NEW - NOIR EXTREME WRESTLING

Chanyotaaa: During tonight's main event at NOIR, I received word early and came to the backstage area, changing into my wrestling gear—not because I had anything to do inside the ring, but because we in NEW had been told that a new Chinese girl would be making her debut that night. As someone who had also joined not long ago, I wanted to be there to cheer her on and wish her luck. The moment this girl—Xuan Ying—stepped out, she caught my eye immediately, and I couldn't focus on anything else. There was something about her that I found indescribably captivating. She entered with a polite smile, but it was clear she preferred letting her actions speak—high‑flying moves, submissions, even hard strikes. Listening to the announcers' excited commentary, this phoenix‑like woman was proving her creativity and aggression inside the ring. For a Japanese wrestler like me, who also pursues power and challenge, she was utterly compelling. I didn't even watch the rest of the match, because I was certain that poor girl would tap out soon. So I went to the locker room entrance and waited for you to come back, wanting to meet you the first chance I got and give you a warm, heartfelt hug.

Xuan_Ying: I had barely slipped through the curtain when the corridor placed her in my path. She stood a few inches shorter than me, though height seemed an irrelevant measurement beside the dense strength of her figure. My body was still carrying Mina’s handiwork, sweat cooling against my skin, muscles aching in dull persistent pain, when the stranger surged forward and folded me into her arms with the enthusiasm of someone greeting an old friend. “Hmpf,” The embrace tightened around every bruise Mina had left behind, coaxing fresh pain from wounds still too new to have names. For a moment, I simply endured it, caught somewhere between confusion and courtesy. “Uhm… hello?” The words escaped into the narrow space between us, less a greeting than a quiet request for an explanation.

Xuan_Ying:

Chanyotaaa: I realized my gestures had become a bit too intimate and improper, so I quickly grabbed a neatly folded, brand-new large bath towel nearby and handed it over. 'Hello, Xuan Ying! I'm so sorry—please forgive my rudeness and directness. I'm Chanyota, a Japanese girl from NEW. Your work on the canvas is absolutely stunning—I simply couldn't wait to raise a glass with you at the welcome banquet, so I thought I'd come say hello first. It's a pleasure to meet you, Xuan... Ugh... nihao...' I finally managed to offer my greeting in Chinese, using the pronunciation I'd looked up on Google, like a babbling little child. A thin layer of sweat gleamed with a radiant, powerful sheen on your skin, and even in the dim hallway, it couldn't hide your disciplined and rigorous nature.

Xuan_Ying: The towel settled into my hands. For a moment, I simply looked at it. The hard edges of the match had not yet left my face. Mina’s fingerprints still lingered in the ache beneath my ribs, in the dull throb along my jaw. The roar of the Hammerstein Ballroom had faded beyond the curtain, replaced by the backstage familiarity of rolling equipment cases, distant voices and humming fluorescent lights. “Thanks.”The word left me carefully, almost cautiously. I searched your face instead of your hands. In wrestling, kindness could be as difficult to decipher as a feint before a strike. Every gesture possessed the potential to conceal another intention. A favor becomes leverage. A smile could become a challenge waiting patiently for its moment. It’s what would do after all. “I… appreciate it.” The breath of silence shared between us feels too long. “Nice to meet you, Chanyota.” There was an almost disarming youthfulness about you, a warmth that belonged beneath the sun rather than the unforgiving white lights of a wrestling ring. It contrasted sharply with the powerful frame before me. Strength rested naturally upon you, not like armor deliberately worn, but like a mountain carrying snow without ever noticing its weight. “I’ve been looking forward to competing here at Noir.”As I spoke, my eyes wandered briefly down the endless concrete corridor stretching deeper into the Hammerstein Ballroom, where every doorway seemed capable of hiding another rival, another dream, another disappointment. “I’ve heard stories about this place… about the people who fight here.”A faint smile found the corner of my mouth, disappearing almost as quickly as it arrived. “So I decided to come and see for myself. “The words were simple, but beneath them lived another truth left unspoken. Steel does not discover its strength by listening to stories of fire. Eventually… It has to walk into the furnace.

Chanyotaaa: You're exactly as I anticipated—like a soldier. Or, if someone told me you were a battle machine born for combat and destruction, I'd believe it without hesitation. Your face remains stern, almost expressionless. 'Oh, thank you so much—I'm honored to hear a 'thanks' from the mouth of the Phoenix...' Maybe I, being so carefree and outgoing, had never met a fighter like you. I love bringing smiles to people's faces; I love being everyone's ray of sunshine. So I stayed as bubbly as ever, and in less than a second, I actually caught a hint of a smile on your face—which made me incredibly satisfied. 'Welcome to NOIR... It might still feel a bit unfamiliar, but I promise the girls here are amazing—it's a place that won't let you down. Maybe I'm talking too much; sorry for being so chatty. And if... if there's ever a chance for us to compete in a match together, that would be fantastic! If you're not up for that, then... well, how about we grab dinner or... go lift a few dozen kilos of dumbbells or something? Oh shoot—I left my training belt back there.' I scratched my head, a little embarrassed as I blurted out my request, speaking almost exactly what was on my mind without any filter or polish. A chatterbox and a silent type together is probably the most hilarious thing in the world. I tried to pat your bicep to compliment your muscles and break the awkwardness, but then I remembered that the hug earlier might have already made you uncomfortable. I froze my hand in midair, and finally, awkwardly, flashed you a V-sign. 'Anyway... great to meet you! If there's anything I can help with, feel free to come find me anytime.'

