BWP

Hana_Jeong: After my stardom farewell match with Sara Leon in Tokyo, everything in our lives seemed to shift at once. In the indie wrestling world, we were already known, but after this, we became ones to watch. Proposals from big promotions in the United States started pouring into our emails almost daily. The offers were tempting, the opportunities enormous, but Sara and I realized something very important. We needed time. Time to heal our bodies and our hearts. Wrestling had demanded everything from us. We had suffered blows that left us bruised in more ways than one, endured cervical spine surgeries, cried alone and together, bled in the ring, and pushed our limits past what any person should. The fierce bond we shared ... more than friendship, more than sisterhood... needed its own space to recover from what had happened in Tokyo. Before leaving our tiny flat in Tokyo, filled with the echoes of so many emotions, Sara suggested a change. “Let’s go to Spain,” she said, her eyes shining. “I’ll show you my town, Madrid, before we even think about the U.S.” It would be my first time in Europe. I could hardly believe it. And so we flew, and the first two weeks were nothing short of magical. Sara’s family welcomed me with warmth that made me almost tear up. Everything was different from the crowded streets of Seoul, from the neon chaos of Tokyo. Here, life had a slower, kinder rhythm, a softness I hadn’t known I needed. We spent a week exploring Madrid, walking through the sun-soaked plazas, sipping café con leche, and laughing in ways that reminded me that life could be simple, joyful, and light. Then came the trip to Ibiza.. a dreamland I had only heard of in passing back in Korea. A girl like me from a poor neighborhood in Seoul could only ever imagine the sparkling beaches, the turquoise water, the warmth of the sun on my skin. It was intoxicating, liberating, and I let myself be fully present in the moment, reveling in every second.

Hana_Jeong: But life has a way of reminding you that even paradise can’t shield you from reality. News came unexpectedly: our visa request for the U.S. had been denied. The reason was bureaucratic ... some issue with paperwork and processing delays meant we would have to wait, possibly months, before trying again. It was frustrating, disappointing, but Sara, ever practical and resilient, smiled at me and said, “Why don’t we stay in Madrid a little longer? We can wrestle here, in a big local promotion, and maybe travel around Europe for matches. It will be a new adventure.” The idea ignited a fire in me. Wrestling had always been my life, but now, the thought of exploring Europe while continuing to compete, while building something new with Sara, made me feel alive again. And so, after our unforgettable Ibiza trip, I found myself in the locker room, ready to wrestle again. My gear was neatly arranged: my top and trunks, knee pads, elbow pads, stockings, and kickpads. I was nervous, not just because of the match ahead, but because today I would be wrestling a male opponent. It was unfamiliar territory, but I accepted it, telling myself it was part of growing, part of the experience in this new chapter of life. Faces in the room turned toward me, smiles of recognition and friendly encouragement making me feel welcome. And then I saw you. In the far corner, tall, dark-haired, handsome, with eyes that seemed to study everything but somehow landed on me. My gaze met his and held for just a moment too long, and I felt that unexpected pull in my chest. A tap on my shoulder pulled me back, friendly, grounding, and I blinked, laughing nervously. When I looked again, you were still there, leaning casually, observing quietly, and my stomach fluttered in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Today, wrestling in Spain wasn’t just about matches or adrenaline it felt like the start of something new, something exciting, and entirely unpredictable.

Miguel_Mayo: Just another day in the locker room. One more night of wrestling for practically the same people as always. Luckily for me, I don’t mind. Making a living from what I like, even if it’s in a precarious way, is a real luxury for me. And besides, it not only lets me travel quite a bit, but often wrestlers from all over Europe come as guests to fight, which always draws more people. I’m leaning against a wall, scrutinizing the locker room with my gaze. I’ve been told that today I’ll face a new girl. It isn’t very hard for me to identify you. Women are scarce in these circles, so they’re often forced to face men, and there aren’t many women in the locker room. And of the ones there are, you’re the only Asian one. I look at you with vibrant, almost nervous eyes, with my arms crossed. You’re cute, I don’t know where you might have come from. You seem excited, looking everywhere, nervous but smiling. I’ve been told that maybe you’ll stay with us for a while, so it will probably be the f... Wait, are you looking at me? And very intently! I draw a subtle smile on my face, without moving. It’s not the first time a girl has looked at me like that, especially while I’m shirtless, so I’ve managed to bury the embarrassment. I’ve been told you’ll be an easy opponent. That I should give you the “welcome” tonight like I’ve done other times. I feel bad about it, but I suppose they don’t want any newcomer coming in with too many airs of grandeur. I give you a very slight nod of my head and step away, moving closer to the curtains and hearing how the current match ends. Surely we will be next....

Hana_Jeong: The sudden voice of one of the staff members cuts through the casual noise of the locker room. He claps his hands once and speaks quickly in Spanish, giving some kind of command that immediately makes everyone start moving. Wrestlers grab their towels, adjust their gear, and head toward a narrow corridor that must lead to the arena. I blink for a moment, slightly confused, before following the flow of bodies. The hallway is tight, the walls covered with old posters from past events. As I walk with the others I suddenly realize something that makes me feel even more out of place. Besides me there is only one other woman in the entire roster tonight. In Japan things are very different. The rosters are usually much more balanced between men and women, and I’m used to locker rooms full of girls preparing together. Here I’m surrounded almost entirely by men, tall bodies, deep voices, laughter echoing in the corridor. It makes me a little nervous. While the first match is happening in the ring, the sounds of the crowd leaking through the curtain, I take advantage of the wait to do my usual quick stretching routine. I bend forward slowly, loosening my back, rolling my shoulders and adjusting my knee pads and stockings. My kickpads scrape softly against the floor as I shift my weight. My heart is beating a little faster than usual. A few minutes pass before another staff member appears near the curtain and calls out loudly. “Hana y Miguel, vengan. Sois los siguientes.”Even though I only catch my name and Miguel’s, the meaning is obvious. We’re next. I step closer to the curtain, the thick fabric gently moving from the air currents coming from the arena. The roar of the crowd becomes clearer now. I can hear music fading, the announcer speaking quickly in Spanish. Then I sense someone standing beside me. I slowly look up. It’s him.

Hana_Jeong: He isn’t much taller than me, but being this close makes it impossible not to notice how elegant built he is. My eyes linger for just a second longer than they probably should. I feel myself trembling slightly. Unlike Sara, I have always been incredibly shy around boys. I swallow softly and try to say something before the silence becomes awkward. “Hey… I’m Hana…” I say in English, my voice small but friendly. “Sorry… I don’t speak Spanish.” I give him a slightly embarrassed smile, aware that I always sound a bit silly when I try to break the ice like this. Before he can answer, the same staff guy appears again, pointing toward the curtain while speaking quickly in Spanish. “Miguel es el primero en entrar.” Then the staff member turns toward me with a big smile. In heavily accented English he adds warmly, “We are very happy. Very happy to have a star like you wrestling here tonight.” His words make my cheeks warm a little. Beyond the curtain the crowd cheers again, waiting for the next match to begin.

