NEW - NOIR EXTREME WRESTLING

Hana_Jeong: The locker room smells faintly of sweat and spray paint from the arena lights outside. I’m practically buzzing, still catching my breath from the meet and greet with the fans. My two-piece gear gleams under the fluorescent lights, my knee pads snug, my kickpadsin order. I clutch my promo notes in one hand, my heart hammering like I already stepped into the ring. Tonight is just a small house show—but tomorrow… tomorrow, I’m finally getting my first title shot in a triple threat match. I can barely believe it. “I just got confirmation!” I call out as I pace the locker room. “Tomorrow I’m in the main event! A triple threat against the two biggest girls in Stardom! Can you believe it?!” My voice is pure excitement, naïve and unfiltered, not noticing the dark shadow in the corner of the room. Sara stays behind, arms crossed, her usual calm demeanor replaced by a tight jaw and eyes that flick between my words and the floor. She’s breathing slowly, but there’s a fire in her chest, a quiet storm building. I can’t see it, not yet. I just smile, tossing my hair and bouncing on the balls of my feet. “This is going to be amazing! The fans are going to love it, and I—oh my god, I can’t even imagine… I’ll probably cry out there!” Her fists clench at her sides, the leather of her elbow pads creaking softly as she shifts her weight. A faint scowl curls her lips, and she doesn’t speak. I don’t notice. I’m too lost in my own joy. “You’ll see!” I continue, voice rising in sheer enthusiasm. “I’m going to show everyone how far I’ve come! Stardom really fucking believes in me now!” I go in front the mirror to re-do a bit my make up

Hana_Jeong:   

Sara_León: I feel the cold of the wall against my back, but I don’t move. Or at least I try not to. I watch you move, jumping with joy, shouting… And part of me wants to be happy for you, but… why would I? Three months ago I beat you in the decisive match to enter the roster. I got in, but they let you stay. At first I was grateful, but then I realized something else was happening. I started losing matches on the main roster, while you kept winning more matches and more fans. Every now and then they invited you to main roster events, but when they had the chance to exclude me, they did. No one ever told me, but in the eyes of my bosses, my coworkers, even the fans, I could always read the same damn idea: “we wish Hana had won, we prefer her.” You, drunk on popularity and admiration, had started spending less time with me, taking part in more events—different ones than mine. And, after three months of having “achieved my dream,” I felt completely… empty. And seeing you happy… That was eating me alive. Finally, I step away from the wall, out of the darkness, showing my face as I walk closer to you, but I sit on a nearby bench, adjusting my boots and murmuring acidly: “Yeah, I guess it’s great. I hope you get moved up to the roster, though it’s not exactly a welcoming place…” I pause and lift my head slightly to look at you. “Well, maybe it is for you… They’ll probably throw you a big welcome, do a whole event just to announce your arrival… Maybe it won’t be that bad after all.”

Hana_Jeong: I blink at you, the smile still on my face but softening, confusion slowly replacing the excitement. I tilt my head a little, genuinely trying to understand, not catching the bitterness underneath your words. “Wait… really?” I say, almost laughing in disbelief, rubbing the back of my neck in that clumsy way I always do. “Sara, three months ago I was literally packing my suitcase. I was saying goodbye to the girls, to Japan… I thought it was over. I thought I was going back to Korea like nothing ever happened.” I shake my head, eyes wide, still amazed. “Don’t you think that’s… kind of incredible?” I take a small step closer, finally noticing the way you’re sitting, the way your shoulders are tense, how you’re not looking at me the way you used to. My smile falters, not disappearing, just turning unsure. “…Hey,” I say softly. “You’re a bit… down, aren’t you?” I crouch slightly in front of you, resting my hands on my knees, trying to catch your eyes. “What’s the matter?” I ask, honestly concerned. “I mean—” I grin again, trying to lighten the mood, my voice turning playful without thinking. “You’re wrestling the number one contender tonight! That’s huge! I’d be freaking out if it were me.” I let out a small, awkward laugh. “I thought you’d be excited… you know? We’re both wrestling tonight, the crowd’s full, tomorrow’s the big show…” I trail off, still smiling, still not seeing the storm clearly. “Isn’t this… good?”

 

Sara_León: I stare straight into your eyes, pressing my lips together and forcing a very unsubtle smile, and beginning to speak with biting sarcasm "Yes, Hana, that's good... It's great, actually!! Because of course, why would they have me fight someone from the roster if they can do it with you?? Or, better yet... Why would they have you fight any of the wrestlers from the new promotion so you can shine in your last match before tomorrow if they’ve got a useless wrestler from the main roster they need to get rid of because it wouldn’t be convenient for her to appear at the event this weekend on the other side of Japan??" I say the words really fast, speeding up in my mouth, constantly darting my eyes and frowning, and I pause to take a breath before continuing "But don’t worry about me, after all, why would you? Sara already fulfilled her dream and lives in a fantasy world, now it’s your time to shine, now everything has to revolve around you, so ~please~ don’t think about your friend, enjoy the moment!!"

Hana_Jeong: I straighten up slowly, the playful tone disappearing completely. For the first time since I walked into the locker room, I don’t smile. I hold your gaze, steady, serious, my voice lower, firmer. “Hey— slow down,” I say, cutting through your words. “What the hell are you even talking about?” I take a breath, my chest rising sharply. “Do you really think this just… fell into my lap?” I gesture vaguely at myself. “Sara, I lost that match. I went through a ladder, through hell, in front of everyone. I had to prove—every single day—why a girl who lost deserved to stay in Stardom. I didn’t get parties. I didn’t get protection. I didn’t get excuses.” My jaw tightens. “I had to earn every cheer, every booking, every second they gave me.” I step closer now, not aggressive, but unflinching. “And yeah,” I add bluntly, “maybe you have been living a bit in a fantasy world.” I don’t shout, but my words hit harder because of it. “Too many parties. Too much alcohol. Boys. Fame. Thinking the spot was guaranteed just because you won once.” I shake my head. “This place doesn’t work like that, and you know it.” I pause, then say the next part slowly, deliberately, watching your reaction. “And by the way… you weren’t supposed to wrestle me tonight.” I let that sink in. “It was supposed to be a jobber. A safe match. Hype for tomorrow.” I swallow. “You’re here because I asked for you. Because I wanted you.” My voice softens just a fraction, but the truth stays sharp. “If I hadn’t said your name, Sara… you wouldn’t even be on this card. You’d be at home.” I exhale, conflicted but honest. “So don’t talk to me like I forgot you. Don’t talk to me like I’m trying to erase you. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be standing here at all.” I hold your eyes, waiting—no longer naïve, no longer joking.