Xuan_Ying: “A match…” The words lingered between us like dust suspended in the amber glow of the hallway lights. You smiled when you suggested it. Not the smile of someone chasing revenge, nor the reckless grin of a fool. It was lighter than that, genuine, almost joyful. The kind of smile worn only by someone who had made peace with stepping into danger long ago. It was a smile I had seen before, though rarely upon those who had become overly familiar with defeat. I understood why. Strength announced itself quietly through you. It rested in the broad line of your shoulders, the disciplined thickness of your neck, the relaxed confidence with which you occupied the narrow corridor. You stood without tension, as though violence was not something you prepared for, but something as ordinary as the conversation between us. Silence settled over me. People often mistook it for arrogance. Others called it coldness. Neither had ever been true. Silence was simply where I listened. Even now, while our conversation continued, another part of me had already stepped into the ring with you. My eyes measured, without permission, the reach of your arms, the rhythm of your breathing, the way your weight favored one leg before shifting effortlessly to the other. I wasn’t judging you. I was learning you. If you became my opponent, I would know every habit your body whispered before it ever became a movement. Every fighter carries truths they cannot keep hidden. Muscles remember what mouths never confess. Preparation had already begun. Long before I answered, “A match?” The corner of my mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. “…Maybe we can convince Noir to put it on next week’s card.”

Xuan_Ying: Some people fought because they loved competition. Others chased applause, championships, or the fleeting immortality of their names echoing through an arena. Not me. I fought because, years ago, my world had burned until nothing remained but ash. In those silent ruins, I had made a promise that no one else would ever hear. Every match. Every scar. Every victory. Every defeat. Each one was another payment toward a debt only I remembered. The phoenix standing before you had not risen because she wanted to. She had risen because remaining in the ashes had never been an option. “It was nice meeting you, Chany.”I lifted the towel you had handed me moments earlier, “Thanks. I look forward to meeting the real you the next time we see each other.” My eyes drifted toward the entrance curtain at the far end of the corridor. Beyond it, the Hammerstein Ballroom still breathed. The muffled roar of the crowd rolled through the concrete walls like distant thunder, another chapter already beginning before the ink had dried on the last. “If you’ll excuse me…”A faint smile touched my lips. “I should clean up.” I stepped past you, my shoulder nearly brushing yours before the hallway carried us toward separate destinations. Life inside Noir moved forward without waiting for anyone. As I disappeared deeper into the dimly lit corridors, one thought followed me as faithfully as my own shadow. Perhaps destiny does not announce itself with triumph. Perhaps it waits quietly in forgotten hallways. Disguised as a conversation between two strangers who have no idea they are already walking toward each other.

Chanyotaaa: I had expected to be shut out by this cold-faced beauty. After all, such an abrupt and enthusiastic visit could indeed be considered rude to someone who preferred not to engage in too much conversation. You murmured something to yourself, and then I felt as though I was being thoroughly scrutinized and assessed. You didn't move much, but your eyes seemed to penetrate every parameter of my body. I felt a little embarrassed and shy. I had indeed been required to present my body to judges or opponents in some competitions before, and I thought I had grown used to it—but you were different. Just as I was awkwardly starting to look around to ease the tension, I heard your affirmative reply. "You mean—next week? We'll have a chance to compete? That's fantastic! I can get to know you more directly in the ring!" Did my eyes betray my excitement? Even though you're such an outstanding warrior, I'm not afraid. On the contrary, the thought of facing you excites me even more than teaming up with you. You're like a complex storybook, and I need to gradually decipher everything you're trying to tell me—not through words, but through your every gesture, every glance, every movement. I don't need to feign provocation like in some scripted storyline, setting up some revenge match—that's not what I want. Right now, we're both burning with pure competitive desire. Like ice and fire, spear and shield—competition is their innate nature, and rivalry is a foolish relationship only understood by the world. When you finished speaking and walked past me, I gently and proactively patted your shoulder. "Good luck." Then I gave you a completely pure smile.

Chanyotaaa: Whether or not NOIR puts our match on next week's card, I know that the story between us isn't over. One day, we'll realize that fate never plays meaningless jokes... "Oh! If you don't mind! We could go to the gym together whenever you're free, or grab a meal or something..." That was truly what I wanted to say, but I didn't get it out in time—so as you were about to disappear at the end of the corridor, I raised my voice, trying to make sure you heard my last words. I patted my own head. "There I go again, rambling nonsense. But I really do want to." I smiled to myself, satisfied, and walked back to the locker room, changed out of my clothes, and called it a day.

Chanyotaaa: