of his abilities. Fortunately most of the blood splatter was gone, but there were still small stains that were tougher to remove. He had laid his clothing out to dry in the warm sun and surprisingly, it was only mildly damp. He dressed quickly and started the trek back to his campsite, but upon arriving, he realized that he was low on supplies.

Sighing, Jin plodded through the brush until he reached a dirt road which led to the closest village. He carefully drew his hood over his head before stepping foot into the town. He didn’t think that anyone would recognize him, but he didn’t want to take the risk. He managed to slip into the town’s small general store and was in the process of making his selections when a sudden commotion from outside the store drew the patrons’ and the owner’s attention.

“What’s all that noise about?” the elderly woman who was tending the store muttered as she hobbled out of the shop.

“Big news out of the mainland,” a young woman responded, “They’re saying that Heihachi Mishima has passed away.”

Jin froze, the canned item that was in his hand fell with a clunk and rolled away against the worn wood. Heihachi was dead? Could it really be true? The speculative murmurs from the crowd that had now gathered in front of the storefront seemed just as doubtful and curious about the news. 

“Hey, this guy has a radio!” someone yelled over the group’s chatter. 

The man in question held up the small radio with a grin as if he had struck gold. 

“Well, turn it on then!” snapped the shopkeeper. 

The man fiddled with the antenna and the knobs for the radio. With a few adjustments, the sound of static interspersed with the sound of a song streamed through the airwaves. 

He scratched his head thoughtfully, “No, that’s not it.”

Growing impatient, Jin himself stepped forward and plucked the radio from his hands. He carefully adjusted the knobs, tuning the radio to a news station. 

“…the Mishima family’s temple known as Hon Maru suffered massive damage secondary to some type of explosive attack. It is unclear who is responsible for such an attack. Heihachi Mishima’s body was not found in the wreckage, but he is presumed to be deceased. He was 75 years old.”

“Wow, it’s really true!” a man in the crowd cried out, “He was murdered!”

“In related news,” the announcer continued, “The Mishima Zaibatsu has announced the Fifth King of Iron Fist Tournament. With Heihachi Mishima for all intents and purposes considered ‘deceased,’ it is unclear who is hosting the tournament. Historically, many of the world’s most talented martial artists would enter this tournament all for the chance to win a substantial cash prize and control of the Mishima Zaibatsu…”

The murmuring began anew, but at this point, Jin had heard enough. He returned inside the store to continue his shopping. Noticing that one of her customers intended to continue his perusal of the shop’s goods, the elderly woman returned to her post at the register. 

Once Jin was ready to check out his items, she silently rang them up and carefully bagged them. 

“You don’t seem as shaken as the others by the news,” the shopkeeper said astutely. 

“People live and people die. That’s all there is to it,” Jin answered, avoiding eye contact. 

The last thing he wanted to happen was to be drawn into a baseless conversation about his grandfather’s death. 

But surprisingly, the woman laughed, a joyous raucous that shook her small frame. 

“Ah, spoken like someone who’s seen more than most his age. We all share the same fate, boy. Some just reach it sooner.,” she said with a chuckle as she wiped the tears from her eyes that sprung from her unrestrained display of mirth. 

Jin nodded politely as he tried to discreetly rummage through his pockets for his money. He produced a few crumpled up bills and some coins, but the eagle eyed shopkeeper commented before he could. 

“A few yen short, but it’s no bother. You made an old woman’s day by giving me such a hearty laugh. In fact, take this with you as well.”

The woman handed him a small pack of chocolate candies and smiled. 

Surprised by the kind gesture, Jin thanked her for her generosity before leaving the store. By the time he finished his transaction, the crowd from earlier had dispersed, already returning to their regularly scheduled lives, the subject of Heihachi Mishima’s demise no longer holding their attention. Similarly, Jin began the trek back to his makeshift camp. He thought about the implications of Heihachi’s death on the Mishima Zaibatsu and even the King of Iron Fist Tournament. Who was running the tournament?

As much as it pained him to admit it, Jin knew that he had to return to the mainland and enter the tournament. With his Devil Gene beginning to flare, he needed answers and he had a feeling of that he would find everything he needed there.

Chapter Text

Leifang stood in the courtyard of her family’s estate in China, the wind stirring the leaves overhead. The gentle rustling was a familiar sound, one that had often brought her peace, but today, it felt distant and hollow. This place had become her refuge after returning from Japan following her second defeat at the hands of Jann-Lee and the painful estrangement from Jin. Here, she had thrown herself into training with a singular purpose, as if the rhythm of T’ai Chi could somehow mend the fractures in her heart.

Her family had tried to persuade her to abandon martial arts and refocus on her studies, but Leifang’s resolve had only hardened. She had earned her reputation as the T’ai Chi Quan Genius, and she refused to relinquish it. If anything, her setbacks only deepened her determination. She needed to prove her worth as a martial artist, to herself as much as to anyone else.

Since returning, Leifang had poured all her energy into refining her technique, working tirelessly to perfect her defenses and develop a more formidable offense. She focused on reading her opponents, learning to anticipate even the smallest openings and turn their strength against them. She could not afford to let victory slip away a third time, and defeating Jann-Lee had become an all-consuming goal.

To sharpen her skills, she participated in local tournaments, seeking out challengers who could push her to the limits. But it quickly became clear that most of these fighters were leagues beneath her level. They didn’t provide the intensity she craved, the kind of intensity that would force her to evolve. It was then that she decided to approach her training from a different angle: by teaching.

By offering beginner, intermediate, and advanced T’ai Chi courses, Leifang found herself returning to the roots of her art, honing each movement from the ground up. Teaching forced her to break down every technique and understand it in new ways. And more than that, it kept her occupied. It kept her mind from drifting back to thoughts she wasn’t ready to face.

But today, something broke through that barrier. As Leifang prepared to step out into the courtyard for her afternoon lessons, she overheard two of the household staff speaking in low, urgent voices, their usual discretion set aside.

“What’s going on?” Leifang asked, her tone sharper than intended.

One of the staff members, a middle-aged woman with a worried expression, turned to her. “Miss Leifang, I’m afraid there’s terrible news,” she said, her voice quivering. “There’s been an announcement from Japan: Heihachi Mishima of the Mishima Zaibatsu… He’s dead.”

For a moment, it felt as though the ground shifted beneath Leifang’s feet. Her pulse quickened, a cold numbness seeping into her chest. Heihachi Mishima, dead? It seemed almost impossible to believe. Despite herself, her thoughts immediately leapt to Jin. Was he involved? The mere possibility unsettled her in ways she did not want to acknowledge.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice unsteady despite her attempt to maintain composure.

“They’re saying it was an explosion at the Mishima family temple,” the woman replied, “Not much else is known yet. There’s speculation, of course… It’s all very sudden.” She hesitated, then added, “I hope this doesn’t affect the Zaibatsu too much. My brother works at the Beijing branch.”

Leifang nodded, but it felt like a reflex more than a response. The woman’s words were already fading, overshadowed by a rising wave of emotion that she couldn’t quite identify. Without another word, she turned on her heels and strode quickly through the courtyard gates, as if escaping the suffocating air of the house.

Outside, she gulped in the fresh air, but the tightness in her chest refused to dissipate. For a moment, she stood there, frozen in the middle of the courtyard, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. The news had stirred up feelings she thought she’d buried—about Jin, about her own failures, and the paths that had led them all to this point.

“Sifu, is everything alright?” A voice cut through her thoughts.

Leifang looked up quickly, her gaze meeting the concerned eyes of her students. There were ten of them, all gathered in a semi-circle, waiting for their lesson to begin. She had almost forgotten them, lost in her own turbulent thoughts.

Straightening her posture, Leifang quickly smoothed the front of her training uniform, a practiced gesture meant to convey calmness she didn’t entirely feel. “Yes, everything is fine,” she said with a faint smile, though her voice wavered slightly. “Let’s begin.”

She clasped her hands in front of her to steady them, then moved into the opening stance of the form, guiding her students through the motions. The familiar flow of T’ai Chi brought some measure of clarity, though it was a fragile calm, one that threatened to shatter with the slightest misstep. As she led her students through the movements, Leifang found herself wondering whether Jin had heard the news and if it would bring him any sense of peace. And if it didn’t, would he be drawn back?

The thought hung in the back of her mind, a quiet but persistent whisper, even as she focused on the graceful arc of her arm, the controlled pivot of her foot. She could not afford to let herself be distracted. There was still so much work to be done.

Ling Xiaoyu, Miharu Hirano and Panda were lounging about watching a movie. The three friends were cuddled together, Panda on the floor and the two girls snuggled beside her. The movie was a lighthearted comedy causing tittering laughter to erupt from the girls sporadically as they watched. Panda simply enjoyed their company, happy to be included as part of the group. It was a simple, joyful moment, a rare pocket of peace.

Just as the movie was beginning to reach its peak, the TV broadcast suddenly cut to a news bulletin.

“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news: Heihachi Mishima, the owner and CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu has passed away. Reports from the Mishima Estate say that Mr. Mishima was in the family temple when it suddenly exploded.”

The words hung in the air, slicing through the lighthearted atmosphere like a knife. Xiaoyu’s heart dropped, her laughter dying on her lips. “What… how could this happen?” she whispered, hands flying to her mouth. A pang of grief rose within her, unexpected and sharp, and to her surprise, tears spilled freely down her cheeks. 

“Xiao…” Miharu murmured, reaching over to embrace her, gently rubbing her back in comforting circles. Panda nestled her head into Xiaoyu’s side, silent but steady, as if to remind her she wasn’t alone. 

Xiaoyu sniffled, wiping her cheeks. “I know I shouldn’t be sad… not after everything he’s done to Jin. But…” Her voice trembled. “Heihachi was one of the only people who believed in my martial arts skills.”

She thought back to how she had snuck aboard a yacht and took down Heihachi’s Tekken Force officers all in an effort to get Heihachi’s attention. Back then, all she cared about was fighting and amusement parks, her dream of opening up her very own park guiding her every movement. 

But soon after she settled in as Heihachi’s ward, she met Jin. Things didn’t change right away. In fact, Xiaoyu was still getting accustomed to her more mature outlook. After learning about the Mishima family’s cursed history from Yoshimitsu, Xiaoyu vowed to find a way to save them from destroying themselves. But with Heihachi gone, she wondered if she was too late. 

“There has to be a way to stop this from happening… to keep them from destroying each other,” she murmured, swiping at her tears, feeling a strange flicker of determination rekindle in her chest.  

“Stop it?” Miharu questioned, her eyebrows raising skeptically, “How? Heihachi is already dead. It’s not like we could go back in time or something like that.”

Miharu’s words jolted her. Back in time… The idea sounded ridiculous, but at the same time, a spark ignited within her. What if going back was exactly what she needed to do? 

“Maybe if I could change what happened between Heihachi and Kazuya… maybe Jin wouldn’t have to suffer like this.” 

