NEW - NOIR EXTREME WRESTLING

Hana_Jeong: The lights are still on and they hurt my eyes. My whole body is soaked in sweat, like I ran for hours in my sleep. My head feels heavy and tight, like something is pressing from the inside. For a moment I do not know where I am. Then I remember everything. Her arms around me. The mat under my back. The way my body stopped answering. I sit up slowly and the pain comes all at once. My spine, my neck, my ribs. I cover my mouth with my hand but it does not stop the sound. I start ugly crying, the kind that makes your chest ache and your throat burn. She took my wrestling career. She took my income. She took the version of myself that believed effort was enough. Because of her I worked shifts that broke my body. Because of her I accepted customs and private sessions I never wanted. I told myself it was temporary, that it was survival. Tonight she took what little dignity I still had left and crushed it in front of people. Inside my open locker there is an envelope with cash. My pride wants to throw it away. My pride wants to rip it . My hands shake but they do not move. I need that money. Rent does not care about pride. Food does not care either. I put the envelope in my bag and feel sick for doing it. I start taking my gear off slowly. Elbow pads first. It takes me too long because my fingers keep trembling. My trunks are dirty. My stockings smell like sweat and canvas. I avoid looking at myself in the mirror. That is when I notice a young Japanese rookie stands a few lockers away. She hesitates before speaking, like she is afraid of bothering me. “I am sorry for you, Hana,” she says softly. “I am sure you will shine again.” The words almost make me laugh. Not because they are funny, but because they sound impossible. Like she is talking about a person who no longer exists. I look at her and answer the way I always do polite and kind. (tbc)

Hana_Jeong: “Thank you,” I say. “But I am done with wrestling. It is over for me.” She nods slowly, sadness clear on her face. Then she speaks again, carefully. “That is sad,” she says. “I never believed I could be a wrestler. I never believed I could even train here before I watched you at Stardom. You know, you are a role model for many rookies.” Her words should move me. They should hurt or comfort me or wake something inside me. They do nothing. “I am not that woman anymore,” I reply quietly. “I wish you the best.” She bows her head slightly and leaves me alone. I walk to the showers. Every step sends pain through my body. I turn on the water and lean my forehead against the cold white tiles. The heat slowly loosens my muscles. It feels good and it makes me tired at the same time. My thoughts drift back to Korean, to the language I use when I am honest with myself. You have to move on, Hana. A simple life is not a failure. A family. Quiet mornings. Working with your hands. Those are beautiful dreams too. Later, back in my tiny apartment, I kneel on the floor and open the small space under the boards. I place my wrestling life inside it piece by piece. My gear. My knee pads. My shoes. I close it carefully, like I am saying goodbye without words. Weeks pass. I renew my working visa. I take two jobs. One at the Korean café. One cleaning rooms in a luxury hotel. My Japanese improves. My body heals slowly. I do not wrestle again. Not once. One night I am on the subway heading home. The train sways gently. I am tired in a deep way that sleep does not fix. My phone vibrates in my hand. An email from Stardom. They ask about my availability to return for a match... They ask if I will face Sara in a major PPV. Her name alone makes my heart start pounding. My chest tightens and my breath feels shallow. The tunnel lights rush past the window. I thought I had buried that life and got rid of this monster I once hold dearly

Sara_León: After my last match with Hana, I arrive at my apartment completely shattered, with a decision already made. I have to give Hana back everything I took from her. That single thought terrifies me. I think maybe I’m doing it because I feel lonely, because I miss her, because I want to have her back — but I finally surrender to the terrible truth that what I did is unforgivable. So the only thing I have left is restitution. And restitution at any cost. In the weeks that follow, I go back to taking part in major Stardom events, thinking maybe going back to my old life will clear my head, relax me, make me forget my madness — but it doesn’t. The crowd still hates me as much as ever, but I no longer feed off it. I no longer feel like insulting them, only ignoring them. Soon after, I lose the title — to everyone’s delight — but I realize I don’t actually care. The only thing I have in my mind is Hana. She’s my only motivation, the only thing I feel might give me some peace… even if I end up more alone and more despised. So I start to form my plan. I make a list of the things I believe I took from you: (1) Your contract with Stardom and your physical condition. I must get you to sign with the company again, train daily, and return to being the wrestler you were. (2) The chance at Stardom’s roster. I stole it from you twice. I have to make sure to offer you a match where the victory condition is just that. (3) The love of the crowd. My rage toward you at first came from the fact the fans adored you. In our last match I perceived a painful indifference, one I feel I need to reverse

Sara_León: It’s then that I start pulling strings. Using my influence and calling in some favors, I begin to push in secret for a match against you. I argue with everyone, pressure and threaten, do favors — until I get them to accept a match between you and me, with the condition that if you win, you’ll enter the Stardom roster. I add the requirement that you have time to train and get in shape. A part of me, still resentful, stirs, thinking that maybe now I have the chance to beat you on equal terms, just like I’ve wanted ever since you squashed me the day I betrayed you. I carry that grudge in my heart as I continue managing my desperate plan. They notify me that you’ve been contacted, and while I wait for your response, I set the second part of the plan in motion. I search for the videos of our three matches and start posting them on different networks and forums, creating fake accounts and commenting in your favor and against myself. People start sharing them, and start learning our story. Sara becomes the friend who betrayed and humiliated her best friend out of envy alone. The hate toward me multiplies in my matches and suddenly I start hearing your name when people insult me. I don’t realize how painful it is until I hear it — but I NEED to make sure that when we face each other, the crowd chants for you and against me. After all… I’m the villain in this story…

Hana_Jeong: When I read the email on the subway, my body freezes. The train keeps moving but I do not. My hand tightens around my phone and my eyes stay locked on the screen. I miss my station. I only notice it when the doors close again and the train pulls away. I do not get off. I cannot move. The email says the match will take place in six months. A pay per view. Enough time to get back in shape. Enough time to prepare. They will pay me in advance. My heart starts beating too fast. Why now. Why me. It has been more than a year since I stepped into a Stardom ring. They revoked my contract when I was in the hospital. I disappeared. I became invisible. I am a waitress. A cleaner. A nobody. My head tells me no. Do not accept. Do not suffer again. Choose peace. Avoid the woman who almost destroyed your life. But my hands move on their own under command of my heart. I write yes. The next day another email arrives. I read it slowly, twice. They are clear. They want to revive my rivalry with Sara. They believe the story matters. I do not understand why. Stardom has better wrestlers than me. More hyped. Sara already lost her title in a huge match. Why bring me back now. I accept anyway. Then reality hits me. Where am I going to train. I quit my job at the luxury hotel. I keep working at the Korean café during the day. At night I run in the park until my lungs burn. I push my cardio. I work on endurance. It helps, but it is not enough. I need the ring. I need timing. I need pain. Something strange starts happening. My Instagram account, the one I barely use, starts getting follow requests. Messages from people I do not know. Support. Encouragement. People asking me to come back. I feel confused and uncomfortable. Then I see the videos. My matches with Sara are everywhere. YouTube. Twitter. Forums. The first one has more than two million views. The comments talk about me like I am still someone. They say I carried her. They say she was lucky to face me. They say I deserved better. 

Hana_Jeong: One rainy Saturday afternoon, while I am working at the café, a woman in her fifties walks in. She looks straight at the counter. “Hana Jeong.” I look up, startled. My boss points at me with a smile and tells me to go to her. He says she has something important to tell me. I tell him I do not know her. He smiles again and says I should listen. We go to the back of the café. I take a cigarette from my pocket without thinking. I started smoking after Sara squashed me. Before I can light it, the woman slaps my hand hard. She looks angry. “How dare you smoke when you have to be ready for the match of your life.” I stare at her, stunned. “How do you know” She cuts me off. “I am Mizuki Tsushiro. Before you were born, I was already a Stardom champion.” My heart drops. I bow deeply, almost losing balance. She looks at me coldly. “Well I've been here before but you were not here. Let's get straight to the point. You need me more than ever, Hana. You need a coach. You need discipline. You need to beat this Gaijin who betrayed you, get your contract back, and prove your worth.” My head spins. How did you find me. Why do you think I am worthy. Why me. She answers without me asking. “I watched all three of your matches against her. I know what you felt in that ring. I felt the same once, for different reasons. I quit my dream. I regretted it every day. I will not let you do the same mistake.” She pauses. “And I am tired of working at the post company. I want to coach. Stardom will hire me if I make you a winner.” She tells me she already spoke with my boss. With my landlady. Everything is arranged. “We go to my countryside house. No distractions. No excuses. For the next months, you obey only me.” I nod like an idiot. I cannot even speak. (tbc)