Sara_León: Your words pierce my heart like a pin and I shoot up, pointing at my chest, yelling frantically, "I WON THAT MATCH!!... ME!!" Then I get closer and jab my finger at your chest, aggressively, "I BEAT YOU!! I DEFEATED YOU!! I KNOCKED YOU OUT!!" I run a hand through my hair, pulling it back, taking a breath, looking away. "And I'm TIRED of everyone still looking at me like I'm a mistake... You say you've earned it? What about me? What did I do differently to be treated like this? Am... Am I not cute enough? Don't I have an adorable smile? Don't... Don't I fly through the air, like you?" I stumble over my words, pacing back and forth, gesturing, and then point at you again. "No... I can't stand... that condescension you treat me with... that you ALL treat me with, okay? I don’t need your pity, I don’t need your bullshit favors, the only thing I want is JUSTICE!!" My voice starts to shake as I look you in the eyes with a deep, involuntary hatred, as I drop the final bomb. "And every time I see your face on fans’ shirts it ~b u r n s~ me, okay? It burns to think you actually believe you earned it, that it’s not your pretty face or your natural talent for making people like you. At least be honest with yourself, or say it to my face if you dare—that I haven’t worked just as hard, or even harder, than you."

Hana_Jeong: I don’t pull away when you get in my face. I don’t raise my voice. I just stand there, letting your words hit me, letting you empty everything you’ve been choking on. When you finally pause, breathing hard, I step closer—not to challenge you, but to reach you. “Hey…” my voice is soft again, unmistakably me. “Sara… listen to me.” I gently take your wrist, easing your hand down from my chest, my touch careful, grounding. “You did win. I’m not taking that away from you. But that match?” I shake my head slowly. “That was months ago. It’s over. Stardom doesn’t live in the past—only the present. And right now, you’re fighting ghosts instead of what’s in front of you.” I lift my hand and lightly brush your arm, then your shoulder, not possessive—reassuring. “You ask what you did wrong? Nothing.” My eyes don’t leave yours. “You’re beautiful. You’re strong. You’re ferocious. You are the Lioness. And you know it.” I swallow, my voice lowering with honesty. “They hated me too, Sara. Not quietly—openly. I was the Korean girl who didn’t belong, who ‘wasn’t supposed to be here.’ I didn’t win them over with smiles” I tap my chest lightly. “I put my body on the line. Every match. Every fall. Every risk. Until they had no choice but to respect me.” My thumb brushes your knuckles, gentle. “There’s room for you. There’s always been room for you. But you have to take it back—not from me, not from the fans—from yourself.” I offer a small, sad smile. “And if you think I’m standing in your way…” I shake my head. “Then use me.” I meet your eyes fully now, steady, sincere. “Prove it tonight. Against me. Prove to everyone that you’re still the Lioness.” A beat. “And no matter what happens out there…” my voice softens again, “…you’ll always be the better woman to me. Now show them why they should never forget it.”

Sara_León: I stare at you as you speak, and my eyes begin to fill with tears, like you’re hitting every right note, every single reason for my pain… And I fight against it… slapping you hard across the face. Not to snap you out of it like before—this one is meant to hurt, born of frustration, of the desire to wound you… “Does it hurt? Does it hurt, Hana? Because that’s what I feel every time you talk to me… Those lies, those sugar-coated words meant to make me feel good, that need to be the center of attention, that obsession with saying I’m better than you… I can’t take it anymore. A moment ago you said you think I’ve been living in a fantasy, that I didn’t earn my place on the roster. Tell me, was that true?” I shut my eyes and raise my hand quickly. “Ne— never mind, don’t say it, I don’t want to hear it. In fact, I don’t want to hear *anything* you have to say. I think you’ve said more than enough. I don’t know what’s real anymore, and at the center of all the guilt, it’s always you—your... your syrupy words, that unbearably adorable smile, and that legion of fans behind you. So no, please, don’t do it again.”

Hana_Jeong: The slap lands clean, sharp, loud in the small locker room. My head snaps to the side and for a second I just… freeze. Then my eyes burn, tears spilling before I can stop them. I breathe in hard, shaky. “…What do you want from me, Sara?” My voice cracks, but there’s steel underneath now. “Do you want me to quit? To throw away my dream because you’re hurting right now?” I shake my head, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. “No. I won’t do that. I can’t.” When you raise your hand again, I move—fast. I grab your wrist and force it down, not gently this time, my grip rough, desperate, real. I step into your space and point my finger hard against your chest. “No more sweet words. No more smiles,” I say, my voice low and shaking with anger and pain. “You want the truth? I fought like hell to stay here. I bled for it. And you? You’re still here too—but you’re letting all this poison eat you alive instead of fighting back.” My finger presses once more against your chest. “You’re not broken. You’re not a mistake. You’re scared and angry and lost—and I refuse to believe that’s the woman who beat me.” I drop my hand, breathing hard, tears still running. “You want to unload all that frustration, all that hate, all that fire?” I look you straight in the eyes. “Do it in the ring. Against me.” My voice softens just a fraction at the end. “Prove you’re still a lioness, Sara.” I turn my back on you and head to the backstage where I do some stretching to try to not think about. I'm now very fed up

Sara_León: I hear you start talking again, crying this time, and something terrible rises in me, as if I can’t stand your voice or your tears, your whimpers or your words, and instinctively, driven by rage and jealousy, I raise my hand to slap you again and make you shut up... But then you grab my wrist and pull it down, twisting it. I let out a sharp whimper, feeling a sharp pain in it and dropping one knee to the floor, ending up below you as you dig your finger into my chest. I look into your eyes, gritting my teeth from the pain while you speak to me, still twisting my wrist, and finally you let go and I shake my hand, backing away until I trip on the bench and fall sitting against the wall, watching you walk away, with my vision completely blurred and my heart blinded by hatred