Xiaoyu turned in time to see a flashing announcement on the TV screen, the next King of Iron Fist Tournament had just been announced. The timing was all just a little too convenient following Heihachi’s death, but it ultimately worked in her favor. Winning this tournament would give her the financial backing she needed to assemble a team of top scientists from around the world to study and hopefully make time travel a reality. 

“Hey! Xiaoyu!” Miharu waved a hand in front of her face, pulling her back to the present. “Are you okay? You look like you’re planning something…”

Xiaoyu blinked, a small, determined smile forming on her lips. “I am,” she replied, her voice filled with quiet intensity. “I think I know exactly what I need to do. And it all starts with this tournament.”

Chapter Text

Xiaoyu couldn’t believe her good fortune: her first match up in the King of Iron Fist Tournament 5 was against Jin Kazama, himself. She was a jumble of emotions as she entered the underground arena. Excitement and relief were all mixed in one. She was thankful that she didn’t have to wait another two years before seeing Jin again. Fortunately, this separation was much shorter, but Xiaoyu couldn’t deny the distance between them.

Even as he stood only a few feet away, Xiaoyu felt as if there were miles separating them. Compared to the last time she saw him, Jin appeared colder and more detached. She wondered if he, too, was conflicted about Heihachi’s death. Maybe he was in mourning?

Jin stood still at the center of the makeshift ring, his hoodie drawn over his head. The shouts and taunts from the crowd as Xiaoyu entered the ring was distracting, but she was determined to have a conversation with Jin first.

“Jin!” she happily called out, running towards him.

“Xiao,” his terse reply caused her to skid to a stop. She had planned to fold him into her arms in a hug, but it seemed that would have to wait.

“You shouldn’t be here. This tournament is dangerous,” Jin spoke to her evenly, turning to meet her eye, trying hard to convey the seriousness of his words.

This was not the reunion she had hoped for and her face dropped. Why wasn’t he happy to see her? Xiaoyu angled herself so she could look at Jin fully.

“Well… it’s nice to see you, too!” she said with an annoyed harrumph, “But, Jin, I have a plan. If I win the tournament, I can make everything right for you and the rest of your family.”

“No!” Jin’s voice came out harsh, causing Xiaoyu to jump, “Heihachi is dead. Whoever or whatever is running this tournament is far more sinister, I can feel it. You need to leave now before it is too late.”

Xiaoyu shook her head stubbornly, “I’m here to help you, Jin. Whether you like it or not, I’m staying. I’ll make it to the top.”

Jin paused, taking in her words. Although the words themselves sounded familiar, they also sounded foreign coming from Xiaoyu. She wasn’t the person he wanted to hear that from. Leifang, he hoped, had finally heeded his repeated warnings, but deep down, he knew that her convictions were strong and she wouldn’t be deterred so easily.

Jin stared at Xiaoyu quietly before lifting his arms up into his fighting stance. It seemed that the two would have to settle this score through combat.
“I don’t want to fight you, but you leave me no choice,” Jin said, “I must get to the end of this tournament, no matter the cost.”

Xiaoyu smirked and also adopted her stance, “I’m no pushover, Jin. I can hold my own just fine.”

“I’ll put an end to everything,” Jin muttered.

Xiaoyu had sorely underestimated Jin. Knowing that he had switched fighting styles to Kyokushin style karate and had only been using the style for the past two years, she was not expecting such fluidity and power in his strikes. However, Xiaoyu was not so easily defeated. She had spent a considerable amount of time honing her kung fu, but it would all be in vain. Jin easily and quickly dispatched her, putting an end to her ambitions of a tournament win.

Xiaoyu sat on the ground, tears in her eyes, as she realized that she would no longer have a chance to properly enact her time travel plan without the financial backing of the Mishima Zaibatsu. She folded her hands into fists and pounded the ground in frustration. She was left with no other choice.

She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand and pushed herself to her feet. Jin stood a few feet away, watching her carefully, his expression unreadable.

Xiaoyu approached him, standing just close enough that she could clearly see the beads of sweat along his brow and the sheen along his neck. It was clear that this wasn’t an easy battle for Jin either.

“You win, fair and square,” Xiaoyu conceded, “I guess I’ll have to leave everything to you then, Jin. I trust that you’ll put things back to the way that they used to be.”

Jin eyed her, unsure how to respond to that statement, knowing that her ask came from a place of naivety. In his mind, she was better off now that she was no longer part of the tournament. She could get far away from it all.

“You know… Leifang has been waiting for you,” Xiaoyu said, completely changing the subject, catching Jin off guard.

Hearing this had an unexpected effect on Jin; he felt flustered and, for a moment, his expression softened. He and Leifang shared an emotional goodbye at the conclusion of the previous tournament, but that seemed like ages ago comparatively speaking. So much had changed in his life and, with his Devil Gene in berserker mode, he had mixed feelings about rekindling their relationship. Yet he couldn’t deny that Leifang affected him in ways that he didn’t quite understand.

“Can you tell her to keep waiting for me?” Jin asked, shifting uncomfortably, feeling unnerved at this show of vulnerability.

Xiaoyu frowned and clasped her hands in front of her, idly fiddling with her fingers, her discomfort at Jin’s request evident to everyone except him. Her crush on him had progressed despite his absence. But Xiaoyu had her suspicions about Jin and Leifang since the third tournament. Little did he know that she had said this to him as a test to gauge his reaction.

“I can’t do that, Jin. You should know why. You have to tell her that yourself,” Xiaoyu replied dejectedly.

“Yeah… I will…” he returned and trailed off, completely missing the crestfallen look that appeared on Xiaoyu’s face.

He turned to leave, but Xiaoyu called out to him, wanting desperately to confess her feelings to him. But the more she thought about the unspoken intrigue between Jin and Leifang, the more self-conscious she became.

“Just be careful out there, Jin,” she said instead, a forced smile plastered on her face. She felt incredibly stupid. That wistful look in Jin’s eye at the mention of Leifang was like a stab in the heart.

He nodded his assent and turned to leave, not realizing that Xiaoyu had turned her face in time to hide the tears that freely fell from her face.

Chapter Text

Leifang stepped into the grand banquet hall aboard the luxury yacht, the Freedom Survivor, her eyes scanning the crowd of fighters gathered for the Dead or Alive Tournament’s opening ceremony. The liner was docked in the Tokyo Bay inlet making it easily accessible to the contestants from their chosen lodgings. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and tables set with fine china. This tournament, running in parallel to the Mishima Zaibatsu’s, had brought together some of the world’s most elite fighters. It was a rare chance to prove herself, and her pulse quickened with anticipation.

On stage, Helena Douglas, a young woman she had fought in the last tournament, stood poised, her blue bow cascading down her back like a ribbon of ice. Helena’s piercing blue gaze swept over the crowd, sharp and unreadable, as though she saw beyond the faces in front of her. Leifang tuned out Helena’s formal greeting, her focus drifting elsewhere.

That’s when she spotted him: Jann-Lee, standing a few feet away. His arms crossed, his stance strong and unmoving. Even from this distance, his aura felt fierce, as if he were a coiled spring, ready to explode. Leifang’s heart pounded. Since their last encounter, she’d thought about him often, using the memory of their match to fuel her training. She’d hoped to face him again, to prove that she wasn’t the same fighter he’d dismissed before.

When Helena’s speech concluded and the crowd began to disperse, Leifang saw her chance. She strode over to Jann-Lee, her heels clicking confidently against the polished floor.

“I have trained hard,” she said, each word purposefully carrying the weight of her raw determination, “I’ll prove to you that I can survive in your world.”

Jann-Lee turned to look at her, and for a brief moment, his gaze softened, as though he remembered her. But his expression quickly hardened, his eyes going cold. “Leave,” he said flatly.

Leifang’s heart sank, but her pride flared in defiance. “What? Are you running away from me?” Her voice rose, tinged with frustration.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his back on her, walking away as though she were nothing more than a fleeting annoyance. Leifang gritted her teeth, her fists tightening at her sides as she trailed after him. She had come too far to be dismissed so easily.

“Listen to me when I’m talking to you!” she shouted, her hand reaching out to grab his shoulder, spinning him around to face her.

In the blink of an eye, his hand shot out, seizing her by the arm. Before she could react, he flung her across the room effortlessly, her body crashing into a table with a resounding thud. Plates shattered around her, the sharp sound echoing in the shocked silence that followed. Pain radiated through her back and side as she struggled to catch her breath, humiliation flooding her cheeks as she realized the whole room had seen her defeat.

Jann-Lee sneered down at her, his voice dripping with disdain. “I told you to get lost. I don’t have time for weaklings.”

Leifang’s vision blurred with unshed tears as she tried to pull herself up, feeling the stares of onlookers pressing down on her. Just then, a voice cut through the silence.

“Hey! That was too harsh, don’t you think?” A brunette with gentle features and sharp blue eyes stepped forward from a nearby table, where she had been sitting with a man. She shot Jann-Lee a disapproving look, her gaze unwavering.

Leifang’s cheeks flushed deeper, and she shook her head, her voice weak but firm. “Stay out of this,” she hissed, clutching her side.

The girl, Hitomi, looked taken aback but didn’t retreat. “But you…you’re hurt,” she said softly, a note of sympathy in her voice.

“I said stay out of it!” Leifang snapped, her pride stinging more than the pain in her side. “I don’t need anyone’s pity,” she thought bitterly.

Jann-Lee, ignoring both of them now, turned his attention to the man sitting beside Hitomi. “Hey! Yeah, you,” he called. “You want to take me on?”

The man, Ein, stood slowly, his gaze steely. “If that’s what you want,” he replied, his voice calm.

As the two men squared off, Hitomi gently helped Leifang to a nearby chair. “Easy,” she murmured, her tone kind yet firm as Leifang sank into the seat, clutching her bruised side.

“I’m Hitomi, by the way,” she said, giving Leifang a small, encouraging smile.

“Leifang,” she replied quietly, avoiding Hitomi’s gaze. She felt an uncomfortable mix of shame and anger bubbling inside her. What just happened? she thought, staring down at her trembling hands. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her challenge with Jann-Lee going.

She had pushed herself so hard, all to earn his respect. But his dismissive cruelty cut deeper than any blow. She’d wanted acknowledgment, validation, but not like this.

A memory of Jin surfaced: “So you fight primarily to be recognized by Jann-Lee?” he had asked, his tone both curious and challenging. At the time, the question had unnerved her. Jin had cut through her complicated feelings with a simple observation, reducing the rivalry she’d built in her mind to a pursuit for validation. It felt like he saw straight through her, and for a moment, she had bristled at the simplicity of his words. But as uncomfortable as his question made her, it lingered, taking root in her mind. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right.