Hana_Jeong: A few days later I am standing inside her private ring. An old cottage. The ring is old but in very good conditions. Training is hell. She treats me like an animal at first. She beats me down. Over and over. She forces me to repeat basic moves until my muscles scream. Footwork. Balance. Rolls. Bumps. I bleed. My body is covered in bruises. She watches without mercy. She wants to know if I can endure pain again. If I can obey. If I can break without quitting. I pass the test. Then she changes. She teaches me things I never learned before. Timing. Angles. How to breathe during punishment. How to make pain look bigger without destroying myself. Tricks that only experience gives. Knowledge worth gold. Slowly, my body comes back. One day, when I finally feel strong again, I ask to try something I thought I would never dare again. The moonsault. She nods and places a mattress in the middle of the ring. I climb the ropes. My legs shake. My heart pounds. I jump. I land perfectly. Tears fill my eyes before I can stop them. Time passes quickly after that. She becomes more than a coach. More than a friend. She becomes something I never had. A mother figure. Someone who believes without conditions. The day before the match, I feel calm. Too calm. She calls me to the ring. “You are ready,” she says. “Remember why you are there. To entertain the audience. That is your purpose. Win or lose, that never changes.” She pauses. “There is only one thing missing.” She hands me a box. Inside is her old gear. Gold and blue. Perfectly preserved. Simple. Beautiful. “I cannot,” I whisper. “You can,” she says. “You deserve it. It will suit you. It will remind me of myself at your age.” I laugh and cry at the same time. I hug her without asking. The next day is the biggest day of my life. And I am ready.

Sara_León: The weeks leading up to the match are intense. I know Hana accepted and I find out she's training. The videos go viral, the anticipation for the match grows with each passing day. Social media is flooded with insults toward me, the crowd at the matches gets more aggressive, the chants of "traitor" and "jealous" become more popular every day. My heart shrinks every time I hear them, I try to hold back the anxiety and the tears, but the pressure grows stronger and stronger. The only thing keeping me standing and strong is thinking about my goal. I have to get to that match, I have to fight you, and make things right. I become more violent in matches, I start insulting the crowd again, but not for pleasure anymore — out of necessity. I get in better shape than ever, I achieve many consecutive victories, and the only thing keeping me from fighting for the championship again is the match against Hana. I feel like I'm speeding down a final straightaway with the finish line in sight, so close I refuse to look around or beyond — just chasing that one point. Through all of this, I am alone. No one waits for me at home after an exhausting day, no one encourages me to give my best, no one supports my decisions, since I make them in secret. No one offers their shoulder for me to cry on at night from the anguish. I repeat to myself that I have to be strong, fulfill the goal, face you one last time. Every morning I clench my fists and force myself to get up, guided by a single idea: the fight against you

Sara_León: The day before the fight, I spend almost the entire day at the gym. My heart beats too hard, the nerves are killing me, the pressure crushes me. I feel good physically... extraordinarily good. But the machine I switched on six months ago has become a giant monster waiting one more day to devour me whole, and that has me a bundle of nerves. On the day of the fight, I absolutely refuse to see you in the locker room, so I overcome all the shame I feel and get dressed at my place. I put on a new outfit, one I bought a month ago especially for this occasion. I’ve trained a lot in it, to get used to the fabric and be comfortable, but I’ve never worn it in public. I feel like it’s special. I put on the boots, tie the laces, adjust the top. I do my makeup in front of the mirror, and beside it I see a photo of my family. I’ve been ignoring them for months, ever since they saw the videos. I don’t want to face that conversation — not yet. Not until I’ve completed my plan. I put on a long coat to cover myself, I swallow my shame and leave my apartment, wearing a cap, trying to hide my face too. I feel everyone’s eyes on me in the street and on the subway, even though they probably aren’t even looking at me. I finally get to the stadium, I ignore the lines of fans as best I can, and go inside. They point me to the locker room, but I take off the coat and the cap and leave them on the floor… “Don’t worry, I’m ready. I’ll come out when you tell me to…”

Hana_Jeong: I enter the locker room and it is empty. No sign of Sara anywhere. The silence feels heavy, like the air itself knows what is coming. My heart starts pounding harder when it finally sinks in. Tonight is no holds barred. There will be no protection. No excuses. Just her and me. I take out Mizuki’s gear and put it on slowly. The fabric feels strong, familiar, almost sacred. It fits me perfectly. It has been preserved with so much care, like it was waiting for this moment. When I look down at myself, I do not see a jobber. I do not see a broken woman. I see Hana Jeong. And tonight I will give everything I have left in that ring. I stand in front of the mirror and do my makeup with careful hands. Light touches. Nothing flashy. Just enough to recognize myself. I stop for a moment and really look at my reflection. Two years ago, a young girl left Korea chasing a dream. She was naïve. She believed in people too easily. She lived fast, she fell hard, and she broke in ways she did not know were possible. That girl suffered. She lost almost everything. But she survived. And now she is standing here, breathing, ready to face the ghost that has followed her for so long. My stomach twists. My hands shake a little. I am nervous. Terrified, even. But it is a clean fear. An honest one. Then I feel a soft hand on my bare shoulder. I look up and see Mizuki behind me. “Do not be nervous, Hana,” she says gently. She adjusts my bra with calm, maternal care, like she has done a hundred times before. “The moment is here. It does not wait.” She looks at me seriously, her eyes steady. “You know,” she continues, “you are the bravest woman I have ever met. Not because you fight. But because you keep standing up. Your sacrifice, your passion, your heart. You make people believe again. You made me believe again.” My eyes fill with tears before I can stop them.

Hana_Jeong: She takes my face in her hands. “Go to that ring,” she says softly. “Fight with everything you are. Not to punish her. Not to prove anything to anyone. But to finally choose yourself. Whatever happens after that, you will walk away whole.” I bow deeply, holding both her hands, unable to speak. Then I turn and walk toward the backstage corridor. With every step, my breathing steadies. I reach the curtains. And I see you. You are standing there, already dressed, already focused. So close. For the first time, I do not feel fear when our eyes meet. There is pain, history, tension. But no fear. “You will not back down, Hana,” I tell myself. A staff girl takes my hand and gently pulls me into position beside the curtain, right next to you. We stand side by side. The announcer’s voice echoes through the arena. The match is about to be called. I look at you one last time. Then I turn away and peer through a small gap in the curtain, catching a glimpse of the crowd waiting for us. I do not look back again. I lift my wrist and kiss the small taped spot where I keep the folded photo of my family.

Sara_León: My gaze meets yours and I feel a knot in my throat. I quickly look away instinctively. It has been months since I last saw you, I do not know what you think of me. I do not know why you accepted this match. I do not know what kind of emotions are guiding you right now. In your eyes I did not see resentment, nor fear, nor anger. Only determination. I am incapable of deducing anything from it. I feel you beside me, I smell you and I feel the brutal impulse to kneel next to you and ask you for forgiveness. Or at least steal a hug from you. I suddenly realize how incredibly much I have missed you. But I know it is not the moment, and that I do not deserve it either. If I show myself vulnerable now, I could trigger emotions in you that might distract you. I need to maintain the narrative. You have spent months getting in shape to face your demons again, it would not be fair to you if I took these moments away from you. I need you focused, at your maximum, and to offer you the chance to take revenge on the Sara who took your life away, even though that Sara no longer exists, and only a remorseful wreck remains who does not know what she is doing. Forgiveness can wait a little longer

Sara_León: I remain silent, wishing with all my soul that you do the same, and finally my music starts to play and my name is announced. I cannot help throwing you one last glance before crossing. I realize that you look extraordinarily beautiful, just before turning and finally crossing the curtains... And then the biggest storm of boos I have ever heard falls on me like an inevitable avalanche, drowning out the sound of the music over the speakers. Despite expecting it, the reaction sinks me. For a few moments, I freeze, wishing to go back and return inside, give you a hug and start crying, unable to bear the pressure any longer. But I know I have to be strong, and I resort to my only resource... “ARE YOU HAPPY TO SEE ME, BUNCH OF LOSERS???” I shout, trying to recover that heel energy that once gave me life, and partly succeeding. I begin to walk down the ramp, making gestures of contempt at all the fans, ignoring them, bringing my hands to my ears as if I could not hear them, as if asking them to boo louder. I manage to get into the narrative, I manage to feel that I embody the villain of the match, and my hatred for the crowd is reborn. I suddenly fill with energy again, seeing how my months of work have paid off. I have done it. I jump onto the edge of the ring and bow, passing one leg first and then the other between the ropes, sliding to the center of the ring and raising my arms on both sides, coquettishly shaking my head and smiling as if I were crazy, “ALL YOU HAVE IS ENVY OF ME!! YOU WISH YOU WERE IN THIS RING WITH ME!!” I finally head to one of the corners, leaning on the ropes with smugness, and throwing my first real dart as soon as the crowd begins to quiet down, trying to make sure they hear me: “BRING THAT FUCKING LOSER OUT ALREADY!! I DON’T HAVE ALL DAY!!”

