The Imperial Hotel Tokyo offered a view of the city that was usually breathtaking, a neon tapestry stretching to the horizon. Tonight, however, Cassie wasn’t looking at the splendor. She was staring through the reinforced glass of her eleventh-floor room at the cold, quiet stillness of a city strangled by the Blovid pandemic.
It was just past 1:00 AM in Tokyo. In Texas, where her fiancé, William, was likely just finishing a late dinner, it would be a reasonable call.
Cassie sat cross-legged on the crisp white duvet of the hotel bed. The room was standard Japanese luxury: impeccably clean, subtly lit by a soft lamp in the corner, and dominated by an impersonal dark wood desk. The only signs of her presence were a pair of worn wrestling boots tucked neatly under a chair and the faint, coppery scent of antiseptic cream lingering in the air.
She brought the phone to her ear, the small, familiar chime of the connection cutting through the suffocating silence.
“You’re up late, Crashie.” William’s voice, warm, a slow drawl, filled the room; a sudden, painful contradiction to the sterile quiet of Japan.
A small, genuine smile touched Cassie’s lips. “It’s early enough back home. Just wanted to hear you breathe, Billy.”
She listened as he told her about his day, the mundane details of their life back in the States; details that felt impossibly distant, like a dream she couldn't quite recall. The smile faded as she braced herself to deliver the difficult news.
“Look, about coming home,” Cassie began, her voice tight. She traced the stitching on her worn pillow.
“It’s not happening yet. Rubert Mudcock is refusing to sign the clearance papers for any of the UW roster who are still stuck here. Says the 'optics' of a champion leaving during an invasion, are bad for the brand.”
She heard the disappointment in his sigh, sharp even over the distance.
“So, you and Colton are still stranded?” William asked.
“Stuck like a pair of bad stitches,” she confirmed. “But there’s a silver lining, believe it or not. The old man, Mudcock, he’s starting to lose control. His kids are panicking. They’ve been selling off chunks of the company; shares, I mean. Turns out, Colton put together a consortium of investors back home and bought up enough that he’s now one of the lead stockholders.”
Cassie leaned forward, lowering her voice despite being alone.
"He’s got the power now, Will. He can make matches, he can push back against the All Asian Pro Wrestling invasion, and he can pretty much control the chaos Rubert created. Colton is steering the ship now, whether Mudcock knows it or not.”
A moment of relief came from the other end. "That’s... that’s great news, Cass. He’s the only one who could straighten out that mess."
“I know,” she whispered, her focus dissolving from the business talk to the ache in her chest.
“I miss you, William. So much. Every single night I wish you and Lily never left. That we were all together here, instead of me and Colton fighting this thing alone.”
She took a breath, brightening her tone to offer some positive news.
“But listen, I talked to Colton last night. He said Hara and Kami, yeah, they’re officially back together. I thought you’d be happy about that.”
“The two knuckleheads finally figured it out. That’s fantastic,” William laughed, a genuine, joyful sound. “I’ll hold onto that. You focus on what you need to do, Cass. Just stay safe.”
“Always,” she promised. “I love you baby girl. I’m always thinking of you”, he said.
“I love you. I’m thinking of you, and give Sammy a big hug for me, okay? How’s my little man doing?” Cassie asked, the warmth returning to her voice as she thought of her five-year-old nephew, a child she loved and doted on as if he were her own son.
Before William could answer, the door to the hotel room burst inward with unnecessary force, slamming against the safety chain, which quickly gave way with a sharp clank.
Colton Hurst, a man built with the same powerful frame as his father but carrying the heavy burden of corporate stress, stormed into the room. He was holding a large, elongated cardboard box, the kind used for shipping fishing rods or perhaps a disassembled shelving unit, tucked awkwardly under his arm. He didn’t look up and certainly didn’t knock.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Cass!” he barked, his voice loud enough to rattle the water glass on the nightstand. He looked genuinely furious, his brow furrowed and his mouth set in a hard line.
“Seriously? We’re in a global lockdown, the UW is fighting a corporate invasion, I just spent three hours on the phone with a translator arguing about the main event, and you’re having more gear shipped? I had to go all the way out to that postal depot near the port just to pick up this monstrosity!”
Cassie quickly brought the phone away from her ear, covering the receiver with her palm. “Hold on a second, Will, my brother’s being an absolute idiot,” she muttered into the speaker, her own Texas drawl sharpening.
She shot Colton with a glare that could cut glass. "I gotta go, honey. I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow, promise. Tell Sammy his favorite Aunt sends a thousand kisses. Bye."
