The Tokyo Dome hummed with a distant roar of excitement, but within Rupert Mudcock’s office, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The rich smell of cigar smoke coiled through the room, wrapped around the low hum of muffled conversations and distant cheers. Rupert sat behind his massive oak desk; his fingers curled around a tumbler of fine Japanese whisky, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he swirled it lazily.
His eyes flicked toward the door as it creaked open, revealing Takuma Sato. Sato moved with the quiet precision of a man constantly on guard, his gaze sweeping the room, taking in every detail before stepping inside. His face, marked by the weight of recent battles, held a hardened calm. Valora Salinas followed behind him, her posture rigid, eyes sharp, and the air around her crackling with barely contained fury. She didn’t sit. Valora rarely sat in Rupert’s office. Instead, she hovered near the door, arms crossed, radiating contempt for the man behind the desk. Rupert took a long drag on his cigar, exhaling a plume of smoke that drifted toward the ceiling like a ghost. His lips curled into a thin smile, and his eyes glinted with a mixture of amusement and calculation.
Rupert: (Coolly) Well, look who finally made time for the old man. My two finest moneymakers. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but all know we’ve got business to handle.
Valora’s expression darkened, her voice sharp as a knife.
Valora: (Biting) Get to the point, Mudcock. I don’t have time for your bullshit.
Rupert chuckled, leaning back in his leather chair, savoring her fire. He always enjoyed baiting Valora, seeing how far she could be pushed before she snapped. But tonight, he was playing a different game. He raised his glass in a mock toast.
Rupert: Ah, always so eager, Salinas. But you’re right. No need for pleasantries.
His eyes shifted to Sato, who remained silent but watchful, his posture tense, like a coiled spring.
Rupert: I called you here because we have a problem. And by ‘we,’ I mean me. The Emperor’s Avengers… they’re out of control. These North Korean bastards don’t give a damn about teamwork, the company, or anyone but themselves. You know this, Sato. You felt it firsthand.
Sato’s jaw tightened, memories of kendo sticks and blood flashing through his mind. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his voice measured.
Sato: They’re not here to wrestle. They want revenge for what happened in Pyongyang in 2018. They’re looking to settle old debts.
Rupert: (Smirking) Exactly. They’re hell-bent on punishing you, Valora, and anyone who had a hand in what happened to their precious Emperor and for foiling the full scope of their attack on America. That includes destroying my roster piece by piece. That’s not going to work for me.
Valora’s eyes narrowed, her voice laced with venom.
Valora: So, what? You want us to clean up your mess, Rupert? You brought them here. You let this shit happen! Probably to increase your damn ratings!
Rupert’s smirk faltered briefly, but he quickly regained his composure, tapping the ash from his cigar into a crystal ashtray.
Rupert: Zeagal brought them in, not me. Those details are not important, Salinas. What matters is this: you two are the only ones capable of handling this. The North Koreans refuse to fight in the Ronin Rumble. They’ve got their agenda, which doesn’t include helping us take down All Asia Pro Wrestling or their Yakuza business partners.
Valora’s lip curled in disgust as she glanced at Sato, who remained stone-faced but absorbed in thought. She turned back to Rupert, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Valora: And why should I care about your war with AAPW? You’ve been at it for months. What makes you think I’d lift a finger to help you now?
Rupert’s grin returned, wider this time, as he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sleek black device—a keycard. He held it up between his fingers, the small card gleaming under the low light.
Rupert: (Quietly, with menace) Because I’m the only one who can get this tracking device off your ankle, Salinas.
Valora’s eyes flicked downward, where the faint outline of the bracelet glimmered beneath her pants leg. Her fingers twitched, and for a moment, just a moment, there was something vulnerable in her gaze. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Valora: (Hissing) You son of a—
Rupert cut her off with a raised hand, the smugness dripping from his voice as he continued.
Rupert: Help me win this war. Help me end these North Korean lunatics, and I’ll do more than remove your bracelet. I’ll clean up your reputation. M.O.X News can work wonders with public opinion, you know. Even President McStrump could be convinced to pardon you. No more wanted terrorists, no more hiding. You’d be free.
Valora’s fists clenched at her sides, the rage simmering beneath the surface. She stared Rupert down, her voice a low, dangerous growl.
Valora: You think you can buy me with promises of freedom?
Rupert leaned forward, his gaze never leaving hers, his voice calm, calculated.
Rupert: I don’t need to buy you, Valora. I just need to remind you what’s at stake. You want to be stuck here in Japan, a prisoner in all but name? Or do you want to leave this with your freedom, legacy, and a chance to make things right?
Sato had been silent, but now his voice broke through, firm but controlled.
Sato: And what about me, Rupert? What happens if I win the Ronin Rumble?