Hana_Jeong: I watch you enter the arena fully wrapped in your persona. For a moment, it feels like you vanish into it, like Sara León eats the woman underneath. I stay behind the curtain, alone, listening to the roar of the crowd crashing over you. I almost smile to myself. You always wanted to be a heel. Even back then, before everything broke. The smell of your hair and your skin products still lingers in the air. It hits me harder than I expected. Memories try to rush in. Late nights. Shared rooms. Shared dreams. I push them away before they can take root. I cannot afford to lose focus now. I am not here to remember. I am here to claim what is mine. Then my music hits. Flames by Sia fills the Stardom venue again. My heart starts pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest. I step through the curtain and the reaction explodes. Thousands of Japanese fans erupt in pure euphoria. The sound is overwhelming. It wraps around me, lifts me, carries me forward. I force myself to smile, to reconnect with the Korean Sweetheart they remember. It is not easy. Every nerve in my body wants something else. Something darker. All I really want is to get violent with you. I walk down the ramp and high five fans over the guardrail. Their hands are warm. Real. Grounding. I do not look at you. Not yet. I slide into the ring and move straight to the corner. I jump onto the top turnbuckle, shade my eyes with my hand like I am looking far into the distance, then throw myself backward into a clean backflip. The crowd gets even louder.

Hana_Jeong: Only then do I turn and face you. The lady referee asks us both to come to the center of the ring and starts giving instructions. Her voice fades into nothing. I do not hear a single word. My eyes are locked on yours. Your green eyes. So beautiful and so attracting. Another flash of memories tries to break through. It almost does. But it passes. I take a slow breath. Inside, I whisper a prayer.God, forgive me for what I am about to do, my sister.

Sara_León: When I see the crowd's reaction to your entrance, a brutal feeling of peace and relief takes over me. That roar of love and approval, of support, those cheers. I've already given you back the opportunity with the roster, and now I finally see that I've returned the crowd's love to you. Knowing no one's looking at me, I collapse in the corner, sitting down, panting as if I’d accomplished something incredibly hard—which, in many ways, I have. I get up quickly when you enter the ring, starting to stretch, to move, trying to mentally prepare for the match, finally completely free of remorse, finally having fulfilled my goal. Now I have you where I wanted. I see you do a backflip and confirm you're in perfect shape, and I nod without meaning to. That’s the Hana I want in the ring. That’s what I was looking for. The only thing I still owe you is an apology, but that will have to wait until after the match... And then you turn and look into my eyes. I approach the center of the ring and the referee starts giving us instructions, but all that relief I felt just moments ago suddenly turns into a massive sense of panic and emptiness

Sara_León: The match is about to start in a few seconds and suddenly I'm aware that all my plans from six months ago culminate here. I haven’t thought about what comes next. Your gaze sinks into my heart, the crowd is already chanting for you and against me. I know I have to give them a villain for their heroine to fight, but I don't have to give them anything else. Your face brings back memories, and the whole world starts spinning around me. The crowd cheering for you, you humiliating me in the ring, proving you're better than me, that you always deserved the crowd more than I did. That emptiness, that helplessness. Those months of obsession, defeating the best wrestlers while dreaming of defeating you. That beating I gave you when you were down. Now I finally have you where I want. With the crowd adoring you, with you in full form, with something real at stake. And an animalistic desire rises from within me again, like it had been hidden for a long time: to defeat you fairly. No excuses, no obstacles, in front of the people who adore you. To prove that I am the best woman. That I don’t need your compassion or your kindness to do it. An intense hatred for the crowd takes hold of me, and I let myself be carried away by it, knowing that this is what the match is about. At the same time, the jealousy I feel for you resurfaces. Now you truly are the woman I lost my mind over. You’re once again the Hana I betrayed, and I NEED to prove I can beat you. The restitution is complete. Now it’s just you and me in the ring, sister. I know you’re not going to show me mercy. I know you don’t expect it from me either. A cynical and ambiguous whisper slips from my lips before I retreat to our corners, perfectly audible to you: “I’m glad you’re back, Hana”

Hana_Jeong: My eyes never leave yours. Not even for a second. This is the moment I have been walking toward for two years, through pain, humiliation, silence, and nights where I thought I would never step in a ring again. I finally understand something with terrifying clarity. Sweet Hana is gone for you. That girl who smiled, who forgave too easily, who believed love could fix everything between us. She died the night you broke me. What stands here now is the woman you created. I lean slightly forward and whisper back to you, my voice low and steady. You will not be so glad after what I am going to do to you, Sara. There is no warmth left in me when I look at you. No nostalgia. No sisterhood. Only fire. My early nerves have burned away and turned into something sharp and cold. I hate you. I hate what you did to me. I hate that I loved you when you were already sharpening the knife. I hate that I had to bleed and disappear so I could become strong enough to stand here again. The bell rings. The sound snaps everything into focus. I start circling the ring, slow at first, light on my feet. I raise one hand toward the crowd, urging them to get louder, to wake up, to feel what is about to happen. The noise swells and rolls over us. I keep my eyes locked on you as I move waiting an opportunity to lock up with you..

Sara_León: When you answer me, my blood runs cold. Perhaps you are not aware, but if there is someone who truly fears you in the ring, that is me. I know what you are capable of at your best, I know the damage you are capable of doing. I know that I have never managed to defeat this version of you, and I also know that the hatred you harbor for me is now your fuel, which makes the longed-for forgiveness even more unlikely. From that animal fear two reactions arise in me: one of defense, of refusing to let myself be trampled, of refusing to succumb to you, and another of ego, of a desire to surpass myself, of wanting to put my hands on you, to slam you to the mat again and again until you can’t take it anymore, and trample you until you can’t get up. When the bell rings, I see you raise your hand toward the crowd, and they answer you. I no longer feel glad, only frustrated. So much time as a heel has not been able to extinguish my pure and innocent desire to be the favorite of the crowd. I clench my teeth and arch the fingers of my hands, as if I were drawing out my lioness claws, without taking my eyes off you, seeing that you are waiting for an opportunity for a lock up... But I can’t hold out that long. I feel my skin prickle at the very moment I take a feline leap toward you, raising my fist and trying to crush your jaw with it on the way down, letting the anxiety flow through my veins

Hana_Jeong: I do not even have time to brace myself. Your leap is fast and desperate, and your fist crashes into my jaw with a dull shock that snaps my head to the side and sends me stumbling backward into the ropes. The impact rattles through my skull and for half a second my vision blurs, the lights smearing above me. The ropes catch my back and stretch tight against my shoulders. And then something ugly wakes up inside me. I shake my head once as I rebound, my teeth clenched hard, the pain turning into pure heat in my chest. You wanted to scare me. You wanted to stop me before I could start. All you did was remind me why I came back. I spring off the ropes with everything I have, my body moving on instinct, no hesitation left. I launch myself straight at you, twisting my hips and throwing my weight forward, my arm cutting through the air as I aim a flying forearm smash right under your chin, putting every ounce of rage, pride, and buried love into the strike.

Sara_León: I shake my hand as you retreat, satisfied with the start, but when I look up at you I already see you launching at me, and your forearm CRASHES into my chin... "UGH!!" my head snapping back suddenly and stepping back, almost losing balance from the blow and the surprise, but quickly bringing my hand to your nape, grabbing it with rage and using it as leverage to pull myself back toward you, clenching my other fist and trying to start smashing my own forearm against your jaw, again and again, trying not to let go of your neck, aiming to hit your face with fury over and over again

Hana_Jeong: You step back half a pace. I lift both hands slowly to shoulder height, chin raised, breathing hard. “Come on,” I mouth at you. “Show me.” Your eyes darken instantly. Your hand snaps to the nape of my neck and you yank me forward violently. The first forearm crashes into my jaw. My head jerks sideways. A second one follows. Then another. You keep hold of my neck, using it like a leash, smashing your forearm again and again into my face. The crowd explodes with every shot. My knees soften. My balance fades. You drive me backward until my back slams into the turnbuckles. The top rope trembles behind my shoulders as another forearm connects and my vision blurs for a second. But the pain only feeds the fire inside me. I snarl through the ringing in my ears. As you pull back to strike again, I suddenly plant my foot and twist my hips hard, hooking my arm around yours. I shove with everything I have left and try to spin us around, reversing the position so your back crashes into the corner instead aiming to deliver firing forearms into your jaw. yt

Sara_León: I sense you growing weaker with each blow, and with every step I take, I grow bolder, increasing the violence of my strikes, almost enjoying them, watching your black hair whip with each jolt, finally trapping you in the corner. Then, thinking I’ve got you, I pull my arm back to throw one last punch—but you intercept it mid-swing, hooking my arm and leaving me briefly confused, looking into your eyes, just before you suddenly spin me around, the turnbuckles stabbing into my back, and I realize too late that now I’m the one trapped... Just as your forearm begins to crash down on my face frenetically, slamming into my jaw, my cheek, my face, my temple, and my head with devastating speed. I grip the top ropes with both hands, enduring the punishment as if it were inevitable, while my head jerks with every blow, leaving me more and more dazed

Hana_Jeong: My vision narrows, focused only on you. Your fingers are white around the top rope, absorbing the blows, refusing to fall. I see your chest rising fast. I see the redness spreading where I struck you before. I reach up suddenly. My hand snakes over the top rope and tangles deep into your beautiful auburn hair. I grab a full fist of it and yank down hard, forcing your head to snap backward. Your throat stretches. Your chest lifts, fully exposed to me under the arena lights. For a split second we lock eyes. I pull my arm back, twisting my torso to put everything into it. Then I swing my palm aiming to explode against your chest with a thunderous chop.