Now, with Jann-Lee’s brutal rejection fresh in her mind, the truth was impossible to ignore. Their rivalry had been one-sided all along. She wasn’t someone who could pique his interest, let alone be seen as a suitable opponent. The way he had dismissed her so easily, so harshly, made it painfully clear that he saw her as irrelevant.

Conversely, Jin’s quiet approval of her fighting prowess had always felt different. In his subtle respect, there was a validation that didn’t depend on flashy displays or belittling others. Unlike Jann-Lee, Jin had never needed to prove his strength to anyone, yet he still saw value in hers. For the first time, Leifang felt the difference between Jin’s understated respect and Jann-Lee’s cruel disdain. She realized, with a bitter pang, that maybe respect wasn’t something she could demand from others. “Maybe it’s something I need to find in myself,” she thought, a quiet resolution settling within her.

Hitomi’s hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present, her concern a comforting warmth. For now, all Leifang could do was take a deep breath, gather herself, and try to heal—not just her bruises, but her pride.

As Leifang made her way back to her hotel from the Freedom Survivor, her thoughts drifted to the complex emotions surrounding her relationship with Jin. Her recent experiences with Jann-Lee, as well as the unexpected kindness of her new friend Hitomi, had shifted her perspective. Real strength didn’t require constant validation from others. And her frustration with Jin… she could see now it was rooted less in the way he had so abruptly distanced himself, but more in what that distance meant to her. 

She had grown up surrounded by wealth and comfort, with every need met before she could even voice it. Her family had always told her she was lucky, blessed to have everything she could ever want. But the truth was, she often felt invisible. There had never been a need for her to do anything. Her family didn’t expect her to help. Why would they, when there were maids and assistants for every task? Even when she tried, it was met with gentle dismissal: “Don’t trouble yourself, Leifang. You don’t need to worry about that.”

At first, she’d accepted it. But as she grew older, the feeling of uselessness had begun to fester. Martial arts had been her way out—a chance to prove, if only to herself, that she could excel at something. That she wasn’t just another pampered heiress with no purpose.

Jann-Lee’s words rang in her ears, sharp and biting. “You don’t belong here.”

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. Beating him wasn’t just about pride—it was about proving to herself that she had earned her place in the martial arts world. That she was useful.

And then there was Jin.

Jin didn’t see her as useless. He didn’t treat her like she was delicate or incapable. If anything, he seemed to respect her strength, to rely on it in his quiet, reserved way. 

She wanted to do more for him. To be someone he could trust, someone he could lean on. She wasn’t sure when it had started, but somewhere along the way, her desire to prove herself had become tied to him.

It scared her, how much she wanted him to need her.

Leifang took a deep breath, shaking her head. This wasn’t about Jin—or Jann-Lee. It was about her. She needed to prove, to herself more than anyone else, that she had value. That she could stand on her own two feet and hold her ground.

But even as she told herself that, her thoughts wandered back to Jin.

As Leifang continued to walk, each step caused her to wince, a painful reminder of Jann-Lee’s attack. Hitomi had led Leifang to the onboard infirmary where the treating physician determined that Leifang didn’t have any broken bones, but likely suffered significant soft tissue injury from the impact. Her back and left flank in particular felt excruciating and, despite the painkillers she was given and the ice she had used, she knew that she would wake up bruised the next morning.

Leifang’s wandering steps brought her to the Mishima Polytechnical School, and she paused at the entrance, lost in thought. Memories of Xiaoyu resurfaced. They had once shared a close bond, but their last meeting had been cold and strained. Xiaoyu, hurt by Jin’s farewell to Leifang before disappearing again, had been understandably distant. Leifang realized that Xiaoyu’s resentment wasn’t truly directed at her, but rather at Jin for not saying goodbye to her as well. ”Maybe,” she thought, ”Now was the time to bridge that gap and make amends.”

Just then, Leifang heard a familiar voice from around the corner, and as she turned, she saw Xiaoyu approaching, Panda padding beside her. Xiaoyu’s usually bright expression was subdued, though she offered a small smile upon noticing Leifang.

“Leifang,” Xiaoyu greeted her, shifting her bag. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Xiaoyu,” Leifang replied, slightly taken aback by the friendliness in her tone. She’d been prepared for a colder reception, given how they’d last left things. But Xiaoyu seemed open, even if a little weary.

They stood in silence for a beat, until Leifang took a steadying breath. “I wanted to say… sorry for last time. I didn’t understand everything back then. I wasn’t sensitive enough to your feelings. Also, I was angry at Jin, but maybe not for the right reasons.”

Xiaoyu regarded her quietly before giving a small nod. “I get it. I was upset too. When he said goodbye to you and… not to me, I felt left out. Like maybe I didn’t matter to him the way I thought I did.”

Leifang’s expression softened, understanding now the pain Xiaoyu had been carrying. “I don’t think it was that. Jin’s… complicated. He keeps people at arm’s length because he doesn’t want anyone getting hurt. But it’s not easy being the one kept away, is it?”

Xiaoyu sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. “No, it’s not. But I actually did see him again recently… in the tournament.” Her face darkened slightly. “We fought in the first round. He beat me, fast. It was like he was somewhere else entirely. Like he didn’t even see me.”

Despite Xiaoyu’s loss in the tournament, Leifang couldn’t help the wave of relief she felt at the confirmation that Jin was back.  She couldn’t contain a small smile, and Xiaoyu noticed, raising an eyebrow in faint amusement.

“Seems like he’s doing fine,” Xiaoyu remarked with a slight smirk. “But I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t reached out to you.”

Leifang looked away, her expression softening. “Our last meeting was… complicated. I think he doesn’t want to involve me in whatever he’s dealing with.”

Xiaoyu nodded thoughtfully. “He’s always been that way, hasn’t he? Trying to carry everything alone.” Her expression turned determined, a familiar fire lighting in her eyes. “But even if I’m out of the tournament, I’ve got a plan to help him. I met with a scientist who promised to build me a time machine. I could go back, change things so maybe… maybe Jin’s family wouldn’t be so torn apart. Maybe he wouldn’t have to live with this burden.”

Leifang blinked, surprised by the intensity of Xiaoyu’s ambition. She felt a pang of sympathy for her friend, knowing how hard it was to hold onto hope, especially when it seemed unrealistic. But she also knew that Xiaoyu needed this belief, this sense of purpose. So instead of pointing out the improbability, she smiled softly, choosing her words with care. “That’s… ambitious. I hope it works out, Xiaoyu. Really.”

Xiaoyu’s face lit up, giving Leifang a grateful nod. “Thanks. I know it’s a long shot, but I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

They shared a comfortable silence, Panda nuzzling up to Xiaoyu with a satisfied huff, as if approving of the peace between them. Leifang felt an unexpected warmth, something beyond their shared connection to Jin. She was beginning to understand Xiaoyu as her own person, beyond their respective ties to him.

Finally, Leifang spoke, her tone light. “Good luck with everything, Xiaoyu. I really mean it.”

“Same to you,” Xiaoyu replied, a glint of her usual cheer returning. “And… I hope things work out for you, too.”

As they parted ways, Leifang felt a storm of emotions within her. With Jin confirmed back, she had a feeling it would only be a matter of time before they crossed paths again. But she was unsure whether or not she was ready for that meeting. She and Jin’s last encounter left many unresolved feelings on the table and his abrupt exit only muddied the waters further. Jin was close by, and she knew fate would bring them together again soon. When that happened, she’d be ready—ready to face him with clarity and strength, no longer needing his validation, but open to the depths of the bond between them, whatever it might hold.

Chapter Text

Jin was breezing through his tournament matchups, his mind completely focused on winning and getting to the end. With each passing day, he felt the influence of his Devil Gene growing stronger, its desperate cries grating inside his head. But still, Jin continued to press forward, his quiet strength a testament of his steadfast will. 

His next fight was scheduled against Hwoarang. He grimaced as he read the name, remembering simpler times when their rivalry was the most exciting thing in his life. Now, between dealing with the supernatural and his goal of ridding the world of the Mishimas, Jin realized he had little time to devote to just fighting for fun or fighting to challenge himself. For him, fighting was a life or death scenario. 

Still, Jin saw this upcoming battle against Hwoarang as a means to an end. Another opponent to beat on his journey to the final stage. He arrived outside the temple where the match was scheduled to take place. Multiple torches were burning, the embers emblazoning the surroundings with an orange glow.  Hwoarang stood tall, dressed in his crisp, white Taekwondo training uniform. As Jin approached, his lips curled in a playful grin, but before he could offer up the taunt that was at the tip of his tongue, Jin spoke, his voice sharp. 

“I’m not here to play games,” he said, his dark eyes narrowing, “Let’s just fight and get it over with.”

Hwoarang stared at him incredulously, almost as if he had been personally insulted by Jin’s cold demeanor, “What gives? We didn’t even face each other during the last tournament so I was really looking forward to pummeling your face in this go around.”

“I don’t have time for that,” Jin returned, clearly unaffected by Hwoarang’s violent threat, “I have family problems I need to deal with.”

“That’s not my problem. Deal with that later. Let’s go!” Hwoarang sneered as he raised his fists. 

Jin sighed, “You leave me no choice.” 

The fight between Jin and Hwoarang was relentless, a clash of skill and determination as each fighter pushed the other to their limits. The outer temple walls echoed with the sounds of fists and feet meeting flesh, punctuated by the fighters’ grunts and breaths. The orange glow of the torches cast eerie shadows across their faces, heightening the intensity of their rivalry.

Jin’s focus was razor-sharp, his strikes precise, but Hwoarang matched him blow for blow. With every exchange, Hwoarang’s confidence grew, a smirk flashing across his face as he countered Jin’s movements with practiced ease. He had waited a long time for this rematch, and he could feel the thrill of finally surpassing his rival.

At last, Hwoarang found his opening. He spun into a powerful back kick, his heel slamming into Jin’s chest and sending him sprawling across the stone floor. Jin hit the ground hard, gasping as the air was forced from his lungs. He struggled to rise, but his body was slow to respond, weakened from the relentless pace of the fight.

Hwoarang stood over him, his chest heaving, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “Looks like you’re finally out of tricks, Jin,” he boasted. “I told you I’d win this time.”

Jin looked up at Hwoarang, his gaze dark and unreadable. He felt a bitter frustration welling up within him, the weight of his defeat pressing heavily on his shoulders. And beneath that frustration, he felt it—a familiar, ominous presence lurking, waiting for an opening.

“Stay down,” Hwoarang said, his voice taunting. “You’re done.”

But Jin’s expression twisted, a flicker of red flashing in his eyes. The Devil Gene surged within him, seizing on his anger and frustration, clawing its way to the surface. He could feel his control slipping, the darkness consuming his thoughts, pushing aside any remnants of reason.

Hwoarang took a step back, noticing the strange glint in Jin’s eyes, but before he could react, Jin’s body convulsed as the Devil Gene finally took hold. Black markings began to spread across Jin’s skin, his eyes blazing with a sinister red glow. His breathing grew ragged, his form shifting, transforming into something monstrous.