Rupert turned his gaze to Sato, leaning back once more, tapping his fingers against the glass of whisky.
Rupert: Ah, Sato. Always thinking about the bigger picture. If you win, I’ll make sure Zeagal and I give you every resource you need to rescue your mother. Yamamoto and his Yakuza thugs have kept her from you long enough. We’ll bring the fight to them. But you’ve got to help me win this one first.
Sato’s eyes darkened, the mention of his mother stirring something deep inside him. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it.
Sato: You’ll keep your word.
Rupert smiled, raising his glass in a mock toast once more.
Rupert: I always do, Sato. You help me, I help you. It’s that simple.
Valora remained silent, her gaze locked on Rupert’s smug face, her fists still clenched. She glanced at Sato, her expression unreadable, before returning to Rupert.
Valora: (Flatly) Fine. I’ll end this Death Match and win your stupid Ronin Rumble. But don’t think I’m doing this for you for a second.
Rupert chuckled, raising his cigar to his lips once more.
Rupert: I don’t care who you’re doing it for, as long as you get the job done.
Sato gave a slow nod, his jaw tight. His mind raced ahead to the match and the bloody confrontation that awaited them.
Rupert watched them both briefly, his grin widening as he leaned back in his chair, the cigar smoke curling around him like a dark halo.
Rupert: Good. Now get out of here. The night’s just starting, and I have a lot on my docket tonight.
As Valora and Sato turned to leave, Rupert’s voice followed them, dripping with satisfaction.
Rupert: (Softly) Remember, you’re not just fighting for yourselves. You’re fighting for your future. And for everything I can offer.
The door closed behind them, and Rupert sat in the growing darkness, his grin spreading wider as the sound of distant cheers filled the room.
The atmosphere inside the Tokyo Dome was thick with anticipation, the air almost crackling with the weight of what was to come. The lights dimmed to an icy blue, casting long shadows across the ring as the ominous strains of a North Korean military march echoed through the arena. The crowd’s jeers were immediate, a visceral response to the arrival of one of the most feared duos in Ultimate Wrestling.
Miyu Kojima, standing firm in the center of the ring, raised the microphone to her lips.
Miyu Kojima: The following contest is part of our tag team tournament and is scheduled for one fall!
Her voice carried through the arena, barely cutting through the boos that grew louder as Hyun-Sik Hwang and Dong-Hyun Moon, the Pyongyang Punishers, emerged from the back. Their appearance was nothing short of menacing—two hulking figures draped in black and red military-inspired garb, their expressions carved from stone.
Miyu Kojima: Introducing first, with a combined weight of 520 pounds… representing The Emperor’s Avengers… Hyun-Sik Hwang, the Iron Colossus, and Dong-Hyun Moon, the North Korean Nightmare… the Pyongyang Punishers!
Their march down the ramp was methodical, almost ritualistic, with each step sending waves of unease through the Tokyo Dome. The disdain from the audience intensified, but the Punishers wore it like armor, their eyes locked on the ring. Hwang, towering and broad, flexed his powerful arms, while Moon cracked his neck, his cold gaze scanning the sea of disapproval.
As they ascended the steel steps and entered the ring, the Punishers stood side by side, unmoving, like ancient statues ready to spring to life with destruction in mind. The contrast between their stoic demeanor and the crowd’s furious reaction only heightened the sense of dread that hung over the arena.
Scott Slade: These two are as cold and dangerous as they come. The Pyongyang Punishers aren’t just here to win—they’re here to avenge their late Emperor and honor the death of their people.
Holly Hudson: And with Maki Nishimura’s partner out due to illness, she’s walking into a two-on-one situation against some of the most ruthless men in the business.
Chris Rodgers: It’s more than just two-on-one, Holly. This is an execution. Maki is walking into a war zone, and there’s no one in her corner.
Suddenly, the oppressive atmosphere broke as the first note of “Heartless Scat” by NINGEN ISU blasted through the speakers. The crowd erupted in a thunderous roar, their boos transforming into deafening cheers as Maki Nishimura, the Juggernaut Jewel of Japan, stepped out onto the stage. Her presence alone shifted the energy in the Tokyo Dome—a beacon of hope standing defiantly against the imposing shadows of the Pyongyang Punishers.
Miyu Kojima: And their opponent, from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 275 pounds… She is the Juggernaut Jewel of Japan… Maki Nishimura!
Maki marched down the ramp, her eyes locked on the ring, her every step purposeful. Dressed in her traditional sumo mawashi, Maki exuded strength and resolve, her body built for battle. The weight of expectation pressed down on her, but she carried it with pride, unbothered by the daunting task ahead. The Tokyo crowd fed her energy, chanting her name, knowing full well the challenge she faced.