Sara_León: "Ahhh!!" I groan as I feel the yank on my hair, forcing my head to tilt back. I look at you with hatred, feeling momentarily weak and at your mercy, too dazed to stop you, everything spinning around me, when suddenly… —SMACKKKKK!!!— Your palm crashes against the bare skin of my chest with a dull sound that echoes through the stands, making me scream in pain and humiliation. I bring both hands to my chest, instinctively trying to curl up, but unable to lower my head because of your grip, while I feel my legs want to give out, and for a moment I’m hanging only by the pull on my hair, arms wrapped around my chest and teeth clenched in pain

Hana_Jeong: For the first time in my life I feel something dark blooming inside me. I have pleasure by hurting you. I suffered too much. I swallowed too much pain. I cried alone too many nights. Even a good girl like me is allowed to be cruel once. Just once. My fingers tighten in your hair, twisting deeper, pulling harder. Your head jerks back even more, your throat exposed, your body trembling in that corner. I can feel your weight almost hanging from my grip. You look vulnerable. And instead of pity… I feel heat. As your hands instinctively rise toward your burning chest, I step in closer. Our bodies almost touch. I can feel your breath against my collarbone. Then I drive my knee upward with all the force I have. Straight into your strong abs. I try to hit you with a sharp, brutal Muay Thai knee, powered from my hips, exploding upward into your core. I grit my teeth as I strike, pouring months of humiliation, hospital lights, lonely subway rides, cigarettes behind the café, into that single impact.

Sara_León: My chest burns and I start panting through clenched teeth, pressing myself against the corner to avoid hanging only by my hair. You step even closer to me, and I feel your heat, your energy, your solidity. I notice how you don’t hesitate, I see the fire of revenge in your eyes, and then you raise your knee with force… “UUUUNNNGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” It sinks into my abs with such force that I feel like you split me in two and hit the turnbuckle behind me. The crowd screams with excitement, feeling in that first big blow months of frustration, months of expectation to see exactly that. My body tries to fold instinctively, but I’m still held by the hair and all I can do is gasp and clutch my abdomen, feeling my legs tremble, suddenly feeling far too exposed to an absolutely unstoppable force

Hana_Jeong: I feel you break under that knee. I feel your gorgeous body tremblimg. Your abs tighten under my strike. Your breath explodes out of you to my ear. I keep my fist buried deep in your auburn hair. I do not let you fold. I do not let you fall the way you want to. Not yet. I yank you forward violently. With a sharp twist of my hips and a brutal pull on your hair, I snap you over my shoulder and send you flipping down to the canvas in a hard snapmare. Your body whips forward and lands seated in the center of the ring, back to me, legs slightly spread, still stunned and gasping. I do not give you a second. I spin and sprint toward the ropes, my feet pounding against the mat. I hit the ropes hard and bounce back with full speed, my heart hammering in my chest, my vision locked on you. You are sitting there. Exposed. Vulnerable. I leap forward and throw my body through the air, both legs shooting out in front of me, aiming a running dropkick straight at your face.

Sara_León: "Wheeckk!!" You yank my hair and head, rotating and flipping me easily over your shoulder in a snapmare, landing on my butt on the canvas, left sitting there at last freed from your grip, hair disheveled, a red mark on my chest, aching belly, and still quite dazed from the blows. You don’t even say anything, you don’t wait. You take off running to rebound off the ropes, and I realize you won’t stop until I’m lying flat on the mat. You run toward me and make your first big mistake—showing me that you’re going to try to hit me with a dropkick, a move I taught you myself, and with which you knocked me out last time. An electric energy surges through my body as you leap, and I react quickly, shifting to the side at the same time I extend my arms to catch your ankles… Then I try to yank them toward me with all my strength, aiming to throw you off balance, use your own momentum, and send you crashing awkwardly onto the mat, on your back!

Hana_Jeong: As I fly toward you I already see it. You move. Too fast. Your hands catch my ankles in mid air and my stomach drops. There is a split second where I know. I messed up. You yank. My entire body whips backward violently. My back never even had time to prepare for the landing. I crash down flat and hard on the canvas. BAAAAAAM. The sound echoes through the arena. All the air explodes out of my lungs at once. My arms fling out instinctively and my head snaps against the mat. A sharp flash of white bursts behind my eyes. I curl slightly, hands flying to my lower back as pain spreads through my spine and ribs. A broken sob tears out of my throat before I can stop it. “Ahhh…fuuck!” My legs twitch from the impact. My chest heaves desperately, trying to pull air back in. It does not come easy. For a second I just lie there, staring up at the lights, vision blurry, teeth clenched, trying not to cry. But a small sob escapes anyway.

Sara_León: The canvas shakes as I cling to the middle rope. The crowd falls silent for a moment before starting to murmur, and then the first boos begin. I bring a hand to my aching belly but use the ropes to pull myself up, beginning to smile as I finally see you lying on the mat. Before I can even think about what to do with you, my instincts take over, and I start throwing ruthless kicks—at your side, your thighs, your shoulders, your head… “YOU DARE TO HIT ME, HANA??” —BAM!— “THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE” —BAM!!— “JUST TRASH!!” —BAM!!— I shout, savoring every reaction you make to protect yourself, trying to convince myself that I can break that fragile, delicate body of yours that I’m truly so afraid of

Hana_Jeong: Your first kick lands on my ribs and I fold instantly. Then another. And another. I roll helplessly across the mat, arms wrapping around my body, trying to shield whatever I can. My knees tuck in. My shoulders twist. I look less like a wrestler and more like a stray dog being punished in the street. Each impact thuds through me. “Ahh—!” Your boot slams into my temple. For two full seconds everything turns white. Just silence and light. Then the noise crashes back in all at once. Your voice. The crowd. My own ragged breathing. I taste metal. I curl on my side, one arm hugging my burning ribs, the other trembling as I stretch it blindly toward the ropes. My fingers scrape the canvas. I drag myself an inch at a time, teeth clenched, vision still swimming. I can hear you screaming at me, but the words feel far away. I just need the ropes. Just one touch. My body feels small. But I keep crawling.

Sara_León: I see you crawling toward the ropes, and I quickly stomp on your outstretched hand, twisting my boot and feeling your fingers crunch beneath it… “The ropes can’t save you here, Hana…” I say through clenched teeth, with contained rage, as I raise my opposite leg, standing for a second only on your hand and finally pressing my boot against your cheek, crushing your head as well under a sea of boos impossible to ignore. I move my boot side to side, rubbing your skin and applying more pressure to your skull against the mat, raising both arms and looking at the crowd, standing only on your hand and your head… “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?? ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU CAME TO SEE, HUH??? I GUESS YOU’LL HAVE TO SCREAM LOUDER IF YOU WANT HER TO HEAR YOU!!!”

Hana_Jeong: Your boot crushes my fingers and a broken cry escapes my throat. “Ahhh!” My body jerks violently. My free hand grabs at your ankle, trying to push it away, but there is no strength behind it. When your sole slides from my hand to my face and presses down, my cheek grinds against the canvas. I sob openly ugly, desperate sounds. My legs kick weakly against the mat, heels drumming uselessly on the canvas. My hands paw at your boot, nails scraping against the leather, trying to create even a little space so I can breathe. My ribs burn. My fingers throb. Your weight feels endless. I turn my head as much as I can under you, tears mixing with sweat, voice breaking. “Fuck…!” It comes out small. Crushed. I keep clawing at your boot, my body twisting helplessly beneath you as the boos rain down and my strength slips through my fingers.