 

 

Miguel_Mayo: When you approach me and introduce yourself, a knot forms in my throat. You are far too adorable. Not only too much to be a wrestler, simply too much in general. Like a porcelain doll among the dirty tools of a workshop. I open my mouth to answer, trying to give you a proper welcome, but then I get interrupted and I apologize with a crooked gesture on my lips, heading toward the curtains. The polite welcome will have to wait until after then. I hear the staff member and frown. A star? Maybe I should have informed myself a little about you before the match. But how was I supposed to know....

Miguel_Mayo: And suddenly my music starts playing. My instincts activate at once, and I cross the curtains with an arrogant air, raising my hands to receive the usual wave of boos. I stay there for a few seconds, until a smile escapes me that ends up turning into an amused laugh, as I walk across the ramp carelessly, turning toward some occasional fan to insult them. I already know some of them. Some friend of mine in the crowd booing, heating up the atmosphere. I jump onto the edge of the ring and slide between the ropes, keeping my head outside for a moment just to run my hand through my hair and then move to the center of the ring, laughing and taking steps on the canvas, letting it shake under my weight as I head to the corner, leaning back on it and waiting for you to come out

Hana_Jeong: I stand just behind the curtain, the noise of the arena rolling through the fabric like waves. My fingers move almost automatically as I prepare myself. Before every match, without exception. I lift my right wrist, wrapped tightly in white tape, and press my lips gently against it. Beneath the layers of tape there is always the same thing, the small folded picture of my family that I carry with me everywhere. It is my ritual. My reminder of where I come from. For a brief moment I close my eyes. Then the crowd suddenly erupts in loud boos. I blink and tilt my head slightly, listening. “Oh…” I whisper softly to myself. Through the curtain I can see Miguel in the ring, playing perfectly with the audience, provoking them, enjoying every second of their reaction. A small sigh escapes my lips. “Great… he’s a heel…” Before I can think about it any longer, my own music suddenly hits the speakers of the small improvised arena. The rhythm is energetic, upbeat, familiar. Instantly my nerves transform into adrenaline. I push through the curtain with a bright smile. The reaction is completely different this time. Cheers rise from the crowd and I raise both hands high, forming a V with my fingers in my usual victory gesture. I move with quick, lively steps down the ramp, letting myself enjoy the moment. As I walk along the guardrail, I reach out to the fans, slapping hands, laughing when someone shouts my name with a heavy Spanish accent. I stop for a second when I see a little girl leaning over the barrier, her eyes wide with excitement. I bend down and hug her quickly before continuing. The energy feels amazing. When I reach the ring, I grab the apron and slide smoothly underneath the bottom rope. The canvas feels familiar under my feet. I immediately climb one of the corners, raising my arms again to cheer the crowd, letting them respond with loud applause. But even while I celebrate, my instincts stay sharp. I keep an eye on Miguel.

Hana_Jeong: I’ve learned the hard way that turning your back on a heel for too long is never a good idea. After a moment I jump down from the corner, landing lightly on the mat. I take a breath and begin walking toward the center of the ring where he’s waiting. The bell rings. The match has officially begun. I step closer and extend my hand toward him in a simple gesture of fair play, offering a respectful handshake before we start. My voice is soft but sincere. “Good luck, Miguel"

 

 

Miguel_Mayo: I watch you carefully cross the ramp and greet the fans. You are definitely not only not a rookie, but you also enjoy a certain recognition. I curse myself for not having researched you beforehand. Your movements are not only fluid, but cautious. I notice your gaze on me in every movement, as if you knew that I am watching you. I crack my knuckles, preparing myself mentally for the possibility that the match may not be as simple as I expected. However, the love that the crowd professes for you and that pretty face will at least guarantee me the reaction of the crowd at all times. Once the bell rings, I approach the center of the ring with my hands behind my back, carefree, and I see that you extend your hand to me and wish me luck. I stare at you, thinking that betraying that gesture would be like kicking an abandoned kitten just for meowing. For a moment I think that you are only pretending, that it is impossible for you to be a pro-wrestler and at the same time maintain that level of innocence and kindness. I even consider the possibility that you are setting a trap for me, but your eyes and your voice make me discard the possibility. The crowd begins to shout at you to move away from me, not to trust me. A kind smile appears on my face while I extend my hand, squeezing yours warmly... "Good luck, Hana..." I say to you with a soft voice, slightly tilting my head. However, I do not let go of your hand, I simply keep it there, held, and I add "You're going to need it..." Before giving a strong pull on your wrist, trying to bring you closer to me while I raise my leg, looking to sink my boot into your stomach and bend you in front of me as soon as we begin, without letting go of your hand

Hana_Jeong: For a fraction of a second I actually believe the handshake is sincere. Your hand is warm around mine, your voice calm when you wish me luck. My shoulders relax just slightly, and that tiny moment of trust is all you need. Your words barely finish leaving your mouth when the sudden pull jerks my arm forward. “FUCK...” I groan. Your boot slams hard into my stomach before I can react. The air explodes out of my lungs and my body folds instantly around the impact. My knees hit the canvas with a dull thud as I double over, my free arm instinctively wrapping around my aching belly. I gasp sharply, trying to pull in air that refuses to come. You’re still gripping my wrist tightly, almost violently, keeping me trapped in front of you while I struggle on my knees. The crowd erupts immediately, some cheering, others shouting warnings that came just a second too late. I grit my teeth. "Okay... He's a son of a bitch" I think to myself. You keep pulling on my wrist, trying to control me. Your grip is strong, but it also gives me connection to your balance. I try take advantage of it. Still holding your hand, I suddenly yank hard in your direction, using your own grip against you. At the same time I throw my body backward, letting myself fall flat onto the mat. My legs snap upward instantly. Using the momentum of your body being pulled forward and the strength of my legs, I plant my feet against your midsection and kick upward over my head. With the combined force of the pull and the lift of my legs, I try to make your body flips forward in a clean arc.

Miguel_Mayo: Just as you fall to your knees on the canvas, I tilt my head back in an arrogant laugh, looking at the audience, still holding your wrist tightly in my hand, while I bring my other hand to your hair, beginning to grab it in a dominant attitude. However, suddenly I feel a pull on my arm that catches me by surprise, making me lean forward, but thinking for a second that that must be incapable of knocking me down, given my superior weight. However, taking advantage of the inertia, I feel how your boots plant themselves in my abdomen while you let yourself fall backward, so quickly my feet lift off the canvas and I find myself flipped over you in a display of surprising strength and agility, until I land with a crash on my back on the canvas, opening my eyes in pain and surprise, and immediately bringing a hand to my back, snorting and beginning to get up quickly, turning around to have you back in my range of vision

Hana_Jeong: I push myself up quickly into a low squat, my eyes locked on you as you turn back toward me. My chest is still rising and falling from the earlier kick to my stomach, but the shock of flipping you has ignited something inside me. Adrenaline floods through my veins. You’re bigger than me. Stronger. I know that. But speed has always been my advantage. The moment you regain your footing and square your shoulders toward me, I explode into motion. My boots pound quickly across the canvas as I sprint straight toward you. The crowd reacts instantly, rising in volume as they anticipate the collision between us. At the last second, instead of hitting you head on, I suddenly drop low. I slide between your legs. The canvas brushes against my gear as I glide through, using my momentum to slip past your reach. In one fluid motion I pop back up behind you, my body turning quickly. Before you can fully react, I grab you and pull, forcing you to turn toward me again. Then I jump. In a burst of athletic movement, I launch myself upward and wrap my legs tightly around your neck. My thighs clamp down as my body twists, trying to use my hips and core to generate the force needed. It’s a standing headscissors takedown, a move that usually comes naturally to me. But this time it requires every bit of strength I have. You’re heavier. Much heavier. Still, I grit my teeth, tightening my legs and throwing my body to the side, trying to pull you off balance and flip you down to the mat with the momentum of my swing.

Miguel_Mayo: Once I have you in front of me again, I see you launch yourself toward me. Bad idea on your part, I think, closing my fist and waiting for you to reach the right distance... However, at the last second, as I throw myself at you looking to smash my fist into your face, you literally disappear from my sight. My arm cuts through the air, and I’m left confused for a moment, until suddenly I feel your soft hand on my shoulder, and a sudden pull. I spin around abruptly, seeing you there standing as if you had teleported, my mouth hanging open long enough for you to jump and wrap your legs around my neck. You are much lighter than me, so it would have been difficult for you to throw me... if it weren’t for the element of surprise. Your hips shake violently and my head shoots forward from the force of your legs, flipping me through the air and slamming me onto the canvas a second time just as the match has begun, provoking a wave of cheers and excitement from the crowd

Hana_Jeong: I land smoothly on my knees after the takedown, my hair bouncing slightly as I steady myself on the canvas. For a brief second I just stay there, feeling the electricity of the moment rush through me. Whenever one of my high flying moves connects cleanly like that, an immense wave of joy floods my chest. The crowd erupts, their cheers echoing through the small arena, and I can’t help responding to them. “Yeah!” I raise my arm high, flashing the V sign with my fingers, smiling brightly as the fans shout even louder. The adrenaline makes everything feel lighter, faster. My body almost moves on its own. It’s like dancing. I push up from my knees, I adjust. my knee pad while my eyes quickly finding you again. You’re still down on the canvas, I know I need to keep the pressure. Without wasting a second, I take off running. My feet thud rhythmically against the mat as I circle around the ring, building speed and balance, letting my momentum grow with each step. The crowd senses what I’m about to try and their noise rises again. When I reach the right angle, I pivot sharply and sprint straight toward you. At the last moment I leap upward. My body flips forward in a tight arc, attempting a running standing moonsault, aiming to crash down across your torso with all the momentum I’ve built from the run.

Miguel_Mayo: I remain lying on the canvas, more confused than hurt, shaking my head while you sync with the crowd. Agile, fast, precise. I’m not very used to fighting women, and none of the ones I’ve fought move like you. I try to reorganize my thoughts, trying to relax and mentally searching for a way to adapt to you, when the ring begins to shake and I see you approaching me. A kick would have been inevitable, but you decide to launch yourself into the air, with me still perfectly fresh. I consider the possibility of moving aside, but I don’t know if I have time, so as soon as you push off to rotate in the air I raise my leg upward and backward, aiming to smash your head with my instep in midair, expecting that you will still fall onto me, and slightly raising my arms stretched over my torso

Hana_Jeong: I launch myself into the air, feeling the canvas push off my boots as my body rotates in a tight, controlled arc. The roar of the crowd fills my ears, their energy syncing perfectly with my own heartbeat. My legs coil instinctively, my core tightens, and I focus entirely on the precision of the moonsault. I catch a glimpse of you lifting your leg just in time, your instep aimed toward my head. My stomach drops for just a split second, but instinct takes over. I twist slightly midair, adjusting the rotation, letting my upper body lean back just enough to avoid a direct hit while keeping the momentum of the flip intact. My arms stretch forward and outward, helping me balance and control the landing. I feel the adrenaline spike as I sense my landing point approaching. I aim for your torso, my legs ready to wrap or absorb impact depending on how you move, my body perfectly aligned for maximum force without losing my own safety. The crowd explodes with cheers and gasps as the split-second adjustments pay off, and I land on your chest and shoulders, the impact rolling through both of us as I use my momentum to stay on top, my boots planted firmly on your midsection. I can feel the vibration of the ring beneath us, the thrill of execution flooding through me.

Miguel_Mayo: “OOOOOFFFFFFF!!” My kick doesn’t manage to land… But your moonsault does, crushing my entire upper torso with a force I didn’t imagine. My whole body jolts under your weight, while my leg falls far away from me, now useless, leaving me simply pinned beneath you, my face filled with concern as the crowd cheers excitedly. For a second, I can see your eyes, overflowing with energy and emotion, and a strange warmth runs through my body, before the pain returns and, above all, the embarrassment

Hana_Jeong: I grit my teeth as my abs burn from the moonsault, every muscle still screaming from the impact, but I push through it. With a quick, deliberate motion, I hook your leg, pressing it firmly against the canvas for a pin. My forearm comes down across your cheek, my elbow pad rubbing lightly against your skin as I hold my weight just enough to keep you grounded. The playful, polite guy I had talked to backstage is gone. Right now, you are nothing but a sneaky heel, and I feel that shift with every second that passes. The referee slides into position, crouching low to watch the pin closely. “One… ” I hear the crowd echo the count in unison

Miguel_Mayo: My leg lifts as your forearm crushes my cheek, positioning your body strategically over me for the pin. For a moment, I remain still here, my chest aching and still surprised. Knocked down, overwhelmed, crushed, pinned, without having been able to offer any real offense so far. I turn red with anger when the referee hits the canvas the first time, and I don’t give him time to raise his arm for the second, quickly lifting my arm with ease and rotating my shoulders, stopping the count and trying to crawl away from you

Hana_Jeong: The moment the referee’s hand hits the mat for the first count, I can already feel the tension in your body. When you power your shoulder up before the second slap, breaking the pin, I’m not surprised. Still, the kick out makes the crowd react loudly again. Some cheer, others groan. I release the hook on your leg and roll slightly to the side, breathing a bit heavier now, my abs still sore from the moonsault. Of course he kicked out… But at least the message is clear. I push myself back onto my knees, watching you begin to crawl away from me across the canvas. For a brief second I hesitate. Back in Japan I almost never needed to do this. I usually wrestled other women. Still, this match is different. I reach forward and grab a fistful of your hair. My fingers tighten into your scalp, not gently, but firmly enough to stop your escape. For a split second I feel the strange unfamiliarity of it. I’ve never really grabbed a guy like this before. The crowd reacts immediately. I slowly rise to my feet while keeping my grip, forcing your upper body to follow. Your head tilts back under the pull as I drag you upward. “Get up, boy.” My voice is a little breathless but confident. I keep pulling until you’re forced back onto your feet in front of me, still holding your hair tightly, as I attempt to deliver a huge chop on your chest

