The neon haze of Tokyo filtered dimly through the smoked windows of Bar Hanachan, casting soft blues and electric pinks over the lacquered walls. Tucked in the farthest corner of the narrow, low-ceilinged bar sat Colton and Cassie Hurst—siblings bound not only by blood but by battles fought and legacies forged. The booth they occupied was cloaked in shadow, far from the quiet hum of patrons at the bar, giving them the privacy they needed.
Colton leaned back in his seat, his broad frame nearly swallowing the faded leather of the booth. He wore a black Henley with sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the jagged ink of old war stories etched across his arms. His jeans were worn, boots scuffed from travel, and his sharp gaze flicked between his sister and the glass in his hand. Across from him, Cassie—once known to the world as “Vanity”—sat with her legs crossed, her posture effortlessly poised. Her oversized gray hoodie was zipped halfway over a band tee, sleeves covering the tattoos that curled up her forearms. Platinum blonde hair was tied into a messy bun, black eyeliner slightly smudged from the long day. Between them sat a half-empty bottle of Nikka Taketsuru Pure Malt whiskey, its label faded, but the flavor still rich and smoky. Cassie poured another glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and slid it toward her brother with a smirk.
“You still drink it like it’s medicine,” she teased, her voice low, rougher than it once was. “You ever actually enjoy anything anymore?”
Colton took the glass, tapped it gently against hers. “Only when it burns,” he muttered. He downed the whiskey in one smooth motion, wincing slightly, then leaning in.
"You know it is not going to be so easy this time, right?"
She took the rim of her glass, swirling the amber fluid in a circular motion towards her nose, inhaling the aroma. She shook her head smiling. Remembering back to a day that seemed so long ago.
“I never realized why Mom would do this with her bourbon, this shit stinks.”
The two shared a quick laugh as she too, downed the liquid in one unforgettable gulp; The liquid going down smoothly with a burning aftermath, made her eyes widen, as a single cough escaped her lips.
“Nothing worth fighting, ever is Colton.”_ She leaned back still feeling the sting of the amber liquor as it lingers in the back of her throat._
Colton stares into his glass. "You know after what happened in the rumble, they are going to be coming at us with both barrels. They are going to want to prove that it was a fluke. I would not be surprised if they don't try to take us out."Colton pours another shot.
Cassie lifts her glass, as Colton pours. “You’re right.” _She pulls her arm back regretfully taking another drink. _“They are out for blood..our blood! But the thing is Colt…” she takes another drink.** “They think we are a couple of kids who cry home looking for the approval of our behaviors. I don’t remember a time when our actions needed the approval of anyone. Except when it came to you bringing girls home.”** Colton rolled his eyes as Cassie smiled.** “But let’s be real here, brother.. I know firsthand how these Russians operate; I’ve been at the receiving end of their beatings. They are tough, but they are slow. You must be quick, to dodge. Something I wasn’t totally prepared for, I am ashamed to say.”**
She leans back once again looking around the room.
Colton cracks a little smirk. "Yeah, they are slow, well slower than we are. They think they can overpower us. Well, that is their mistake. They think they are this big bad unstoppable force, but what they forget is that we have stopped them every time. They are so afraid of letting down 'Mother Russia', that they forget who they are in the ring with. They are soldiers that play wrestlers, we are wrestlers who have trained their whole lives for this. We were the ones beaten every day by dad and Lupin, we were the ones taking chair shot after chair shot. Sure, they have military training, but we were born and bred into this life. We decide what happens in the ring, not them. It is our job to remind them, who the fuck we are."
Cassie grins and nods her head. "Spoken words like the old man, that's for sure! Do you think it's possible.." She pauses in thought, as Colton looks on with a confused look.
"Do I think what is possible, Cass?" He says.
Cassie smirks, leaning forward against the table. "Do you really think we're both ready for this? You know, We are not only fighting this time for us..." Colton looks on with a smug look.
"We are fighting for All Americans...Think about Colt, sure, we have faced some pretty big and fast competitors in our time that actually know how to wrestle. These guys are fighting for their survival. There is a difference there. They are fighting to survive...We're fighting to prove we are better..." She leans back, "Is that really a good enough reason? They are going to come at us with everything they have and more! I'm sure that if the tables get turned on them, she smiles and they will...The others will jump in and make sure we are taken out. We unfortunately now.... she sighs don't have that option. If you say we can do it, I will believe you, I always have. Just this time, the odds are stacked way higher than we're used to."
Colton looks at Cassie and then grabs the bottle and takes a long drink from it. He sets it down and wipes his mouth with his hand. Leaning back, he smiles.
"Do you think any of this matters? Do you remember how dad would throw us in the ring along with like eight other people, and we would have to fight our way out. We never stopped. We would leave bloodied and beaten, but we never quit. This is just that same thing again, this time we are not teenagers, we are not new. We know what they are going to do, and we know how to answer it. Let all of them come. They will know what true wolves really are. They want to prove that they are all powerful, then let come. If they think they can out fight us, outthink us, then they are as simpleminded as the come."
Cassie sat back in the seat smiling. Everything Colton had said was the truth. They had been fighting their entire lives, day in; day out. They didn't get to call in sick, too sore or pmsing..They fought as if their life depended on it. If they wanted, or needed to stop, then they had to fight their way out. No if, and or buts about it. The Hursts weren't ones to wait for appropriate times, they didn't wait for you to be ready, they jumped in and fought themselves out of hell. This wouldn't be any different.
"You know, I hate it when you actually tell the truth.." She laughs. "So, with that..Let them bring on Mother Russia and all her petty little soldiers..We have Old Glory and the bloodline to fight for." She lifts her glass once more and downs her second swig, shaking her head while the fire burns her insides. "Colt...." She pauses as he looks up from his glass. "Can we get a decent drink now? " Colton laughs and shakes his head.
Colton slid his glass across the table and stood with a tired grunt, joints cracking faintly under the low buzz of old jazz playing through overhead speakers. He stretched briefly, rolling his shoulders before raking a hand through his tousled hair. Cassie barely looked up, already nursing another pour of whiskey, eyes narrowed like she was replaying every frame of the last match in her head.
“Beer?” he asked, voice low.
Cassie nodded. “If it helps me stop visualizing that red freak booting me in the ribs? Hell yeah.”
Colton smirked. “Something local, then.”
He stepped out from the booth, the worn floor creaking beneath his boots. The low lighting of Bar Hanachan made the place feel smaller than it was, the hanging lanterns casting amber shadows on wood-paneled walls and sake-stained menus. A group of businessmen at a nearby table paused their conversation as Colton passed. Their eyes followed him—not curious, but wary. He felt the tension creeping up his spine. Westerners weren’t rare in Tokyo, but these two—tatted, scarred, with fight-worn bodies that didn’t blend into crowds—stuck out like a punchline in a bad joke.
Colton reached the bar and leaned an elbow on the counter, his voice calm as he ordered in halting Japanese, “Two Sapporos.”
The bartender, an older man with a worn face and quiet demeanor, simply nodded and began to pour. Behind Colton, the air shifted. A sharp murmur cut through the ambient jazz. He didn’t need to look—he’d felt this kind of crowd before. Heat without fire. Judgment with muscle.
A chair scraped.
Then a voice.
“Oi. You think you belong here, gaijin?”
Colton didn’t turn at first. He let the voice linger, hanging in the air like cigarette smoke, before finally pivoting slightly on his heel. Three young men stood behind him, all streetwear swagger and small-town arrogance, likely locals with something to prove. The one who spoke wore a cracked leather jacket and had a silver chain hanging from his neck. He held a bottle like a weapon, his eyes locked on Colton.
“Just buying drinks,” Colton said plainly.
“You and your sister take up a whole corner like you own the place. Maybe you think the whole damn country’s yours too,” the second added.
Colton's eyes narrowed slightly; posture still loose but not relaxed. “We’re not here to impress anybody.”
“No, you’re here for that circus fight,” the first man said with a sneer. “Against the Reapers. The foreign trash act. Thought I recognized your sister—Vanity, right? Used to be pretty.”
Colton’s jaw clenched, but his voice stayed even. “Watch your mouth.”
The bartender glanced but said nothing. This wasn’t his fight—and everyone in the room knew it.
“You’ll get wrecked,” the third man chimed in, smug. “Red Reapers are gods here. And you two? You’re just ghosts. Old blood. Not worth the canvas you’re bleeding on.”
Colton turned fully then, the full weight of him shifting forward. The bar behind him was quiet, still. No one dared move a glass. “We’re not here to be liked,” Colton said. “We’re here to remind everyone why the Hurst name used to keep people up at night.”
“Used to,” the chain-wearing one repeated mockingly.
Colton stepped closer, nose-to-nose now, voice like gravel. “You don’t know what we’re capable of. But The Red Reapers will. And if you really want to see the truth, I’ll be glad to leave a reminder on you, too.”