Sara_León: When I finally let you go, I crouch to grab your black hair and tilt your head toward me, and I see your tears. The initial surge of compassion is quickly crushed by one of rage, which I can't even contain verbally: "You're already crying, Hana???" I give you a loud slap, more out of fury than to hurt you, while clutching your head and pressing you against the ropes, yanking you up and shaking you... "I bet your fans feel so sorry for you, huh?? You can't even hold on a little without shedding a fucking tear, you damn glass brat!!" Every word I say hurts me too. I realize I’m not saying it for the crowd, I’m just expressing a frustration I've carried for so long that when it finally comes out, it does so in the most hurtful way possible. And I realize that yes, I can't stand seeing you cry the moment you suffer a little, and that has my hands trembling with rage as I clutch your head. When I finally get you on your feet, I turn you around with a shove and quickly wrap my arms around your waist from the side, bending my knees and trying to throw you back in a belly to back suplex!

Hana_Jeong: When you grab my hair again my fingers instantly wrap around your wrist, trying to reduce the burning in my scalp. It doesn’t help. Your grip is too strong. My dark eyes lift to yours. They’re furious and Beautiful. I want to hold that hatred and turn it into fuel. I want to answer you with the same fire. But when you mock my tears something inside me cracks again. The heat in my chest fades. The strong woman who trained for months feels far away. In her place there is that insecure girl again. The one who got destroyed. The one who thought she was done. Maybe I can’t beat her. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe I was stupid. The slap explodes across my face. My head snaps to the side. The sound echoes. My cheek burns instantly and humiliation floods through me. Treated like nothing. Like a bitch. You haul me up and before I can even stabilize, your arms lock around my waist. I know what’s coming. But my body is a step too slow. You lift. Everything flips. BAAAAM! My back crashes against the mat with a violent thud that shoots pain through my spine and lungs. The air leaves me in a broken gasp. My body bounces from the impact and I roll awkwardly, legs folding over, ending half twisted, hips raised, hair covering my face. I lie there stunned. Chest heaving. Back screaming. For a second I just stare at the lights above the ring, blinking through tears, trying to remember how to breathe.

Sara_León: I sit up quickly, rotating on myself to see you lying on the mat, and I feel the terrible urgency to finish this as soon as possible. I don’t need to show off, I don’t want to give you any opportunity, I just want to find that moment when you’re broken enough to stay on the mat and give me the victory. But I have to make sure, so without thinking for a second I position myself at your side and raise my arm, bending it and showing my elbow to the crowd, before lifting one leg and rotating it elegantly as I drop to the side, trying to CRUSH my elbow into your chest in an elbow drop!

Hana_Jeong: I barely have time to turn my head before I see your shadow over me. Then you drop. Your elbow CRASHES into my chest. “USSSSHHHHHHH!” My legs shoot up from the impact, my whole body jolting as if electricity just ran through me. The pain explodes through my ribs, sharp and suffocating. I can’t breathe. I can’t even scream properly. My mouth opens but only a broken wheeze comes out. I drag myself sideways, nails scraping the canvas, every inch torture. My body feels heavy. Slow. I force myself to roll under the bottom rope, spilling out onto the apron. I cling to it, half hanging out of the ring, clutching my chest with one arm while the other grips the edge. My heels kick against the mat inside the ring in frustration and pain. I suck in air in shallow breaths, eyes squeezed shut.

Sara_León: As I crash into you, I try to go for a quick pin but you immediately start crawling away, and I stretch out my arms trying to hold you back, but you slip away from me, sliding under the bottom rope. Then I get to my feet, frustrated, and when I see you hanging halfway out, I look around and quickly head to the corner closest to you, starting to climb it. The crowd begins to shout, as if warning you, but I try to ignore them, hoping you’re battered enough not to move in the few seconds I have left. I manage to reach the top ropes, and I make a huge leap forward, trying to land with both feet on your head, which is outside the ring

Hana_Jeong: I’m still hanging on the apron, vision blurry, chest burning, when the noise changes. It’s not just boos anymore. It’s a warning. A wave. A scream rising all at once. My head lifts slightly, confused, and in that split second I see you in the air. Too late. Your boots CRASH into the back of my head. Everything explodes white. My body flips forward off the apron like a broken trapeze act, legs over head, no control, no balance. I don’t even know where the floor is until. BAAAAM! My back slams violently against the ringside floor. The air is ripped out of my lungs. My arms fold in instinctively. I curl into a ball, clutching the back of my head with both hands, sobbing without dignity, small broken sounds escaping me. The world spins. My skull throbs. The floor is cold and unforgiving beneath me. Through the ringing in my ears I hear them. “HANA! HANA! HANA!” The fans are urging me to get up. Begging me. But right now I feel small. Crushed. And very, very human.

Sara_León: I fall onto your head and land on the floor off balance, stumbling and lunging forward while I hear you collapse to the ground behind me, ending up braced against the barricade just in time not to fall myself, excessively close to the fans. Seeing me so close, they stand up, moving toward me and shouting at me in Japanese, their eyes bloodshot with hatred. I cling to the barricade, feeling like my heart is going to explode, and stare back at them. I manage to contain myself and turn toward you, beginning to hear the roar of the crowd cheering you on. My skin prickles, my heart tightens, and I walk firmly toward you, crouching with precise and quick movements, grabbing you by the hair and pulling it mercilessly, forcing you to stand up and dragging you. I grab you by the shorts, not releasing your head, and try to throw you like a sack of potatoes against the barricade where the fans who had insulted me were, hoping to knock it down if I throw you with enough force

Hana_Jeong: My head is still ringing when you grab my hair again. Pain shoots through my scalp as you drag me up. My legs barely respond. The world is tilted. The fans are just noise and color behind you. You grab my shorts. You’re going to throw me. Something inside me snaps. As you try to swing me toward the barricade, I plant my foot awkwardly on the floor and drive my elbow backward with everything I have left. It sinks straight into your abs. Hard. I feel the impact travel up my arm. I twist out of your grip, ripping my hair free, and with a raw scream I shove you with both hands toward the guardrail. YYour back slams into the metal barricade, making it shake violently, the fans jumping back in shock. I stand there swaying, chest heaving, hair a mess over my face. For a second I just stare at you against the rail. Then I run into you attempting to deliver a flying clothesline

Sara_León: "UGH!!" Your elbow sinks into my stomach, forcing me to release you, doubling over, but before I can do anything you shove me and I stagger backward until I crash against the metal barricade, which digs into my back, and I open my mouth in a groan of pain that doesn’t quite come out, my arms stretched out to the sides gripping the edge of the rail, hearing the fans step back. My legs begin to collapse as I see you swaying, but suddenly, to my surprise, you run toward me with your arm extended, and I don’t have time to move away... "UUGGHHHHHHH!!!" Your arm CRASHES into my chest and my neck, from the front and upward, while I make a small involuntary jump to cushion the blow, but your momentum is so strong that it ends up flipping me over onto my back, being launched to the other side of the barricade, by inches not landing on my head, but collapsing onto my back against the cold floor and lying there in the middle of the fans, who scream in approval, some getting far too close to me, pointing at my face from too near, insulting me in Japanese. I groan and cough amid the chaos, brushing against some chairs with my hands, not seeing you, my mind foggy

Hana_Jeong: I see you on the other side. Flat on your back. Lost between chairs and screaming fans. Some of them step away from you. Others lean in, shouting, pointing, almost touching you. The security tries to hold them back but the chaos is real. You look small there. For a second my chest rises and falls heavy. I could stay here. I could breathe.But I don’t. I grab the top of the barricade with both hands and pull myself onto the apron side of it. My ribs scream. My head is still throbbing. I almost lose my balance. Not now. I take two quick steps back. Then I run. I sprint toward the guardrail and jump, planting one foot against the metal, using it like a springboard. The barricade rattles under my weight as I push off with everything I have. My body launches forward. Arms spread. Eyes locked on you. I fly over the rail, aiming my whole weight straight down at your body, ready to crash into you in the middle of your own chaos.

Sara_León: I have my knees slightly raised, I feel terrible chaos around me as I look for something to hold onto to get up. But suddenly, all the fans step aside, clearing my view... And seeing your slender figure already in the air. Your black hair waving, your sweet face contracted by effort and rage, and I know I don’t have time to avoid it... And your body lands on mine, CRUSHING me against the floor, moving some chairs, crashing against my flesh, leaving me mashed up, knocking the air out of me, making me snort and moan, remaining sprawled and almost motionless, one hand rising to caress your face unintentionally, with erratic movements, while I cough nonstop

Hana_Jeong: The impact is brutal. For a few seconds I cannot even breathe. My ribs ache. My shoulder burns. The back of my head throbs against the concrete. The crowd around us explodes in noise, cameras flashing, people screaming my name in disbelief. They love it. They love the risk. They love the madness. We are lying side by side on the cold floor, staring up at the lights above the arena. Everything feels distant. Muffled. And then… a memory. Our tiny flat. Rain smashing against the windows. Tokyo under a storm warning. No electricity. Just the soft white glow of a phone screen under the sheets. The two of us lying close, whispering like children, pretending the wind outside could not touch us. For a second my hand moves on its own. I gently wrap my fingers around your lower arm. Not tight. Not violent. Just… there. A fragile reflex from a life that does not exist anymore. Your skin is warm. Then the noise of the arena crashes back into me. The boos. The cheers. The present. My jaw tightens. I pull my hand away like it burned me. That girl is gone. I force myself up to my feet, swaying for a moment before regaining balance. My body hurts everywhere but the hatred pushes me upright. I step toward you and grab a rough handful of your auburn hair, yanking you up from the floor. I drag you toward one of the scattered folding chairs, kick it open with my foot, and with a sharp pull on your hair I try to drive your face forward, aiming to smash it straight into the cold metal seat.