Her eyes never left the Punishers. This wasn’t just a match—it was a proving ground. The crowd's cheers grew louder as Maki slapped hands with fans, a small but powerful gesture that reinforced her connection to the people. She climbed into the ring, never once breaking her determined gaze.
Scott Slade: Maki Nishimura is stepping into hostile territory tonight, but if anyone can handle this kind of pressure, it’s her.
Holly Hudson: She’s fought her entire life to prove herself. This isn’t just about survival—this is about pride, honor, and showing the world that she won’t back down from any fight.
Chris Rodgers: It’s a nice story, Holly, but let’s be honest. Maki’s about to be torn apart. The Punishers are on a different level.
Maki stood in her corner, rolling her shoulders and cracking her knuckles, her focus unshakable. The Pyongyang Punishers stared her down, unfazed by the spectacle, confident in their dominance. They exchanged a quick glance, a shared smirk passing between them, as though this match was already over in their minds.
The referee, aware of the tension, motioned for the teams to step forward for the pre-match instructions. Maki approached the center of the ring, standing alone against the massive Punishers. Maki was a big powerful woman, even still the size difference between the two men and her was stark.,
Scott Slade: This is it. Can Maki Nishimura defy the odds, or will the Pyongyang Punishers make quick work of one of Japan’s brightest stars?
The referee raised his arm and signaled for the bell.
The crowd roared as the bell rang, signifying the start of what would undoubtedly be a brutal encounter.
The bell had barely finished echoing through the Tokyo Dome when Dong-Hyun Moon, brimming with overconfidence, strutted forward. His eyes glinted with arrogance as he squared up against Maki, fully expecting a quick and decisive victory. The North Korean Nightmare’s smirk said it all—he was here to put on a show at Maki's expense.But Maki Nishimura stood unshaken, her eyes narrowed in focus, her body taut and ready. The Juggernaut Jewel of Japan had faced doubt her entire life, and this moment—under the bright lights of her hometown—was no different.
As Moon lunged, his arms outstretched for a grapple, Maki’s instincts kicked in, her years of Aikido and sumo training flashing in her mind like muscle memory. She didn’t resist his power; she used it against him. A sharp pivot, a drop of her hips, and Moon’s momentum betrayed him. The North Korean Nightmare was lifted clean off his feet, and in one smooth motion, Maki sent him crashing to the mat with a flawless Aikido Toss. The crowd gasped in awe at the display of technical precision and power, before exploding into cheers. The thud of Moon’s body hitting the canvas seemed to reverberate through the arena.
Scott Slade: Incredible! Maki just flipped Moon like he weighed nothing! This is not the start the Punishers were expecting!
Holly Hudson: That was pure Aikido skill, Scott. Maki is using their own size and force against them! What a brilliant strategy!
Moon lay there for a moment, blinking up at the lights, his cocky demeanor now replaced by confusion. He had been so sure of himself. But as he staggered to his feet, he found himself driven back again—this time by Maki’s relentless Berserker Sumo Pushes. Each strike hit like a battering ram, pushing Moon back toward the corner, his chest heaving with the effort to resist her powerful onslaught.
The crowd was behind her, chanting her name with increasing fervor. Every strike from Maki seemed to energize them, and every step Moon took backward seemed to drain him of his earlier arrogance. Maki’s palms connected with his chest in rapid succession, her sumo training on full display as she forced Moon into the turnbuckles.
Chris Rodgers: This is unbelievable! Maki’s making Moon look like an absolute rookie in there!
Holly Hudson: She’s feeding off the crowd, Chris! This is her home turf, and she’s proving why they call her the Juggernaut Jewel of Japan!
Moon’s chest was red from the sumo strikes, his breathing labored as he tried to fight his way out of the corner. But Maki wasn’t done. The crowd surged to their feet as she backed up, measuring Moon with laser focus. She sprinted forward and, with a resounding Knife-Edge Chop, cracked him across the chest. The sharp sound echoed through the arena like a whip, and Moon crumpled against the turnbuckles, gasping for air.
Scott Slade: That chop nearly took Moon’s chest off! Maki is relentless!
Chris Rodgers: She has to be Scott. If she gives these two even the slightest chance to take control is going to be bad news.
With Moon still reeling, Maki whipped him across the ring. He rebounded off the ropes, staggering toward her, but Maki was ready. She planted her feet firmly and caught him with a massive Earthquake Slam, the force of which nearly turned him inside out. Moon’s body flipped midair before crashing to the mat, his face twisted in pain.
The Tokyo Dome roared louder now, their support for Maki reaching a fever pitch. She stood tall, her chest heaving from the effort, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the fallen Moon like a predator closing in on its prey. The chants of her name echoed in her ears, fueling her fire.
Holly Hudson: Look at her, Scott! Maki’s not just surviving—she’s dominating this match! Moon doesn’t know what hit him!
Scott Slade: I don’t think anyone expected this! Maki Nishimura is showing the world that she’s not intimidated by the Pyongyang Punishers—not in her home country, and not in front of this crowd!
Moon tried to rise, clutching his chest, his confidence completely shattered. But Maki wasn’t about to give him a chance to recover. She stalked him, grabbing him by the waist with a surprising show of strength. In a seamless motion, she hoisted him up, her muscles rippling as she delivered a picture-perfect Olympic Slam, driving Moon back-first into the canvas. The entire ring shook from the impact.
Scott Slade: Olympic Slam! Moon is in serious trouble!
Moon gasped for air, his body wracked with pain, but Maki’s assault didn’t let up. The hometown hero glanced at the crowd, their cheers bolstering her resolve. Her face was set, determined as ever. Moon barely had time to blink before Maki charged forward again, delivering another brutal series of Berserker Sumo Pushes, each one driving the air out of Moon’s lungs as he slumped back into the corner, utterly defenseless.
Hyun-Sik Hwang, watching from the apron, clenched his fists in frustration. His partner was being dismantled, and he could do nothing but watch as the crowd cheered Maki’s every move. He barked orders at Moon, but they fell on deaf ears. Moon was too dazed, too overwhelmed by the onslaught to respond.
Chris Rodgers: Moon is getting absolutely destroyed! This wasn’t supposed to happen! If they lose this match and exit the tournament this will be a huge embarrassment for them!
Holly Hudson: The pressure has shifted from Maki to the Punishers now. She already exceeded expectations here tonight. If steals a win here and moves on it will be on the front page of every newspaper in Japan!
With Moon barely able to stand, Maki grabbed him and yanked him into the center of the ring. The crowd hushed for a moment as Maki smoothly transitioned into her submission move, the Anaconda Vise. Moon’s eyes widened in panic as Maki locked it in, her powerful arms and legs squeezing his torso and neck with crushing force.
Moon writhed in pain, his limbs flailing as Maki tightened her grip, the crowd roaring with approval.
Dong-Hyun Moon’s face twisted in agony, veins bulging in his neck as Maki's powerful Anaconda Vise tightened around him. The Tokyo Dome crowd was deafening, rallying behind Maki as she squeezed with everything she had, determined to make the North Korean Nightmare tap out. Moon’s legs kicked wildly, his hand hovering over the mat as if he were on the verge of giving in. But desperation drove him. He wasn’t just fighting to escape the hold—he was fighting to salvage his pride and avoid the humiliation of being taken out so early. His mind raced as the pain seared through his body, and just as his vision blurred from lack of air, he reached out with his free hand and raked it across Maki’s eyes in a vicious, desperate motion.
Maki cried out, releasing the hold as she staggered back, her hands covering her face. The crowd’s cheers turned into a wave of boos, their fury palpable as they witnessed the illegal move. The referee, positioned at the wrong angle, missed the blatant foul, oblivious to the injustice that had just occurred.
Scott Slade: Are you kidding me?! Moon just gouged Maki’s eyes, and the referee didn’t see it!
Holly Hudson: It’s despicable! Maki had him beat, and now Moon’s crawling for the tag like a coward!
Chris Rodgers: Call it whatever you want, Holly, but that’s survival. I don’t like it either, Moon did what he had to, and now he’s got a chance to turn this thing around! Don’t tell me if wasn’t Valora Salinas that you wouldn’t be praising her for what Moon just did!
Holly Hudson: I’m sorry, are you calling me a hypocrite?
Chris Rodgers: Just calling a spade, a spade.
Moon gasped for air, his body still wracked with pain, but his determination burned hotter than ever. His survival instincts kicked in, and he scrambled on all fours toward the corner, every motion labored and desperate. With one final burst of energy, he launched himself forward, extending his arm toward his partner. The tag connected. Hyun-Sik Hwang, the towering Iron Colossus, entered the ring like a bull unleashed, and the atmosphere in the Tokyo Dome shifted instantly. The crowd’s cheers faded into anxious murmurs as the towering powerhouse locked eyes with Maki, who was still blinking furiously, trying to clear her vision.
Holly Hudson: And here comes Hwang. Now Maki’s in serious trouble.
Scott Slade: It’s two-on-one, and Maki’s vision is compromised. This doesn’t look good!
Chris Rodgers: I got a feeling things are about to get real ugly…
Hwang wasted no time, charging at Maki with the ferocity of a freight train. She barely had time to react as he plowed into her with a devastating Colossus Clash clothesline, his massive arm slamming across her chest with brutal force. The impact sent Maki crashing to the mat, her body twisting mid-air before landing hard. The crowd groaned in collective sympathy, sensing the tide of the match shifting in the Punishers’ favor.
Chris Rodgers: That’s what happens when you let your guard down! Maki had the advantage, but now Hwang is about to dismantle her!
Hwang, breathing heavily but with a sadistic grin on his face, wasted no time. He hauled Maki up by her shoulders with ease, showcasing his incredible strength, before lifting her high into the air. With a thunderous slam, he brought her crashing down with a punishing Gorilla Press Slam. The force of the move shook the ring, and Maki bounced off the mat, her face contorted in pain.
Scott Slade: Hwang is taking full control of this match! Maki’s in serious danger now!
Maki lay on the mat, gasping for air, her body clearly aching from the relentless assault. But she wasn’t finished. The crowd, sensing her unyielding spirit, began to chant her name again, trying to will her back to her feet. Slowly, Maki stirred, forcing herself up, her eyes filled with determination despite the odds stacked against her.
Hwang, irritated by Maki’s resilience, charged again, looking to end things with another brutal strike. But this time, Maki was ready. With a flash of her sumo instincts, she ducked under Hwang’s swing, spinning around and driving her body into him with a powerful series of Berserker Sumo Pushes. Her hands hammered against his chest and midsection, each strike forcing him backward, his large frame now struggling to maintain balance under the relentless barrage.
Holly Hudson: She’s fighting back! Maki is still in this fight, and the crowd is right behind her!
Scott Slade: She’s using every bit of her sumo training to stand her ground against the Iron Colossus!
The Tokyo crowd was on their feet, roaring louder with each strike. Maki was feeding off their energy, her body moving with precision and power as she continued to drive Hwang toward the ropes. But just as she prepared to deliver a crushing blow, Moon recovered on the outside and slid back into the ring. With the referee distracted, Moon grabbed Maki from behind in a chokehold, yanking her backward and giving Hwang a moment to recover. The boos from the crowd intensified, but the referee remained oblivious, his focus elsewhere as the Punishers exploited the two-on-one advantage.
Chris Rodgers: Here we go! The Punishers are back in control, and Maki is in deep trouble!
Hwang, now fully recovered, wasted no time. He nodded to Moon, and together they executed a perfectly timed Pyongyang Powerbomb, with Moon hoisting Maki into the air and Hwang finishing the devastating maneuver by driving her hard into the canvas. The impact was thunderous, and Maki’s body crumpled under the sheer force of the double-team assault. The Tokyo Dome fell into a hushed silence, the crowd's earlier excitement replaced with growing concern for their hometown hero.
Scott Slade: Good lord!
Chris Rodgers: Stick a fork in her Scotty! She’s done!
Holly Hudson: Brutal double powerbomb.
Hwang dropped to his knees, slamming his forearm down on Maki’s chest after the devastating double Pyongyang Powerbomb. The referee dove to the mat, and the Tokyo Dome fell into a tense hush, the crowd on the edge of their seats. Maki had already endured so much, and it seemed impossible for her to kick out now.
One…
Two…
At the very last second, Maki’s shoulder shot up. Her body spasmed with pain, but she managed to break the pin, her fighting spirit still burning despite the punishment she had taken. The crowd erupted, roaring in disbelief as their hero refused to stay down.
Scott Slade: I don’t believe it! She kicked out again!
Holly Hudson: This is unbelievable! Maki Nishimura is running on pure willpower!
Chris Rodgers: How much more can this woman take? It’s getting hard to watch!
Hwang’s face contorted with fury, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at Maki. His patience had worn thin, and the refusal of this bloodied warrior to quit enraged him. He stood up, dragging Maki with him by the hair, forcing her battered body to her feet. The crowd winced, sensing that something terrible was about to happen.
Moon leaned over the ropes, demanding the tag, but Hwang waved him off, his rage taking control. He had something far worse in mind.
Hwang forcefully pulled Maki toward the corner, throwing her against the turnbuckles. He pointed to Moon, signaling him to join in. Moon eagerly stepped through the ropes, grinning wickedly as the two men closed in on their prey. They cornered her, delivering brutal shots to her midsection, knocking the wind out of her as they took turns with each blow.
Then, it happened. Hwang stepped back, allowing Moon to grab Maki by the back of the neck, positioning her head against the top turnbuckle. With a sinister glint in his eyes, Moon smashed Maki’s forehead against the exposed steel ring post beneath the padding, using the corner’s metal connector to drive her head straight into the hard steel.
The impact was sickening, the sound of flesh and bone meeting metal echoing through the arena. Maki’s head snapped back, and for a split second, everything seemed to stop. The crowd gasped, and as Maki turned around, a thick stream of blood began to trickle from her forehead, quickly becoming a torrent.