She hung up, tossing the phone onto the bed, the sudden rage overriding the homesickness. She was on her feet instantly.
“What in the hell is your problem, Colton?” Cassie snapped, her hand landing on her hip. “I didn’t order anything. I have been rationing my wrestling tape and eating lukewarm instant ramen for three days, and you think I’m spending money on shipping gear? I did not have anything delivered here, period.”
Colton stopped his tirade abruptly; the cardboard box clutched to his chest. He looked at her, his anger dissolving into a knowing, irritating grin, the one that always told her he was playing a prank.
“Whoa, hey, calm down, sis,” he chuckled, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “You think I don’t know that? I saw the shipping label, you lunatic. It came from Dad, he shipped it.”
Cassie’s fierce posture softened, confusion taking over. “Dad? What is it?”
Colton dropped the long box with a theatrical thud onto the carpet. His exasperated act returned, but this time it was purely for show.
“I don’t know what it is! That’s the problem! The customs paperwork called it ‘A-Grade Specialty Pole.’ I had to sign three forms and fight with a guy who thought I was importing high-tech espionage equipment. Now that I’ve risked my new stockholding reputation for you, you’re going to open this thing up and show me what the big deal was about it!”
He crossed his arms, leaning back against the doorframe, a large, expectant smile on his face. He’d known it was a surprise, of course. That was why he’d gone to pick it up personally.
The moment of anger was gone, replaced by nervous curiosity. Cassie walked over to the box, knelt, and reached for the thick packing tape. Her father rarely sent anything not even simple letters; whatever was inside, it had to be important.
Cassie tore into the shipping tape with a fierce efficiency born from years of ripping open bandages and wrestling gear bags. The cardboard protested with a tearing sound, and she peeled back the flaps.
Inside, nestled in protective foam, lay an object that instantly silenced the room, replacing Cassie’s nervous curiosity with stunned reverence: a Wooden Baseball Bat.
It was old, the wood darkened and worn smooth by handling, but wickedly accessorized. It was tightly, haphazardly wrapped in thick, vicious Barbed Wire. This was not a prop. This was a piece of dangerous history.
Cassie reached for it, hesitating only for a second before her calloused fingers wrapped around the handle. It felt heavy, balanced, and strangely familiar in her grip.
Freshly burned deep into the grain of the wood, the inscription was stark and simple: "The Vain 0ne."
"Dad's..." Cassie whispered, her eyes wide, recognizing the tool that had defined her father, Steven Hurst (Hunter, in the ring), during his most brutal days. The bat was now a physical declaration of her own ring persona, "Vanity" she embodied, a self-obsession with her own perfection and refusal to be tarnished.
A powerful wave of emotion; shock, fierce gratitude, and a profound sense of connection to home crashed over her.
“He sent you his bat,” Colton said, his grin now wide and genuine. He watched her face soften. “He never let anyone touch that thing.”
Attached to one of the barbed hooks near the handle was a small, laminated card. Cassie carefully plucked it off, reading the familiar, slightly shaky handwriting.
"Knock 'em dead, Kiddo! Love ya, Pops!"
A tear pricked her eye, instantly drying as she shook her head, clutching the bat tight. The pain from the barbed wire was irrelevant.
“How did he even know?” Cassie asked, her voice thick. “How did he know I needed this? How did he know about the Death Match?”
Colton finally stepped fully into the room, his eyes alight with pride and the intoxicating thrill of his new authority.
“That,” Colton said, tapping his temple, “is one of the many perks of being a lead stockholder and the de facto booker, Cass. I make the matches, I set the rules, and I control the production. Let's just say I made sure the word got back to Texas fast, and I coordinated the shipping to land right on time.”
He offered a casual shrug. “I needed the 'Black Sheep' to bring a piece of home to this fight. Now, come here. We’ve got a champ to take down.”
Colton led her to the small sitting area, the air immediately turning serious. The playful confrontation was over; the business of winning had begun.
Cassie carefully set the barbed wire bat down on the sofa cushion, wrapping a hand towel around it first. She sat opposite Colton, leaning forward, the exhaustion of the long day melting away under the focused intensity of the plan.
"Alright, stockbroker," Cassie said, nodding at the bat. "You set the table for a massacre. Now tell me how I survive it."
Colton didn't hesitate. He pulled out his phone, bringing up a series of notes and match clips he’d been studying.
“The key is in her name: Redline Reaver. Her stats are telling a lie, Cassie. Look at them: Speed, Agility, High Flying . She’s built like a human cruise missile. She gets you in the air, you are done. Her Bloodline Implosion, that diving double foot stomp, is her finisher for a reason. It comes from the sky, and she has Cybernetic Precision that lets her see the opening faster than a human should. Our problem is her speed, but our advantage is your Stamina, and her relative lack of Strength.”
Colton scrolled to a clip, playing a sequence of Kyoki's offense.
“When she gets the advantage, she builds a frenzy, the Chaos Theory flurry of strikes. That’s where she wants you. She’s addicted to the feeling of control in that chaos. She’s Chaotic, she wants the disorder, but she’s calculating in how she creates it. She’s not just swinging wild; she’s setting up that big move, the Redline Driver or the Psychotic Break off the ropes.”
Stop the Air Raid; You cannot let her jump. Every time she heads for the ropes or the turnbuckle, you are cutting her off. Use your brawling skills to ground her. Take the fight to the floor and keep it there. Get tables, chairs, THE BAT… just whatever, but make sure she has a low-impact surface to work with.
Exploit her stamina, her entire offense: the sprints, the flips, the flurry of strikes, is high-cost. Your offense is based on leverage and durability. Every Shin Breaker you hit, every Hammerlock Inverted DDT that spikes her, is money in the bank. You grind her down. She’s 135 lbs; you’re not a powerhouse, but you’re solid. Use that leverage.
Then her submission, counter it, the moment she wraps you up in the Crimson Grin, you transition immediately to your escape. Use “The Black Sheep”, It attacks the spine, which is crucial for a high-flyer. You have to turn her own submission into your defense, then immediately transition to the backbreaker. Send a shot of pure pain up her spine to remind her she belongs on the mat.”
“That is the trump card.” He points to the bat.
“Use it when the referee is down, and you use it to inflict terminal damage. It’s an escalation to match her chaos. You hit her with it, and you follow immediately with the Sundrop. The bat creates the opening; it has to be your one-two finish. It must be decisive.”
Colton leaned back, satisfied.
“We can’t out-speed the Redline Reaver. We have to out-survive her. We have to make her use up that Agility and Speed until she has nothing left but chaos, and then we take the match home with Texas grit.”
Cassie absorbed the strategic breakdown, her eyes gleaming with focus. She reached for her father's bat again, tracing the barbed wire, a fierce determination settling over her features. This wasn't just a wrestling match; it was an act of aggression against the isolation and the foreign force attempting to crush her world.
She didn't look at Colton; her gaze was fixed on the ceiling, as if speaking to the entire arena that would soon hold her match.
"Kyoki Piero is quick," Cassie stated, her voice low and hard, devoid of the emotional tremble from the phone call.
"She’s a blur, and she’s got that eye that sees the math before the action happens. I know she thinks I'm predictable, a brawler who can fly a little. She's counting on my temper to let her get ahead. She’s counting on my homesickness to make me weak."
She gripped the bat tighter.
"But I need her to understand one thing: A Death Match is OUR specialty. It’s where the rules stop and the will to survive takes over. When she brings the sharp objects and the high dives, she’s not bringing me to her chaos, she's forcing Vanity into my element and she doesn’t care about clean wins, doesn’t care about the optics. We only care about winning that championship and getting one step closer to getting back to William. She's not fighting a wrestler this week. She's fighting the force that won’t quit until there’s nothing else left in that ring to fight. And I'm going to prove that even a computer-aided eye can be blind to the pain that's coming."
Cassie finally looked at Colton, a rare, cold smile on her lips. "I’m going to use 'The Vain 0ne' to knock the sense, and the championship, right off her."
The two sat back with a satisfied look on their face. It was roughly 2am, the evening was calling them both. They let their emotions settle into the quiet, calm of the night as a ~ fist bump~ between them lead the retirement of the early morning call them to slumber. Cassie drifted into her room; Colton remained on the sofa.
The low, electronic chime of the room service trolley announced the arrival of the breakfast buffet, a sound that finally dragged me fully out of the deep sleep I'd achieved sometime near dawn. I pulled the heavy duvet tight around my shoulders and nodded to the polite waiter, pointing toward the large, central table.
I didn't need to ask for the special order anymore; the hotel staff knew what I needed coffee strong enough to strip paint and enough protein to fuel a small army.
In the living area of the suite, Colton was a mountain under a thin blanket, sprawled across the sofa. He hadn't bothered to take the separate bedroom. Despite his new corporate status, he was still my big brother, acting as my unofficial security, confidant, and now, my sole link to sanity.
My eyes fell on the long, dark shape lying under a hand towel on the coffee table. “The Vain 0ne.” now… Dad’s bat.