Hana_Jeong: I don’t look back. I turn away from you and walk toward the backstage corridor, my steps steady even though my chest is still tight and my cheek still burns. Behind the curtain, the noise changes—voices, movement, life going on without us. A couple of rookie girls spot me and smile, wide-eyed, excited. One of them whispers my name like it means something now. The pretty face of Stardom. I don’t smile back. I just nod and keep moving. I drop my bag near the wall and start stretching, slow and methodical. Hamstrings. Ankles. Neck. I breathe in, then out. Again. My hands stop shaking. Enough. I’m not thinking about your tears. I’m not thinking about your hatred. I’m not carrying it with me anymore. “I’m done,” I murmur to myself, tightening my wrist tape. “I didn’t crawl through hell to stay here just to turn back now.” Three months ago I was packing my bags, ready to disappear. Tonight, I’m wrestling in Japan. Tomorrow, I fight for a title. I earned this with my body, with my pain, with every night I refused to quit when it would’ve been easier. I straighten up, roll my shoulders, eyes focused forward. “I won’t step back from my dream because of your bitterness,” I say quietly, like a vow. “Not for anyone.” When I head toward the gorilla position, there’s no hesitation left in me.

Hana_Jeong: The staff girl taps my shoulder and gestures toward the curtain. “Go first. Pre-show fan interaction.” I nod, my heartbeat instantly changing rhythm—not fear, not doubt. Focus. The music hits, bright and fast, and the reaction washes over me the second I step through the curtain. Cheers, phones up, hands reaching. “From Busan, South Korea… the Korean Sweetheart… HANA JEOOOONG!” I break into a run, grinning wide, energy spilling out of me like it always does. I slap hands along the guardrail, pull fans into quick hugs, lean in for selfies, laughing when someone almost drops their phone. Hi-fives, finger hearts, exaggerated bows—every little thing that makes them smile, because this is where I feel alive. I slide under the bottom rope and pop back to my feet in one smooth motion, bouncing lightly on my toes. I soak it in for a second—the noise, the lights, the warmth of the crowd—and then I hit my signature pose in the center of the ring, one arm raised, the other over my heart, smiling as wide as I can.

Sara_León: I’m waiting for my entrance, listening to how they cheer you, and I melt with hatred. I already know they’re not going to receive me the same way… But I’m not ready to experience it again. Right now I would be willing to do horrible things to be as loved as you are, as cheered, as anticipated, as well received… “And her opponent!!! From Madrid, Spain… The Red Lioness… SARA LEOOOOOON!!” I force a smile and step through the curtain, raising my arms to the rhythm of my music. Some cheers, a few scattered boos, less energy… Damn it, the reception is good, I shouldn’t even be thinking about this… It’s just that… it’s not the same as YOURS. And that eats at me, depresses me, drives me crazy. My smile falters for an instant but I do everything I can to put on my best face, one that surely fools everyone… except you. I slap hands with some fans and run to the ring, jumping to the ropes and sliding between them, before climbing the corner ropes and raising one arm, the other behind my back, nodding to the beat of the music. I wish with all my strength I could embrace that moment that has always made me so happy, no matter the circumstances… but I simply can’t. My soul is completely black and all I have left is the façade of someone I once wanted to be. When I step down from the ring and look you in the eyes, I suddenly realize that you’re able to read my soul with crystal clarity… And I swallow hard, as if trying to swallow the hatred and the suffering… Knowing that I’m not ready at all for this match

     

Hana_Jeong: I’m already in the ring when you arrive, resting my forearms on the top rope, breathing steady, eyes locked on you. And it’s impossible not to see it. The difference. The way the crowd leans forward for me. The way my name still echoes while yours fades faster than it should. The way your smile is performed, not felt. I see it all in your eyes—the anger, the hunger, the hollow space where passion used to live. You’re my sister. I love you. And that truth hurts more than anything else. For a split second, there’s a part of me that wants to step forward, pull you into a hug, whisper it’s okay, we’ll fix this. But that moment is swallowed whole by the roar of the crowd, by the lights, by the weight of everything I fought for to be standing here. This is my moment. And I didn’t steal it from you. I earned it. You didn’t lose because of me. You lost because somewhere along the way, you stopped loving this more than yourself. I straighten up, roll my shoulders, and my expression hardens—not cruel, not mocking, just certain. When our eyes meet again, there’s no sweetness left in mine. I step closer, close enough that only you can hear me as the referee checks our wrists and knee pads. “Look at me, Sara,” I whisper. “I’m not here to save you. I’m here to wake you up.” The bell hasn’t rung yet, but I’m already ready. “If you want justice… if you want respect… then take it from me.” I take a step back into my corner, eyes never leaving yours, fire steady in my chest. “Because tonight,” I think, as the crowd buzzes with anticipation, “I’m the better woman and you know there's nothing you can do to change it"

   

Sara_León: My gaze is a well of darkness when you speak to me. I feel like I’m not there, as if I had no blood running through my veins. I see you standing tall, determined, strong… Not crying, not coddling me, just ready to fight. I realize that you do still have that inner fire, that you’re excited to start, to give it your all in the ring, to prove once again who you are and why you’re here. I don’t feel any of that in me… And I can’t stand it. Seeing you so confident, so in your element, so happy. Hearing the crowd on your side… Envy explodes inside me like a volcano, flooding my veins, and making me realize that it truly is the only strength I have to fight you. I hold your gaze, expressionless, stepping back a little when the referee finishes checking us, and licking my lips, with a single intention in mind: to destroy your face. Not to win the match, not to punish your body… Just to wipe that adorable smile off you, drag you back into agony and tears, and expose you in front of everyone just as I know you really are… When the bell finally rings, I raise both arms, stepping toward the ring and offering you a test of strength, staring at you fixedly and studying your movements

Hana_Jeong: The bell rings, sharp and final—and whatever sisterhood was left stays behind it. I step forward without hesitation and take your hands. The lock-up lasts barely some seconds. I sink my weight, twist my hips, and overpower you cleanly, smoothly, forcing you down until one knee hits the canvas. It’s effortless. Too effortless. I can feel the shock ripple through you the instant you realize it. I lean in close, my breath steady, my voice low enough that only you can hear it. “You learn your place quickly, Sara.” Before you can scramble or react, I slide my arm around your head, snapping you into a tight side headlock. Your cheek presses against my ribs as I plant my feet wide, completely in control. The crowd reacts instantly—cheers swelling as I lift my free hand and smile, bright and confident, playing to them like this is exactly where I belong. I am exactly where I belong. Then I drop. I twist my hips and snap you down hard to the mat, keeping the headlock cinched in tight as you land, the impact echoing through the ring.

