The wind was low, the sun was high in the sky. Mel hated wind resistance, but today the weather was perfect to inclining on a hill at top speed. It had been two years since his father bought him his third Norco mountain bike, never satisfied with the type of speed his other bikes could generate. Mel desperately wanted The Ultimate, the bicycle his hero Bruce Bursford nicknamed as he broke the world speed record, but he knew his weekly allowance was hardly enough to develop Shore One to completely resist aerodynamic drag.
Mel growled, peddling harder up the hill. No matter how much power he put into pumping his legs, the Shore One felt sluggish due to its weight. He downshifted a gear to help him accelerate, but only managed to pick up a two-mile speed. Pathetic.
Pushing his Oakley shades back to the bridge of his nose, he gripped the rubber handle bars tighter, forcing all his weight forward but struggling to maintain a steady balance. He eventually tired and lost speed.
“You ain’t getting away that fast, Smelvin,” Sean yelled, looming close behind him on Mel’s older CRR2.
“Damn it!” Mel cursed, feeling foolish for not having taken a faster bike for this journey.
He hated that Sean was able to keep on his trail with such ease, even uphill. There was no way he was going to let Sean beat him on his track.
“Get outta my way, jerk,” he yelled, trying to avoid Sean, who was riding too close now.
Sean looked like a blur of yellow, but the closer he got, the clearer was the ecstatic look on his brown face. From the corner of his eye, Mel watched him slowly overtake him, until he was at the top of the hill.
“Loser,” Sean grinned, ringing the bell to taunt his young friend.
“You’re not going to stop me, y’know,” Mel bawled, squinting in pain as his crazed reddened knuckles tightened over the handlebars. “I’m gonna kill that guy for messin’ with us.
Finally put some training into practice,” he muttered to himself.
Ringing his bell back at Sean, Mel began the exciting descent. Whether or not the CRR2 was faster, nothing beat the speed the Shore One could elicit when rolling down a steep hill. The skeleton-printed t-shirt stuck to his chest as the wind pressed against him.
“WOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOO!” he screamed excitedly with a smile of thrill.
“Right behind ya, little fella,” Sean yelled just as excitedly, soaring down the quiet street.
“WAAAAAA-HOOOOOOOO!” Mel screamed again as the bike slowed down.
His smile dropped. It suddenly dawned on him that he was on his way to meet his father’s assailant. So what if he was only fourteen? He wasn’t just another dumb rich American kid; he was the son of America’s greatest fighter. Of course he was ready for his first fight, even against the only man who had managed to topple his father.
Mel swallowed hard as he imagined himself kicking the man in between the legs, then performing his father’s signature “Shoryu-ken” technique in the air. He pictured the man to have thick black hair and a tough lip with a ring through it; his hand would be big enough to crush a man’s head. No one could beat his father unless he was a monster.
“One day, buddy, you’re going to be the greatest martial artist America has ever seen,” Mel remembered his father saying when he was a boy. “And your mother and I will have the biggest trophy waiting for you at home in your glory. It will say: Melvin Masters – Supreme Warrior.”
“I don’t think so, pal.” Sean shook his head, skidding his bike to a halt in front of Mel’s.
Too slow to react, Mel hurled forward, rolling across the road away from the bike. His head felt heavy and a burning sensation rippled across his knees and elbows.
“SEAN, what the...dude...” Mel hissed in pain as he held his elbow to his chest.
Sean dropped his bike on the sidewalk and rushed to Mel’s side. His eyebrows lifted at the sight of Mel’s blood, but he showed little remorse.
He yelled, “You think you could get away from me that easily, you stupid kid?” He swayed his arms at his side. “I can’t let you do this, man. He’s gonna eat you up alive.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mel said bitterly. His face was full of malice, and he was muttering curses from the pain.
“Oh yeah,” Sean shot back, his left fist ricocheting against his right palm. “You were punching the crap outta that tree last night for nothing, huh, putting on the tough act?”
Gingerly, Mel examined his scabbing knuckles for a second before scrunching them into weak fists. Then he hid his hands and angrily looked up at Sean.
“D’ya really think this dude is gonna be threatened by a little kid like you? You’re gonna end up looking worse than Ken.”
With his pride a little hurt, Mel snapped, “Shut up.” He picked himself up from the tarmac.
He needed some air, some real space, instead of curling into a closet in one of the eight empty bedrooms. He hated being at home with so many doctors and nurses rushing to his father’s aid, while his mother pathetically hugged a cold wall. He wasn’t going to stand back and do nothing, like Sean.
“Dude, what’re you doing?” Sean said, watching Mel clench his fists in front of him. “Are you serious?”
“I’ll show you what I got,” he said, gritting his teeth. “If I can beat you, I can beat him too.”
Sean gave a short sad laugh, and rubbed his hand over his face in dismay. “I ain’t doing this, man.”
“Scared you’re gonna lose?” Mel growled, edging closer to him.
“No, this just ain’t cool.” But then Sean dashed forward and drove his head into Mel’s midsection, and Mel tumbled back with the impact, falling harshly to the ground.
“Proof enough?” Sean said, stretching out his hand to lift him up.
“I’m fine,” Mel miserably murmured, and straightened up.
“Dude, don’t you think Ken getting beat makes me look bad? He’s my teacher, man, my sensei. What am I gonna do while he’s bedridden? Don’t you think I’m feeling mad about it too?”
Sean looked stern. He had never considered himself a serious martial artist, even though he had tried hard to improve himself. He knew Ken had little faith in him, always following him when he had time off work. Despite this, Sean knew he must have had some talent to persuade a US Champion to tutor him in the first place. He had to prove Ken his worth.
“Let me tell you one thing, kiddo,” Ken once said to him. He was waving his fist in front of Sean, who was knocked down to the ground. “You see this fist? It holds the power of Shotokan. You don’t earn it, you’re born with it. You’ll be training a long time before you’re infused by the same power I hold. With my intuition and your determination, I’m sure we could work a nifty little number out in no time.
“No matter what, kid,” he finished, “you gotta keep trying.”
“You know what, Mel?” Sean smiled, with a look of hope in his eyes. “Your dad’s always had my back, and it’s about time I did the same. You ain’t doing this on your own though, Smelvin. I reckon we can take the dude out if we team up, Double Dragon style.”
Sean picked up the bike and positioned himself on the seat, looking straight ahead. Mel followed suit.
“I’ll race you down to the hospital,” Sean winked, pointing to the end of the road. “The person who wins takes first shot at the monster.”
Mel smiled, delighted. “Gotcha.”
*****
Chapter 32:
COMA
Street Fighter: Dream Never Ends Page 40
