NEW - NOIR EXTREME WRESTLING

(Previously - Part III: Asian Mayhem) 

Hana_Jeong: Days after that humiliating dressing-down in the GM’s office, the Stardom International Tour finally kicks off. Three different cities, six minor shows, and three main events. The first major show is set for Osaka. I take the bullet train down a day early and head straight to the smaller local venue where tonight's minor show is being held. Fortunately, there is no sign of you anywhere which is probably the only reason the backstage staff let me walk through the doors without calling security. The backstage area is buzzing. I watch the new girls from the rising star program taping their wrists and stretching while the ring crew hammers the canvas into place out in the arena. A few of the girls recognize me immediately, their eyes going wide, and they shyly approach to say hi and ask for ring advice. Leading them is Mizuki, my former coach, who finally got a permanent trainer spot here after my grueling, career-defining match against Sara Leon. We catch up for several minutes, sharing a warm hug, before I finally step back and just sit on a folding chair in the corner, quietly soaking in the environment. Watching them, my chest tightens with nostalgia. Years ago, Sara and I were exactly like these girls hungry, terrified, and desperate to prove we belonged. "실례합니다... 하나 선배님?"I look to my side. Standing there is a teenage Korean rookie, bowing deeply, her voice trembling as she speaks to me in strict formal Korean. My heart skips a beat. Looking at her dark hair, her nervous posture, and the raw ambition in her eyes, it’s like looking into a mirror from years ago. She is a perfect copy of me when I first arrived in Japan.

Hana_Jeong: She stays bowed, and I can hear her quietly sobbing. "Hey, please..." I say softly, immediately standing up and reaching out. "You don't need to do that. It's okay.. Hey... why are you crying?" I ask honestly worried. "Hana, my biggest wish just came true. I finally met the woman who gave me the strength to follow my dreams." I feel a lump form in my throat. I gently reach out and caress her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "Oh... that is so kind of you. What’s your name?" "Ji-yeon," she sniffles, managing a bright smile. "Well, Ji-yeon..." I pull out my phone and write my number down on a piece of wrist tape, pressing it into her palm. "Take my number. You call me whenever you need anything, okay? I know it's not easy, specially when we are Korean in Japan" she smiles among tears. "I'll be rooting for you." She clutches the tape to her chest like it's made of gold. "Thank you, Hana! I'll be rooting for you tomorrow, too! And... I really hope one day you and Misaki can stand in the same corner together..." I freeze, my hand still resting on her shoulder. Ji-yeon smiles innocently, completely unaware of the blood we spilled a few days ago, or the bitter hatred festering between us. "I've watched all your matches. You two are so different, but ... it feels like you were always meant to share the same stage. Imagine if you two were ever on the same side... nothing in the world could stand in your way."

Princess_Misaki: When I realized that I had no choice but to accept this arrangement, I knew I had to comply—I didn't yet dare to offend the powerful conglomerates backing this industry. But it was clear that I wouldn't be setting off with Hana under those conditions. So I packed my bags ahead of time, looked over the schedule and hotel address the organizers had sent me, and decided to drive there on my own, treating it as a bit of relaxation before the awful work ahead. I didn't race down the road; instead, I drove at a leisurely pace, stopping here and there, savoring the few quiet moments I had. In the end, it took me two whole days to reach our destination. As I walked into the hotel lobby with my carry-on luggage, I immediately spotted the posters made for this tour—they were plastered all over the hotel's promotional corner, as if the arrangement between Hana and me had to be made known to everyone. Wearing my sunglasses, I tried to hurry through the lobby. "Miss Misaki!" I heard someone shout, and I turned around almost instinctively. A group of young men and women rushed over and warmly surrounded me. I couldn't bring myself to turn down such enthusiastic, lively young people, so I stopped and chatted with them warmly, taking photos together. "I love your matches and your attitude! How's Hana? You didn't come together? That's such a shame! Were you two doing the opening performance for this tour back in Tokyo? Your performance was so vivid—I almost believed it was real..." One boy excitedly explained how much he loved the tour. I forced myself to keep my expression from looking too sour—God only knows how much time and money Stardom and NOIR had spent to make our first match on live TV not look like an actual brawl. "Ah... yes... yes... I'm glad you like her," I said, scratching my head awkwardly.