Sara_León: My fingers intertwine with yours, and I start the struggle, ready to pull you toward me to knee you in the stomach, but… “AAAWWW!!” You suddenly force my hands down, twisting my wrists with an ease that leaves me completely frozen, ending up on one knee in front of you. You whisper to me, and a new shiver runs through my body. I can’t move, I feel my strength leaving me, I only feel terror, anguish, and hatred. Your arm wraps around my head, fast, firm, and my cheek is crushed against your flesh. In that second, everyone cheers you on, begging you to do it, and the shadow of humiliation falls over me, before… -BOOOMMM!!- you drop, SMASHING my skull against the canvas, the impact booming inside my head, my body folding beside yours, my knees collapsing, and feeling your grip still tight, but me completely dazed

Hana_Jeong: I don’t give you a second to recover. Still holding the headlock, I rise smoothly, hauling you up with me like your weight means nothing. Your boots scrape against the canvas as I drag you toward the corner, the crowd already reacting, sensing what’s coming. I turn and slam your face into the top turnbuckle—hard. Your body jolts, arms hanging for a split second, and before you can even slump away I do it again, grinding your forehead and cheek into the padding, making sure everyone sees who’s controlling this match. I keep my forearm pressed across the back of your neck, pinning you there. Then I change grips. My hand slides under your chin, fingers hooking just enough to force your head back. I step away half a pace, holding you upright in the corner like a display. I lift my free hand. I look out at the crowd. And I slowly raise a finger to my lips, asking for silence. The arena hushes, a tense, electric quiet falling over everyone. I draw my arm back PASHHHHH!! My palm explodes across your chest in a thunderous chop, the sound echoing through the building. Your body jerks forward, breath tearing out of you as your back hits the turnbuckle. I don’t hesitate. PASSHHHHHH!! A second chop, even harder, my teeth clenched now, eyes sharp, the smile gone. Red blooms across your chest as the crowd gasps, then roars. I pull your chin up again, forcing you to face me. “One,” I murmur, almost politely. I draw back once more PASSSHHHHHH!! The third chop lands like a gunshot. Your legs buckle, your arms flailing instinctively as the pain overwhelms you, and the corner barely keeps you standing.

Sara_León: I feel you lift me, my legs reacting instinctively, not to be left hanging only by my head, until suddenly –THUDDD!!– My already aching skull crashes into the turnbuckle, my body hanging for a moment, but then you pull me again, drag me back and slam my face once more, my knees finally buckling, leaving me on my knees with my face resting against the pad. You grind my face into it, but I barely notice, still dazed from three consecutive blows to the head. Then you force me to stand, lifting only with your fingers under my chin, raising my face, displaying my dizzy expression, my arms instinctively resting on the top ropes, slumped in the corner, and then I see you in that triumphant pose. Not a drop of sweat, no sign of exhaustion… just you enjoying your moment, preparing to show everyone the punishment for your worn-out opponent. The arena falls silent, and I quickly shut my eyes just before your palm EXPLODES across my chest, making me react with a sharp scream, unintentionally tightening my arms against the ropes, digging into my skin, my limbs trembling in pain, until… “AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!” A second chop echoes through the arena, and I already feel my chest burning, clenching my fists from the sheer pain and squeezing my eyes shut, bowing my head forward. Then I feel your fingers again under my chin, and I slowly lift my gaze, locking eyes with yours. That determination, that fierceness… Facing my helplessness and emptiness… “AAAAAANNNGHHHHHH!!!” The third and final chop crashes down on me, stealing my breath and making me gasp, my legs trembling and my knees finally giving out, collapsing to my knees in front of you, hands resting on your thighs to keep myself upright, head bowed and breathing hard, hands shaking

Hana_Jeong: My hand snaps into your hair, fingers curling tight at the roots, forcing your head back with a sharp yank that makes your neck arch whether you want it to or not. “Get up, girl.” My voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. It’s cold. Certain. I haul you up off your knees in one rough motion, your hands slipping off my thighs as your body is dragged upright, your feet barely finding the canvas. I step in, hook my arm around your head and shoulder, grip your waistband. I throw myself backward and whip you over in a vicious snap suplex, your body flipping fast and helpless before CRASHING flat onto the mat, the impact echoing through the ring. Your back and shoulders smack the canvas hard, your head snapping back from the force as the ring shudders beneath us.

Sara_León: I let out a moan as you yank my hair and force me to look at you, mouth open, gasping. You give me an order, but you don’t even wait to see if I follow it. With a single cruel tug, you pull me to my feet, hooking my head again against your side and dragging me to the center of the ring. Then I feel your hand on my waist and just have time to whisper, “No… Wait…” I don’t know if you don’t hear me or if you just don’t care, but before I can finish, I’m already flying through the air, spinning, and finally SMASHING onto the mat on my back, bouncing off it until I’m left half-folded, one arm behind my back and my cheek pressed to the canvas in an expression of pure pain, barely moving, just gasping

Hana_Jeong: I don’t even pause to admire the damage. The moment you hit the mat and curl in on yourself, gasping, my body is already moving—pure instinct, pure momentum, the crowd feeding me like oxygen. I turn and explode into a sprint, boots pounding the canvas as I hit the opposing ropes. They stretch, recoil and I spring up them in one fluid motion. My hands catch the top rope. My legs swing. My core tightens. For a split second, I’m upside down, the lights blurring, performing a flawless Lionsault. I flip forward and CRASH down onto you, my body folding perfectly as my torso and ribs slam across yours, the impact knocking the air violently from your lungs

