NEW - NOIR EXTREME WRESTLING

Hana_Jeong: Months passed.. By the time I was medically cleared, I barely recognized myself. The scars had faded, but my shape hadn’t returned. My balance uncertain. Every stretch reminded me of what my body had endured, every ache a quiet warning. I was “recovered,” they said but recovery and wholeness are not the same thing. Days after leaving the hospital, I stood at a crossroads that felt heavier than any injury. Go back to Korea and disappear quietly. Or stay. I stayed. I rented a tiny flat in Shinjuku, barely more than a box stacked above another box. A narrow staircase led to a mezzanine bedroom with a small roof window, just wide enough to show me fragments of the sky at night. I spent countless evenings lying on my back, staring up through it, imagining ring lights where stars should be, imagining my body moving the way it used to. Below, the city never slept. Neither did my doubt. I took a job at a cozy Korean café. It paid the rent and I made friends within my community. I started wrestling again wherever I could in small promotions mostly as a jobber. Being South Korean in Japan had never been easy. People didn’t remember who I had been. Reluctantly, I took customs and private sessions. Things I once swore I’d never rely on. I told myself it was temporary and extra cash is always needed. Every night I came home bruised, exhausted, sometimes ashamed, but the dream never left. It sat heavy in my chest, tightening every time I opened my phone. Because on social media, Sara was everywhere. She's a Champion like she always dreamed. Sometimes, alone in my flat, I whispered into the dark:

Hana_Jeong: "I hope destroying my life was worth it.” And then one afternoon, between coffee orders and clattering cups, my phone vibrated. A message from a booker. I had been selected for a single match to take on a major female star. Good pay. I knew what that meant before I finished reading. I would be the jobber. I locked my phone, leaned against the counter, and closed my eyes. My body was tired. My name forgotten. My dream bruised but breathing.

Hana_Jeong: I arrived at the locker room, dragging my bag behind me. I stripped off my clothes and began gearing up: crop top, trunks, knee pads, stockings, kickpads, wrestling shoes. Each piece of gear was familiar, yet distant, like a memory I had to coax back into my body. A Japanese girl passed by, smiling politely. “Good luck,” she said softly, “You’re going to need it.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t need encouragement. I already knew. I had no chance of winning. I laced up my wrestling shoes and pulled up my kickpads, I looked at myself in the mirror and do a simple make up.

 

 

 

 

Sara_León: It’s been a hectic few months. Since my attack on Hana, I got that spark back, something ignited in me, something I had never felt before. I started cheating, I started winning matches, I started getting strong—to the point I didn’t need any tricks to destroy my opponents. I became brutal, insatiable. The crowd began to hate me, my mere presence drove them mad, and in part, that’s what made me the happiest. That same crowd that had so often turned its back on me in the past, grinding their teeth at my success, turning their eyes to me the moment I placed a single boot in the ring. Their hatred fed me, made me stronger. And that’s how I reached the championship, that’s how I won it, and that’s how I saw my dream come true. Alone, without help from anyone or anything. But there was something still tearing me up inside. Hana... the one who was once my friend... the one who was once the crowd’s favorite... had squashed me. I hadn’t been able to stand up to her. That had been months ago, but it felt like every challenge, every opponent, was just a lesser version of Hana. Hell, I admired that girl. And I was desperate to prove I was better than her, to get revenge for our last encounter, to rub my success in her face, to prove in the ring who was and had always been the best woman. That unease turned into obsession, and I began to search for her. I finally found her, wrestling sporadically in a small wrestling club, and I demanded to face her. They called me crazy, told me I didn’t have to lower myself, to let her be, to enjoy my success, but I simply couldn’t. I finally got the match. I found out she had accepted, and I headed there that night, ready to finally put to rest the one nightmare that still haunted me... the one where Hana was still better than me

Sara_León: I show up at the venue already dressed, already prepared. I have no need to go into those locker rooms, nor do I want to. People crowd around me, asking for autographs, a few pictures. I never quite got used to the feeling of being a hated celebrity... Before and after the match everyone wants proof they were with you, but in the arena it's all insults and boos. The presence of the champion in such a local club no doubt boosts ticket sales, and I spend several minutes attending to the fans. Someone insults me, and I answer back, already used to the dynamic. I do what people expect me to do. Eventually, I step back, chat for a bit with the club owner while the show begins. I know nothing about Hana, and honestly I don’t care—she’ll show up in the ring, if she dares. Suddenly, I hear her name announced, and I turn instinctively. I catch sight of her silhouette in the distance, crossing through the curtains, and hear the crowd's reaction—not very enthusiastic, but positive. I sneer as they tell me to get ready, and I step closer to the curtains, exhaling, waiting to be announced to go out myself

Hana_Jeong: I stand just behind the curtain, the thin fabric trembling slightly with the noise on the other side. There’s a buzz in the building—too loud, too focused for someone like me. I can tell right away: whoever I’m facing tonight is a big deal. People don’t sound like this for a random indie match. My stomach tightens. Probably some international name. Maybe American. Maybe someone flown in just to make an example out of a girl like me. The staff girl looks at her clipboard, then at me. “You’re up,” she says gently, almost apologetic. I nod. No music hits. No lights. No build. I step through the curtain like a ghost slipping into the room. A few people near the guardrail notice me and clap. Some hands reach out. I give shy high-fives, forcing a small smile, bowing my head once, twice. Just gratitude that anyone even remembers I’m here. I slide into the ring and walk straight to my corner. I squat down, adjusting my knee pads carefully, tugging them into place like a ritual I’ve repeated a thousand times. I rotate my shoulders, slow and deliberate, loosening joints that still remember pain too well. I breathe in. Out. Again. I don’t look toward the entrance. I don’t want to know yet. For now, I just focus on staying calm

 

Sara_León: "FROM MADRID, SPAIN!! THE CURRENT STARDOM CHAMPION!! THE RED LIONESS!! SARAAA LEOOOOON!!!" I step through the curtains, raising my title and receiving a wave of boos, with a few excited shouts. I guess for many of them, seeing me live is rare, even if they hate me. The cheers, though, get on my nerves—I don’t know why. They remind me of something I don’t want to remember, so I quickly start yelling insults at the crowd as I walk down the ramp. "BUNCH OF LOSERS!! YOU THINK YOU DESERVE TO HAVE ME HERE? JUST SETTING FOOT IN YOUR DIRTY CLUB MAKES ME WANT TO VOMIT, YOU HEAR ME?" Little by little, the cheers fade and the insults and boos grow louder, making me smile. That’s better. I hop onto the ring apron, leaning on the middle rope and laying my title across my torso before sliding in completely. I catch a glimpse of you for a second, but this is my moment and I don’t pay you any attention, so I climb to the middle ropes, placing one hand behind my back and raising my title with the other... "YOU’RE JEALOUS, AREN’T YOU?? IF ANYONE WANTS IT, COME TAKE IT FROM ME!!" I laugh loudly, then drop to the mat, placing the title on the corner post, and turning to begin stretching. And suddenly... I see you...

Hana_Jeong: My breath stops. The color drains from the world so fast it feels physical, like someone yanked the blood straight out of my face. My hands go cold. My ears ring. No. Not her. Anyone but her. Sara León. The title. The posture. The voice I’d tried to bury under months of exhaustion and cheap locker rooms. The woman I once called my sister. The woman who almost ended my life. My knees feel weak, like they might fold in on themselves if I don’t lock them. My fingers curl into the ropes without me realizing it, knuckles turning white. I can feel my heart slamming against my ribs, fast, panicked, completely out of control. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for her. I don’t know what I feel—anger, fear, shame, longing, all tangled together until I can’t separate them. Revenge? Forgiveness? I don’t even know which one scares me more. All I know is that my body remembers. My neck tightens. My shoulder aches. My skin crawls. I try to look at her. I really do. I fail. My eyes drop to the mat like a coward’s, like if I don’t see her, she won’t be real. Fear wraps around my chest, squeezing hard, stealing my air. If I could disappear, if I could melt into the canvas, dig a hole with my bare hands and hide, I would do it without hesitation.