Princess_Misaki: "Hey, guys, maybe I should go get my room sorted out first. See you on match day, alright?" I had no choice but to make a hasty escape from our fans, leaving them cheering and waving the signed T-shirts behind me. Once I got to my hotel room, I walked over to the window, lit a cigarette, and watched the smoke drift slowly upward. I couldn't help wondering if coming here had been the right decision. "Forget it!" I said to myself, making up my mind. I decided to head straight to the small performance ring for tonight's show, throw myself into the heated crowd, and hope that something would take the edge off my restless, irritated mood.

Hana_Jeong: I leave the show after saying goodbye to Ji-yeon, the warm, humbling moment with her still lingering in my chest. By 7:00 PM, my taxi drops me off outside the hotel. As I push through the glass doors, my eyes immediately land on a group of young Japanese fans lingering around the lobby posters. *Fuck, she was just here...* I pull my hood lower, walk discreetly past them, and head straight to the front desk. The receptionist greets me with a polished, professional bow. "Oh, Miss Jeong! What a pleasure to have you at our hotel. Your friend, Miss Misaki, is already up in the room. We hope you both have a wonderful stay with us." He hands me the magnetic keycard. "Well... I hope you still have a hotel room standing by tomorrow," I whisper under my breath with bitter irony. I take the elevator up, swipe the card, and push the door open. I am immediately hit by a wall of noise from some loud, silly Japanese variety show blaring on the TV and an intense, thick smell of cigarette smoke clogging the room. I drop my heavy sports bag onto the carpet with a dull thud. "Seriously?" I mutter, glaring through the dim room. "I smoke too, but I do it *outside* with the window *closed*." I kick off my boots and place them neatly in the shoe box next to the entryway. Without saying a word to you, I grab my own pack of cigarettes, slide open the balcony door, and step outside into the cool evening air. I slam the glass door shut behind me deliberately creating a barrier between us and light up, staring out over the city lights as I try to stop my nerves from frying completely.

Princess_Misaki: When I finished watching the entire performance on the TV in the hotel gym and didn't see you appear, it made me even more nervous and hesitant. To this day, I still haven't received any script for the other girl's storyline, which means the two of us won't have any brand-new plotlines here—the only possible story exists solely between us. Without a word, I finished my last set of bench presses and returned to my room. The room was filled with the lingering scent of my blueberry-flavored cigarettes, and I realized I'd been smoking too heavily. I was about to open the balcony door—for the sake of our health, and also to avoid any potential arguments when you showed up, something I must steer clear of now for the sake of my contract with NEW. Just as I was heading toward the balcony, I heard the sound of the key card unlocking the door. I immediately stepped into the shower, locked the door—I didn't want another pointless explanation to trigger another fight between us.

Princess_Misaki: I vaguely heard you muttering complaints under your breath, and then the angry slam of the balcony door. I realized that over the next few days, or even a month, I couldn't keep hiding like this. I decided to take a cold shower first, washing away my sweat and exhaustion to steady my nerves. More than ten minutes later, I stepped out, toweling my wet hair, wearing sports-style underwear and shorts. I saw you on the balcony, still wearing that expression that refused to communicate. I tried my best not to pay attention to anything about you, and habitually took out another cigarette. As I slid open the door to the balcony, I took a deep drag. The balcony was cramped; I pressed myself into the corner on the other side. Except for the moment when I opened the door, your gaze stayed fixed on the vast, glittering nightscape far below. I had no intention of speaking, but I wasn't interested in that familiar view either. I squinted, studying your deliberately tense face, filled with curiosity about this girl who had suddenly changed so drastically. And of course, if she decided to throw a punch at me again—at least her every move would be within my full attention.

Hana_Jeong: I glance sideways as you step out onto the balcony, deliberately rolling my eyes before blowing a long stream of smoke in the opposite direction. I keep my profile to you, doing everything I can to ignore your presence, but the narrow space makes the tension suffocating. The bruises from two days ago still ache under my skin. You were the one who drew first blood, and the memory of that raw brawl hangs heavy between us. Suddenly, both of our phones chime simultaneously with the distinct ring of an incoming notification. I shoot you a sharp, suspicious look through the smoke. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I see an official email from Stardom management. Dear Misaki and Hana, Pursuant to the agreement established at the Stardom headquarters, you are hereby notified of the official stipulation for the first match in your best-of-three series. The Osaka bout will be a Submission Match. My eyes widen, and a hot surge of fury rushes up my neck. "Am I reading this right? It can't be..." I mutter under my breath. My eyes frantically scan the rest of the text, practically burning holes through the screen: Under these rules, victory can only be achieved by forcing your opponent to submit. Pinfalls, count-outs, and disqualifications will not apply. Best regards, Mr. Kidani Chairman, World Wonder Ring Stardom Please consider the environment before printing this email. I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head violently before turning to look at you, completely dropping my silent treatment. "What the fuck is this?!" I shout, holding the glowing screen up. "A submission match?!"

Princess_Misaki: "What? Is this your first day wrestling? Do I need to explain the rules to you?" I fully took in the match schedule—both from my screen and from your incredulous tone. I could hardly suppress the smug smile curling at the corners of my mouth. Every girl in NOIR and every fan knows what I'm good at. With a match like this, I could leverage every single advantage I have. I was already mapping out all the moves I've mastered, planning to make you beg for mercy—loudly—under every twisted, painful submission hold I could throw at you. I slowly leaned in closer and stubbed out the last bit of my still-burning cigarette. "This is a perfect opportunity, Hana. Tell me how long you can last under these rules. I'm waiting for your answer—or rather, I'm waiting for you to give up." I could barely contain my excitement. This rule set meant I wouldn't need any extra training. Satisfied, I stretched my limbs, walked back into the room, and lay down contentedly on one of the beds. Then I arched up into a bridge pose from yoga—like a taunt directed at you, and even more so, a display of my strength.

Hana_Jeong: I stare at you with an icy, unblinking gaze. Everyone in the business knows the game they're playing you are a methodical, technical grappler with a brutal, bone-snapping submission finisher, while I’m a high-flyer whose entire arsenal relies on speed, aerial assaults, and momentum. A submission match practically hands you the victory on a silver platter. "Why should I even be surprised?" I hiss, my voice razor-sharp with bitter venom. "After all, in this country, I'm just a Chon. Of course Stardom had to carry you and screw the korean girl." I slide open the glass door and step back into the bedroom, not giving you the satisfaction of seeing me flinch at your arrogant bridge pose. "Don't flatter yourself, Misaki. I’ve never backed down from a challenge in my life, and I’m sure as hell not starting with you." I rip off my jacket and toss it onto the small armchair. Passing right between our twin beds, I walk straight into the bathroom and slam the heavy door shut behind me. My hands are shaking as I strip off my clothes and step into the empty shower stall. Turning on the water, I let the ice-cold spray blast over my skin, leaning my forehead heavily against the cold, wet marble wall. I close my eyes, running my trembling hands through my hair as the reality of the situation crashes down on me. "I'm so fucked..." I whisper into the running water.

Princess_Misaki: Between you and me, this is practically an open bet. We both know exactly what we're capable of in the ring—which is exactly why they originally wanted us as tag partners. A high-flyer and a submission specialist—without all these unnecessary complications, we might have made a perfect team. But now, this first match will be my stage. When I heard you slam the door shut, I knew you were nowhere near as calm and fearless as you tried to sound. My mood right now is much better than it was this afternoon, or even when I first walked in. If I wanted to, I could play all sorts of dirty little tricks to mess with you in the days leading up to the match—like cranking up the TV volume right now while you're already rattled. But I won't. I've been on the receiving end of those tactics, and I've learned them well, but I have no interest in using them against someone I truly want to defeat. I want to stand above you with dignity and make you pay the price for being my opponent. Humming a cheerful pop tune, I lathered moisturizer all over my body. No matter which day the officials finally schedule the match, I think I can accept it without hesitation.