Miguel_Mayo: I feel your firm hand grabbing my hair and pulling it. My head arches as I frown and grit my teeth in pain. When you speak to me, I feel something strange. I feel that you don’t have the right to talk to me like that, just for having gotten lucky at the beginning. You don’t know what I’m capable of. But I also feel that there is no arrogance in your voice, but sincerity, confidence. Even a certain sweetness. I clench my fists as I get to my feet, forced by you, my arms trembling with anger and thinking internally about finding the right moment. And then... -SMACKKK!!- Your hand crashes against my bare chest in a chop that echoes throughout the venue and leaves me with my mouth open and a red mark, making me step back a little as I process the pain... And then I open my eyes, looking at you with a strong desire to hurt you, like a hunter who has waited too long for his prey and has finally had it come into range. And I’m not going to show off or do anything sophisticated or impressive. With my fist still closed, I suddenly launch my arm forward like a missile, making an arc through the air and aiming to smash it into your jaw in a brutal hook, wanting to knock you down with a single blow and demonstrate my physical superiority

Hana_Jeong: he moment your arm comes flying toward me, I barely have time to react. Your fist connects with my jaw with a brutal CRACK. "RRGGHH" My head snaps violently to the side as the force of the hook explodes through my face. My whole body spins with the impact and I stumble backward until my back hits the ropes, the top strand catching me under the arms and stopping my fall. The arena erupts with a mix of cheers and shocked gasps. My legs wobble badly as I lean against the ropes, completely stunned for a moment. One hand immediately flies to my jaw, holding it tightly while I grimace in pain. My fingers move instinctively along the bone, pressing and rubbing as if trying to check whether it’s broken. My breathing becomes shallow and uneven. I keep touching my jaw, opening and closing my mouth slightly, testing it. My eyes slowly lift toward you while I’m still holding it, and the expression on my face has changed completely. The earlier excitement is gone. Now my eyes are wide, filled with anxiety after feeling the full power of that punch. I swallow nervously, still leaning against the ropes, my chest rising and falling as I try to recover from the shock of the blow.

Miguel_Mayo: My punch connects and I shake my hand as you step back, although surprisingly you don’t quite fall to the mat, remaining leaning against the ropes, your expression transformed. Invaded by the urge to keep attacking, I lunge at you quickly, extending my right arm, looking to smash it against your chest and neck in a clothesline against the ropes, correcting the angle, trying to crash into you with enough force to send you over the ropes and throw you to the ringside

Hana_Jeong: I’m still leaning against the ropes, my fingers pressing along my jaw, trying to steady the ringing inside my head. Then I see you charging. My eyes widen just a second too late. Your arm crashes across my chest and neck in a crushing clothesline. The impact knocks the air out of me as my upper body snaps backward over the top rope. My legs leave the canvas and my whole body flips awkwardly through the air. For a brief, weightless moment I’m suspended above the ropes. Then my upper back slams painfully against the hard edge of the apron. The bounce sends me tumbling down to the floor at ringside. I hit the ground badly and roll forward uncontrollably until my body bumps against the feet of the first row of spectators. The crowd reacts loudly, some fans jumping back as I spill almost into their laps. I groan softly, clutching my ribs and back as I slowly push myself onto my hands and knees. Everything aches now. My jaw, my back, my stomach from earlier. Still breathing hard, I crawl a short distance along the floor until I reach an empty chair between two spectators. With visible effort, I pull myself up and sit down on it, slumping there for a moment, my elbows resting on my thighs as I try to regain my stamina while the audience around me shouts and reacts to the fight spilling outside the ring.

Miguel_Mayo: At last I smile, seeing you collapse on the floor, and leaning on the top rope, watching the crowd move away while you begin to crawl. I let myself fall to the canvas and then roll under the bottom rope, while you sit in one of the chairs. Once I get down from the ring, I rub my chest, still with the red mark of your chop, while I approach you with a slow but determined step. When I reach you, I grab your chin with one hand and force you to raise your head, squeezing it back and exposing your chest. Then, I pull my arm back, to quickly launch the back of my hand toward you again, trying to smash it against your chest in a chop with which I also try to hit you with enough force to destabilize the chair and send you backwards

Hana_Jeong: I’m still sitting there trying to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling as the noise of the arena swirls around me. My body feels heavy, slow, like every movement costs twice the effort. I barely react when you approach. Your hand suddenly grabs my chin, firm and rough, forcing my head upward. My neck stretches back under the pressure, exposing my chest as you hold me there. My eyes widen slightly as I realize what you’re about to do, but I’m still too stunned to properly resist. Your arm pulls back. Then PASSSSSHHHHHHH The chop explodes across my chest. “AAAAHHHH!!” The sound echoes through the entire venue. My whole body jerks violently from the impact, the burning pain spreading instantly across my chest like fire. The force knocks the chair out from under me and I fall backward hard onto the floor. The crowd erupts immediately with loud boos. I land awkwardly near the second row, rolling onto my side as I gasp and cry out again, my hand instinctively clutching my chest where the red mark is already forming. Tears well up in my eyes from the shock of it. I scramble weakly, reaching out blindly until my hands grab the legs of one of the spectators’ chairs. I cling to it, trying to pull myself up, my fingers trembling as I hold on. My breathing is shaky now, and when I look up at you my eyes are glossy with pain. I’ve taken hard hits before. But being handled this roughly by a man in the ring… it’s something I’ve never quite experienced like this before. Around us the crowd continues to boo loudly at you while I struggle beside them, now gripping the legs of a fan as I try to get back on my feet.

Miguel_Mayo: The referee has started counting. I know I don’t have much time, that I must get you back inside the ring. I grab the overturned chair by one of the legs and lift it with one hand, throwing it aside in a single motion, my chest widened by heavy breathing as my eyes scan the floor, as if searching for my prey among the brush. When I find you clinging to a fan’s legs, I grab you directly by the hair, and I turn without looking at you, pulling on it expecting you to follow me, one way or another, as if you were just a dog. The boos intensify, beginning to ignite that fire in me that I’m about to unleash against you in the ring. But I’m still recovering and trying to take control over you. The start of the match has left me in far too bad a position. When I reach the edge of the ring, I grab you by the trunks and throw you under the bottom rope, rolling in after you and managing to stop the referee’s count

Hana_Jeong: Your fingers are still tangled painfully in my hair when you drag me away from the front row. My body follows helplessly, half stumbling, half being pulled across the floor as the crowd around us boos loudly. “Ahhhh… ahh…!” I moan in pain, one hand weakly gripping your wrist, trying to ease the pressure on my scalp while you pull me along like I weigh nothing. My chest still burns from the chop and every step sends a dull ache through my back and ribs. A harsh thought crosses my mind through the haze of pain. This match is becoming a reality check. It doesn’t matter if I’m a sweet girl. It doesn’t matter if I smile at the crowd or hug little kids before the match. Inside the ring, a man isn’t going to treat me any differently. The cute boy I saw in the locker room is gone. Right now he’s treating me like absolute trash. You reach the ring and suddenly grab the back of my trunks. Before I can even react, you shove me forward. My body slides roughly under the bottom rope and onto the canvas. I roll awkwardly onto my side with a small cry, my hair messy around my face. You follow right after me, the referee immediately stopping his count as you get back inside. For a moment I just lie there, breathing heavily. Then I slowly begin to crawl across the mat, one arm wrapped across my aching chest while my other hand reaches back to adjust my trunks that shifted during the rough throw. My movements are slower now, pained, but I’m still trying to create some distance between us as the crowd continues reacting loudly around the ring.

