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saved her, but once they were older Tristan and Brooke began dating. Supposedly after almost a year it had ended cordially, but now Tristan held some sort of unexplainable resentment toward her.
    The drive to Osan was tame by Korean standards. They arrived at the gate, presented their passports, signed paperwork, and received their special visitor passes. The machine gun-clad Security Policemen were big fans and blushed like school children when Whit handed them autographed pictures.
    “I bet they like my candy bar,” Whit said to Brooke as they entered the air base.
    Brooke rolled her eyes and smiled.

Chapter Eight
    T he conveyer belt at baggage claim 3E churned as Bretten took in the strange surroundings. This was his first time outside of the United States and he didn’t have the slightest idea as to what Korea held. He didn’t even have a coach or a confidant to offer any guidance.
    He glanced to his left and saw a tough looking young man about his age, an inch or two taller at maybe six foot, and fifteen or so pounds heavier. He was engrossed in Fight Masters Bruce Lee and Beyond .
    “Bruce Lee fan?” Bretten asked.
    A little foggy-eyed, Rodrigo looked up. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
    “I noticed your book. Looks like you’re a Bruce Lee fan.”
    “He only changed my life.”
    “Changed your life?”
    “Yeah bro, totally, he made me like water.”
    “Cool,” Bretten said, glad the conveyer belt started spitting out luggage so he could get away from this nutcase.
    Minutes later, luggage in hand, he made his way through the sliding glass double doors into a sea of waiting Koreans. He was told by one of the event coordinators to look for a man with a sign that displayed his name.
    After some searching, Bretten found the sign. The man shifted his gaze, smiled and bowed deeply, “Ahn-yang-aha-sayo, Hello, I Mr. Kim.” Then he clasped his white cotton gloved hand around Bretten’s and shook.
    The handshake ended and Bretten looked up and noticed that the Bruce Lee fanatic was shoulder to shoulder with him. He envisioned shooting in for a single leg if the guy tried the famous Bruce Lee one-inch punch. Instead the man bowed to Mr. Kim and introduced himself as Rodrigo Cortez.
    They walked through the crowded airport and Rodrigo and Bretten introduced themselves.
    “Bretten, not Brett?” Rodrigo asked.
    “Naw, I’m named after a small village in Germany, my mom saw it on a road sign as she traveled through Europe one summer and liked the name, so it’s Bretten. How about you, not Rod?
    “Hell no, sounds too much like a porn star name.”
    The group circled through revolving doors and into the Korean sunlight. They slipped through a wall of cigarette smoke as it wafted from a group of taxi drivers. The two fighters headed for the first available taxi and one of the men came to life. Mr. Kim though, in his nice suit and white gloves said, “No, no, no, I your driver, professional number one driver, those tacshi drivers are much too danger, our car is over here.”
    Rodrigo slapped Bretten on the back. “Hear that, professional, we’ve made it to the big time. Who are you fighting?”
    “Hyun Min Cho,” Bretten said, “supposed to be tough.”
    “Yeah he is, fought in Pride over in Japan for a couple of years. He’s something like 18-4, hope you’re ready. I’ve got Song Min Chu. He’s only had a few fights.”
    Bretten wished he’d done a little more research before signing the agreement. It was less than half a year ago when he grubbed down two hot dogs and KO’d “Bone Crusher”. His stomach turned as he settled into the back of “Number one driver” Mr. Kim’s sedan, but at least figured he’d have some time to relax and gather himself. It was almost an hour to the Dong In Hotel. “Who’s cornering you, Rodrigo?”
    “I’m solo, not big enough yet to have them pay for a coach to fly over too.”
    “I’m in the same boat. Maybe we can corner each other?”
    “Sure, like I