“Jin…?” Hwoarang murmured, confusion and a trace of fear flickering across his face. This wasn’t the Jin he had just defeated. This was something darker, more dangerous.

In a blur of motion, Jin, now fully transformed into Devil Jin, lunged at Hwoarang with a ferocity that was nothing short of savage. His black and white GI jacket was shredded due to the sudden appearance of his black angel wings and fell away from him as he dashed forward.  Before Hwoarang could defend himself, Devil Jin’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him flying backward. The force of the blow shattered a nearby torch, and the flames quickly caught onto the wooden beams of the temple, filling the air with smoke and heat.

Hwoarang crashed against the stone floor, his vision blurring as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. He tried to stand, but Devil Jin was already upon him, his eyes glowing with a terrifying intensity. He grabbed Hwoarang by the collar, lifting him effortlessly before slamming him back down with enough force to crack the stone beneath them.

“J-Jin… stop!” Hwoarang gasped, his voice strained, but Devil Jin showed no signs of recognition. This wasn’t the rival he’d fought so many times before; this was a monster, driven by an uncontrollable fury.

With each savage strike, the temple grew hotter, flames licking at the walls, filling the air with thick, choking smoke. Devil Jin’s relentless assault left Hwoarang bloodied and broken, his strength fading with each passing moment. Hwoarang’s world spun, pain radiating through his body as he tried to shield himself from the onslaught, but it was clear he was no match for the Devil’s raw, destructive power.

As Devil Jin prepared to deliver a final, brutal blow, something flickered in his eyes—a brief glimmer of the man he once was, a momentary struggle for control. He hesitated, his hand hovering above Hwoarang, his face contorted in pain as he fought against the Devil Gene’s grip.

Taking advantage of the brief pause, Hwoarang managed a weak smile, his voice barely above a whisper. “So… the Devil really does control you… Kazama.”

The words seemed to hit their mark, piercing through the haze of rage. For a split second, Jin’s eyes flickered, the red glow dimming as he wrestled against the darkness within him. The temple around them was now fully ablaze, the flames casting an ominous glow across his features as he fought for control.

With a strained, guttural cry, Jin tore himself away from Hwoarang, staggering back as the Devil Gene reluctantly loosened its grip. His form shifted, the markings on his skin receding, his eyes returning to their natural brown color as he regained control, just in time to realize the destruction he had wrought.

The temple was crumbling, the heat unbearable as beams began to collapse around them. Jin looked down at Hwoarang’s broken form, guilt and horror washing over him as he took in the damage he had inflicted.

“I’m sorry…” Jin breathed, feeling foolish, knowing that his words would do little to right this wrong. He had lost control and for that, he was ashamed. 

He didn’t wait for Hwoarang’s reply. Without another word, Jin turned and fled, his footsteps echoing through the burning ruins as he left Hwoarang behind, barely clinging to consciousness. The temple continued to collapse, flames consuming everything in their path as the once-grand structure fell into ruins.

As Jin disappeared into the night, he couldn’t escape the grim realization: the Devil Gene’s power was stronger than ever, and he was losing control.

Jin took off into the night, his mind racing and his feet moving of their own accord. That shouldn’t have happened. None of it should have happened. But Hwoarang bested him in the fight and Jin couldn’t accept it. He had a duty to make it to the final battle, to face whatever it was that was causing his blood to stir. He couldn’t fail. It was his own selfish will to continue onward in the tournament that ultimately triggered his supernatural abilities, transforming Jin into his villainous alter ego. He lost control and savagely beat Hwoarang within an inch of his life, but worse than that, when he finally came to and realized the amount of devastation that he caused, instead of facing it head on, he ran away. 

“I’m a coward,” Jin thought to himself bitterly. The least he could have done was called for help. What if Hwoarang died because of his actions?

Before he knew it, Jin realized that he was outside a busy building, its lights appearing welcoming and inviting. For the late hour, there was still plenty of movement to and fro as some of the patrons were coming and going through the main lobby. Jin stepped into the grand hotel, disoriented. His mind was a flurry of conflicting thoughts and regrets, and he couldn’t quite recall how he ended up here. The opulent surroundings were a stark contrast to the brutal fight he’d just endured, the shadows of guilt and violence still fresh in his mind.

His gaze flickered around the lobby, searching for anything familiar to anchor him. He needed something to remind him of who he was or, at least, who he wanted to be. And then, a loud, boisterous laugh snapped him out of his daze. A tall dark skinned man in a top hat and tuxedo with sunglasses swaggered through the lobby with two women hanging off his arms. 

“And once I win the Dead or Alive Tournament, we’ll head to Vegas, baby!” he exclaimed with a jovial laugh. The women on either side of him giggled excitedly. 

Dead or Alive? Jin’s heart leapt, thoughts instantly turning to Leifang, the woman who haunted him. Was she here? The possibility pulled him forward, his steps no longer aimless. Without fully understanding why, he found himself at the reception desk.

“Hello, how can I help you?” asked the woman at the desk, her smile polite, but her eyes raked over his body, an unspoken question in them. 

That’s when Jin realized how he must have looked to others, dirt and scratches and bruises were present along his bare chest, evidence of his fight with Hwoarang. His black and white gi pants had smeared soot on the hem. In his haste, he hadn’t thought to get out of these clothes. He would have to play it off. 

Jin took a breath, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I’m looking for Fong Leifang,” he said, careful to keep his tone calm despite the urgency boiling inside him. “She’s a friend of mine. I think she’s staying here.”

The receptionist paused, eyeing him carefully,  before searching through the digital records. Jin could feel his heart hammering as he waited, each second stretching painfully.

“Yes, she is staying here,” the receptionist replied, “Would you like me to ring her room?”

“She’s… she’s expecting me,” Jin said, his voice faltering. He shifted uncomfortably, searching for a plausible excuse. “I’m her trainer. She has a match tomorrow, and I… I’m here to help her prepare.” The words tumbled out, and he avoided the receptionist’s gaze, hoping she wouldn’t question him further.

The woman eyed him for a brief moment before nodding, “Her room is on the fifth floor. Room 521.”

Jin mumbled a quick thanks, barely registering her response as he headed for the elevators. His mind raced, uncertainty gnawing at him. What was he doing? Why was he here, seeking her out like this?

The memory of their last encounter replayed in his mind–her gentle smile, the warmth of her presence, the way she reached out to him when he’d pushed everyone else away. And that kiss… her soft lips, the scent of her perfume, the rare feeling of peace she’d given him, even if only for a fleeting moment.

He closed his eyes, fingers brushing against his lips as he relived the memory. She had seen something in him worth saving, worth caring about, and right now, after what he’d done to Hwoarang, he needed that more than ever.

The elevator chimed, breaking his thoughts as the doors slid open on the fifth floor. Jin stepped out, his footsteps slowing as he approached her door. Room 521. He stopped, staring at the number, his heart pounding. Did he really have the right to be here, to seek her out like this after what he’d done?

He hesitated, caught between the need for comfort and the fear of dragging her into the darkness that clung to him. His hand hovered inches from the door, trembling slightly. What if she didn’t want to see him? Or worse, what if she looked at him differently now?

But the loneliness, the weight of his guilt, was too much. He drew a shaky breath and knocked softly.

Seconds passed. Silence. Jin’s anxiety spiked, and he turned, almost ready to leave, when he heard movement from within the room. The door opened, and there she was, Leifang, looking at him with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

“Jin…?” she asked, her voice soft, her eyes searching his face, “This is… unexpected.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. The weight of his actions, the shame of his transformation, it all bore down on him, rendering him silent. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze, feeling as though he didn’t deserve the kindness he saw in her eyes.

“I… I needed to see you,” he murmured finally, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

For a moment, she simply stared at him, her hand still on the doorframe. He looked so out of place—worn and battered in a way she rarely saw. Her instincts told her to let him in, but another part of her whispered caution. Finally, with a soft sigh, she stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

Jin crossed the threshold and took a moment to observe his surroundings. Her room was slightly large for a hotel room, divided into a living room space close to the entrance and a bedroom space further into the room. The white lighting was cool, casting a blue tinge to the space. Her space was serene, a calming contrast to the burning temple he escaped from. 

Wordlessly, she led him to the sofa. They both took seats, but Jin couldn’t help but notice that Leifang had chosen to sit in an armchair diagonally from him even though there was room on the loveseat he sat on.

Leifang hadn’t said anything else to him since her words at the door. This was very unnerving to Jin who became convinced that she was angry at him. She also seemed unlike herself, appearing more deflated. Her quiet confidence was shaken. She wasn’t the same person he had left two months ago. He wondered what could have affected her so much. 

“You’re really quiet,” Jin said in observation, realizing that she wasn’t going to say anything to him. 

“I guess I don’t really know what to say,” she murmured, her eyes trained to her lap as she watched her fiddling fingers, “You left rather abruptly again and now you’re back… again. This pattern is rather exhausting.”

Jin stared at her, visually seeing the burden that his association with her has placed on her. This was the last thing he wanted. The one thing that he feared by allowing her access to his complicated life. If she was acting this way now, he could only imagine how she would react if she knew everything, the full truth of the Devil Gene and the Mishima family.

“I’m sorry,” he answered, appearing contrite, “It was never my intention to place so much strain on you.”

Leifang’s head snapped up and she stared at him. The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them, “But, Jin, that’s what happens when people care about you. Your hardships aren’t yours alone to bear. Whether you like it or not, I’ve become invested in you… in your wellbeing. The very thing you’ve been trying to avoid has already happened. You just won’t accept it.”

These words caused Jin to pause, a powerfully scathing, yet true statement. And it made his presence today all the more damning. He constantly told her to stay away, but he would either seek her out or come running to her if she called. Leifang was his weakness, the only person who made his thoughts and motivations so disorganized. She was absolutely right, the constant push and pull was wearing on both of them. 

“Leifang,” Jin said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent, as he lowered himself to one knee in front of her. The gesture startled her—this was Jin Kazama, always distant, always composed, kneeling before her like a man stripped of his armor. She inhaled sharply, her breath catching in her throat, unsure of what to make of it.

“I see you,” he continued, his dark eyes lifting to meet hers. The weight of his gaze made her chest tighten. “And I appreciate your continued support. You could have turned me away tonight, but you didn’t.”

“I would never turn you away,” Leifang replied softly, but there was hesitation in her voice. Her fingers twitched in her lap as if resisting the urge to reach for him. She turned her face slightly, breaking eye contact, clearly unnerved by his closeness, his sudden vulnerability.

Jin hesitated, then reached for her hand, his cool fingers brushing hers before gently taking hold. Her breath hitched as he began to rub his thumb over the back of her hand, the gesture as intimate as it was surprising.