Miguel_Mayo: I approach you, crouching down to grab one of your wrists and standing up again, keeping only part of your body lifted by your arm. I need to make sure you’re going to stay stunned. I notice how you turn your face to look at me, and then I raise my leg, forcefully crushing the sole of my boot against your cheek. Your head turns, but I don’t stop. Without letting go of your wrist, keeping you slightly lifted, I throw my leg forward again, kicking the back of your head like it were a soccer ball. Then I keep throwing blows and kicks against your head, in every direction, each time with more violence, and finally beginning to shout at you: “HOW DARE YOU FACE ME IN MY OWN RING, YOU STUPID FUCKING CHINESE!!”, earning a wave of boos, which make me stop the kicks and turn to them, still dragging you by the wrist: “You defend her?? What’s wrong with you, bunch of retards, you see a pretty foreign face and you already drool over her?? You want to see what I do with your Chinese??” I begin to provoke them

Hana_Jeong: Your grip on my wrist keeps part of my body lifted from the mat, my arm stretched painfully upward while my knees and hip drag across the canvas. Before I can even gather myself, your boot suddenly crashes into my face. The dirty sole smashes against my cheek and my head snaps to the side. “Ah!” My hair whips across my face as I gasp, but I don’t fall. Your hand still grips my wrist tightly, holding me up like a puppet. Then another kick. Your boot slams into the back of my head. The world spins violently and a sharp cry escapes my throat as my body jerks forward. The blows keep coming from different directions, each one knocking my head around while I’m barely able to protect myself. The crowd begins to boo loudly, their voices rising as the attack grows more vicious. My legs finally give way beneath me. But instead of collapsing to the canvas, I slump forward against you, my forehead and cheek pressing weakly against your thigh while your hand still holds my wrist in the air. My breathing is ragged now. My vision is blurred. For a few seconds I’m not even sure where I am anymore. Then I hear you shouting. Loud. Angry. The words cut through the noise of the arena, and even in my dazed state I understand them. The racist insults hit me harder than the kicks did. My body freezes slightly where it leans against your leg. My eyes open wider, glassy with exhaustion and pain, while a small tremor runs through my shoulders. For a moment it feels like something inside me cracks. Not my body. My spirit. I stay there slumped against you, barely holding myself up, my head still resting weakly against your thigh while the arena fills with loud boos around us.

Miguel_Mayo: In response to my own rhetorical question, I grab you by the head with both hands, lifting your face toward me and shouting so everyone can hear me: “Welcome to Spain! Welcome to my ring! Welcome to hell!” And having said that, I pull your head toward me, placing it between my thighs and stepping backward toward the center, dragging you with me. I press my thighs against your cheeks, keeping you pinned, while I watch your collapsed body behind you. I think you’re finished. You got lucky at the beginning, but you really weren’t a difficult opponent. I think I’ll finish this in a spectacular way, I’ll teach you the lesson and then I’ll go see you in the locker room afterward. I lean over you, pressing my chest against your back and wrapping both arms around your stomach. My forearms slide over your sweaty sides as I secure the grip of my wrists. Suddenly, I let out a shout while pulling my arms upward, opening my legs and managing to rotate you in the air over my arms, placing you seated on my shoulders. The crowd gasps in anticipation, while I shout one last time: “GO TO SLEEP, PRINCESS!!” and I try to throw you backward against the canvas in a brutal powerbomb

Hana_Jeong: My legs feel like jelly as you drag me toward the center of the ring, my head trapped painfully between your thighs. My hands hang weakly at your sides while my vision swims and the roar of the crowd becomes a distant blur in my ears. For a moment I hear almost nothing. Just my own breathing. My lips move faintly as I whisper to myself, barely audible. “C’mon Hana… do something… be brave…” Then suddenly the world tilts. Your arms tighten around my waist and with a powerful heave you lift me up, my body rising off the canvas. The arena gasps as I’m rotated through the air until I find myself seated high on your shoulders, my legs draped on either side of your head. The height makes my stomach drop. I hear you shout beneath me. “GO TO SLEEP, PRINCESS!!” You begin to throw me backward for the powerbomb. But instinct sparks through the fog in my head. At the last possible second, my legs snap tighter around your head. Instead of letting myself fall backward, I throw my weight forward and twist my hips sharply, wrapping my thighs around your head and neck. Using the momentum of your own lift, I try to swing my body down in front of you, attempting to flip you forward into a hurricanrana, hoping to drag you down to the canvas with me instead of crashing into it myself.

Miguel_Mayo: "WOAHH!!" My own impulse betrays me. Without expecting it at all, as you launch yourself forward I give you the momentum you needed. Your legs clamp onto my head like a vise and my own body is catapulted forward in your hurricanrana, flipping me through the air and making me land clumsily on the ring, forcing my eyes wide open in surprise as I roll across the canvas until crashing into the lower rope. I shake my head in disbelief, surrounded by the cheers of the crowd and watching from the other end of the ring your seemingly weaker body trying to get back up after having proven me spectacularly wrong about you. A flash of admiration appears in my eyes as I start to get up, faster than you, and once I do I begin to approach you with an unsteady step, grabbing you by the hair and pulling it toward me: "What do you think that was, huh?? Do you think you're better than me?? Do you think you can defeat me, insignificant girl??" As I try to place your head under my arm in a frontal headlock, looking to take you toward the center of the ring

Hana_Jeong: For a brief moment, relief floods through me when my hurricanrana connects. Your body flips forward and crashes to the mat, and the arena explodes in cheers. The sound washes over me like a wave, pulling me back from the fog of pain and exhaustion. I push myself up slowly onto my knees, breathing heavily, trying to steady the spinning in my head. Okay… I’m still in this… But before I can recover properly, your hand is in my hair again. “Ah—!” You yank me upward, forcing me back to my feet. My legs wobble badly beneath me as you pull me close, your voice shouting down at me while the crowd continues to react around us. Your arm moves to trap my head under it in a tight front headlock. My vision blurs again as the pressure closes around my neck. But instinct kicks in. I bend one knee slightly to stabilize myself and start striking upward with my free hand. My elbow smashes forward into your strong abs. I keep hitting your midsection with quick elbow blows, trying to force you to loosen the headlock and give me just enough space to slip free from your grip. My movements are not elegant anymore, just determined and desperate as I fight to break away but you are too strong.