Sara_León: With my back aching and my senses dulled, my head burning, I end up lying on the mat, my back arched, unaware of what you're doing, suspecting you're showing off for the crowd. That’s why my eyes snap open in pure panic when the shadow of your slender figure blocks the ceiling lights above me. I let out an involuntary scream, just before your body SLAMS mine against the mat, knocking all the air out of me, making my head and legs lift for a moment, before falling back down to the mat, my torso completely crushed, barely strong enough to move, left lying under your body, coughing and gasping

Hana_Jeong: I roll away from the impact, clutching my midsection for a second as the sting settles in, then push myself up to a knee. My chest rises and falls hard as I look down at you. You’re barely moving. I frown, more focused than triumphant now, almost confused. “…Already?” I mutter under my breath. “No… that can’t be it.” I plant my boot firmly into your abdomen forcing the air from your lungs again and making your body react. Then I reach down, gripping a fistful of your hair and pulling you up to a seated position, my voice low, controlled, and sharp. “Get up, bitch. We're not done yet.” I haul you to your feet with strength alone, the crowd buzzing as they realize I’m not slowing down. I scoop you up cleanly, turning and walking you toward the corner before driving you backward, lifting and hooking your legs over the top rope. Your body flips upside downand you’re trapped in the Tree of Woe, hanging in the corner, arms dangling, head near the canvas

Sara_León: My belly heaves violently, my mouth open, gasping for air, the lights blinding me, when you drive your boot into my abdomen... "UUUHHHHHHHH!!!" My whole body jerks in reaction, curling around your leg, feeling you twist my insides. And then you do it again, grabbing my hair mercilessly, forcing me to stand, ignoring my moans. You say we’re not done… And I just want it to be over. This match is already a pure nightmare for me, one that seems endless. Not so much because of the pain, not so much because of the complete lack of strength, the lack even of will to keep fighting… But because of the terrible humiliation that it’s YOU doing this to me. You lift me as if my body weighs nothing, making me surprise myself at your strength, throwing me into the corner and lifting my legs up to the ropes, then letting me fall, and I end up upside down, arms stretched above my head, my hair and fingers brushing the mat, seeing the ring and arena upside down. I see you move across the mat, and I know you’re not going to stop. My senses are still dulled, and my whole body aches. I try to summon some energy, something to fight… and I realize I have nothing left. No will. I swallow hard, closing my eyes and wishing with all my heart for this torture to end as soon as possible, not wanting to see what you have planned for me, just hanging there, ready to take it

Hana_Jeong: Whatever we were outside this ring is gone now. In here, now you are just a jobber. You’re hanging upside down in the corner, struggling just to breathe, and the crowd can feel it. The noise swells, people clapping, shouting, sensing the end coming. I glance around the arena once, then slowly lift a single finger into the air. The reaction is instant. I back up across the ring, eyes locked on you, measuring the distance. You’re barely moving now I take off. My wrestling shoes pound the canvas as I sprint forward, building speed, and then I leap— BAANG!! My dropkick snaps your head back against the turnbuckles, the impact echoing through the arena

Sara_León: I hear you running across the mat… I feel it… and I know what you’re going to do… You’re going to hit me with a dropkick, my own signature move, in my worst moment, in my worst situation… A shiver runs through my body, full of shame, rage, humiliation… But I can’t even see you. The soles of your boots come at my face like a missile, striking my head with terrifying speed, smashing my face, whipping my skull back as if you snapped my neck with the impact, and sending me into absolute darkness. My body begins to slip from the ropes, crashing loudly to the mat like an inanimate object, landing in an unnatural position, limp, a tangle of red hair, flesh, and sweat

Hana_Jeong: Your body just lies there in the center of the ring, twisted wrong, chest barely rising, red hair spread across the canvas like a warning sign. The referee kneels beside you, checks your responsiveness, then looks up at me and whispers: "just finish her". It’s over. Everyone knows it—even the crowd, whose roar shifts into that low, anticipatory rumble. I grab a fistful of your hair and drag your body like if it was dead weight toward the middle of the ring. I let go and step back, breathing steady, heart pounding. The arena lights feel hotter now. Louder. I turn to the corner and begin to climb, one step at a time, slow, deliberate. The crowd rises with me, every movement pulling sound out of them. I reach the top turnbuckle and stand tall. For just a fraction of a second, I look down at you. Then I leap. I twist in the air, body perfectly aligned, the motion clean, beautiful— a moonsault, high and flawless— —and I crash down onto you, my body colliding with yours in a heavy, definitive impact that drives the air from both of us and rattles the ring. I stay there, chest to chest, not celebrating yet, feeling the stillness beneath me, the truth of it. Then I hook the leg and the referee slides in. The count echoes. ONE.

Sara_León: You pull my hair, sending waves of pain through my whole body, but I barely notice. My reality is a blurred, dark, and confusing murmur, as you drag my completely limp body across the mat, my skin brushing against it, until I’m laid out on my back, eyes closed, at your mercy. Then, a new burst of pain shoots through my body, making me rise off the mat for an instant, snapping me back to reality for a second, before falling again, completely destroyed and already knocked out. You hook my leg and lie on top of me… Or on top of my body, rather, as the first count rings out… And then the second… "TWO!!..." And inevitably, with no sign of resistance from me… "THREE!! RING THE BELL!!"

Hana_Jeong: The bell rings. I shove your leg away from me and roll off your body as if it were nothing more than excess weight, pushing myself up to my feet in one smooth motion. The referee is already there, taking my wrist, lifting my arm high into the air. My music swells and the noise crashes over me like a wave. I don’t look down. Between my feet, you lie there—spread out, broken, unmoving. A totally defeated jobber who I once called sister. The word doesn’t even register anymore. It feels like it belongs to another lifetime, another girl. This moment devours everything else. I turn toward the hard camera, my face lighting up with that familiar, radiant smile, the one they love. I climb the corner turnbuckle and stand tall, chest out, arm raised, soaking it all in. I blow a kiss to the crowd, strike my signature pose, and the reaction only grows louder. Phones are raised everywhere. I slide out of the ring, already energized again, already moving on. Fans lean over the guardrail and I’m there with them—selfies, autographs, laughter, fingers brushing mine as they call my name. I nod, wink, grin for every camera like this is exactly where I was always meant to be.