“You…” he started, his voice faltering slightly. He looked down at her hand in his, his brow furrowed. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Leifang tilted her head, her brown eyes narrowing as she studied his face. “Then explain it to me,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Help me understand what it is you’re so afraid of.”

Jin shook his head, his grip on her hand tightening just slightly. “It’s not that simple,” he murmured. “I’ve already hurt too many people. I’ve dragged them into my darkness, and they’ve paid the price. I don’t want that for you, Leifang. I…” He stopped himself, his jaw clenching as if the words he wanted to say were too dangerous to let out.

“You can keep telling yourself that,” Leifang said after a moment, her tone softer now. “But you’re here, Jin. You came to me. You sought me out. You can’t keep pushing me away and then pulling me back whenever it suits you.”

Jin’s head bowed, his hair falling into his face, obscuring his expression. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t respond, that he would retreat into silence like he always did. But then he spoke, his voice low and raw.

“When I’m with you…” He trailed off, swallowing hard, as though even admitting this much was an immense struggle. “When I’m with you, the noise stops. The chaos… the weight of everything I carry… it’s quieter. You give me that.”

Leifang’s heart thudded in her chest, the sincerity in his voice piercing through her frustration. She leaned forward slightly, her free hand resting gently on his shoulder. “Then why are you fighting it?” she asked softly. “Why are you so afraid to let yourself… feel that?”

Jin’s eyes met hers again, and for a fleeting moment, she saw something in them—something fragile and unguarded beneath the storm of guilt and pain. “Because if I do,” he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly, “You’ll suffer for it. Everyone does.”

Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. “That’s not your decision to make, Jin. That’s mine. You don’t get to decide what I’m willing to risk.”

He exhaled shakily, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But instead, he released her hand and stood abruptly, stepping back as if putting distance between them would somehow undo the closeness they had just shared. He turned his back to her, his posture stiff, his hands closed into fists at his sides.

“I can’t…” he said, his voice strained. “I can’t give you what you want, Leifang. I can’t give you anything.”

Leifang rose from her seat, her movements slow and deliberate as she closed the distance between them. She stopped just behind him, her voice soft but steady. “I’m not asking for anything, Jin. I never have. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to let me in. To stop carrying all of this alone.”

He didn’t turn around, but she saw his shoulders tense at her words.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she added after a moment, her tone gentler now. “But don’t think for a second that you don’t matter to me. Because you do. More than you realize.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the hotel’s air conditioning. Then, slowly, Jin turned his head, glancing at her over his shoulder. His expression was guarded, but there was something softer in his eyes—a hint of gratitude, perhaps, or maybe something deeper that he wasn’t ready to name.

“Leifang…” he began, but whatever he was about to say was lost as his gaze dropped to the floor. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”

“Maybe,” she said quietly, stepping back to give him space. “But you’re the one I’m choosing, Jin. And until you tell me to stop, I’ll keep choosing you.”

Her words seemed to hit him like a physical blow. He turned fully toward her then, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might balk at her words, might try to push her away again. But instead, he simply nodded, the movement almost imperceptible.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Leifang offered him a small, sad smile. “Get some rest,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “We can talk more in the morning. I’ll bring you some blankets and pillows.”

Jin hesitated, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he stepped back toward the sofa. He didn’t sit, though; he remained standing, his posture tense as though he was still wrestling with the weight of his emotions.

As Leifang moved toward the bedroom, giving him some space, she glanced back at him one last time. There was a quiet intensity in his expression, as if he were trying to memorize the moment, to hold onto the fragile connection they had just shared.

And despite everything, the doubts, the fear, the pain, Leifang felt a little hope. Because for the first time, Jin hadn’t run away.

Chapter Text

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden hues across the room. Jin sat at the small table by the window, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea that Leifang had prepared. He was still in his gi pants, though the soot and dirt had been wiped away, and his bangs fell into his eyes as he stared out at the skyline.

Leifang joined him at the table, her hair tied back and her posture more relaxed than the night before. She had changed into a simple blouse and pants, her movements slow but deliberate, as if she were still measuring his mood.

“You didn’t sleep,” she observed quietly, pouring herself a cup of tea.

Jin shook his head, his gaze still fixed outside. “Neither did you,” he replied.

Leifang offered a faint smile but said nothing. The quiet between them felt fragile, like a thin layer of ice over deep waters. She didn’t want to shatter it, but there was a question pressing at her, one she couldn’t ignore any longer.

She took a sip of tea, then set the cup down with a soft clink. “Jin,” she began, her voice careful, “last night… you seemed different. I don’t mean vulnerable—though you were—but resentful, too. I’ve seen it in you before, but not like this.”

Jin stiffened slightly but didn’t lift his head to face her, his eyes fixated on the steaming amber colored liquid in his tea cup. “What are you trying to say?”

Leifang hesitated, her fingers curling around her cup as if seeking warmth. “I heard about Heihachi,” she said finally, watching him closely. “It’s all over the news.”

Jin’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the tea cup. “I know.”

She frowned, unsure how to proceed. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“No,” Jin said curtly, finally turning to look at her. His voice was clipped, his expression unreadable. “He’s dead. That’s all that should matter.”

Leifang blinked, taken aback by the coldness in his tone. “Of course it matters,” she said softly, her brows knitting together. “He’s your grandfather.”

Jin stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The sudden motion startled Leifang, and she leaned back slightly, watching him as he began pacing the hotel room.

“He was a monster,” Jin said, his voice low but sharp, like a blade. “The world is better off without him.”

Leifang stood as well, watching him carefully. “And what about your father?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Kazuya?”

Jin froze mid-step, his back to her. For a long moment, he didn’t move, the tension in his body palpable. When he finally turned to face her, his dark eyes burned with a fierce intensity that made her stomach twist.

“I will rid the world of this accursed Mishima bloodline,” he said, his voice colder than she’d ever heard it.

The air in the room grew heavy, the weight of his words pressing down on them both. Leifang’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t back down. She took a small step forward, her hands clenched at her sides.

“What are you planning to do, Jin?” she whispered. 

Jin’s fists tightened at his sides, his gaze unrelenting. “Kill Kazuya Mishima.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final, and for a moment, it was as if the entire room had gone still.  Leifang blinked, Jin’s statement stunning her into silence. 

“You don’t mean that,” Leifang said softly, standing up and confronting him, “There’s no going back from something like that. There has to be another way.”

“It’s the only way,” Jin responded pointedly. 

Leifang shook her head vehemently, “No, it’s not. I can’t let you go down that path, Jin. What would your mother think?”

Hearing those words caused something to snap inside Jin. His last threads of control ripped apart to shreds at Leifang’s insinuation. Suddenly, a surge of power enveloped him, feeding on his anger. Jin’s eyes glowed red and a dark aura surrounded him. 

“Don’t you dare bring her into this!” Jin seethed. 

Leifang squealed and backed away from him, tripping over her chair in her effort to get away. But just as quickly as the change came, it went and Leifang, shaken to her core, began to question whether or not Jin had physically transformed in the first place. But she couldn’t deny the malevolent energy she felt around him, a stark contrast from his usual calm, reserved nature. 

Jin snapped back to himself, quickly regaining his composure. He had done it again. He had lost control and felt himself come very close to attacking Leifang. He had inadvertently shown her his true self, the devil within. The look of fear etched across her face disturbed him. He hated that he was the cause of it. 

Jin stepped forward in an effort to reach for her, but her eyes widened in response and she shrunk away from him. It was too late. He had hurt the person closest to him. 

Feeling overwhelmed between the aftermath of his fight with Hwoarang and now this, Jin let out a resounding sigh. There was nothing he could do to fix this. 

“I should leave,” he murmured as he backed away, “I’m sorry…”

Hearing his words pierced through the wall of fear Leifang had erected unconsciously for self preservation. He was going to just leave, after all of this?

“No!” she said forcefully and stood up quickly. The movement caused her to wince, exacerbating her injuries from her encounter with Jann-Lee, but Jin, not knowing about what happened, saw it and he immediately thought he was the cause. His eyes moved from her hands, where she clutched at her side carefully, to her face. A dreadful expression befell him. 

“I hurt you…” he whispered, his voice trembling. Now Leifang stopped in her tracks, her head tilting in confusion.

Leifang took a shaky breath, holding his gaze. “No, Jin. You didn’t hurt me. This—” she gestured vaguely toward her side, “this isn’t your doing. Stop blaming yourself for every shadow that touches me.”

Her words were firm, but there was still a lingering tremor in her voice. Jin’s expression didn’t ease. His fists at his sides, his jaw tight, as if every fiber of his being was fighting against something unseen.

“I saw the fear in your eyes,” Jin said quietly, his voice low and filled with self-loathing. “I felt it. Don’t lie to me.”

Leifang faltered. She wanted to deny it, to reassure him, but the truth was undeniable—there had been fear. For a fleeting moment, she had been terrified of him. Yet that fear had already begun to dissolve, replaced by the same stubborn resolve that always seemed to surface when it came to Jin Kazama.

“Yes,” she admitted finally, her voice soft. “I was afraid. But it wasn’t you, Jin. It was… something else. Something you’re carrying.” She hesitated, searching his face for a glimmer of understanding. “I can feel it… a darkness, a weight that’s crushing you. And I know it’s not who you really are.”

Jin’s shoulders slumped slightly, her words cutting deeper than he expected. He turned his head away, unable to bear the compassion in her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his tone harsh but hollow.

Leifang stepped closer, ignoring the dull ache in her side. “Then help me understand,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I’m here, Jin. I’m still here, even after everything. Doesn’t that mean something to you?”

Jin’s gaze snapped back to her, his expression a mixture of frustration and desperation. “It means everything,” he said, the words escaping before he could stop them. “And that’s why I should leave. Don’t you see, Leifang? You shouldn’t be anywhere near me.”

Her heart twisted at the raw emotion in his voice, but she refused to back down. “You keep saying that,” she shot back, “But then you keep coming back. Do you think I don’t notice? Every time you push me away, you end up right here, standing in front of me again.”

Jin flinched as if her words were a physical blow. He opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out.

Leifang took a step closer, her voice softening. “I know you’re fighting something, Jin. I can see it. But you’re not alone. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself. and I think you know this subconsciously. It’s the only reason I can think of to explain why you keep coming back. Let me help you.”

For a long moment, Jin didn’t respond. He stared at her, his dark eyes searching hers, as if trying to determine whether her words were real or just an illusion. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders drooping under the weight of his unspoken thoughts.

“I can’t,” he said at last. “If you knew… if you knew the truth about me, you’d hate me. You’d run as far away as you could.”

“Try me,” she replied, her voice steady despite the uncertainty bubbling within her.

Jin shook his head, his expression pained. “You don’t understand. The things I’ve done, the things I’m going to do… they’ll destroy everything.” His fists clenched again, trembling at his sides. “You think you can save me, but you can’t. No one can.”

