Jin entered the tournament. For one of his matches, he encountered a small old man with a long white beard named Wang Jinrei. “So, you’re Jin Kazama. You certainly look like Kazuya’s son,” the old man noted.

Jin blinked as the Devil in him stirred. Quiet. Kazuya is not here. He demanded its silence, and it calmed. No need to act if Kazuya was not present.

“And you?” Jin asked, wanting to know more than this man’s name, specifically his connection to the Mishima family.

Recognizing what Jin meant, Wang replied, “Your great grandfather, Jinpachi Mishima, was a close friend of mine.”

Jin narrowed his eyes. “Jinpachi? Is it him?” His words practically accused Wang as he spoke.

“Is what him?” Wang asked, intrigued by Jin’s alertness.

“Is he the one hosting this tournament? Is that’s what’s going on here?” Jin tightened his already balled fists. Is he the one who is making me go mad?

“I am not certain,” Wang admitted, “but it seems that way. Is something wrong, young man?”

“The cursed blood of this family-I must put an end to it!” he was half talking to Wang, half talking to himself.

Cursed blood? So Jin knew about it too. Perhaps the curse affected him in this moment, putting him on edge.

“Are you really up to the task?” Wang challenged and prepared his stance.

He saw that Jin was barely listening. The young man stood, his body swaying slightly forward and back as he blinked, his mind at conflict within itself. “Don’t get in my way!” he forcefully declared.

Astonished by Jin’s strength, Wang quickly fell to defeat and stared at his opponent’s back from the ground, unable to move. “Sorry,” Jin apologized with calmed sincerity. “But I have a duty to complete at this tournament. No matter what the cost. I must be the one to confront Jinpachi. We must fight, and I must put an end to this cursed blood.” Wang could sense the curse Jin spoke of would corrupt him. It appeared to already be at work before their battle. Now, all Wang could do was helplessly watch the young man walk away.

Afterwards, further progressing, Jin took notice that many things were amiss during the tournament. Some entrants did not even show up for their matches. Although he now knew Jinpachi’s name and role, he did not know if these events were related.

What’s going on? he asked within his mind, not thinking of whether Devil would answer.

But Devil did answer. Destiny. The time has finally come.

Jin diverted his eyes downward and to his right, as if he would be giving a nearby person a funny look for saying something strange. He was alone at this moment in his hotel room. He sighed and closed his eyes, resenting himself for moving this step forward, but he knew he wanted the answer.

What do you mean by that? Jin asked in his head.

He could hear Devil’s low sinister laugh and knew why. Jin often tried not to speak to the thing, tried not to acknowledge its existence or presence, to avoid it altogether, but sometimes he could not help himself. Devil enjoyed these moments. They meant Jin was slowly accepting this other being inside him. The evil spirit replied with simply Heir to the throne, knowing it would be enough to plant the idea in Jin’s head. The Mishima Zaibatsu was up for grabs from Jinpachi if Jin won this tournament. It knew Jin’s immediate reaction, to reject such a thing, could change with some time to think about it.