Sara_León: My leg drops lifelessly to the mat, becoming part of that pathetic spectacle that is my defeated body. Your music blasts and you begin to celebrate. The referee approaches me to revive me, and slowly I start blinking and opening my eyes, noticing the cold sweat on my body, the heat of the lights, the roar of the music, and the crowd. The referee helps me sit up, but only enough for me to crawl backward, ending up seated, my back resting against the middle rope, arms spread out, watching your celebration. I gasp for air, my mind a whirlwind of emotions, as my eyes fill with tears that begin streaming freely down my cheeks, never looking away from you, clutching the ropes with clenched fists

Hana_Jeong: At first, when the bell rang, there was a sharp, burning focus inside me. I wanted to prove something to myself and to you. That I was no longer the girl who almost went home in tears. But that feeling faded faster than I expected. in six minutes I realize it as I’m halfway down the steps, breathing steady, body untouched, heart still racing not from effort, but from adrenaline and noise. It was… easy. I glance back once. You’re there, slumped against the ropes, crying openly now. For a split second, the image should hurt. It doesn’t. There’s no anger left. No sadness. No sisterhood. Just distance. Like watching a stranger at the end of a long corridor. You’re not my rival. You’re not my shadow. You’re not even my past. You’re just… a jobber. The crowd noise swells again and pulls me forward. I bend down near the guardrail where a small Japanese girl is bouncing on her feet, holding out a glossy photo of me with both hands. Her eyes are wide, sparkling, full of belief. I kneel on one knee in front of her, smiling softly, completely at ease. “Hey girl what's your name?” I say gently as I take the picture and sign it for her, adding a little heart at the end. I hand it back and she squeals, hugging it to her chest like it’s treasure. I give her a quick hug, careful, warm, real—something effortless. I'm living my best life and I'm becoming a role model for younger girls.

 

Hana_Jeong: I stay there for half a second longer than necessary, still crouched in front of the little girl, her joy bright and uncomplicated. And that’s when it hits me. Old and sweet Hana is back again.The music is still playing when I turn back toward the ring. My smile fades into something calmer, heavier. The cameras catch it. I slide back under the bottom rope. You look so empty and spent. And suddenly the noise around us dulls, like the ring has become its own small, private space again. I kneel beside you. One arm slips behind your shoulders, the other under your arm, lifting your upper body with a gentleness that feels almost out of place after what just happened. “C’mon, sis…” I murmur, low enough that only you can hear it. My forehead brushes briefly against your temple as I steady you and give you a gentle kiss on your head. “I got you. I help you.”

Sara_León: I see you slide back into the ring, and I lift my gaze just as you approach. A broken, empty, desperate look, even confused, wondering what you're doing here, with the loser. Your arms slip around mine and help me up, with difficulty. I’m still crying as you speak to me, and I rest my forehead against your lips when you kiss me, eyes closed. My hands reach your shoulders, brush against them, then pull away. The crowd chants your name, they cheer you on, amazed and in awe of your kindness, your fair play, your honor, your gentleness... And I’m just there, crying, after taking a beating, being the object of your compassion... just another link in your chain of success and admiration

Hana_Jeong: I keep my arm firm around you so you don’t feel like you’re about to fall again, my thumb brushing slow, steady circles against your shoulder, grounding you. I hear the crowd, but I don’t look at them. Right now, they don’t exist. I lean in close, my voice soft, almost trembling—not sweet for them, just honest for you. “Hey… hey, look at me,” I whisper gently. “C’mon, girl… you can do this. I know you can.” I pull back just enough to look at your face, tear-streaked, exhausted, hurting in ways no one out there could ever understand. My forehead rests against yours. “You’re strong, Sara. Stronger than you think. One match doesn’t erase who you are. One bad night doesn’t define you.” I swallow, my voice cracking just a little. “We’ve been through worse than this… and we didn’t break.” My hand slides to the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, anchoring you. “We’ll work this out,” I say quietly. “Together. Like we always did. .” I breathe out slowly, steadying both of us. I tighten the embrace just a little, enough for you to feel it. “Lean on me. I will carry you.”

Sara_León: Your words want to sink into me. Your touches want to seep into my bones. Part of me wants to receive it all, to be like we were before, but I feel with brutal clarity that it’s no longer possible. I want to feel your affection, but all I feel is humiliation. I want to feel your comfort, but all I feel is defeat. I tighten the hug, trying to find something more, trying to find *you*, but I feel nothing. Then I pull back a little, excusing myself and turning slightly. “Just… just give me a second, okay?” I bring my hand to my mouth, rubbing my face, wiping the tears, and when I catch a glimpse of you out of the corner of my eye, a savage instinct rises inside me. And I can’t hold it back. Worse—I *don’t* want to. Suddenly, I spring toward you, planting one of my boots on your thigh, and spinning my whole body with explosive force, trying to smash my other boot into your head with a brutal and completely unexpected roundhouse kick!

   

Hana_Jeong: One second I’m standing there, giving you space, my guard completely down— and the next— PAAASSHHHHHHH. Your kickpad explodes against my temple with a sick, hollow sound. My head snaps to the side, my vision instantly going white, then black. There’s no pain at first—just shock. Pure, total surprise. My legs give out beneath me. I collapse straight down, heavy and lifeless, hitting the mat like dead meat, arms slack, body unmoving, completely stunned—out before I even understand what just happened.

Sara_León: I remain kneeling on the mat, and just as the crowd realizes what has just happened, they explode into boos. The entire building fills with that energy of rejection. And then… I smile. I let my head fall back, brushing my hair out of my face, and I start laughing. And I realize that I love it. I raise my arms out to both sides, soaking in those boos, and at last I feel alive again. That relationship between the crowd and me that seemed to be dying is finally resurrected. Now I knew where I belonged. Now I knew what the crowd expected from me. And a huge sensation of pleasure runs through my body as I stand up, heading to the corner and starting to remove the top turnbuckle pad, a deranged smile on my face. When I’m done, I throw the pad into the crowd. The referee yells at me to stop, but I feint an attack at him and the idiot runs out of the ring, sliding under the ropes and shouting at me from ringside. That respect, that power… I missed it so much… And then I grab you by the hair and one wrist, and start pulling you up, dragging you without care or mercy to the corner. I get you upright, yank your hair back to build momentum, and then drive your head forward, trying to SMASH your face against the unprotected turnbuckle…

Hana_Jeong: My body barely responds when you drag me up. Everything feels slow, muffled, distant. I weakly paw at your wrist, fingers trembling, trying to relieve the pressure on my scalp—but there’s no strength there, none at all. Then— CLANG. My forehead smashes straight into the exposed steel. A sharp, metallic pain detonates through my skull. My vision bursts into stars, my legs instantly betraying me. A broken groan slips from my throat as my knees buckle, folding under my weight. I slump forward, completely helpless, my hair still trapped in your fist. Warmth spills down my face. Blood starts to run from my forehead almost immediately, dripping onto the mat as I hang there, dazed, barely conscious, swaying in your grip—hurt, bleeding, and utterly at your mercy, still clueless about what's going on

Sara_León: Part of the crowd rises to their feet, screaming at me, insulting me, while I keep your head clenched by the hair, already starting to bleed. And then I remember what I wanted to do from the very beginning. Destroy your face, take it away from the crowd, make them see you suffer, see you broken, bloodied. “IS THIS YOUR HEROINE? HUH? LOOK AT WHAT I’M DOING TO YOUR FUCKING PORCELAIN DOLL, IDIOTS!!” I then yank your hair, lifting you again and smashing your face against the exposed turnbuckle once, twice, three more times, until I let go and allow you to collapse freely, enjoying every metallic echo, every insult, every small resistance of your body

Hana_Jeong: “Uuugh—aaaah…!” The sound tears out of me every time you yank my hair again. My body jerks helplessly with each smash, the metallic clang ringing through my skull until everything blurs together. By the last impact, there’s nothing left in me to resist. You let go. I crumple straight down onto the mat like my strings have been cut, landing awkwardly on my side, then rolling onto my back. My body twitches involuntarily, small spasms running through my arms and legs. Blood pours freely from my busted forehead, smearing across my face and the canvas beneath me. My mouth hangs open as I gasp shallowly, a thin line of foamy drool slipping past my lips, mixing with blood. My eyes flutter without focus, completely gone, barely aware of the noise, the lights, or the hatred raining down from the crowd.

Sara_León: I lean against the ropes for a few moments, looking at the crowd while you collapse behind me, smiling and enjoying every second, pouting at them, answering their insults, seeing that finally *I* am the center of attention… that all their eyes are on *ME* and on what *I* do. And the best part of all… is that it’s at your expense. I kneel behind you and pull your hair to rest you across my lap, showing your bloodied face to the crowd: “LOOK AT HER, EVERYONE!! HANA JEONG, RIGHT HERE FOR YOU ALL!! ADMIRE HER!! LOVE HER!!” I look around, and I become aware that the ring is mine. A lot of people are screaming at me, but I can do whatever I want. I feel my strength returning to me, in a drunken state of pleasure, and I place my face next to yours, sticking out my tongue and licking your entire blood-smeared cheek, from bottom to top, slowly, so the crowd can see it and the cameras can capture it…

Hana_Jeong: I sob uncontrollably, my body shaking in your grasp, my hands coming up weakly to clutch at your wrist without any strength behind them. “P-please… Sara… stop…” I choke out between broken breaths, my voice small, cracked, barely audible. Tears stream down my face, mixing with the blood, my eyes squeezed shut as if that could make this disappear. “I can’t… I can’t take any more… please…” I curl in on myself as much as your hold allows, completely defenseless, trembling, my head bowed in surrender, offering no resistance at all—just fear, pain, and a desperate plea for mercy.

Sara_León: Then I whisper in your ear, for the first time speaking to you without addressing the crowd… “Turns out I’m not done with you yet, you know? I’m thinking maybe you don’t have to show up for tomorrow’s match after all…” Then I grab your left wrist and wrench your arm behind your back in a single violent motion, threading my arm between it and pinning your arm against my chest and your back… beginning to wrap my free arm around your neck. I know you know how many women I’ve forced to submit with my Crossface Chickenwing, and I whisper to you, “Tell me, Hana… how does helplessness feel…?” And as I finish saying it, I lock my two hands together at your shoulder, trapping you in my most fearsome submission!

Hana_Jeong: “A—AAAAAAGGHHH!!” I scream the moment your arms lock in, a raw, panicked scream ripped straight from my chest as pain explodes through my shoulder and neck. Blood drips down my face, splashing onto the mat as I thrash weakly, my legs kicking without direction. “I—CAN’T—AAAAHHH!!” I choke, my voice breaking, tears pouring as my fingers claw uselessly at your forearm, slipping in blood and sweat. “It hurts—please—PLEASE!!” My body shakes violently, every nerve screaming, my strength gone, my breath ragged and shallow as I’m completely trapped, helpless, bleeding, and breaking in your hold.

Sara_León: Most of the crowd rises to their feet, booing with all their strength, while I give them all a sadistic smile. I wrap my legs around your waist, completing the hold, and drop backward with a sharp pull, increasing the punishment. I feel that I’m enjoying it. That sensation of control I’ve always adored, but multiplied by three. I love the feeling of having you under my control, and I love the feeling of knowing that no one can stop me. I’m going to keep you trapped there until you beg me to stop, until you submit to me, and then… I’ll keep going until I break you. My forearm digs into your neck, while with the other arm I apply more and more leverage on your arm, feeling the suffering in your shoulder and your entire arm, crushing your cervical spine, and pressing harder with every second, trying to take your body to the limit… so I can push past it

Hana_Jeong: “P‑please… s‑stop… Sara… I beg you…” My voice cracks into nothing but breath and sobs. The pain is everywhere—too much, too sharp, like my body isn’t mine anymore. My fingers twitch weakly, slipping, my vision tunneling as the world starts to dim. I can’t even scream now. I just whimper. Something shifts inside me—wrong. My shoulder burns with a blinding, nauseating pain that shoots up my neck, and then everything starts to go cold. The noise of the crowd fades into a dull hum. My head slumps back. I’m still bleeding. I know I am. I feel light. Empty. I breathe, barely audible. Black. A flash. Harsh white lights. Voices overlapping. Hands on me—firm, urgent. “Don’t move.” “Stay with us.” My eyes flutter open for half a second. I’m on my back. Paramedics all around me. And then I see her. The little Japanese girl at ringside. Crying. Hands over her mouth. Shaking. The world tilts again, the pain surges one last time through my neck and shoulder— And I’m gone again.

 

Sara_León: A shiver of satisfaction runs across my skin in a burst when you beg me to stop, but I don’t even loosen. I know this submission, and I know you must be going through a hell of pain, that it could leave you like this… But I have other intentions. I begin to notice your resistance fading, that you pass out in my arms, but I keep the hold… and I tighten it. With rage, with force, with energy, with hatred. I hear your shoulder dislocate, I feel your cervical spine crunch… And I know I’ve done it. Some members of the staff begin to gather around the ring, begging me to let you go and stop once and for all. I no longer need anything more. I release you and shove you away from me as if you were trash, letting the medics get to you. I look at my hands, stained with your blood, standing, head tilted down, looking at you… And then I look at the crowd, raising my arms, smiling, and finally giving them an exaggerated bow. I give you one last glance, and I confirm that I find no remorse inside myself. I twist a smile, drag my boots back over the canvas, as if kicking dust at you, and drop to the mat to roll under the bottom rope, interacting with the fans, insulting them, mocking them, and drawing all the attention to myself… Believing deep inside that it is what I have always deserved. Leaving that damn ring not as a pathetic jobber defeated by someone inferior, but as the fearsome Red Lioness, the traitor, the ruthless one

Hana_Jeong: I wake up slowly, my body heavy, stiff, wrapped in pain that feels different—deep, controlled, artificial. It takes me a few seconds to realize I can’t move my neck. A gentle voice pulls me back. A Japanese nurse is sitting beside my bed, watching me carefully. When she notices my eyes are open, she softens immediately and leans closer. “you’re safe,” she says quietly. My throat is dry. My voice barely works. “W‑where… am I…?” “In the hospital. You’ve been here two days. You were brought in through the ER after an accident at a wrestling event.”My heart skips. She explains slowly, carefully,“You had severe cervical trauma. There was neurological compromise. We had to perform emergency spinal fusion surgery.” She pauses, making sure I’m still with her. “ your normal life… could have ended there.” I stare at her frozen. Then she adds, gently, almost like she’s counting blessings out loud: “You were very lucky for several reasons. The impact angle avoided your brainstem. The paramedics stabilized your neck immediately. And you arrived here fast.” Her eyes meet mine. “The surgery was a success. That is not common in cases like yours.” I swallow hard. My chest tightens. “If… if I’ve been here two days…” My voice breaks: “I missed my match.” She just squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I do believe so.” I turn my face to the side and start crying deep. Not just for the match. For how close it all came to ending. For how fragile my dream suddenly feels. She doesn’t tell me to stop. She just holds my hand tighter, steady, warm. “Wrestling is out of the question for at least three months. Maybe more.” I sob harder. She stays with me through it, her thumb brushing slow circles over my knuckles. “You survived,” she continues, firm but kind. “Many don’t. You will walk. You will live normally. You will heal. You are young and strong".

Hana_Jeong: I keep crying. Even like this… broken, scared, everything slipping away… I still force the words out. “Th‑thank you…” I whisper. “For… taking care of me.” The nurse looks a little surprised, then she smiles and squeezes my hand again. “You’re welcome,” she says gently. She hesitates for a moment, then continues, choosing her words carefully. “We tried to contact someone for you. Family… friends.” I already feel the knot forming in my stomach. “But the only contact information we had was your wrestling promotion.” My heart sinks. “They took responsibility for all your medical expenses,” she explains. “And they deposited a compensation payment into your account.” It hits me all at once. No calls. No visits. Just money. I stare at the sheets, the reality settling in with a quiet cruelty. I was supposed to sign a new contract after my title match. This one… this was just experimental. Now I'm laying in a hospital bed in Tokyo with no job and probably no house. They didn’t wait for me. I swallow hard and answer honestly, my voice small. “I… I don’t have anyone in my life. I’m on my own.” For a second, the room is silent. Then the nurse leans closer, her voice warm, almost maternal. “Then listen to me, sweety,” she says, brushing her thumb over my hand. “While you stay here you will never be alone, my dear”

Hana_Jeong: After a while, the nurse gently lets go of my hand and tells me she’ll be back soon. The door closes softly behind her, and the room falls into a fragile, humming silence. That’s when I notice it. A small cardboard box on the chair beside the bed. My things. With trembling fingers, I pull it closer and rest it on my lap. My movements are slow, careful, every shift reminding me of the surgery, of how close everything came to ending. I open the box. My phone. My wallet. My crucifix. And then… on top of everything else. Our photo took in the Tokyo subway. It’s bent, worn, and stained—dark, dried blood smeared across one corner. I stare at it like it doesn’t belong to me anymore, like it’s evidence from another life. My chest tightens, and the tears come back instantly, harder than before. “Why… why did you do this to me?” I sob, my voice cracking in the empty room. My fingers shake as I trace the outline of her face in the picture, smudging the stain without even realizing it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper through tears. “I’m sorry if I hurt you…” The words hang there, unanswered. I clutch the photo to my chest, curling slightly despite the pain, crying quietly into the sheets—mourning not just the match, not just my body… but the sisterhood I thought we had, and the life that ended on that mat. (END)