Leifang stepped even closer, standing mere inches from him now. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “I don’t believe that,” she said softly. “I won’t believe that. Not until you give me a reason to.”

Jin leaned into her touch, the contact sending a jolt through him. He wanted to pull away, to retreat back into the solitude he knew so well, but something kept him rooted in place. Her touch was warm, grounding. She had done the very thing that he needed right now: silenced the chaos in his heart.

Leifang hesitated, searching his face. She could see the torment in his eyes, the way he teetered on the edge of something dark and unforgiving. And yet, she could also see the man beneath it—the man she couldn’t bring herself to give up on.

Acting on instinct, she tilted her head upward, standing on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his.

For a moment, Jin stood frozen, as if caught between two worlds. Then, slowly, he gave in. He allowed himself to savor her kiss, to lose himself in her warmth, her light. It was as if the weight of his darkness had lifted, just for a moment, and all he could feel was her.

Leifang invaded his senses, her essence wrapping around his very being, bringing him a fleeting sense of clarity. She was everything he didn’t deserve, and everything he couldn’t bear to lose.

But the reprieve was short-lived. The memory of the surge of power, the way she had recoiled from him, came rushing back, and the guilt was too much. He took a step back, breaking the contact.

“I’m dangerous,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “I can’t risk losing control again. Not with you.”

Leifang swallowed hard, her heart aching at the distance he was putting between them, both physically and emotionally. But she refused to let him retreat completely. “Then fight it,” she said firmly. “If you don’t want to lose control, then fight. For yourself. For the people who care about you. For me.”

Jin’s breath hitched at her words, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say something—something real, something honest. But instead, he closed his eyes, his expression hardening once more.

“I should go,” he said, his voice flat.

Leifang’s shoulders sagged, frustration and sadness washing over her in equal measure. She wanted to stop him, to say something that would break through the walls he was building around himself, but the words wouldn’t come.

As Jin turned toward the door, she called out to him one last time. “Jin.”

He paused but didn’t turn around.

“I’m not giving up on you,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to well in her eyes. “Not now. Not ever.”

Jin’s hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before he finally opened the door and stepped out, closing it softly behind him.

Leifang stood there in the silence that followed, her chest tight. She had seen the war raging inside Jin Kazama, and no matter how many times he pushed her away, she wasn’t going to abandon him to it. 

After leaving Leifang, Jin returned to his hostel and took a long warm shower. It was a moment to allow himself to finally process the events of the previous day and this morning. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but one thing he noticed is that his anger, shame, and guilt were subdued. In their place was a numbness that gnawed away at his very core. He felt himself becoming indifferent, a change so sudden that he couldn’t quite place exactly when it took root. 

Jin sighed and turned off the water, grabbing his nearby towel to dry himself off. The call of his Devil Gene was growing louder in his head and his loss of control in front of Leifang proved that he was running out of time. He knew that whatever, or whoever, was awaiting him at the end of the tournament would have the answers he sought regarding the Devil Gene. He just had to make it there. 

Jin’s next match brought him face-to-face with an elderly kung fu master. Wang Jinrei’s gaze was calm yet piercing, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied Jin with an expression of quiet curiosity.

“Young Kazama,” Wang said, his voice low but strong. “I see the weight you carry. The anger, the pain… and something else.” His eyes seemed to glimmer, as if seeing something Jin could not.

Jin frowned, unsettled. “You must be mistaken.”

“No,” Wang replied, his lips curling into a faint smile. “I know you are not him, but there is something about you. You carry yourself with humility, with righteousness. It reminds me of him.”

Jin blinked, confused. Humility? Righteousness? The words felt foreign, misaligned with the darkness he felt consuming him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you mean.”

“A ghost of a man,” Wang said wistfully, stepping into his fighting stance. “Come, Young Kazama. Let us do battle.”

Jin hesitated, unsure how to approach the fight. The old man’s words lingered, strange and disconcerting. As they began, Jin found himself holding back. Wang’s movements were measured, deliberate, but Jin couldn’t bring himself to strike with full force.

“Fight with everything you have,” Wang urged, his strikes sharper now, testing Jin’s defenses. “The battle ahead of you will be far more difficult than this.”

The words spurred something in Jin. He pushed aside his hesitation and fought with more focus, his movements unrelenting. The fight stretched longer than he expected, Wang countering with surprising skill and grace despite his age. Finally, Jin’s speed and strength overcame him. With a decisive blow, Wang fell back, defeated.

Jin immediately stepped forward and offered his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, helping Wang to his feet. “But I have to move forward.”

“Yes, you do,” Wang said, his voice steady despite his loss. He brushed himself off and looked at Jin with a knowing smile. “When you meet with him, defeat him. Allow his soul to finally rest in peace.”

Jin froze. “Who?” he asked, his heart pounding.

Wang’s expression softened, his gaze distant. “You will know when you see him. But remember, Young Kazama, the battle is not just against others. It is against yourself.” He stepped closer, his tone growing somber. “Do not lose yourself to avarice, like your father and grandfather before you. You have the Kazama blood running through your veins, and that sets you apart from them. Do not forget that.”

The words struck a chord deep within Jin, but he couldn’t find the voice to respond. He bowed respectfully and left the arena, Wang’s words echoing in his mind.

Chapter Text

Following her intense encounter with Jin, Leifang felt completely drained both physically and emotionally, but she had little time to regain her bearings. The Dead or Alive Tournament was in full swing and Leifang was going to find out who her opponent would be once she arrived on the Freedom Survivor. 

Leifang paused as she tied the final loop in her braid. Her reflection stared back at her with a practiced confidence, but she could still felt the old, familiar ache grating at the edges of her mind. Was she truly ready to face him again? The fear of being dismissed as unworthy threatened to creep back in. But she quickly pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the words Jin had spoken to her. She was strong– strong enough to stand on her own

Leifang made her way to the luxury yacht, arriving at the same time as her new friend Hitomi.

“Oh, hey!” Hitomi greeted her with a bright smile, “How are you feeling?”

Leifang smiled and answered, “Hello, Hitomi. I’m managing alright, thanks to all your help yesterday.”

Hitomi waved away her words of gratitude, “Don’t mention it. Are you ready for the first batch of matches? I can’t wait to see who I’ll be matched against.” She smiled cheekily, “Do you think there’s a chance that we will be pit against one another?”

“I hope not,” Leifang returned, “But if we do have to face each other at any point during the tournament, let’s make it a good match!”

Hitomi’s eyes lit up with excitement, “Of course!”

Once all of the tournament participants had gathered together in the same main hall as the opening ceremonies, an image appeared on a large overhead screen mounted towards the back wall of the room. It was the tournament bracket, a breakdown of the scheduled fights for the day and their order. Leifang scanned the diagram, finding her name and picture fairly quickly. She was matched against Jann-Lee of all people, but her match was the sixth fight of this first round of the tournament.

Leifang peered around the room, her eyes searching until they found their mark: Jann-Lee who stood on the far opposite of the room, this time nowhere near Leifang. She briefly wondered if he had done that on purpose in order to avoid her.

“Looks like my match is right before yours,” Hitomi quipped, interrupting Leifang’s thoughts, bringing her back to the present. She was scheduled to fight a man named Bayman, a Sambo practitioner. “I’ll be cheering for you,” Hitomi said with a broad grin, “I know you’ll give it your all, Leifang. He’s not unbeatable.”

She smiled, though her heart waved, “I hope so. I just… I just want to prove to him that I belong here.”

Leifang nodded silently, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks. She realized that she would never live that moment down in Hitomi’s head. She would have to prove herself even more now. She did not want anyone to think of her as a weakling. But even more than that, she did not want to be seen as useless. 

Defeating Jann-Lee today wasn’t only about progressing through the tournament, but also would be her chance to quell her growing fear of redundancy. 

As the combatants for the first match made their way to the makeshift arena on the yacht, Leifang and Hitomi found some seats to watch the action. 

Unlike the previous tournament, this one would not feature a live audience. It was to be televised across the globe.  

The first battle between Helena Douglas and Tina Armstrong was a thrilling matchup between two women with very different fighting styles. The elegance of Helena’s Piguaquan and the brashness of Tina’s wrestling made for an exciting show, but ultimately it was Helena’s gracefulness which won out. 

The second fight was slated between an elderly man named Gen Fu and a drunken newcomer named Brad Wong. Gen Fu was a staple of the Dead or Alive tournaments, using his winnings to fund his granddaughter’s medical treatments. His fighting style, Xiye Lihue Quan, was powerful. But Brad was not to be underestimated. He fought valiantly, his drunken fist style was unpredictable enough to cause Gen Fu some issues. Still, the older man’s strength, will, and his devotion to his granddaughter were the drive he needed to succeed. Brad Wong took a hard hit and fell flat on his back, unable to continue the fight. 

The third and fourth fights were virtually no contest. Ryu Hayabusa made quick work out of an Italian mercenary named Leon. Following that match Hayate disposed of Zack, crushing the latter’s dreams of riches. 

Hitomi excitedly jumped up from her seat and made a beeline to the ring once her name was formally called. Her opponent, Bayman, was already present. The two sized each other, both devising their own strategies for victory. 

“Get ready! Fight!” the announcer called. 

Hitomi immediately went on the offensive, her punches hitting hard. Leifang recognized her fighting style as karate, but Shotokan, not Kyokushin like Jin. She shook her head furiously as that thought passed through her head. She needed to focus on what was happening in front of her. Her own fight would begin shortly. 

Hitomi and Bayman clashed, the two martial artists fighting aggressively. Bayman’s grappling abilities caught Hitomi off guard, but she made a clean recovery and managed to defeat him in a close round. 

Leifang smiled, happy for her friend. She hoped that this would be a good omen for her own match. After Hitomi and Bayman left the ring, Leifang stood up and entered it, not even waiting for her name to be called. It looked like Jann-Lee had the same idea. 

This was the first time the two had met since the incident the other day. His expression was cold, detached, almost uninterested to be in the ring with her. But Leifang was determined not to let him get under her skin. She had her newfound revelation. Jann-Lee would not dictate her usefulness in life. 

“The time has come for me to defeat the Dragon in you,” she declared confidently. 

“Hmm…” Jann-Lee turned towards her, “You don’t even have a chance.”

Leifang bristled at his statement, but didn’t want to show that he affected her. She put on a brave front. “Everyday I grow closer and closer to perfecting my T’ai Chi Quan. I know that I am strong enough to defeat you.”

She paused and thoughts of Jin appeared in her mind’s eye, his gentle reminder that she was strong and capable in his eyes, “I will stand tall and firm. I will not be defeated.”

“Get ready! Fight!” the announcer’s voice cut through the growing tension between the two fighters. 

Leifang darted forward, her elegant movements captivating the crowd of fighters. Her strikes, though graceful, were direct and powerful, a testament of her intensive training. She felt as if her new approach to training would give her the edge she needed to finally defeat Jann-Lee. But as Jann-Lee countered with his unyielding strength, a familiar frustration began to bubble within her. What if she failed again? What would that mean for her?