Scott Slade: Oh my God! Maki’s been busted open! That was the exposed steel!
Holly Hudson: She’s bleeding profusely! They’ve crossed a line—this is getting out of control!
Blood poured down Maki’s face, staining her hair and dripping onto her chest. Her vision blurred as the blood filled her eyes, but she remained on her feet, barely holding herself up by leaning on the ropes. The crowd erupted in a mix of horror and defiance, chanting Maki’s name, but their hero was now drenched in her own blood.
Chris Rodgers: She’s bleeding like a stuck pig! There’s no way she can continue now!
Hwang and Moon shared a sadistic grin, the sight of Maki’s blood igniting something even more vicious in them. They continued their assault, showing no mercy. Moon delivered a series of brutal punches directly to the open wound, each one spraying more blood across the mat. With every blow, Maki’s face grew more crimson, the gash on her forehead gushing with each impact.
Scott Slade: This is becoming a bloodbath! Maki can barely see through the blood!
Moon pulled Maki’s head back, exposing her face as he unleashed a vicious backhand across her jaw, sending blood splattering into the front row. Her body collapsed into the corner, her legs buckling under the weight of the brutal onslaught, but even then, she refused to fall completely.
The mat beneath Maki was now stained red, her body shaking from the immense loss of blood. Hwang stepped in, picking Maki up as if she weighed nothing, and hoisted her onto his shoulders for another powerbomb. He walked her to the center of the ring, showing her off to the crowd, before driving her down into the canvas with a thunderous Pyongyang Powerbomb. Blood sprayed from Maki’s mouth as she hit the mat, her body bouncing with the force of the impact.
Holly Hudson: Somebody needs to stop this! Maki is losing too much blood!
Chris Rodgers: She should have stayed down, Holly! This is what happens when you keep getting up!
Moon dropped down for the cover, pressing his blood-soaked hands onto Maki’s chest for the pin.
One…
Two…
Maki kicked out.
The Tokyo Dome shook as the crowd erupted into a frenzy, their disbelief palpable. Maki, covered in blood, her face barely recognizable, kicked out again. Hwang and Moon stood over her, their faces twisted in anger and disbelief.
Scott Slade: She kicked out again! Maki Nishimura will not be defeated!
Hwang slammed Maki onto the mat with the force of a freight train, the impact reverberating through the ring as the Tokyo Dome fell into a hushed silence. His massive hand pressed down on her chest, his face a twisted mask of fury as the referee dropped to the mat for the count. The Punishers were confident—there was no way she could kick out after everything they had thrown at her.
One…
Two…
At the very last moment, Maki’s shoulder shot up, her body convulsing with effort as she broke the pin. The crowd exploded into a roar of disbelief and awe. Maki Nishimura, bloodied and battered, refused to stay down.
Scott Slade: I don’t believe it! She kicked out! Maki Nishimura is still in this match!
Holly Hudson: She has the heart of a warrior! Maki just won’t give up!
Chris Rodgers: This is getting ridiculous! She should have stayed down! Sigro needs to end the match now!
Hwang's fury was palpable. He stood up, his body trembling with rage as he glared down at Maki. Her face was a crimson mask, blood pouring from the gash on her forehead, but she wasn’t broken. The crowd, sensing the rising tension, began chanting her name louder, willing their hometown hero to fight on.
Hwang barked at Moon, who quickly entered the ring despite the referee's protests. Referee Bob Sigro rushed over, shouting for Moon to get back to the apron, but Moon ignored him, his focus solely on Maki. The Punishers were about to deliver the final blow, intending to put Maki down for good.
But Maki, despite her bloodied state, had other plans.
As Moon lunged at her, Maki dropped low, avoiding his grasp. With a burst of adrenaline, she grabbed Moon by the arm and whipped him toward the ropes. He rebounded, and Maki, using every ounce of strength left in her battered body, delivered a devastating clothesline that sent Moon flying over the top rope. The crowd erupted in shock as Moon tumbled to the floor, landing hard on the concrete.
The Tokyo Dome was on its feet, the energy building as Maki shifted the momentum. But the fight was far from over. Hwang charged at her, but Maki sidestepped, planting her feet firmly before delivering a vicious series of Berserker Sumo Pushes, each strike sending shockwaves through the crowd. Hwang staggered backward, caught off guard by Maki’s resurgence.
Suddenly, the crowd's attention shifted.
Takuma Sato sprinted down the ramp, his appearance causing an audible gasp from the audience. The Japanese-American wrestler, known for his rivalry with the Pyongyang Punishers, was charging toward the ring, his eyes locked on Maki. The fans were stunned. No one expected him to appear, especially not to help Maki.
Scott Slade: Wait a minute! Takuma Sato is here! What is he doing?!