Miguel_Mayo: "Ughhh!! Umpphhh!! Ack!!" Your elbow begins to crash into my abs, in blows that are not devastating but are fast, precise, and give me no time to react. I try to keep the hold on your head, trying to ignore the pain and reposition you, but you don’t stop and the punishment begins to be too unbearable, so the hold loosens enough for you to slip away like an eel between my arms. I take a step back, wrapping my arm around my abdomen, massaging it to relieve the pain, while I watch you slowly back away. I see you scared, clumsy, desperate. And yet, determined. And then I realize that you are not going to stop for anything in the world. That perhaps it will take me more than 20 minutes to manage to defeat you, which would leave me in a very bad place and would anger the bosses. I was supposed to finish you quickly. An idea begins to form in my mind, but for the moment I try to attack again, throwing myself toward you while I rotate completely, trying to launch my fist upward, seeking to crush your chin with an uppercut

Hana_Jeong: I finally slip free from your arms and stagger a step back, breathing hard, my chest rising and falling as I try to steady myself. My body feels heavy, every muscle sore, but I force myself to stay standing. I can see it in your eyes. You’re realizing I’m not going down easily. For a brief second there is distance between us. Then you charge again. Before I can react properly, your body spins and your fist shoots upward like a missile. Your uppercut crashes into my chin. “AH!” My head snaps back violently. The impact sends a shock through my entire skull and my legs instantly give out beneath me. I stumble backward until my back hits the corner. The world spins. A metallic taste suddenly fills my mouth. I slump there, leaning helplessly against the turnbuckles. My cheek presses weakly against the top pad while my arms hang loosely over the ropes on either side of me. My chest rises and falls unevenly as I try to breathe. For a moment I’m barely aware of the crowd or the ring around me, just the throbbing pain in my jaw and the taste of blood lingering on my tongue while I remain draped in the corner, dazed and vulnerable.

Miguel_Mayo: My fist connects, making you stumble backward, and I shake my arm as you crash into the corner. The fact that I haven’t been able to knock you down to the mat even once has me completely unhinged... and impressed. I see you hanging on the ropes and I clench my fists, giving a small hop before running toward you, leaning forward and jumping ahead at the last moment, trying to drive all my weight through my shoulder into your stomach, seeking to crush you against the corner, as if I wanted to split you in two!

Hana_Jeong: Through the haze of pain I suddenly see you charging. Your entire body is coming straight at me, fast and brutal, your shoulder lowered like a battering ram aimed directly at my stomach. Tears are still running down my cheeks from the earlier blows, but instinct kicks in again. Survive. My hands shoot up and grab the top ropes on both sides of the corner. At the last possible moment I pull hard with my arms while tightening my core with everything I have left. With a sharp effort from my abs and hips, I lift my body upward. My boots leave the canvas and I hook both legs over the top ropes, curling my body upward just as you crash forward. There is suddenly nothing in front of you. Your shoulder slams violently into the exposed steel ring post behind me. CLANG! The entire ring shakes from the impact and the crowd gasps loudly. Using the momentum of lifting myself, I slide down along your back. My sweaty back brushes against yours as I drop behind you while you’re still stunned from hitting the post. Without wasting a second, I quickly grab around your waist from behind and drop backward to the mat. As I fall, I pull you with me and roll through your legs, flipping you backward into a sunset flip. My legs fold underneath you as your back is pulled down toward the canvas. The referee immediately slides into position. “One!” The crowd shouts along instantly. “TWOOO!”

Miguel_Mayo: My shoulder and part of my head crash hard against the metal post, sending vibrations of pain through my entire body, which hangs almost outside the ropes for a second before I begin to slowly fall back, ready to collapse. My vision is completely blurred and I only hear a murmur. With my eyes half closed, I feel my muscles go loose when I feel your damp skin brushing against mine. A grip around my waist, a small push, and suddenly, before I can collapse on my own, I find myself flipped into a sunset flip, my back crashing against the canvas, making me gasp and groan at the same time while you position yourself for a pin. The referee counts the first. The crowd roars the second. And a scream of rage bursts from my throat when I shake my whole body, raising an arm with such force that I end up rolling all the way over, ending up almost face down on the canvas, but successfully breaking the pin... "NOOOOOO!!!"

Hana_Jeong: I slam both hands against the mat, frustration bubbling through me, my breath heavy and ragged. The cheers of the crowd surge through the arena, lifting my spirits, pushing me to keep going despite the burn in my muscles and the ache in my chest. I see you rolling away from me, still recovering from the sunset flip. My eyes narrow, and I move like an animal, my legs pumping as I close the distance. Without hesitation, I plant my kickpad against your ribs in a sharp soccer kick. I step closer, bending one knee and pressing it down firmly against your cheek, holding your head in place. My other hand shoots out, gripping your arm at the side of your hurting shoulder. I twist slightly, pulling it into a tight angle, forcing your muscles to lock. I sink lower, pressing my weight down to bind you in a harsh arm bar, my knee still pinning your head gently but firmly against the mat. The crowd explodes around us, sensing the control I’ve gained, and I grind my teeth, keeping the hold locked. I scream like an amazon warrior

Miguel_Mayo: "AGH!!" Your kickpad explodes against my ribs, making me groan in pain and curl slightly, but my movement is stopped by the pressure your knee begins to apply on my cheek, pressing my whole head against the canvas and drawing a soft groan from me in the process. Suddenly, I feel your firm grip on my right arm, and with a pull it arches in a direction it shouldn’t, tensing all the muscles in my back and my shoulder still burning from the blow and provoking an involuntary scream of pain in the process... "AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!" My scream mixes with yours, and with the explosion of excitement from the crowd, while my spirit begins to collapse, feeling myself overcome and crushed not only by someone foreign in my own house, but by the most adorable girl I have ever encountered in the locker room. I try to push back to counter you, but it is completely impossible, beginning to twist my entire body in pain, feeling that you are going to dislocate my shoulder, and beginning to shake my hips and legs, knowing that I am close to the ropes and trying to reach them, but unable to see in which direction I am going, with your knee still pressed over my face, and feeling a cold sweat run through my body while I do not stop screaming in pain

Hana_Jeong: I feel your body twisting beneath me, your scream echoing through the arena as the hold tightens. The crowd is on their feet now, shouting, clapping, feeding the intensity of the moment. My knee presses harder against your cheek, keeping your head pinned to the mat while your arm strains in my grip. I can feel the muscles in your shoulder trembling from the pressure. You’re close to the ropes. I know it. Your legs kick and shift blindly, searching. Gritting my teeth, I lean back further, yanking your arm with both hands and arching my body to increase the pressure on the joint. My wet hair falls forward until the ends brush the canvas beside your shoulder. “Give up, fucking scumbag!” I groan through clenched teeth. My voice is strained but determined. I pull again, trying to force the submission before your desperate reach can find the ropes, the crowd roaring around us as the struggle continues.

Miguel_Mayo: "AAAARGGHHHH!!!" Your yank becomes unbearable, my cheek mercilessly crushed against the canvas, acting as the pivot point of my entire body. I begin to convulse, sweating profusely and with every muscle in my body twisting and trembling, feeling my arm reach the threshold of pain, and without stopping rotating, until finally my boots reach the rope and wrap around it desperately, while I begin to shout: "REFEREE!! THE ROPES!! SHE’S CHEATING!! SHE’S A CHEATER!! TELL HER TO LET GO OF ME!!"

Hana_Jeong: The moment I feel your boots wrap around the ropes, I freeze. Your shouting fills the arena, calling the referee’s attention. Before he can even start the count, I immediately release your arm. I push myself back onto my knees and lift both hands slightly in the air, my palms open as I look toward the referee, my expression tired but clear. “I’m not doing anything.” My breathing is heavy, my chest rising and falling as sweat runs down my face and neck. Even after everything that’s happened in this match, I’m still trying to fight clean. I slowly back away from you, giving space so the referee can check on you while you remain tangled in the ropes. The crowd continues buzzing loudly around us as I run a hand through my damp hair, keeping my eyes on you, waiting for you to get back up so the fight can continue.