Jin’s voice echoed in her mind: “You’re strong, Leifang. More than you realize.”

She took a deep breath, centering herself. This fight wasn’t about proving herself to Jann-Lee. It was about proving to herself that she could stand tall, win or lose. Her movements flowed more smoothly now, her strikes imbued with purpose—not desperation.

Leifang pivoted smoothly, her arm deflecting Jann-Lee’s strike as she delivered a sharp kick to his midsection. He staggered but recovered instantly, retaliating with a series of rapid blows that forced her to retreat. Each movement felt like a test of her resolve, a clash of their sheer willpower.

The two fought and, although close, Jann-Lee once again stood victorious. 

“You’ve improved, but you’ve allowed chaos to enter your heart, Leifang. You’ll never defeat me that way,” he said, his voice low, “Go home. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove.”

Jann-Lee turned his back to her and walked away, exiting the ring. 

Leifang sank to her knees, her chest heaving with exertion. She had given it everything she had, and yet… it wasn’t enough. The familiar sting of failure threatened to take hold, but this time, it didn’t consume her. Instead, she thought of Jin’s words, of Hitomi’s encouragement, and of her own quiet strength.

She rose to her feet, wiping the sweat from her brow. “This isn’t the end,” she murmured to herself. “I’m stronger than this.”

As she left the ring, she was met by Hitomi who immediately folded her into a hug. 

“You were incredible out there. You didn’t give up for a second,” Hitomi said softly. “He might have won, but he knows how strong you’ve become.”

Leifang nodded. She didn’t think she would cry, but Hitomi’s gesture had conjured up the emotions of self-pity that she had cast aside. Leifang felt overwhelmed with her frustration and refused to speak, knowing that if she opened her mouth, a choked sob would escape. But she felt her body shaking as she attempted to contain her emotions. Her journey through this tournament had ended even before it could fully begin. 

Chapter Text

Jin’s path had finally led him to this moment. The pulsing power inside him, dark and relentless, guided him to the barren wasteland. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional howl of the wind. A temple loomed in the distance, shrouded in mist. It stood like a forgotten relic, ancient and foreboding, a monument to everything the Mishima bloodline represented: power, destruction, and despair.

As he approached, Jin saw him—a figure standing motionless, surrounded by a sinister, purple aura that writhed like a living thing. The man’s presence was suffocating, his power rolling off him in waves that made Jin’s Devil Gene stir with anticipation. The younger fighter gritted his teeth, forcing the Gene down. He would not let it consume him. Not now.

The man turned, his hazel eyes locking onto Jin’s. He was well-built, his body a testament to years of battle, though his torn pants and broken shackles hinted at a life of suffering. His sharp beard framed his face, the white hairs extended upward into the air, and his gaze carried an unreadable intensity.

“You’ve come,” the man said, his voice deep and gravelly. He took a step forward, his aura intensifying. “I am Jinpachi Mishima. And who are you?”

Mishima. Another one. Jin’s stomach twisted. Of course, the cursed bloodline would rear its head yet again. He straightened his posture, his voice cold. “Jin Kazama. Heir of this cursed blood.”

Jinpachi’s eyes narrowed. “The Mishima blood… so it is true. You are Kazuya’s son.”

Jin’s fists clenched involuntarily at the mention of his father. But before he could reply, an odd expression crossed Jinpachi’s face—sadness, or perhaps regret. The man seemed to hesitate, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

“Kazuya…” Jinpachi murmured, almost to himself. “A bright child, consumed by hatred. Twisted… and I could do nothing to stop it.”

The moment passed as quickly as it had come. Jinpachi’s expression hardened, his voice dropping to a growl. “But you… your blood calls to mine. Screams for it. You are a threat to everything I stand for. And I will kill you!”

Before Jin could respond, Jinpachi’s body convulsed. He let out a guttural cry as his aura erupted around him, his body twisting into a monstrous form. His abdomen split open, revealing a grotesque mouth lined with jagged teeth. The transformation was sudden, horrifying, and otherworldly.

Jin jumped back, his guard rising instinctively. The Devil Gene surged within him, urging him to fight, to destroy. His vision flickered, and for a moment, he thought he saw his reflection in Jinpachi’s aura—his eyes glowing red, horns beginning to form.

“No,” he whispered, forcing the power back down. His voice grew steadier as he raised his fists. “I will end this.”

Jinpachi snarled, his demonic form radiating power. “You think you can challenge me, boy? You are nothing but a child playing with fire.”

Jin narrowed his eyes, stepping into his fighting stance. “We’ll see.”

Jin felt his blood stirring, a mixture of Jinpachi’s power and his own resonating within him. This fight was more than just a battle between two generations of Mishimas. It was a battle for their souls.

He suddenly remembered Wang Jinrei’s words. Jinpachi must be the man he spoke about. The two might have been friends a long time ago. Jin had promised Wang that he would help Jinpachi’s soul to find peace and he intended to keep that promise. 

Jinpachi was the first to make a move, his supernatural power enhancing his speed. He moved so quickly, he appeared almost like an apparition. Jin just barely brought his arms up to block Jinpachi’s punch and backhand. His form of the Mishima Style was brutal and savage, distorted by the entity possessing him. This kept Jin on the defensive as he studied Jinpachi closely to find any weaknesses in his defense.

“Dah!!” Jinpachi cried out as his power rose about him. The giant mouth of his abdomen opened wide and spat out a large fireball which hurdled towards Jin. Jin sidestepped it, quickly realizing that taking a direct hit would be deadly. He couldn’t waste any more time playing around. 

Noticing that Jinpachi needed a moment to recover following that attack, Jin finally saw his chance to go on the offensive. He performed a quick combo of punches and kicks, poking at Jinpachi’s defenses. The elder Mishima blocked Jin’s moves, flinging his fists away as if they were petty annoyances. Realizing that he needed to restrategize, Jin performed a feint kick combo which happened to catch Jinpachi off guard, causing him to stagger. Pressing his small advantage, Jin hit him with a low sweep, knocking him to the floor.

But despite his massive size, Jinpachi was surprisingly swift. He hopped back to his feet, seemingly unscathed. He reached for Jin, grabbing him roughly and flung him across the expanse, his body smashing into a boulder. Jin grunted as he sat up, shaking his head to clear his fuzzy vision.

“He’s strong,” Jin thought as he pushed himself to his feet. He began to wonder if he had the power to defeat Jinpachi.

Almost as if in response, Jin felt the undeniable pulse of the Devil Gene within him, its presence a reminder that by giving in, Jin could also become a grotesque version of himself similar to Jinpachi. Is this what the Mishima men were doomed to become?

Before Jin could give that anymore thought, Jinpachi began to attack again, his fists smashing through Jin’s guard and landing squarely on his chest, causing him to gasp in pain. Jinpachi’s attacks, infused with the Mishima bloodline’s trademark lightning as well as his demonic entity’s power, were devastating. At this rate, it would only be a matter of time before Jin was worn down.

“Give into the anger…” a voice within Jin spoke, low and seductive, “Give into the power…”

Jin gritted his teeth in annoyance. Normally he tuned out these enticing whispers, but now, with this powerful foe in front of him, Jin actually began to consider allowing the power to take over. If the devastation he awoke to in Yakushima was any indication, as long as he was able to focus his attack on Jinpachi, he could possibly stop the demon.

Jinpachi’s attacks came faster now, his strikes fueled by the raw fury of his demonic power. His fists tore through the air with a deafening crack, each swing narrowly missing Jin’s head. The younger fighter moved on instinct alone, his breath ragged as he struggled to stay one step ahead. But it wasn’t enough.

A devastating uppercut connected with Jin’s jaw, sending him flying backward. He crashed to the ground in a heap, coughing as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His body ached, his vision swam, and for a moment, he wondered if this was how it would end.

Jinpachi loomed over him, his monstrous form silhouetted against the stormy sky. “You are weak, boy,” he growled, the maw in his abdomen snarling hungrily. “Even now, you refuse to accept the truth. The Mishima bloodline exists to dominate—to destroy. Denying it will only lead to your death.”

Jin slowly pushed himself up to a seated position, his nails digging into the dirt below. “No…” he muttered, “I’m not like you.”

Jinpachi’s laughter was cold, echoing through the wasteland. “Not like me? You carry the same curse, the same power. Stop lying to yourself.” He raised his hand, preparing to deliver the finishing blow. “Let me end your delusions.”

But before the strike could land, a surge of energy erupted from Jin’s body. A violent wind swept through the area, the ground trembling beneath them. Jin’s head snapped up, his eyes glowing a bright, hellish red. The Devil Gene had appeared.

Jinpachi staggered back, his expression briefly shifting to surprise. “Ah… so it awakens.”

Jin rose to his feet, his posture no longer human. Blackened veins spread across his face, and sharp horns began to emerge from his temples. His voice, now a guttural growl, echoed with unnatural power. “You wanted to see my true power, didn’t you?” he snarled, his lips curling into a savage grin. “Then let me show you.”

Jinpachi barely had time to react before Jin lunged forward, his dark wings flapping behind him, leaving a trail of black feathers. Jin moved with a speed and ferocity that surpassed anything he had shown before. His strikes were relentless, each one cracking the air like thunder. Jinpachi, despite his demonic strength, found himself on the defensive, his earlier confidence wavering.

The mouth in Jinpachi’s abdomen opened wide, spewing another massive fireball. But Jin didn’t dodge this time. Instead, he raised a hand, catching the attack mid-air. The fireball writhed in his palm, its energy crackling violently, but Jin’s Devil form absorbed it effortlessly, the hellfire feeding into his growing power.

“You’re nothing but a relic,” Jin spat, his voice dripping with contempt. “It’s time for you to fade.”

Jinpachi roared in defiance, throwing everything he had at Jin. But the younger Mishima was unstoppable. With a final, devastating blow—a demonic uppercut that split the ground beneath them—Jin sent Jinpachi flying. The elder Mishima crashed to the ground, his monstrous form receding as his strength began to fade.

Devil Jin stood over him, his glowing red eyes filled with cold malice. “Your power… it belongs to me now,” he said, extending a clawed hand toward Jinpachi. The Devil Gene pulsed wildly, eager to absorb the remnants of Jinpachi’s strength.

But as Jin reached for him, something unexpected happened. Jinpachi’s eyes softened, the demonic glow fading, replaced with his usual hazel orbs, as a brief moment of clarity returned to him. He looked up at Jin—not with anger or hatred, but with a strange sense of peace.

“Do as you wish, Jin Kazama” Jinpachi murmured, his voice weak but resolute. 

Jin froze, his hand trembling. The Devil Gene screamed in protest, urging him to finish it, but Jinpachi’s words cut through the haze. For a moment, Jin saw the man beneath the monster—a man who had once fought to protect his family, who had been consumed by the same curse Jin now carried.