Sara_León: I feel the pull of my hair, and I moan between gasps, letting you lift me up. I feel very weak, but I’m thinking relatively clearly. If I could catch you by surprise... I see you dragging me toward a chair, and you open it with your foot, and understanding that you’re going to try to throw my head against it, I wait for you to prepare the momentum yourself, and at the precise moment, assuming you’re not expecting it, I suddenly straighten up, rotating on myself and raising my left arm, wrapping it around your neck and dropping backward, all in a lightning-fast instant, trying to kick your legs out during the fall and aiming to SMASH your face against the metal seat in an improvised DDT!!

Hana_Jeong: Everything happens too fast. I feel your body shift. Your arm snakes around my neck. For half a second I do not understand. Then the world flips. My legs are kicked out from under me and I drop forward with all my weight. I try to stop it. I cannot. My forehead smashes straight into the metal seat. A sharp metallic crack echoes through the ringside area. Then nothing but white. My whole body jolts violently from the impact before collapsing backward in an awkward heap on the concrete floor. The chair tips over beside us with a hollow clatter. I lie there twitching. My arms jerk once. Twice. My eyes are unfocused, almost rolled back, staring at nothing. The noise of the crowd turns into a distant roar, like I am underwater. A thin line of red slowly appears at the top of my forehead. It runs down past my eyebrow. Warm. Sticky. I do not move. Only a faint tremor in my fingers. The arena gasps "OHHHHHH"

Sara_León: The metallic blow rings in my ears beside me, I feel your body shake, tremble and fall next to me, while I also lie on my back, clenching my teeth, still in pain and already beginning to feel the sweat running down my body. The people won’t stop screaming. I don’t understand them. I hate them, I want them to shut up. I only want you, I only want to have you in my hands, controlled, tamed, submissive. I cannot allow you to take control for even a single second, I know how dangerous you are. And I cannot allow myself to lose again. That fear drives me to get up, slowly, with my arms arched, among the crowd, and I manage to make out your body lying beside me. I have to get out of here, every second I spend among your fans is a danger to me, so I quickly grab you by the wrist, close my fist around it, and begin to pull you, dragging you across the floor, through the crowd, until reaching the barricade. I hate grabbing you by the wrist in the middle of matches, that touch is too familiar to me, and it reminds me of times when we loved each other like sisters. Sara, those times will never return, no matter how hard you try, I tell myself. Frustration and sadness add to the rage, and I grab you by the hair as well, forcing you to get up just enough to throw you over the barrier to the other side, letting you fall, and jumping after you myself

Hana_Jeong: “AAAA—AAAAAA!!” The scream rips out of my throat the moment your fingers tangle in my hair again. My scalp burns. My body is still half gone from the chair shot, my head ringing, blood sliding down into my eye. I can barely focus. I feel you drag me and I try to resist but my legs barely answer me. Then you throw me. My body flips over the barricade and I crash down on the other side, landing violently on all fours. My palms and knees slam against the thin mats at ringside. For a second I just stay there, shaking. My head throbs. My vision doubles. I taste metal in my mouth. The crowd is screaming something. I do not understand what. I only know I have to move. I crawl. Slow at first. Then faster. One hand pressed against my forehead, the other dragging me forward. My knees scrape as I pull myself toward the ring apron. I need distance from you. I need something solid to hold on to. I reach the apron and grab the edge of it with trembling fingers. I try to pull myself up. Blood drips onto the floor beneath me. I do not look back. I know you are coming.

Sara_León: I stay for a moment in front of you, watching you try to get up, and I find myself facing a dilemma. I don’t want to give you even a second, but I need to truly punish you. I make a decision, and I step slightly away from you, crouching down and lifting the ring skirt, slipping my hand underneath and searching for anything that might serve me. My hand first finds a box, which I pull out violently, knowing it’s useless, and out of the corner of my eye I see it fall to the floor and open, showing the flags of South Korea and Spain. A shiver runs through my body, but I try to ignore it and my hand finds something else. This will do. I pull out from under the ring a Spanish guitar, gripping it by the neck and raising it over my head, earning a few boos. I move toward you, grab the neck with both hands, raise the guitar and try to SMASH IT against your head

Hana_Jeong: I hear the crowd change. Not loud. Not cheering. Not booing. Just… a strange noise. Like something bad is about to happen. I try to push myself up using the apron but I turn my head at the last second and I see it. The guitar. For a second I cannot even process it. CRAAAAACK!!! The wood explodes against my skull. The sound is sickening. The guitar breaks clean in two over my head, splinters flying, strings snapping, the vibration echoing through the arena. My body jolts violently from the impact. My eyes roll back. My mouth falls open. For a second I see nothing but white flashes. Little sparks. Like stupid cartoon birds circling above me. The crowd gasps in unison. I sway. Then I collapse. My body folds in on itself, curling into a tight ball on the floor, arms wrapping around my head instinctively. Blood begins to trickle down from my hairline, sliding over my eyebrow, mixing with sweat, running down my cheek. I twitch once. Twice. My fingers claw weakly at the floor. The arena is in shock. Some fans are covering their mouths. Some are screaming at you. But I barely hear any of it. I am just lying there curled, broken and bleeding a lot now.

Sara_León: I stay with the neck of the guitar in my hand, without the rest. Pieces of wood and strings fall around you, next to you. I feel the hatred of the crowd, but the only thing I think about is that I have an opportunity. I bite my lower lip unintentionally when I see you lying on the floor. I throw what remains of the guitar aside with disdain and approach you. Once again I feel the urgency to finish. I can't carry you to the ring, I can't make a spectacle. I have to beat you once and for all. I drop down on top of you, manipulating you with my hands to undo your fetal position, unfolding you and stretching you until I manage to press both hands against your shoulders and against the floor, straddling you and calling the lady referee: "REFEREE!! START THE COUNT!! NOW!!" She gets down from the ring, tilting her head uncertainly, and lies down next to you, hitting the floor a first time "ONE!!..."

Hana_Jeong: I barely know where I am. Everything feels distant. Muffled. Like I am underwater. I feel your hands pressing my shoulders into the cold floor. Your weight on top of me. The smell of sweat. Blood running into my eye. I am a complete mess. Bloody. Sweaty. Covered in dust and splinters. The referee’s hand hits the floor. “ONE!!” The sound echoes inside my skull. I blink slowly. My vision swims. I see lights above me. Faces around us. “TWOOO!!” Something inside me snaps awake. I hear my own voice inside my head " Hana. C’mon. Don’t give up". Suddenly my body reacts before my mind does. I gasp violently like I am waking up from a nightmare and I throw my shoulder up, twisting my torso with everything I have left. I kick out. My chest rises dramatically as I suck in air, almost choking on it. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts more than the blow.

Sara_León: Your shove makes me fall onto my side, remaining on the floor, both hands clutching my own hair, my mouth open in disbelief, motionless, stunned. The crowd explodes into cheers, beginning to chant your name, trying to give you strength to push through. I, however, try to repeat to myself that this is good, that this proves you really are in good shape, that you are the Hana I wanted to defeat. But it doesn’t work at all. I curse myself for setting this match in motion. I realize that I truly cannot bear feeling so crushed by the fans, I cannot even bear the thought of being defeated by you again. But I force myself to stand up, to continue. To use whatever is necessary. I leave you lying on the ringside floor and begin circling the ring, lifting the apron and searching for objects. I first pull out a folded table, and groaning with the effort I manage to drag it out and place it at the edge of the ring, pushing it to send it inside. I also pull out a metal trash can, and I throw it inside without much effort, hearing it bounce. I also toss a pair of handcuffs inside, and finally I head back toward you, ready to send you back into the ring

Hana_Jeong: I am on my knees, one arm wrapped around my ribs, the other hand on the floor trying to keep the world from spinning. Blood keeps dripping from my forehead. Drop after drop on the concrete. I see you throwing things into the ring. The table. The trash can. The handcuffs. You look unhinged. Like a lioness that tasted blood and wants more. If I stay down now, you will destroy me. I breathe in. It burns. When you turn and march back toward me, I force my legs to obey. You grab for me, but I explode forward. My fist drives hard into your abs. A deep, desperate punch. I feel the impact through my knuckles. Before you can react, I pivot and whip my leg up with everything I have left. My kickpad connects with your temple. PASSSSHHHHHHH. The sound is sharp. Clean. Violent. Your head snaps to the side. I stumble back one step, chest heaving, vision red and blurred. I wipe my face with my forearm, smearing blood across my cheek. Then I let out a raw, savage scream that tears out of my lungs like something ancient. The crowd erupts.