Holly Hudson: This is a shock! Sato’s running down the ramp, and he’s shouting for Maki to keep fighting! Is he…helping her?
Chris Rodgers: He’s out for revenge that’s what he’s doing here! He hasn’t forgotten the beat down he received from these nut jobs a few weeks ago! If anything he might be looking to hurt them before one of them before their big death match tonight!
Sato reached ringside, slapping the apron and yelling at Maki to stay strong. The crowd was divided between shock and excitement, their cheers now mixing with chants of Sato’s name. Maki, still disoriented and barely able to see through the blood streaming down her face, glanced toward Sato, confusion flickering in her eyes.
Meanwhile, Moon was struggling to get to his feet outside the ring, shaking his head to clear the daze. Sato moved like lightning, hopping onto the apron and launching himself into the air. With perfect precision, he executed a breathtaking Wushu Butterfly Kick, his foot connecting squarely with the side of Moon’s head. The sickening sound of the impact echoed through the arena as Moon crumpled to the floor, knocked out cold.
Scott Slade: Sato just knocked Moon out cold with that Wushu Butterfly Kick! The Punishers are falling apart!
Holly Hudson: This is incredible! Sato has taken down one of the Pyongyang Punishers, and the referee didn’t even see it!
Back in the ring, Hwang was still focused on Maki, unaware of what had just happened to his partner outside. But Maki, now fully feeding off the crowd's energy, saw her opportunity. With a primal scream, she lunged at Hwang, locking him in position before delivering her signature move—the Juggernaut Jawbreaker. The sound of bone meeting bone was thunderous as Maki snapped Hwang’s head back, dropping him to the mat.
The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, their voices shaking the Tokyo Dome as Maki slowly stood, her body trembling from exhaustion and blood loss. Referee Bob Sigro was still shouting at her, trying to regain control, unaware of what had transpired outside the ring with Sato and Moon.
Chris Rodgers: What a comeback! Maki has turned this match around, and Sato’s interference has completely changed the game!
With Hwang down, Maki grabbed him by the ankle, using the last of her strength to haul him toward the ropes. She then tossed his body out of the ring, sending him crashing to the floor next to his unconscious partner. The Tokyo Dome crowd was in a frenzy, chanting her name as she wiped the blood from her eyes and looked around in disbelief.
Sato seized the moment. While the referee’s back was still turned, he picked up the unconscious Moon and rolled him back into the ring. Maki, blood still pouring down her face, turned to see her opponent lying prone, unaware of what had just happened. Confusion filled her eyes for a moment, but the crowd’s chants brought her back to the moment. This was her chance.
With a final burst of energy, Maki sprinted across the ring, leaping into the air and delivering a massive 275 pound pancake flop onto Moon’s limp body. The impact shook the ring, and the Tokyo Dome roared in approval. She hooked the leg for the pin, her blood-soaked face resting against the mat.
Referee Bob Sigro dove down for the count.
One…
Two…
Three!
The bell rang, signaling Maki’s hard-fought victory. The Tokyo Dome exploded into a deafening roar, the crowd chanting her name as Maki lay on the mat, exhausted but victorious. Her wrestling gear was soaked in blood, her face barely recognizable, but she had done it—she had defeated the Pyongyang Punishers.
Scott Slade: Maki Nishimura has done it! Against all odds, she’s won this match!
Holly Hudson: Covered in her own blood, but victorious! What a moment for Maki and for the people of Japan!
Chris Rodgers: And with help from Sato! I can’t believe it! Sato just helped Maki beat the Punishers!
Sato slid into the ring, rushing to Maki’s side as she lay on the mat, her chest heaving with exhaustion. He knelt beside her, offering his hand to help her up. The crowd was still chanting her name, their support pouring through the arena like a tidal wave of emotion. Referee Bob Sigro, still looking confused about what had happened with Sato, raised Maki’s hand in victory.
With Sato standing beside her, Maki raised her other hand, her blood-streaked face turned toward the cheering fans. The sight of her, standing tall despite everything, was an unforgettable image—a warrior who had fought through blood and brutality to claim victory in front of her home crowd.
Backstage, the camera panned across the bustling corridors of the Tokyo Dome before settling on Hiroshi Nakamura, who stood in his usual professional posture, microphone in hand. Next to him, Baz "Mr. People" Berrycloth rocked lightly on his heels, his signature grin plastered across his face, his eyes wide with the thrill of the night’s event. Hiroshi glanced at Baz, then back to the camera, taking a deep breath before speaking.
Hiroshi Nakamura: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time is a man who has quickly made a name for himself here in Ultimate Wrestling, even if his journey to Japan remains something of a mystery to us. Please welcome the man who proudly claims to be ‘for the people, by the people, with the people’... Baz ‘Mr. People’ Berrycloth!