Princess_Misaki: When I finished and glanced back, I saw your empty bed and your messy sports bag. It suddenly struck me that maybe you haven't been taking good care of yourself lately—from the way you met my warm greeting on the first day with cold indifference, to how we almost exploded like powder kegs at the slightest spark. Maybe this Korean girl will be less mean once she gets prettier, I thought to myself. I placed my skincare set and a makeup kit I'd prepared for myself on the nightstand by your side of the bed. Then I put on my AirPods, turned my back to your bed, and lay down—not wanting to waste a bunch of words arguing or defending myself over these trivial encounters. Whether you appreciate it or not is up to you. I've simply done my part to show the respect I can offer. I pulled up the covers, hummed softly to myself, and prepared to have a good dream after receiving some good news.

Hana_Jeong: I step out of the bathroom, steam curling off my skin, a fresh towel wrapped tight around my hair. The room is dead quiet now. You're already lying down on your twin bed, turned completely away from me. My eyes wander to my side of the room, instantly catching the small bag packed with high-end Japanese cosmetics sitting on my nightstand. I stare at it for a second, my chest tightening with a strange mix of confusion and anger. She forgot this on my bed, I tell myself, refusing to entertain the thought that it might be a peace offering. A chill cuts through the warm air in the room, making the hair on my arms stand up. I look past your bed and notice you left the balcony door cracked open. The cool night breeze is sweeping into the room, and your bedsheets have slipped down, leaving your shoulders and upper back totally exposed. I roll my eyes and let out a tiny, irritated sigh. If she gets sick, she'll just use it as an excuse when I beat her.

Hana_Jeong: Moving soundlessly across the carpet, I step over to your side of the bed. I reach out and carefully pull the soft white sheet up over your upper body, tucking it gently around your shoulders so you won't catch a cold in the damp breeze. Without making a sound, I pick up the cosmetic bag, set it down on the dresser across the room, and slip into my own bed. I roll onto my side, turning my back to you. For thirty excruciating minutes, I stare at the dark wall, completely unable to sleep. My mind is racing, replaying every hold, every counter, and every joint lock I've ever learned. A high-flyer in a submission match... the odds are stacked against me, but I'll be damned if I let you make me tap out without taking a piece of you with me. Tomorrow, I won't complain to management. I won't whine to the press. I'm going to accept these stipulations, look you in the eyes, and stand my ground ... just like I always have.

Princess_Misaki: I absolutely love this extremely relaxing night—I even woke myself up as punctually as the first ray of morning sunlight. After turning over a few times in bed to let the drowsiness of sleep fade away completely, I sat up and stretched luxuriously. I noticed that the makeup bag I'd left on the nightstand had been moved to the dresser on the other side, with its zipper still not even opened. I let out a self-deprecating, easy sigh. *Let her be—at least I did what I wanted to do...* I turned around and saw you lying with your back to me, the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with your soft breathing. *She really has changed so much...* I murmured to myself, but didn't let the thought trouble me for long. As usual, I put on my BJJ training gear, stretched my limbs and torso on the bed, propped my body up with my legs and shoulders, and kept stretching continuously. I tried to stay as quiet as possible, otherwise it might have turned into another fight. I opened my emails—no new match arrangements for now, which meant today was still my free and wonderful day. I picked up the room phone and said in the softest voice, "One... um... never mind, two breakfasts, please deliver them to Miss Misaki and Miss Hana's room in half an hour. Thank you~" After hanging up, I walked into the bathroom, ready to kick off today with a cool shower.

Hana_Jeong: My sleep was absolute hell. All night long, I kept tossing and turning, drifting into fitful half-dreams of twisted joint locks, roaring crowds, and referee counts before waking up again, my chest tight with anxiety. It wasn't until dawn finally broke that my body gave out and I sank into a heavy, deep sleep. I barely even register you waking up or moving around the room. The first thing that actually pierces through my exhaustion is a sharp, polite knock at the door, followed by the quiet rattling of wheels as a hotel room service cart enters the bedroom. I pull the blanket over my head, groaning into the pillow, but the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee and hot breakfast instantly fills the room. I slowly slide the sheet down past my nose, blinking against the bright morning sun, and realize you ordered for two. "Aauuuww..." I mumble, my voice raspy with sleep, my eyes still heavy and half-closed. "Thanks... but you didn't need to do that."