Sara_León: "UNNGHHHHHH!!" Your fist goes through my stomach like a bullet, strong and firm, leaving me breathless, forcing me to bend slightly, my legs slowly flexing... But before I can fall to my knees you turn into a blur in my sight for a moment, before -PASSSSHHHHHHH- Feeling your kickpad CRASH against my temple, making me see white all of a sudden; My head snaps violently, saliva coming out of my mouth, my senses shutting down for a moment, my head pounding, hearing only a deep and thunderous murmur in my mind, while my legs finally collapse, and I fall completely limp on my back onto the ringside floor, my arms extended bouncing on it, my eyes half-open and my chest rising and falling. The crowd erupts, but I hear it very far away, just trying to feel real again

Hana_Jeong: I lean against the guardrail, chest heaving, sweat and blood running down my face. You are flat on the floor. Arms open. Eyes barely focused. For a second I just stare at you. Then I hear the crowd. They are screaming my name. Something wild takes over me. An old fan near the barricade is holding a bottle of Sapporo. I snatch it from his hand before he even understands what’s happening. His mouth drops open. I lift it and drink it in one long pull. The liquid runs down my chin, mixing with blood and sweat. This is my improvised signature move. And I really need alcohol to be able to do to you what I have in mind. When I finish, I throw my head back and scream. The arena explodes. It is not sweet Hana anymore. It is something rough. Something desperate. I squeeze the neck of the bottle tight and step over your body. I drop to one knee between your legs, grab a fistful of your auburn hair and pull your head up. Your body barely responds. I feel your scalp under my fingers. For a fraction of a second, our eyes meet. Then I swing the bottle down. It shatters on impact with a loud crack, glass bursting apart and scattering across the floor around us. The crowd gasps in shock. I stay there for a moment, breathing hard, broken glass in my hand, your body sagging in my grip as the referee shouts from inside the ring. The line has been crossed.

Sara_León: My field of vision begins to move, and I feel a stab of pain in my head. Then I see your bloodied face. I realize you’re grabbing me by the hair. My arms are hanging at my sides, I feel my breathing heavy. I notice a strange shine in your hand, I try to focus my gaze. A glass bottle... I look at your mouth, you just drank. You have a different expression, an expression I hadn’t seen in a long time.... -SPLASHHHHH!!- The glass of the bottle cracks against my forehead, exploding into a thousand pieces around us. I manage to close my eyes in time, but the blow is forceful. I feel my skin tear, falling deeper and deeper into the daze, feeling that hit echo in my forehead with an endless reverberation, the upper part of my body hanging lifeless from the grip on my hair, while thin lines of blood begin to run down my face

Hana_Jeong: I look at you. At the blood running down your face. At the cut opening slowly on your forehead. I don’t see my sister anymore. I don’t even see Sara. I only feel something dark inside my chest. A hatred so deep I can’t even remember where it started. I just know it burns. My fingers release your hair. Your head drops and hits the floor with a dull thud. I plant one hand on your chest to push myself up. Your body barely reacts. I turn toward the ring. I see the table. The trash can. The handcuffs. You prepared a slaughter. But it’s not enough. I lift the apron and search underneath, my hands moving fast, frantic. My fingers brush against something small. I pull out a little plastic bag filled with fine glass powder. I stare at it for a second, then slide it inside the ring near the corner. Then my hand finds something else. Wood. Wrapped in something sharp. I pull it out slowly. A kendo stick wrapped in barbed wire. The crowd reacts instantly. A wave of fear. Of disbelief. I hold it close to my body for a second. Feeling its weight. Then I throw it inside the ring. The sound it makes when it hits the canvas sends a shiver through the arena. I bend down, grab the handcuffs, and snap one around your wrist. The metal clicks tight. You barely resist. I drag you by the arm toward the apron. Your body leaves a faint trail of blood behind. I hook my arms under your armpits and haul you up, placing you half on the apron, half hanging. I lift your free arm and lock the second cuff to the middle rope. Your arm is stretched upward. I slide into the ring and walk slowly toward the kendo stick wrapped in barbed wire. I pick it up. I slam it once against the top rope. The barbs scrape the cable with a metallic hiss. I feel my chest rising and falling like an animal. I look at you hanging there. And I scream. “GET UP, BITCH!”

Sara_León: I run my tongue over my lips, noticing the taste of blood mixed with some alcohol. I feel my face sticky. I grimace in discomfort, occasionally raising my arms and letting them fall, feeling weak and dazed. Then, suddenly, I feel the cold metal of the handcuffs closing around my wrist. I know it’s a bad sign, but I can barely resist, letting myself be dragged like I’m nothing but debris, coughing along the way, until we reach the edge of the ring. I feel your soft arms sliding under my armpits and forcing me to stand, ending up half on the ring, and noticing a tug on my arm until I hear ‘click’, suddenly feeling that my arm has been left motionless hanging from something. I lift my gaze and see what you’ve done. I slowly run my free hand over my face, wiping myself as best I can, my eyes fixed on the handcuffs, thinking how the hell I’m going to free myself from this. I hear the strike against the top rope, and I slowly turn, seeing you with the kendo stick. My skin bristles completely. My body reacts, moving inside the ring, gripping the bottom rope with my free hand, locking my eyes on you, on your figure. You look like a beast, your face almost indistinguishable, your whole torso rising and falling violently, and you clutch that deadly weapon like a huntress who has managed to corner her prey. Leaning against the ropes, I slowly straighten up until I’m on my knees, extending a hand toward you and shaking my head, as if begging you to stop. The crowd, seeing my reaction, screams louder. Some shouts of “kill her” can be heard, and a knot forms in my stomach, swallowing hard and not taking my eyes off you

Hana_Jeong: Two years ago I would have stopped. Two years ago I would have dropped the weapon the moment you looked at me like that. The moment your hand reached for me. And you would have taken advantage of it. You always did. But I am not that clumsy asian girl anymore. Not the naïve sister who believed love was enough inside a ring. I was treated like an animal. I was humiliated. I bled. I survived. I step closer. You’re on your knees, one arm chained above you, the other gripping the rope. Your eyes are locked on mine. There is fear there. And something else. My chest hurts. Even now. Even like this. Tears slide down my cheeks, mixing with the blood still running from my forehead. I hate that I’m crying. I hate that even in this moment, when I finally have you exactly where I wanted, my heart is still weak for you. Deep inside, I know you’re still there. I close my eyes. If I look at you, I won’t be able to do it. I scream from somewhere deep in my stomach and swing the barbed wire kendo stick with all my strength, not aiming at anything specific. Just wanting it to land. Wanting it to hurt. The stick whistles through the air. And then: CRACK. It connects. Metal barbs scrape against flesh. The sound is sickening. The crowd explodes. My arms tremble from the impact. My breathing becomes animalistic again. I don’t open my eyes immediately. I’m afraid of what I’ll see.

Sara_León: When you close your eyes, I know I have nothing to do. The kendo stick swings through the air without you aiming anywhere, and all I do is close my eyes and tilt my head to the opposite side… -CRACKKK!!!- The stick explodes against the side of my neck, between my shoulder and my head, with brutal force, shaking my entire body. The wires tear through all the flesh they find, and they get tangled in my hair. I remain motionless, on my knees with the stick resting on my shoulder, feeling stabs of pain all over the area and my head pounding from the impact, my free hand releases the rope, resting on the canvas. My arm trembles, and I lean further down, stretching my handcuffed arm even more, hanging from it while still on my knees. I rest my free forearm on the canvas, with my hair falling in front of me, watching drops of blood paint the canvas while I feel new wounds on my neck and my shoulder. The wires follow me as I keep falling, but I’m even more afraid of the moment when you decide to pull it away. My lips fill with saliva and I spit to the side, between gasps, with blurred vision and the roar of the crowd feeling like nothing but a ringing sound. In an instant, I think about how they must have seen it. The traitor, the envious one, finally punished after so long, finally put in her place, finally bleeding at the feet of the innocent girl who never deserved to be treated like that. In a moment of madness, lost between exhaustion and pain, I manage to smile…

Hana_Jeong: I look down at you. For a second I barely recognize the woman in front of me. The powerful champion. The arrogant heel. The girl who once walked into arenas like she owned the world. Now you’re on your knees. Bleeding. The barbed wire tangled in your hair, biting into your skin. Your body shaking. Your blood dripping on the canvas like red rain. And I feel… nothing. No remorse. Only a cold, heavy satisfaction. I step closer and grab your hair again, rough, forcing your head back so you have to look at me. Your neck stretches, the wires digging deeper as you move. Your eyes are blurred but they still find mine. “You finally learned your place, bitch.” My voice sounds strange. Lower. Harder. Not the sweet girl they used to chant for. I grab the kendo stick with both hands. I plant my foot against your chest, right over your sternum, feeling your heartbeat under my sole. Then I pull. The wires resist for a fraction of a second. Then they rip free. I close my eyes as I yank it out, not wanting to see what it takes with it. I hear the wet sound. I feel the sudden release. I hear you gasp. I turn my back on you immediately. I drop the kendo stick to the mat. It bounces once and rolls. My chest rises and falls violently. I bring my bloody forearm to my face, wiping sweat and red from my eyes. I try to breathe. To slow down. Behind me I can hear you. Your broken breathing. Your small sounds of pain. I don’t turn around. If I look again, I don’t know what I’ll feel. So I just stand there, trying to recompose myself… pretending I don’t hear you suffering.