Miguel_Mayo: At last you release my arm, and I hug it with the other against my chest, squeezing my eyes and teeth shut, near the ropes, lying on my side and panting with difficulty. The referee asks me if I can continue, and I tell him yes, but I feel my arm useless and I really don’t know how. I glance at you, staring at me, tired, sweaty, serious, beautiful, patient. I try to get up, clinging to the ropes with my free hand, managing to get onto one knee, with my back pressed against the ropes, looking at you with my chest heaving. When I see that you begin to approach, I extend the hand of my good arm toward you, with the palm open: “Wait!!” Seeing that you stop, I try to continue… “Wait, please… Don’t… Don’t hurt me anymore, okay?... Pl… Please…” The crowd begins to roar against me, asking you to finish me once and for all, while I keep my gaze fixed on you, full of pleading, with my right arm hooked on the middle rope and the sweat running down my face and my body

Hana_Jeong: “Wtf?” The words slip out of my mouth almost without thinking. I stop a few steps away from you, my arms lifting slightly to the sides, shoulders raised in total confusion. My chest is still rising and falling from the effort of the match, sweat dripping from my hair as I stare at you kneeling there against the ropes. Your hand is extended toward me. Begging. For a moment I just look at you, blinking in disbelief. Then I turn my head toward the crowd, raising my hands again as if asking them the same question. “WTF?” The fans erupt with noise, many of them shouting for me to finish you. Their voices echo all around the arena. But my eyes return to you. Something about it doesn’t feel right. I don’t trust you. Not after everything that’s happened in this match. Still… I take a slow step back, lowering my hands and giving you some space. Even now, part of me still wants to fight this match the right way. I gesture slightly with one hand. “Man... c'mon this is not over.” I turn on the ref "Ref...?"

Miguel_Mayo: My gaze doesn’t leave yours. I don’t need you to believe me, only to doubt, and that is exactly what I achieve. It’s no longer about winning or losing, it’s about image. This shouldn’t be happening at all. My strategy works when I manage to make you step back, while my gaze turns more predatory. And just at the moment when you turn to look for the referee, I launch myself at you like a beast, bending my arm and trying to crush my elbow against the back of your head. I put all the power of my weight and my strength into the charge, trying to knock you down to the canvas, stun you if possible, and gain a bit of time to be able to finish this damn match once and for all

Hana_Jeong: I barely have time to turn my head. Your elbow crashes into the back of my head with brutal force. My whole body jolts forward as the blow lands. The strength behind it completely overwhelms me and my legs instantly give out beneath me. I collapse violently onto the canvas. For a few seconds everything goes dark. The crowd erupts into furious boos, some people in the front row even leaning forward as if they want to jump the barricade and come after you for the cheap shot. But I don’t hear it. I’m lying face down on the mat, completely motionless. My cheek presses against the canvas, a thin line of drool slowly slipping from the corner of my mouth as my body remains limp. Knocked out. Seconds pass. Then a faint twitch runs through my fingers. A weak groan escapes my throat as consciousness slowly crawls back into my mind. My eyes flutter open slightly, unfocused, and I try to move. My arms drag weakly against the canvas as I attempt to crawl. But my strength isn’t there. My body barely lifts before collapsing again, my chest hitting the mat as I fall right back down, too weak to push myself up.

Miguel_Mayo: I fall beside you when you collapse, pressing my aching arm against my chest. I watch you remain completely motionless, and for a second I think that maybe this would be enough to pin you. But then, to my surprise, I hear you groan… and move your arms. You’re still there. I curse under my breath while I make my decision and roll across the canvas, passing under the bottom rope and letting myself drop to ringside, among the boos of the crowd. I lift the ring apron with my good arm and crouch down to grab a metal chair. I raise it slowly into the air, provoking a wave of insults, including from the referee, who begins threatening me with disqualification. I then slide the chair under the ropes and myself after it, grabbing it in time before the referee reaches my height. I stand up, the chair hanging from my hand, and I face him: “Get out of my way.” I order him authoritatively. He, frightened, takes a step to the side, still shouting at me and threatening me, while the path clears and I see your fragile silhouette on the canvas, struggling to stand up. I stay there, in front of you, and bring the tip of my boot to your chin, lifting your head to force you to look at me. “Get up. Now.” I tell you, looking into your eyes, feeling an unexpected storm of emotions. When I see that you don’t react, I shout directly at you: “GET UP!!”

Hana_Jeong: Your boot presses under my chin and lifts my head from the mat. My neck follows weakly, my dark eyes slowly opening to look up at you. Everything hurts. My head throbs from the elbow and the world still feels slightly tilted. You shout again. “GET UP!!” The sound echoes painfully inside my skull. For a moment I don’t even move. My breathing is shallow, my body trembling as I try to gather the strength to respond. Slowly… painfully… I begin to push myself up. My arms shake as I get onto my hands and knees, my hair hanging over my face while sweat drips onto the canvas. I look small there in front of you, struggling just to stay upright. You treat me like a dog. To stop myself from collapsing again, my hands instinctively grab your tights. My fingers clutch them weakly as if they are the only thing keeping me from falling. I barely manage to rise onto my knees in front of you. Your screaming makes my head pound harder and I blink up at you, dazed and exhausted. Then something catches my eye. The metal chair in your hand. My expression changes instantly. My eyes widen with sudden fear as I realize what you’re holding, and for the first time in the match a real sense of terror flashes across my face while I kneel there helplessly in front of you.

Miguel_Mayo: I stay for a second looking at you, exhausted, while a single thought runs through my mind... "How did I get here?". You look so destroyed that I feel one last twinge of hope. Maybe with a DDT it would be enough, and I would win the match. But then the pain in my arm and shoulder reminds me that throughout the entire match I have been unable to take you down even once, that you have always managed to overcome me, and that you have been close to making me submit. A cloud of shame covers my face, as I feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I don’t feel anger anymore. I look at the chair in my hand and the only thing I can think is how pathetic I am. Because of how the match against you has gone... but also because of what I am about to do. I grab the chair with both hands, clenching my teeth from the pain in my arm, and I raise the chair over you. Your eyes show terror for the first time. And my heart shrinks when I see this newly arrived Asian girl, after having given everything, exposed before me, denied her rightful chance to shine. And I consider it brutally unfair. I curse myself internally for it, at the same time that I bring the chair down with both hands in a quick movement, SMASHING your head with it and bending it in the process. A metallic noise mixes with the referee’s voice: "RING THE BELL!! RING THE BELL!! DISQUALIFICATION!! IT’S OVER"