Sara_León: Something hits my chest when I see you. A part of me screams “idiot” when I realize that, in my head, you were still the same. That time hadn’t passed for you. That what I did to you had no consequences. You can’t even look me in the eyes. You’re a bit thinner, with dark circles, bruises, some new scar. Your face completely gaunt. You’re still you, but not the Hana I wanted to face, but a person who is paying the consequences of something I did. I try to look for regret inside myself, but I only find a small spark of remorse... Did you really deserve what I did to you? I look around, and I return to reality. The crowd wants you to beat me, obviously. As always. And I always win. Except the last time I faced you, when you defeated me and humiliated me in front of all those people. I try to push my thoughts about you aside. If you’re not in shape, that’s your problem. If life treated you badly, it’s not my fault. If you have to fall before me... Oh yes, please, fall before me, Hana, and you will finally make me the happiest woman in the world. My worried face quickly transforms, revealing a mischievous smile, as I lick my lips, stretching my arms and waiting for the bell to ring, looking at you like a lioness at her prey

Hana_Jeong: The tear slips down before I can stop it. I hate myself for that. I hate that she can still do this to me without touching me. My chest tightens, my throat burns, and suddenly I’m not in this ring anymore—I’m back on that mat months ago, bleeding, helpless, staring at the lights while my life fell apart. The wound she left never healed. It just went quiet. And now it’s wide open again. I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve gone home. I picture it for half a second the Korean countryside, quiet mornings, raising a family, peacefully. A life where no one screams my name, where no one tries to break me to prove something to themselves. Why is she doing this to me? Why can’t she just let me disappear? No champion needs to come to a place like this. No top star needs to crush a nobody in a small club. Unless this isn’t about me winning or losing. Unless this is about her. The referee steps between us, checking us both. His voice reaches me like it’s underwater. My body doesn’t respond. My legs feel rooted to the mat. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. The bell rings. DING. And I don’t react. I just stand there, frozen, eyes wide, staring at the bully who destroyed my life. "God help me to be strong" I whisper with tears in my eyes.

Sara_León: I feel an electric energy run through my body while I have you in front of me, as if I’d needed to put my hands on you for far too long. I repeat to myself that you are my final obstacle; I put everything I still have to prove to myself into this match, completely oblivious to what you think, only wanting to defeat you in a fair fight, to be able to say that, and finally sleep peacefully at night, knowing that I am the best. Because as long as you’re still standing there, I feel that I’m not. I see you, gaunt, with a tear falling, and all I see is the only wrestler I still consider better than me. So when the bell rings, I don’t even have time to realize that you’re not moving… I simply throw myself at you, letting out a shout, grabbing your hair at the nape of your neck and starting to smash my forearm into your face, in a burst of brutality that already draws the first boos of the match

Hana_Jeong: The forearm smash snaps my head sideways and sends me stumbling back, my boots tangling as my back hits the ropes hard. The cables bite into my spine and barely keep me upright as my legs wobble uselessly beneath me. I almost fall through them. Instinctively, I bring a hand to my face, fingers shaking, and when I pull it back I stare at my palm—my breath hitching—checking for blood. I look back at you. My eyes are wide, glassy, full of pure fear. My body trembles, shoulders tight, chest rising and falling too fast. I don’t raise my guard. I don’t fight back.

Sara_León: I don’t have time to look at your face, I’m just immersed in the fight, and I treat you like you’re counterattacking, so I move quickly to the ropes, grabbing your hair and pulling your head down, placing it under my arm and then hooking your arm over my neck. Then my hand slides to your hip, and I bend my knees, lifting your body up and holding you for a second in the air, mid-vertical suplex, showing off my strength and exposing you like a trophy...

Hana_Jeong: “NNNGRRGG” I let out a raw groan as your fist tightens in my hair, my hands instantly flying to your wrist, fingers clawing at it uselessly as you yank my head down. My neck bends, my spine folding under you, and I’m already off balance, already owned. I stumble, dragged exactly where you want me, my body reacting on pure instinct. Then everything lifts. My feet leave the mat and my breath catches in my throat as you hoist me up, my body turning vertical under your arm. I hang there, completely helpless, legs stretched straight up toward the lights, toes pointed. My core tightens, my back arches instinctively, every muscle bracing as I’m held there, exposed, suspended, waiting.

Sara_León: "LOOK AT YOUR LOCAL HERO!! YOU WANT ME TO DROP HER???" I get nothing but a loud boo in response, so I laugh softly and let myself fall backward, bringing your body down with me and slamming it against the mat from up high...

Hana_Jeong: “BAAAAAAAAM” The sound explodes through the building as my back smashes flat into the mat from way up high. My whole body jolts on impact, the air ripped violently from my lungs as my spine whips and I instinctively arch, screaming out in pure pain. “AAAHHHNGH!!” My legs kick and then fall limp, my arms flailing before collapsing uselessly at my sides. I roll slightly onto my hip, clutching at my lower back, my face twisted in agony, mouth open as I gasp and cough for air. My body trembles uncontrollably, the shock still running through me, eyes squeezed shut as I groan again, completely wrecked from the slam.

 

Sara_León: I get back up, walking toward you and grabbing your hair, yanking it like I want to rip it out, forcing you to rise until you’re kneeling in front of me, when I speak to you for the first time, whispering, “This time’s going to be different, you hear me, Hana? I’ve gotten better, and I’m going to prove to everyone that not even you can beat me.” I step back, leaving you kneeling in the center of the ring, and shift sideways slightly, raising my leg and shouting to the crowd, “COME ON! COUNT WITH ME!!” I never understood why the crowd always counts my chest kicks with such enthusiasm despite hating me, but it feels incredibly good. My boot CRASHES against your chest, the crowd chanting “ONE!!”, and then I launch it a second time… “TWO!!” and like that, I unleash my famous rain of strikes to your chest, each one angrier, stronger, more intent on hurting you, until I stop at seven… and launch one final kick, this time aimed at your head

Hana_Jeong: She still believes I’m the heroine everywhere I go. That the crowd secretly loves me. That I’m the golden girl she was never allowed to be. But it’s all in her head. I’m not Hana the Korean Sweetheart of Stardom anymore. I’m nobody. Just a forgotten girl a low-card jobber trying to survive. I groan as you yank my hair, my hands immediately flying up, desperately clutching at your wrist, fingers digging in as if I could peel you off me. My knees barely hold me. The first kick THUMPS into my chest PAAAASHHHHH. “The second one lands harder, snapping my torso back. “AAAAAAAAAHHH” By the third kick my body is already dangling, barely upright, completely controlled by your grip in my hair. My arms come up to shield myself, elbows tight, but it’s useless. I’m too slow. Too weak. Each kick caves me in more, my chest burning, my breath gone, my vision shaking. Then your kickpad swings higher. It CRACKS against my head. For a split second, everything turns white. No sound. No crowd. No ring. My body goes slack. I collapse face‑first onto the mat, twitching uncontrollably, saliva spraying from my mouth as my jaw hangs open. My arms jerk weakly, then fall still, my legs shuddering as I lie there stunned, broken, completely at your mercy.

Sara_León: I plant my boot against your face, brushing your cheek, and push forward—not with much force, just enough to shake your head, mess up your hair, stop you from resting, giving you little shoves to the temple. "What’s wrong, Hana...? Get up!! COME ON!! FIGHT ME, HANA!!" I scream, my voice cracking, almost pleading, while the crowd boos, watching you tremble at my feet, with me doing nothing more than shouting at you

Hana_Jeong: I let out a raw, broken groan as your boot presses against my face, my head rocking side to side with each shove. “AAAHnnngh” My hands shoot up on instinct, fingers wrapping weakly around your ankle, not to hurt you, just to hold on, like it’s the only solid thing left in the world. My grip trembles, useless, slippery with sweat. My legs beat against the mat in short, frantic kicks. I’m not fighting you. I’m just trying to breathe. “N‑no… please…” I choke out between gasps, my voice thin and cracking, eyes squeezed shut as tears spill down my temples. “Sara… I...I can’t…” The crowd’s noise blurs into a dull roar as I curl slightly under your boot, shoulders shaking, my body reacting before my mind can even catch up hurt, scared, overwhelmed, still very much alive… and very much broken beneath you.

Sara_León: When you tell me you can’t… that’s when I see it. It’s not a trick to strike back later, it’s not bad luck… You really can’t. I stare down at you, your body curled up, crying at my feet, completely broken and overwhelmed, and suddenly, against my will, my heart sinks. I did this to you. I turned you into this pathetic jobber, without realizing it. My mind drifts back to the day we last saw each other, and I start to consider the consequences of what I did. Not a call, not a message, not a hospital visit… nothing. The destroyed person at my feet is the result of that, and for the first time a stab of guilt pierces my heart. I bite my lip, looking around, trying to pull myself back to reality. I look at you again, and I force myself to remember why I’m here. I have to beat you, and I have to do it in front of all these people. I step closer behind you, slowly wrapping my arms around your waist, locking my wrists tight over your stomach, bending my knees... "I don’t care that you can’t..." I whisper, ruthlessly drowning out the voices in my head "...I’m going to destroy you..." I say with a trembling voice, drawing from a feeling so deep and sincere that I shiver just hearing myself… And then I yank my arms upward with all my strength, lifting your beautiful body into the air and trying to catapult it backward in a stunning German Suplex!

Hana_Jeong: Her whisper reaches me and whatever strength I had left just collapses. I sob, the sound ugly and raw, my voice cracking as the words spill out without dignity. “Please… no… more…” Then everything flips. My body is yanked up and thrown backward, and my upper back SLAMS into the mat with a hollow, brutal impact that knocks the air completely out of me. My spine arches violently on contact, my legs folding over without control. I land twisted and helpless, my shoulders flat, my hips lifted awkwardly, my head tucked between my legs, folded in on myself like a broken thing. A strangled gasp escapes my mouth, followed by a weak, involuntary whimper. I don’t move after that. I just lie there, trembling, arms slack at my sides, chest heaving in shallow, panicked breaths, completely exposed and utterly defenseless.

Sara_León: I get up slowly, trembling, without knowing why. Part adrenaline, part catharsis, emotion. Part fear, doubt, guilt. I see you there, lying down. I know you’re mine, I know there’s nothing you can do. But something drives me to keep going. Your image has been haunting me at night for months, and now that I have you in the ring... I just can’t... I can’t leave you. I walk over to you and grab your wrist, starting to pull, dragging you across the canvas, making a full circle, your body hanging only by your arm, as I bow to the crowd, who boo me—many of them shouting for me to just finish you off already. I clutch your wrist tightly, angrily, feeling like I can’t open my hand—I want to feel your helpless flesh in my grip, feel that dominance over you... And finally, I yank you down, leaving you face-down on the mat, and crouch over your back again, wrapping my arms around your belly a second time...

Hana_Jeong: You drag me across the ring like if I was a piece of trash and I barely even crawl, my body just following your pull, useless and heavy, like something already discarded. My fingers scrape weakly against the canvas but there’s no strength in them, no resistance left to give. The crowd blurs above me, the noise turning into a distant roar, and all I can feel is your grip and the mat burning against my skin. I hear the referee’s voice, strained, almost pleading, telling you to end it, to put me out of my misery. I don’t even have the energy to lift my head in response. You yank me down and I fall face-first, cheek pressed to the canvas, breathing shallow and uneven. Then I feel your arms wrap around my belly again, locking me in, and my whole body tenses in pure panic. My voice comes out small, broken, barely louder than a whisper. “Sara… I beg you.”

Sara_León: I stop for a second when I hear your plea, the memories slowly awakening inside me. Your broken, pleading voice makes me think of you again. With my arms wrapped around your back, suddenly I see myself holding you from behind in our old apartment, and I think of that time, before the fight for the roster spot. Where did that fierce Hana of the ring go? Where did the athlete who destroyed me in our last encounter end up? "You killed her, Sara..." I hear a voice inside me, too raw and clear to ignore. In my arms there's only the fragile, weak, and adorable Hana left, stripped of everything that once made her great—even the love and warmth of the crowd... "And *you* took all of that from her, Sara..." That last thought burns in my heart like a hot iron, so painful that I can only let out a guttural scream, and I pull my arms upward with all my strength, with all my energy, with all my violence, sending flying in my second German Suplex the woman who was once one of the most important people in my life

Hana_Jeong: Even if I wanted to resist her, my body wouldn’t answer. There’s no signal left to send, no strength to gather. I’m completely subdued, reduced to nothing but weight in her arms. She didn’t just beat me… she erased me. Turned me into a total jobber, something beneath her boots, someone who exists only to be thrown, bent, broken. Worse than that, she claimed me, dominated me so completely that I can’t do anything about it. She made me her bitch. There’s no fight left, no pride, no anger. Just emptiness. As she explodes upward, my body leaves the mat again, helpless, slack. For a split second I’m weightless, spinning, completely out of control. This time I land wrong. My body flips awkwardly through the air and crashes down in a twisted heap, shoulder, back, and hip slamming almost at once, my neck snapping to the side as I hit. The impact knocks the air from my lungs in a dry, broken gasp. I lie there, stunned, limbs folded at unnatural angles, staring at nothing. All I want is to go home. To be held. To feel loving arms around me, telling me I’m safe, that I still matter. But those arms don’t exist. And all I can do is lie there, broken on the mat, breathing shallowly, tears and drool soaking into the canvas as the reality settles in.