The events of the night before swam through my mind with a clarity that was both comforting and unsettling. Hearing William’s voice had been a momentary anchor, a soft spot in the endless, hard reality of this Blovid-era prison we were in.
How’s my little man doing?
Sammy. Thinking of my nephew, my little Spawn, was the sharpest pain. I adore that kid. Every day here felt like a day stolen from them. That isolation, that feeling of being caged, was exactly what Rubert Mudcock wanted, and what Kyoki Piero thrived on. Rubert’s stubborn refusal to clear the roster—it was a petty, ego-driven move, but it had handed the UW invasion all the fire it needed.
The only good thing to come out of it was Colton stepping up. He was a stockholder now. The man making the matches. I loved that he was wielding his corporate power like a steel chair, forcing the chaos to work for us. His news about Hara and Kami getting back together was the only real, uncomplicated joy I’d felt in months. Those two deserve happiness.
But the bat... The barbed wire bat was the physical manifestation of the price I had to pay to get home. Dad hadn’t sent me a gift; he’d sent me a weapon. A declaration that the Death Match Championship wasn't just another title; it was a war for my identity. “The Vain 0ne.” Yes, “Vanity” would be the ticket to my skills, my endurance, my refusal to be broken. That bat was the ultimate tool for US.
I poured the coffee, the rich smell, a momentary distraction. As I ate, Colton’s strategy from the night before played over and over in my head like a coach's reel.
You cannot let her jump.
Kyoki Piero was a machine of speed and calculation. Her Speed, and Agility meant she lived in the air, a place where my own High Flying skills couldn't compete. I couldn't trade speed for speed. I had to trade speed for attrition.
Every Shin Breaker, I connect, will be money in the bank.
That was the key. The Redline Reaver might thrive on Chaos, but her style was high-cost. I had to drain her bank account. Every brutal snap, every low-impact strike, every move that slammed her with leverage and gravity, not raw strength, would chip away at her Stamina. The goal wasn't to beat her at her game; it was to force her to play OURS! A slow, grinding, technical brawl where my sheer durability would prevail.
The thought of her “Crimson Grin”, made me scowl. She was going to try and tie me up and find satisfaction in my pain. But that’s where my “Black Sheep” submission came in. I had to counter her move by attacking the most crucial part of a high-flyer’s body: their spine. Lock her down, hit the backbreaker, and remind her that her foundation was fragile.
And then, “The Sundrop.” The finish had to be absolute. “The Vain 0ne” would be the hammer to crack the shell, and the move would be the impact to shatter the core.
I needed to move, to train, to channel this nervous energy before the match. The sterile hotel gym wouldn't cut it. I needed space to practice, to move and transition into my submission.
I picked up the phone and dialed the one number I knew could help.
It rang twice before a familiar, cautious voice answered. “Hello?”
“Kami. It’s Cassie. Good morning.”
“Cassie,”
Kami replied. There was a pause, a small hesitation.
“You are well? You received the food delivery yesterday?”
“I’m fine, thank you. Look, I know this is a huge ask, but I need to train. I have the Death Match coming up, and this hotel gym is useless. Could I come use the dojo for a couple of hours? I swear I won’t bother anyone.”
The sigh on the other end was heavy.
“The dojo is mostly empty now, Hara has been staying here with me. Yes, you may. But Cassie…”
“What is it?” I asked, bracing myself.
“Hara is still… he is not ready. Not yet. With what you did to him, it’s still too fresh in his mind. He’s training now, but he’s not ready to face you, even to see you. Please, understand.”
A wave of honest regret washed over me. I had hurt them. I had hurt my friends, my allies, in a calculated move.
“I understand, Kami. Truly. I am so sorry for the pain I caused you and Hara. I promise, I will stick to the far mat. I won’t let him see me. I’ll be gone before you know it.”
Kami’s tone softened slightly.
“Thank you, Cassie. Be safe. I will text you the door code.”
We hung up. The tension eased slightly, replaced by focus.
I grabbed a notepad and scribbled a quick note, placing it on Colton’s chest, right next to his hand.
Colton—
Gone to the Dojo. Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet. Got the code from Kami. I need to run through the basics and the transitions. Take the morning off, “lead stockholder.” Enjoy the buffet. Don’t touch the bat!
Back by 1:00 PM.
And that was my ticket to leave. I was dressed in minutes, my determination sealed inside the dusty duffle bag I carried my ring gear in. There was no way I was giving into this match; to Mudcock. Rupert sighed off on the match, as if he had a choice, and now that The New Breed was in control, it was only a matter of time, before we all would see “home” again soon.