A long silence. Then a scoff. The three men backed off—not out of fear, but calculation. No one in that bar wanted to be the first one punched.
“Whatever,” the leader muttered, turning away. “You’ll both be broken by Sunday.”
They disappeared into the crowd, but the tension lingered, like a storm waiting for lightning. Colton grabbed the beers, nodded to the bartender, and made his way back to Cassie, who watched him approach with a raised brow.
“That long for two beers?” she asked.
He slid one across the table and sat. “Had to educate some locals.”
Cassie's eyes shifted towards the bar noticing three men starring at her direction. One man stood out. He was about 6' tall, short black hair, a stone jaw and chiseled chest. He stood leaning against his back against the bar, his jeans shredded at the knees, his shirt tightly pressed to his frame, melting away any evidence of fat underneath. He winks over to her, with a mocking kiss, gesture and a sly smile. Colton looks across the table and notices Cassie's eyes pawning him like a freshly cut piece of meat. He takes a drink of his beer, watching the guy fall deeper into the trap with every movement he sends their way. Cassie doesn't blink; she takes a drink of beer, grabs her empty glass and begins to stand.
"Cass...." Colton says unevenly. "I got this..." She replies. Colton leans back, holding his beer. "That's what I'm afraid of.." He downs the can, reaching for Cassie's as she makes her way to the three men standing at the bar. Her eyes undressing the one in the middle as he licks his lip.
"What are you drinking there, Hurst?" Cassie looked confused, but played along, obviously they knew her, or of her. "I'm drinking whatever you're buying..What's good?" The two men on the side bumped the one in the middle with their shoulders, showing respect for him getting her attention.
The guy waved his hand to the bartender, pointing to Cassie. "Fill her glass."
Cassie smiles, "With the strongest liquor you got." She replied.
The three men smiled. The one in the middle slowly pushing himself off the counter. He steps up closer to Cassie, as she remained in place. Their eyes lock, and a strong wall of tension begins to build between them.
"So, you know who I am don't you?" Cassie said with a smirk.
"Yes, I sure do." The man says in return.
Cassie smiles, she looks over at the two men standing beside him and she steps closer to the one in the middle, brushing her lip against his left ear. Colton takes a dep breath as he stares from across the room.
"Then you should know how much joy pain brings me." She pulls away slowly, allowing her words to simmer in his mind. The man flustered; turns to his buddies and signals for them to leave. As they do, he reaches Cassie's waist, pulling her into his body. "Then allow me to bring you some joy." He grips the back of her hood, pulling firmly as Cassie's head lifts, her eyes widen, a smirk spreads across her face, she moves in closer, their bodies pressed firmly together, she draws her left arm to the back of his head, gripping the black strands of hair between her fingers, she takes her right leg, moving it to the center and spreads his stance apart, drawing her body even closer to his.
"Bring it to me then..." She dares him with a taunting gesture. He takes his hand and takes the glass from Cassie's hand, setting it upon the bar. He moves swiftly, turning her back against the bar, his back facing Colton. He leans forward, she leans back, their breath heaving with tension. He steps in, pressing himself against her; she looks over at Colton who is standing from the booth ready to strike, she slowly shakes her head, and leans into the man.
Her lips graze his playfully. "It's not fun unless you close your eyes."
She whispers as she brushes her tongue to the bottom of his lip. He smirks, curling his lip into a grimacing smile. He shuts his eyes, Cassie simmering her body playfully as she draws her head back, stretching out her right arm, gripping the stem of the glass bottle with her fingers, and drawing it near, she whispers, "Thank you." And she drives the glass across the back of the man's head, while sending a fierce headbutt at the same time, The man's eyes open with a dramatic yell..
"You Bitch.." and Cassie drives her knee into his groin. As he doubles over, reaching up to grab her, she lifts her knee once again, driving it into his nose, sending him backwards. Colton now steps up behind the man, as Cassie looks on smiling.
Cassie’s final knee strike landed with a sickening crunch, her attacker slumping backward, blood trailing from his nose as he stumbled. Colton was already on the move. The sound of broken glass and the man’s groan triggered something deep in him—a protective instinct honed in barroom brawls and underground arenas long before they ever had TV contracts or championship gold.
The second man lunged toward Cassie from her right, barking something in Japanese. She barely turned her head, pivoting her heel and catching him mid-charge with a spinning back elbow that caught the edge of his jaw. He staggered, dazed, but not down. She didn’t wait—her hands gripped the sides of his jacket, and, with a practiced twist, she used his own momentum to hurl him into the barstools behind her. Wood cracked. Bottles clattered. The bartender ducked.