Sara_León: When I stand up, I realize I’m pale, staring into nothing, mouth open, panting. And I notice the whole crowd is watching me. So I try to pull myself together quickly, changing my expression. “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? NEVER SEEN A LOSER FIND HER PLACE IN THE RING? PATHETIC FANS!!” For a second, I feel okay again, back in control, like my old self. But when I turn toward you, I go pale all over again. I try to hide it, try to undo the knot in my throat… and I crouch down, taking you by the shoulder and turning you over, laying you flat on your back on the mat. You look like a complete wreck, I don’t feel any resistance from you. I straddle your belly, placing my palms on your sweaty stomach and then leaning in to press a forearm against your chest, my other hand reaching for your hair, closing into a fist to secure a grip you can’t even feel yet. My heart starts pounding violently as I begin to audibly whisper, “What am I doing what am I doing what am I doing…” And the referee slaps the mat for the first time… “ONE!!!…”

Hana_Jeong: “Two…” My eyes stay closed. I’m not even aware of the crowd anymore. I’m barely aware of the ring. My breathing is ragged, shallow, panicked, every inhale scraping against your forearm pressing into my chest. It won’t rise. It won’t respond. My body doesn’t know how anymore. There’s no kickout coming. No surge. No instinct. The referee could count to a thousand and nothing would change.

Sara_León: Before the referee can hit the mat a third time, I yank your hair hard, pulling your entire torso up and resting your forehead against my chest, drawing a thunderous chorus of boos. I smile cynically, like I know exactly what I’m doing. Partly to spite the crowd, I guess. Partly to humiliate you more, I guess. I’m not really sure — but the decision’s made now. I have to keep going. The victory is already guaranteed… so what the hell am I still looking for from you? I stand up, not letting go of your hair, and turn around, positioning myself behind you, sitting just behind your back, grabbing your left wrist and pulling it up behind you, feeling a persistent thought echoing louder and louder… “What are you doing, Sara?”

Hana_Jeong: A weak sound slips out of me, more breath than voice, a broken moan that barely even registers as pain anymore. My body feels distant, like it’s happening to someone else. My neck hangs forward, my arm dragged where it shouldn’t go, joints screaming in a dull, muffled way. I don’t fight it. I can’t. The referee grabs at your shoulder, shouting, trying to wedge himself between us, but my knees just scrape along the canvas as I’m held in place. My fingers twitch once, uselessly, then go slack again. I whisper without lifting my head, barely audible, not to the crowd, not to the ref. “Sara…I beg you... finish me” That’s all I have left.

Sara_León: "Finish me"... those were the words of that match now so distant, with which you surrendered yourself to my victory. They sound so different now... A desperate plea, a final breath asking for mercy, a broken soul begging the monster that destroyed its life to let it die in peace, to torment it no more. Suddenly I feel very dirty, despicable. I feel that when I get home I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror... And yet, I can’t stop, not now. I clench my teeth, trying to hold back the tears that were beginning to appear, and slide my free arm around your throat, hooking your arm between my chest and your back, and with a sharp tug I clasp my hands at the height of your shoulder, finally locking you into my Crossface Chickenwing... again...

Hana_Jeong: The second your arm snakes across my face and locks in, panic explodes through me. I tap. Instantly. Frantically. My hand slaps at your arm, at your shoulder, at anything I can reach, fingers clawing like a scared animal. I’m sobbing, words tumbling out broken and ugly. “I give… I give… please… I give…” My whole body shakes as flashes crash through my head. The ring lights. The hospital ceiling. The nurse’s hand in mine. The sound of my own crying when they told me I might never wrestle again. I don’t even get time to process it. The pain spikes, sharp and overwhelming, like my spine is being twisted apart, and everything goes white. My taps slow, then stop. My body goes slack in your hold, a weak twitch running through me as I lose consciousness, breath coming out in short, uneven bursts, a thin line of drool slipping from my mouth as I go completely limp.