Hana_Jeong: I remain on my knees in front of you, my body barely holding itself upright, my hands still weakly gripping your tights like they’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart. My chest rises and falls unevenly. My eyes lift slowly to yours. They’re full of tears. Not just from the pain… but from the realization. After everything… after everything I endured in this match… this is how it’s going to end. Not fighting. Not giving everything until the last second. But like this. Helpless. I swallow weakly, my lips trembling. I would rather lose on my feet than win like this… or worse… be finished like this. I look at you, trying to find something in your eyes. “Please…” I whisper softly, just for you to hear. “…don’t…” My voice is fragile, almost breaking. For a second, I feel it. That hesitation inside you. That conflict. But I’m too exhausted to move. Too broken to defend myself. Slowly, I close my eyes. A single tear rolls down my cheek. And then TAAAASSHHHH! The chair crashes against my head. Everything goes black instantly. My body collapses lifelessly onto the canvas, arms and legs spreading out as I hit the mat. My face is frozen in a faint expression of pain, of suffering, as a thin trickle of blood begins to run from my scalp down across my forehead. Silence. No thoughts. No sound. Just darkness

Miguel_Mayo: "And your winner!! By disqualification!! HANAAA JEOOONG!!" The announcer’s voice filters through the sea of boos in the arena. I watch you collapse onto the canvas as I toss the chair aside, looking at you with troubled eyes. Slowly, I place my boot on you, raising my arms to both sides for the crowd, but I don’t lift my head in a sign of victory. My eyes remain fixed on your sweat-soaked, broken body at my feet. I pull my foot away from you as two staff members come up, one going to check on your condition, and the other pulling me aside and asking me to get out of the ring. I feel a knot in my throat and my hand trembles, but I keep stepping back, not taking my eyes off you. I slip between the ropes, finally turning and walking up the ramp. I feel like I should shout some reaffirming comment, but I can’t. I just keep walking backward, feeling myself grow very small, and finally entering the locker room

Hana_Jeong: For a few long seconds, I don’t move. The world slowly fades back in. First the noise… distant, muffled. Then the feeling… the throbbing in my head, the stickiness on my forehead. My eyes flutter open weakly as I feel hands on me. The referee is already there, kneeling beside me, checking my condition while members of the staff slide into the ring, their voices filled with concern. I blink slowly, trying to focus. “I’m… okay…” I murmur, my voice faint but steady enough. “…thanks… please…” I don’t want a scene. I don’t want exaggerated care. Just… let me get out. I stay down for a few more seconds, selling the damage, letting my body look as broken as it felt a moment ago. Then, with effort, I allow the referee to help me sit up. A small groan escapes my lips as I bring a hand to my head, feeling the slight sting of the cut. It’s not that bad. Still hurts like hell though. With his support, I slowly get to my feet, my legs unsteady as I lean slightly into him. Together we make our way toward the ropes and down to ringside. The crowd is still loud, but now there’s a different tone to it. Support. Encouragement. I force a small smile. As we walk along the barricade, I lift my hand and high five a few fans. Someone calls my name and I stop for just a second, leaning in to take a quick selfie, raising my fingers in my usual V sign despite everything. The adrenaline is still there, carrying me. Step by step, I make my way to the backstage area. As soon as I pass through the curtain, everything changes. I straighten up slightly. “Thanks,” I say quietly to the referee, giving him a small nod.

Hana_Jeong: The act fades. I’m not fine… but I’m better than I looked out there. The bleeding has already slowed, just a scratch more than anything serious. I take a breath and walk into the locker room. And then I see you. Standing there in your corner. I stop for a brief moment, my eyes locking onto yours. The earlier fear is gone. What’s left now is something colder. Disdain. “Pff…” A quiet, dismissive sound escapes my lips. I break eye contact and keep walking, heading toward my locker, my body still sore, my head still aching, but my mind already focused on one thing. A shower. And putting this match behind me.

Miguel_Mayo: When your gaze locks onto my eyes, I shrink slightly. Ashamed, even fearful. That gesture of disdain hurts me much more deeply than I would have expected, and I feel a certain relief when you break eye contact, as I watch you walk away. However, I feel the urge to speak to you, even though I’m not quite sure why. I know I’ll probably only receive more contempt and some insult. I haven’t given you any reason to think I can be different from how I’ve been in the ring. Maybe I should just let it be that way, I think. After all, it’s just work. And then I find myself betraying myself by taking an impulsive step toward you: "Hana!! Wait!!"

 

Hana_Jeong: I stop. My body freezes for a moment when I hear your voice behind me. My eyes close slowly, as if I’m trying to shut everything out for just one second. The pain is still there… my head throbbing, my body heavy, my spirit even heavier. I don’t turn around immediately. I just stand there, my back to you, shoulders slightly tense. A breath escapes my lips. Then, without looking at you, I finally speak. “…What do you want?”

 

Miguel_Mayo: What do I want?? I want to tell you a thousand things, apologize to you for so many things, show you who I really am. I don’t even know where to start. You don’t even turn around. I don’t even know you. You’re just an Asian girl for whom I am the most despicable being in the world. My voice comes out weak, almost trembling, almost pleading: "At least tell me where you’re from... I want to apologize for... well, for many things, it’s too long to ex... never mind... I’m sorry for calling you Chinese if you’re not..." I turn completely red as I speak, thinking that I’m only making everything worse, so I decide not to say anything else just in case, staying behind you, nervously wringing my hands like a little child ready to be scolded by his mother

Hana_Jeong: I slowly turn around this time. My eyes meet yours, but there’s no softness in them anymore… just exhaustion, and something sharper underneath. I take a couple of steps toward you, stopping at a safe distance. You can see it in my face… I don’t want a fight anymore. But I’m not going to let it slide either. “Does it really matter where I’m from?” I say, my voice low, steady. A small, tired shake of my head. I gesture vaguely toward the ring, toward everything that just happened. “When you called me ‘Chinese’… it wasn’t about where I’m from, was it?” I let that hang for a second. Not accusing. Just… forcing you to hear it. Then I sigh softly, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away from my face. “You say you’re sorry… fine. Apology accepted.” There’s no warmth in it. Just closure. But I don’t move yet. My eyes stay on yours, more serious now. “You know what bothers me the most?” A small pause. “Your primary racism doesn't affect me. I’ve heard and felt worse. I can take it.” I glance past you for a second, like I can still hear the crowd, still feel them out there. “But there were kids in that crowd.” Now my gaze locks back onto yours. “They come here to watch us. They copy us. The way we talk, the way we act… who we decide to respect.” My voice tightens just slightly. “So when you say things like that out there… it’s not just ‘part of the show’ anymore.” Another pause. Letting it sink in. “They’ll take that with them. To school. To other people who don’t look like them.” My shoulders drop a little after that, like I’ve said what I needed to say. The tension leaves me… just leaving behind pure fatigue. “…Anyway.” I take a small step back, creating distance again. “You said sorry. I heard you.” I walk toward the shower room.

Hana_Jeong:

Miguel_Mayo: Your words hit me like missiles. I was expecting disdain, contempt, maybe some insult… but not this level of maturity. It doesn’t even seem like you’re saying it in an accusatory way, even though that’s how I feel it. My heart crumples like paper. Physically humiliated by you in the ring, and now morally in the locker room. And the worst part is that maybe you’re right and I never even thought about it. I was about to tell you it’s my character, that the kids in the crowd know I’m the bad guy. But that doesn’t invalidate your argument. I bite my lip, looking at your intense gaze, ashamed to the core and not really knowing what to say. I feel like a complete idiot. And when you turn around… your voice stays with me. In my head. Repeating your words over and over, reminding me that today has been one of the worst days of my career