The third guy—leaner, faster—shot straight at Colton, trying to spear him back. Colton stepped into the grapple like a wall, absorbing the hit with a grunt, then slammed his forearm down across the man’s back with a thundering clubbing blow. The guy fell to one knee. Colton didn’t give him time to recover—he hooked the man’s arms, twisted, and delivered a savage butterfly suplex right onto the hardwood floor. The man groaned, back arching in pain.
The first guy—the one Cassie had just dismantled—rose slowly behind Colton, blood pouring down his nose, rage in his eyes. Cassie saw it coming, her body already moving.
“Colt!” she snapped, tossing him a barstool without looking.
Colton caught it mid-turn and, with one smooth motion, smashed it into the man’s side. The crack echoed through Bar Hanachan, silencing what little crowd remained. The man dropped like a sack of bricks, moaning, clutching his ribs.
“Two down,” Colton muttered, tossing the broken stool aside.
Cassie glanced back. The second attacker had recovered and grabbed a cue stick from the wall-mounted rack near the jukebox. He twirled it, trying to look menacing. She rolled her eyes.
“Didn’t we already do this routine in Philly?” she muttered.
“Different bar, same idiots,” Colton growled.
Cassie circled the man, ducking the first swing with cat-like reflexes. The stick whooshed past her shoulder as she closed the distance. She slammed her forearm into his wrist, knocking the weapon loose. It clattered across the floor, but he recovered quickly, grabbing her by the arm.
Wrong move.
Cassie wrenched her elbow free, spun behind him, and locked her arm around his neck in a tight rear choke. She didn’t need a submission—she just needed a distraction. Colton came from behind like a wrecking ball, catching the man with a running knee to the lower back. The guy yelped, knees buckling, and Cassie shoved him into a bar table with enough force to flip it. Beer glasses flew. Shards hit the floor.
The lean one wasn’t done yet. He reached under his jacket and pulled a switchblade. His eyes were wide now—this wasn’t the fight he’d expected.
“Cass!” Colton shouted.
“I see him!”
The man slashed at her. She dodged backward, quick and sharp, but not before the blade grazed her arm. A shallow cut, nothing serious. Still—it pissed her off.
Cassie's face twisted into something darker. “You want blood?” she snarled. “I bleed every week for a paycheck.”
Before he could slash again, she launched herself forward with a front dropkick that sent the man flying into the bar. His head bounced off the edge, his blade skidding away. He dropped, dazed. Not out, but hurting.
Colton stepped over the guy Cassie had choked earlier and made his way to the one with the busted ribs, who was crawling toward the door. He grabbed the guy by the collar and hoisted him up with one arm like he weighed nothing.
“You came lookin’ for pain,” he growled, slamming the guy headfirst into a support beam. “We deliver.”
The man dropped, unconscious.
The first one—the arrogant one, the one who had grabbed Cassie—was back on his feet now, face bloody, expression livid. He charged Cassie again with wild fists.
She ducked the first punch, blocked the second, and threw a straight right to his throat. He gagged. Before he could recover, she spun and caught him with a backfist that dropped him to one knee. Colton moved in beside her, their movements wordless, fluid—a dance they’d done a hundred times.
Colton grabbed the guy’s arms. Cassie backed up a few steps, then came roaring in with a knee strike to his face. His body dropped limp into Colton’s arms. Colton let him slump to the ground like trash.
The bar was silent now. Even the music had stopped.
Only the moans of the three attackers broke the stillness.
The bartender peeked up from behind the counter, his eyes wide, hands trembling slightly. He looked at the mess—broken stools, shattered glasses, the blood trailing across his clean floor—and swallowed hard.
Colton stepped to the bar, breathing hard, chest rising and falling. He scanned the bottles, then pointed to a full, unopened bottle of Nikka whisky. Without a word, the bartender slid it toward him. Colton caught it one-handed. Cassie was already wiping blood from her cheek with the sleeve of her hoodie, exhaling slowly.
They met at the entrance of the bar, the chaos behind them. Colton adjusted the bottle under his arm, turning toward her. He was grinning now, and she couldn’t help but smirk back.
“Damn,” Cassie muttered, shaking her head. “This is just like a night at Charlie’s.”
Colton laughed. “Yeah. Except the whiskey was cheaper, and nobody had knives.”
They stepped out into the humid Tokyo night, the sounds of the street washing over them like a familiar tide—horns, neon buzzing, distant voices.
Behind them, the door to Bar Hanachan slowly creaked closed.