Where karate, kung fu and ninjutsu had devolved into mere tournament exhibition skills, Sinanju remained the ultimate assassin's art. From the royal courts of Cathay to the Pyramids of the Pharaohs, Masters of Sinanju had preserved thrones down to this very day, where they secretly worked for America.

"You know yourself to be blessed with Korean blood," Chiun snapped.

"Yeah ... ?"

"It is the duty of every Korean to hate the Japanese, who have oppressed their homeland."

"My homeland is America," Remo pointed out.

"Only because your most important ancestor, Kojong, stumbled to this land and took root."

Remo knew he couldn't argue with that. An exiled ancestor of Chiun's had indeed come to America. Remo was a direct descendant of Master Kojong. That made him part-Korean. And gave meaning to the historical accident that had caused his government to select him as the first non-Korean to be trained in Sinanju in order to protect America from its enemies.

"In your essence, you are Korean," Chiun continued. "And the essence of being Korean is to hate the Japanese oppressor."

"I do not hate the Japanese," Remo said flatly.

"Their vile kudzu weed is even now strangling the gracious garden that is your southern provinces."

"I do not hate the Japanese," Remo repeated firmly.

"Not even for the horrors of Yuma?"

Remo's strong face stiffened. Years ago he had been in Yuma, Arizona, when it was attacked by unsanctioned Japanese forces and overrun. It was a rogue scheme undertaken by a Japanese industrialist determined to avenge the nuking of his home-town of Nagasaki. Seizing Yuma, he began executing U.S. citizens, televising these war crimes to all of America.

He had hoped to goad the US. president into nuking Yuma to save it.