Baz’s grin widened, his excitement almost infectious as he mouthed the words ‘with the people’ right along with Hiroshi, like it was a mantra he’d said a thousand times before. He clapped Hiroshi on the shoulder, much to the interviewer’s surprise.
Baz Berrycloth: And all the rest, mate! Baz Berrycloth’s the name, and it’s a proper pleasure ta be ‘ere again, Mr. Nakamura!
Hiroshi chuckled awkwardly, clearly a little thrown by Baz’s high-energy antics. He straightened his tie, trying to regain his composure. The camera captured the subtle unease in his posture, contrasting sharply with Baz’s carefree demeanor.
Hiroshi Nakamura: Baz, how are you finding Tokyo? From what I understand, this is your first time here?
Baz rubbed his hands together, his grin never fading.
Baz Berrycloth: It’s been more than I ever dreamed, mate! Tokyo is a right marvel, innit? From the neon lights to the wild crowds—and soon enough, the slams in the ring. I’ve gotta say, I’m absolutely buzzing!
Hiroshi couldn’t help but smile at Baz’s enthusiasm, but there was a curiosity behind his eyes.
Hiroshi Nakamura: So, this really is your first time in Japan? Quite the leap from the UK, I imagine.
Baz leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to share a secret. His playful tone turned just a touch more serious.
Baz Berrycloth: Yeah, first time, mate. Look, I’m just a regular lad from London, y’know? Ain’t exactly used ta the glitz and glam of a place like Tokyo. ‘Cept for the odd holiday in Barcelona, I’ve never been this far out. But it’s been grand, really. Tokyo... it’s a place that makes ya feel alive, makes ya feel like anythin’s possible.
Hiroshi nodded thoughtfully, sensing a deeper layer to Baz’s words, like there was more to his journey than met the eye.
Hiroshi Nakamura: Well, the fans here in Japan seem to have taken quite a liking to you. What’s your impression of them so far?
Baz laughed, the sound bright and genuine. His eyes sparkled as he looked around, as though he could still hear the cheering fans.
Baz Berrycloth: Mate, the Japanese fans? Absolute legends. From the moment I got ‘ere, they’ve shown me nuthin’ but love. Even the ones who ain’t sure about me, I can tell—they’ve got respect. They love their wrestlin’, and they love passion. I reckon we’ve got that in common.
Hiroshi raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Baz’s perception of the fans. Baz wasn’t just a jokester—there was a certain grounded wisdom in his words, something that hinted at his deeper understanding of what it meant to connect with people.
Hiroshi Nakamura: And what about tonight’s matches? We’ve seen some pretty intense action so far. What’s been your takeaway from the Ronin Rumble?
Baz’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a more focused expression. For the first time, his playful demeanor seemed to give way to something more serious.
Baz Berrycloth: It’s been a real eye-opener, I’ll tell ya that much. Some of the blokes ‘ere are as tough as they come. But me? I thrive in the deep end, mate. I’m not here for an easy ride, nah. I’m here ta get stuck in—no floaties, no safety net. This is where ya find out what ya made of.
Hiroshi seemed momentarily taken aback by Baz’s shift in tone. There was a flicker of something more dangerous beneath the surface, a determination that had been masked by his cheerful exterior.
Hiroshi Nakamura: Sounds like you’re ready for whatever comes your way. But with all the tension between Ultimate Wrestling and All Asia Pro Wrestling, have you found yourself getting pulled into any of the backstage conflicts?
Baz tilted his head, his grin returning, but this time it was more of a smirk.
Baz Berrycloth: Nah, I ain’t lookin’ for trouble unless it finds me first, mate. Rivalries don’t bother me ‘less they step right in me path. But Feigel? Altruist? Those two... they’re a different story. I’ve got my eye on ‘em, and they better be worried ‘bout what’s comin’. They’ve made it personal, see? And me? I don’t let personal things slide.
The weight in Baz’s voice was undeniable, and Hiroshi sensed the shift in the air. This wasn’t just a rookie looking to make a name for himself—Baz was here for more than just showmanship. There was a history there, something Hiroshi didn’t know yet, but it was clear that Baz was playing for keeps.
Hiroshi Nakamura: One final question, Baz—before you get back to preparing for your match. Everyone’s been wondering, and I’ve got to ask... how exactly did you get from the UK to Japan?
Baz’s eyes twinkled mischievously, and he leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing the punchline to an inside joke.
Baz Berrycloth: Ah, well, that’s the fun part, innit? I just... well, you’ll ‘ave to wait ‘til later to find out.
Before Baz could finish his explanation, the screen abruptly cut to static, the feed lost as the image flickered out, leaving Hiroshi mid-sentence and the audience in suspense.
To Be Continued In Part - 3