Sara_León: The smile quickly fades from my face when you yank my hair back roughly, forcing me to look at you, the wires twisting in my flesh with every movement, causing me more pain. I look at you as best I can when you speak to me. With sincerity, with anger. You are far from suspecting how deeply those words reach my soul. Because that’s truly how I feel, that’s how I’ve been feeling all these months. There is no redemption, there is no forgiveness. I’m just a bitch who has to learn what her true place really is. A bitch who has been taking advantage of everything and everyone, who has walked over people better than her, and who is finally being set back on track by you. I feel your boot on my sternum, and I close my eyes, clenching my teeth tightly, preparing for the release... "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" A broken roar escapes from my throat when you pull the kendo stick. I feel the barbs tear more skin, separate from it, taking tiny pieces of me along the way, ripping out some of my hair. My gasps grow loud, mixed with chilling moans, as I let myself fall to the mat, with the handcuffed arm extended upward, unable to rest my cheek against the canvas, feeling the blood gush from my neck and shoulder, trying to hold back the tears of pain, my arms trembling violently

Hana_Jeong: My hands are still shaking when I reach under the apron again. I grab the small plastic bag. The powder glass inside moves like white sand. I tear it open with my teeth and throw it violently over the canvas. It spreads everywhere. Tiny crystals glitter under the lights. The crowd reacts with a horrified murmur. The ring now looks like a battlefield. Dark thoughts cross my mind. For a second I imagine dragging you through it. Pressing your face into it. Making you feel every single cut. I breathe hard. Then I look back at you. And what I see stops me. You are not the arrogant champion anymore. Just a scared and broken girl on her knees. Bleeding. Handcuffed. Trembling. Defenseless. Exposed. Your blood runs down your neck and drips from your chin. Your arm is stretched up helplessly. Your body shakes from pain. And suddenly a memory hits me. You crying in our tiny apartment missing home. Your head against my chest while I held you in my arms, sharing your vulnerability with me, your sister.. My fingers start to tremble. “Don’t show mercy, Hana,” I whisper to myself. “She would never show it to you. Don’t be stupid.” But my body is not listening. I feel weak. Dizzy. I have lost a lot of blood too. My vision blurs for a second. I walk slowly toward you. Every step feels heavy. I kneel and unlock the handcuff from your wrist. The metal falls against the rope with a small sound. I don’t look at you while doing it. I stand up and take a step back. Then I look at the referee. My eyes say what my mouth cannot. Check her. Please. The referee quickly slides between us, crouching near you, asking if you can continue. I turn my back on you. I pretend to adjust my knee pad. I pretend to breathe normally. But the truth is simple. It is too hard to see you like this.

Sara_León: A shadow looms over me. I know you’re beside me. I feel heat and cold at the same time, I know I’m losing blood and I begin to feel dizzy. Suddenly, my wrist is freed, and I inevitably fall face-first onto the mat, the blood mixed with sticky sweat remaining on the canvas as my cheek rubs against it, while I let out a moan. Then the referee approaches and asks me if I can continue. Something ignites inside me. Saying no means accepting defeat. With trembling arms, I plant my hands on the mat and try to rise. The lady referee grabs me by the shoulders, alarmed, telling me I don’t have to do it, that I don’t have to continue. I begin to shake my head, spitting to one side and leaning on her, finally grabbing her shirt and shouting in her face: “I CAN CONTINUE!!” She shudders and steps back, and I lose my grip, collapsing again onto the mat, trying to turn to grab the ropes and begin to get up, while the referee approaches you, giving you the green light to continue the match. My senses are numb, my whole body is shaking, but I use every second to make one more small effort, to get up little by little, to face you. I still see you with your back turned, breathing with difficulty, and I notice that the crowd is growing quiet, murmuring, not knowing what is happening in the ring. Then a stupid idea crosses my mind, and I shout as loud as I can, so everyone can hear me: “IS THAT ALL YOU CAN DO, PORCELAIN DOLL?? LOOK AT ME!! DOES IT SEEM LIKE ENOUGH TO YOU?? HUH??”

Hana_Jeong: I close my eyes for one second. Then I turn. You are standing. Barely. Covered in blood. Your neck torn. Your face red and swollen. But your eyes… your eyes are still burning. Even now. Even like this. Your pride refuses to die. “Sara…” My voice is low. Not screaming anymore. Not wild. “Don’t make me do worse to you. Because I will.” It is not a threat. It is a warning. But you don’t stop. You stagger toward me, shouting again, provoking me, trying to pull me back into the fire. The crowd starts to rise, sensing something is about to explode. Fine. You want more? I take two quick steps back. I bounce against the ropes. They stretch behind me and throw me forward like a bullet. I sprint straight at you. At the last second I leap. My thighs snap around your neck, locking tight despite the pain screaming through my body. I feel your skin, your blood, your heat against my legs. For a split second our faces are close. Then I twist my hips violently. Trying to spin. Trying to drag you down. Trying to snap you forward with a running hurricanrana, aiming to send you flipping head over heels. Aiming straight for the glittering powder of glass waiting on the mat.

Sara_León: I am stupid. I know it as soon as you look at me. My eagerness to renew the public’s interest plays against me, not only because of what you can do to me in the match. But because it reinforces in you the idea that I still hate you. I forced myself to keep you in that belief so that you would be free during the match, so that you wouldn’t feel sorry for me, so that you would give it your all. I realize that I have become my own worst enemy. All my decisions play against me, one way or another, and I am the only one to blame for having ended up like this. When you move away toward the ropes, I hear a strange sound, and for the first time I look at the mat and see the glass powder, crunching under your boots. I glance at my shining blood on my left shoulder. I instinctively rub my wrist, becoming aware that I am free. You run toward me and jump as if you were an Olympic athlete. That flexibility and that athleticism fascinate and terrify me at the same time. I feel your thighs close around my neck, and instinctively I grab the ring ropes in desperation, knowing what comes next. As soon as you twist your hips, I let myself fall in the opposite direction, at the same time applying all the strength I can to hold on to the ropes. I feel a crack in my neck, a dreadful pain runs through my body, but I do not fall. Suddenly, the situation has changed. You find yourself face down, hanging only from my neck, with your thighs closed around it. Realizing the opportunity, I gather all my strength and let go of the ropes, bringing my hands to your back and pulling you up, forcing you to sit on my shoulders and running forward, trying to throw you down from above onto your back against the mat in an improvised powerbomb, at the same time that my legs collapse just in time, hoping that you land on the bright glass powder

Hana_Jeong: The second you stop the rotation I know. I’m trapped. My heart feels like it stops. You’re still standing. Still holding the ropes. And I am hanging there like a fool. There is no time. I tuck my chin hard against my chest, both hands flying behind my head, protecting my neck the way Mizuki drilled into me a hundred times. Then I scream. A raw, terrified sound that doesn’t even sound like me. You lift me. For one horrible second I’m sitting on your shoulders, high above the mat, the lights blinding, the crowd gasping and then you drop. “BAAAAAAAM!” My back explodes against the canvas. And the glass. For two full seconds I feel nothing. Nothing. Like my body disconnects from me. Then it comes. Fire. Hundreds of tiny knives slicing into my upper back, my lower back, my hips. The powder digs into the sweat, into the open skin. It burns. It burns so bad I can’t breathe. My thighs are still hooked around you but they lose strength, trembling. My hands fly to my face, covering it as if that could protect me from what’s happening to the rest of my body. I start crying ugly, broken sobs. Pain. Sadness. Fear. All at once. I’ve never felt something like this in a match. Not even close. My back arches without me wanting to.