Sara_León: The moment I lock my hands, I lean back, wrapping my legs around your waist, trapping you in my most feared submission hold, and I feel your muscles tense, your hand slapping my arm frantically, submitting instantly, like I’d electrocuted you. I freeze. Your voice reaches my ears, a plea of surrender, like a weak, fragile little girl. I can’t move, I can’t process that the best wrestler I know, the one I had come to defeat, is you in this moment. It feels impossible, feeling that limp body in my arms, those broken sobs, that frantic palm. No, I hadn’t come here to do this. I remember the last time I saw you, straining in this very same hold to injure yourself. And I realize that this time I don’t want to do it. Hell, I don’t even want to hurt you, I just wanted to defeat you, and I did. The bell rings, but I keep holding you, like you’re the only thing I have in life. Your hand starts to slow down and I finally feel your muscles stop resisting, your arm hanging by my side, a twitch… unconsciousness. The referee yells at me and I let you go, pushing you away from me like you suddenly burn, backing up to the corner and sitting there, knees up, hands in my hair, staring at you in shock. “What have I done??” I say out loud, looking at you. Not thinking about this match, but about the last few months. “What have I done to you??” Finally regret hits me, seeing reality for what it is. The crowd boos loudly, but I don’t get up to answer them, I just stay there staring at you. The referee approaches to raise my arm, but I slap his hand away, unable to stop looking at your unconscious body, bringing my hands to my mouth, trying to hold back the sobs. My heart tightens until it creates a sharp pain in my chest

Sara_León: Then, a group of medics approach you, and I get up quickly and push them away, staying alone with you in the ring. I look around, the crowd really angry, but I realize I’m not in sync with them. I just want them to shut up. I crouch down and hold you by the shoulders, lifting your limp weight until I finally get you over my shoulder, your limbs hanging lifeless on both sides, down. My arm wraps around your torso as I look at the crowd with a defiant gaze, as if saying “She’s mine.” They don’t understand. I slip through the ropes with you on my back, and walk between the rows of people, ignoring them, carrying you like a trophy. I take you to the locker room and lay you down on one of the benches, watching your unconscious face, your sweat-soaked body. I look at your bruises and scars, for the first time with new eyes. And, in the solitude of the locker room, where you can’t hear me… I break down crying. Without holding back, a real, desperate, and sincere sob. A guilt that crushes me. I’ve finally beaten you, and all I feel now is a terrible emptiness and terrifying remorse. I start to caress your cheek but quickly pull my hand back, like I don’t deserve it. I realize I’ve lost you forever, that there’s no way you can forgive me, and that it’s all my fault and only mine. A cold sweat runs through my body. This was supposed to be my night of glory, the night I defeated my last demons, not the night I revived my greatest fears. I had defeated you… But that wasn’t what I really wanted. What I wanted was you. And I had ruined everything. I take your head in my hands and bring my lips to your forehead, giving you a quick kiss with trembling fingers, then quickly moving away from you, wiping my tears and fleeing that place, having made a decision

Hana_Jeong: I wake up alone. The locker room is empty, silent except for the faint hum of the lights. My body is drenched in sweat like I’ve been running for miles, my skin cold, sticky. My head is pounding so hard it makes my vision blur, and for a second I don’t even remember where I am. I blink. Breathe. Try to move. Everything hurts. I sit up slowly, clutching my temples, and for a moment a strange image flashes through my mind. Strong arms around me. Being carried. Safe. It feels warm, almost comforting. I shake my head, confused. Just a dream. No medics. No trainer. No familiar voice calling my name. Only a bench. A cracked mirror. And an envelope resting beside my thigh. I open it with trembling fingers. A few folded bills. Yen. That’s it. My payment. No note. No apology. No explanation. They just left me here. I start removing my elbow pads slowly, my hands shaking as if my body still hasn’t caught up with the fact that it’s over. My gear is filthy, stained with sweat and grime, clinging to me like evidence of something I don’t fully remember but can still feel in my bones. My fingers hesitate at the straps, stiff, uncooperative. I swallow hard. “Why does she hate me so much?” I whisper to no one. My voice sounds small in the empty room. “What did I do to her… what have I done so bad?” There’s no answer. Only the ache in my chest, heavier than any bruise, and the quiet certainty that whatever broke between us didn’t end tonight. It just settled deeper. I sit there a little longer, breathing through the pain, before finally standing up on unsteady legs, alone again, like always. And the room stays silent. (END)