“You have the power… to break the cycle,” Jinpachi continued, his body beginning to disintegrate into ash. “Do not let it consume you… as it did me.”

Jin was being given a choice: to continue this destructive cycle or to end it. And suddenly, Wang’s words reappeared in his mind, a reminder not to give into the same avarice that plagued the generations of Mishima men before him. 

The red glow in Jin’s eyes flickered. Slowly, his clawed hand lowered, the Devil Gene retreating back into the depths of his soul. Jinpachi gave a faint smile, his body crumbling into dust as the wind carried him away, “Jin Kazama… the Mishima blood may be cursed, but you are a worthy carrier of it. I know you will do what is right.”

The stormy skies began to clear, the oppressive darkness lifting. Jin stood alone, his fists clenched at his sides. He had won, but at what cost?

The Mishima bloodline’s curse still burned within him, and he knew the battle was far from over. But as he looked out across the barren wasteland, a single thought lingered in his mind.

I am not like them.

Jin breathed a sigh of relief, his whole body relaxing before collapsing and falling to the ground. 

Chapter Text

Emptiness. 

That was the overwhelming feeling surrounding Jin. A hollow pit existed inside of him, the hole growing larger and larger by the minute. Destroying Jinpachi was supposed to relieve him. He should no longer feel this much despair, but the feeling had grown so large, had become so all encompassing that he felt himself suffocate under its weight. 

The inky, black void stretched endlessly around him. Despite this consuming presence, Jin still felt that his other senses were heightened. He heard a subtle whispering, as if something or someone was trying to capture his attention. Jin floated in the darkness, weightless yet restless as the voice whispered again. Low, guttural, and relentless, it reverberated through the emptiness, circling him like a predator stalking its prey.

“If you want to give me a physical form, you must plunge this world into pure darkness… This is the only way…”

Jin turned sharply, searching for the source of the voice, though he knew it wouldn’t reveal itself. He had heard it countless times before, a constant echo in his dreams, a sinister reminder of the power that lay dormant within him. His muscles tensed, the air around him trembling as though in response to his anger.

“I don’t need you,” he growled defiantly. “I’ve won without you. I will win without you.”

The voice chuckled, dark and mocking. It sounded ancient, inhuman, and all too familiar.

“Do you think defeating Jinpachi changes anything? He was a mere distraction. It is you who will become my true servant of darkness.”

The void began to ripple, the darkness curling in on itself. Jin felt his chest tighten, the weight of the voice pressing down on him like an invisible hand.

“You are mine, Jin Kazama. You always have been.”

Suddenly, the darkness erupted into a vision. Flames engulfed a battlefield, the cries of the innocent drowning beneath the roar of war. Above it all, Jin saw himself—transformed, monstrous, his horns twisted and his wings spread wide as he unleashed chaos upon the world. Laser beam blasts shot from the ruby jewel on his forehead, decimating the landscape. His own glowing red eyes stared back at him, filled with malice.

“No!” Jin shouted, reaching out to stop the vision, but his hands passed through the image like smoke. The demonic figure smirked, its form flickering before it lunged toward him. Jin’s body tensed as the fiery eyes bore into his own. 

***

Jin woke with a start, his breath ragged, his body drenched in cold sweat. The dim light of dawn filled the sky, coloring it a soft pink and orange. White, fluffy clouds rolled through the sky. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the sky, his heart racing.

It had been another nightmare. No, not just a nightmare. The voice… the same voice that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. Defeating Jinpachi hadn’t made a difference. The evil voice was still there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for him to falter.

Jin closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as he ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair. He shook his head, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. But the words lingered.

“Plunge this world into pure darkness…”

What did it mean? What was the voice trying to make him do? He didn’t know, but he could feel its power growing, pulling at him like a tide he couldn’t escape.

He sat up, his body tense. Despite his victory over Jinpachi and the knowledge that Heihachi was gone—or so he believed—the battle was far from over. The Mishima Zaibatsu was leaderless now, a weapon without a master, and Jin knew exactly what would happen if someone else stepped in to claim its power. Chaos. More bloodshed. The cycle would continue.

He couldn’t allow that to happen. Especially with Kazuya still present. 

Jin clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He knew what had to be done. If he was to end this curse, if he was to stop the endless spiral of violence, he had to take control. The Zaibatsu was a poison in the veins of the world, but perhaps, under his command, it could be used to undo the damage it had caused.

The idea filled him with unease. He had always resisted the Mishima name, the legacy of control and destruction that came with it. But now… maybe it was the only way to make things right.

He pushed himself to his feet, his movements deliberate. His body still ached from the battle with Jinpachi, but he ignored the pain. There was no time to waste. He would find his answers one way or another.

The first rays of sunlight crept through the clouds, casting a faint glow on Jin as he walked away from this deserted place. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but he knew one thing for certain: the fight wasn’t over.

And this time, he would fight not just for himself, but for the world he hoped to save.

Weeks had passed since Leifang’s defeat in the third tournament. Returning home to China had brought her some peace, but not the satisfaction she craved. 

She hadn’t seen Jin again since the day he showed up to her hotel room. Their emotional encounter replayed in her head over and over again. She constantly wondered if she could have said or done anything differently, but it was all in vain. Leifang pondered about the dark aura that surrounded Jin that disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. Jin had offered up no explanation besides his continued insistence that he would hurt her if she got too close to him. Was it possible that this unknown dark aura actually was the reason behind Jin’s hesitance?

Regardless, Leifang knew not to expect any answers at this point. Despite his words, Jin’s actions proved that he would prefer her at a distance. She didn’t even bother to reach out to Ling Xiaoyu, remembering how devastated the younger girl was at Jin’s sudden absence and his choice to contact Leifang before leaving. No, this time, she would deal with it alone in her own way.

The literal loss to Jann-Lee, as well as the loss of connection with Jin both still stung, but she channeled the bitterness into her training. Day after day, she pushed her body to its limits, honing her techniques. If she was going to return, she needed to be stronger—not just physically, but mentally as well.

She was mid-way through a training session in the courtyard of her family’s estate when one of the household maids scurried in, looking flustered.

“Miss Leifang,” the maid said, bowing nervously, “there’s a young man here to see you. He’s waiting at the entrance.”

“A young man?” Leifang asked, wiping the sweat from her brow. Her heart skipped for a brief moment, her mind immediately jumping to one name. Jann-Lee? Could he have come to see her? Though their relationship was always complicated, she couldn’t deny the small thrill that thought gave her.

“Did he say his name?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

“No, but he’s… very handsome. He has spiky hair, and he’s dressed quite formally,” the maid replied.

That was enough to pique Leifang’s curiosity. Jann-Lee wasn’t one for formal attire, so who could it be? She hurried toward the entrance, tying back her hair as she went, her mind racing with possibilities. But when she reached the front of the estate, the sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks.

It wasn’t Jann-Lee.

“Jin?” she said, her voice a mix of surprise and confusion. Standing before her was Jin Kazama, dressed in a tailored black suit that fit him perfectly, exuding an air of quiet authority. His dark, spiky hair caught the sunlight, and his expression was as serious as ever.

“Jin, how…?” Leifang’s voice faltered. How was he here? How did he even know where to find her?

“I needed to talk to you in person,” Jin said simply.

Still caught off guard, Leifang motioned for him to follow her inside. She led him to a private room, away from the prying eyes of the household staff. Once the door closed behind them, she turned to face him, her arms crossed.

He had done the very thing that she pointed out to him. The push and pull of their relationship was exhausting to her, but Leifang was beginning to realize that there was just no way around it. If she wanted a place in Jin’s life, dealing with his mercurial nature, the hot and cold, would be a part of it. 

“Well?” she asked, trying to mask her unease. “What’s this about?”

Jin hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I wanted you to hear this from me first before it’s formally announced. I’ve taken over the Mishima Zaibatsu. I am the new CEO.”

Leifang blinked, her eyes widening in shock. “Wow… that’s incredible!” she exclaimed, her tone laced with a mix of admiration and disbelief. “That’s a lot of power for one person to have.”

Jin’s gaze didn’t waver. “Power is important,” he replied, his voice steady. “It’s necessary to achieve one’s goals.”

Leifang’s expression shifted, her brows furrowing slightly. “And what are your goals, Jin? To kill Kazuya, still?”

“Yes… something like that,” Jin said, his voice trailing off. He avoided her eyes for a moment, as if contemplating something deeply.

The silence hung between them before Jin finally spoke again. “Leifang, there are…. things you may hear about me in the coming weeks. Try not to believe everything that you hear.”

Leifang’s confusion deepened. “What does that mean?” she asked, stepping closer. “Jin, what are you planning?”

Before she could press him further, Jin reached for her hand, his touch gentle but firm. “Please,” he said softly, his dark eyes meeting hers, “Do this for me.”

Her breath caught in her throat. His words carried a weight she couldn’t fully understand, but the vulnerability in his voice made her nod despite the red flags waving erratically in her mind. “Alright,” she said cautiously. 

Jin sighed, releasing her hand. “I should get going,” he said, taking a step back. 

“So soon?” Leifang questioned, her slender eyebrow raised in surprise. 

“Yes… Unfortunately, my new position comes with many new responsibilities,” he replied. “May I have your phone? I have a new number.”

“Of course!” Leifang replied, fishing her phone out of her pocket. She handed it to him, watching as he tapped a few buttons.

When he handed it back, she asked hesitantly, “Can I still see you sometimes?”

Jin’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. It melted her heart, making her momentarily forget all her doubts. “I would like that. Very much.”

Her pulse quickened as she took the phone back. The moment felt too fleeting, too fragile, and before she could second-guess herself, she closed the distance between them. Leifang tilted her head upward and kissed him lightly on the lips, her heart pounding in her chest. Jin froze for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes searching as if calculating something. Then, slowly, he leaned down, returning the kiss.

For Leifang, it was tender and reassuring, a confirmation of everything she’d dared to hope for. But to Jin, it was something else—a means to an end.

“Please don’t let this be our final goodbye,” she whispered as she pulled away.

Jin’s gaze softened, a faint smile touching his lips. To her, it was a promise. To him, it was part of the façade.

“It won’t be,” he whispered back, the words falling easily from his lips.

Her smile widened, radiant and full of trust. Jin allowed himself to linger for a moment, as if trying to commit her face to memory, before stepping away.

Leifang stood there, watching him go, her fingers brushing against her lips.

Outside, Jin climbed into the black, darkly tinted vehicle waiting for him. He slid his phone open, his demeanor shifting to one of cold calculation.

“You now have all the information you need to do what I asked for,” he said into the phone. “It is imperative that this is done exactly as I requested.”

He ended the call and leaned back in the seat, his dark eyes staring languidly out the window as the car moved through the bustling streets. The wheels of his plan were now in motion, and there would be no turning back.

No one would stop him now.