Princess_Misaki: I walked out of the bathroom with my wet hair wrapped in a bath towel, just in time to catch your sleepy-eyed expression. Hearing your thanks caught me a bit off guard—maybe at some point we'd looked like we wanted to kill each other, but who knows what happens next. "No problem. Even though I have to fold you up like a lawn chair in front of the audience inside the ring, that can wait until after you've had your fill, right?" I joked as I made my way over to the service cart. I picked up a glass of high‑concentration fruit and vegetable juice. "Coffee's yours—I still don't get how humans can stomach that stuff." I helped myself to some toast and started spreading jam evenly over it. "If you can't accept this breakfast the same way you couldn't accept that bottle of body lotion, there are plenty of options downstairs in the restaurant." I began enjoying my breakfast, soaking in the sunlight on my freshly showered skin—a feeling that reminded me of those matches I used to take part in with scripted outcomes, where there were no surprises or worries, and all I had to do was perform like a seasoned actor, putting on one show after another.

Princess_Misaki: "Don't think I'm trying to please you, or change anything, Hana. You're a stubborn person, and I'm not someone who's easily changed either." I walked over to the balcony door, with an open doorway between us. The sunlight split us apart—one indoors, one outdoors. "I do this because I've always done this, not because of a girl named Hana. So I don't even want a thank-you. Your attitude has nothing to do with me. If you're worth it, I'll look forward to that thank-you. But if you're not, maybe I'll still do the same, but I won't expect any response from you. Because I only need to do what I want to do for myself—got it, my Korean little sister? And one more thing: smoking first thing in the morning isn't good for you. Caffeine and nicotine—one day your body is going to protest." With those words, I reached out and swiftly plucked the burning cigarette from your hand, snuffed it out between my fingers with practiced ease, dusted my palms lightly, and turned to walk toward the wardrobe. "I'm going out for a while today. If I come back late and disturb you, sorry—but I still can't promise I'll be back before sunset. Good morning, Hana~" I deliberately dragged out the last syllable, grabbed my bag, and bounced out of the room, skipping along. I don't know why Hana has become so... dark after everything that happened? Maybe I'm being too subjective? She's like a gothic girl now—I can't let her affect my energy before the match. As I reached the door, I turned back to look at Hana. "Oh, and don't forget to check your email today. I blocked the company account—only you know our upcoming schedule now. Bye-bye!"

Hana_Jeong: The last thing I need this morning is a preach on my habits from you. "Look, Misaki," I snap, rolling my eyes with total disdain as I pull my hand back. "I didn't ask you for a damn thing. I don't need your pretentious, fake kindness just let me be, okay? We have a match, got it?" Before you can skip out the door, you drop that absurd bomb about blocking the company account and making me check your emails. "Hey, wait!" I yell, stepping back into the room. "I'm not your damn assistant! You" Click. The door slams shut in my face. You're already gone. "Pffff... what an annoying little pest," I growl to the empty room. There is zero chance I'm hanging around this hotel room waiting for you to come back. I grab my coffee, finish off the rest of the food, and start throwing my ring gear, knee pads, and boots into my gym bag. I throw on my dark makeup, lace up my street shoes, and slinging the heavy gear bag over my shoulder, I head out. I’m spending the rest of the day at the arena in Osaka, away from you, getting my head right for the match we're about to have in that ring.

Princess_Misaki: Of course, I knew those words would inevitably lead to another round of bickering between us, so I quickly left the room. By the time I got into my car, I had already pulled up almost every address where I'd ever trained. I hadn't lived in Osaka for long, and only a few gyms still had training partners I knew. The aloof, carefree attitude I put on was just a front for you—in reality, the trunk of my car was packed with my wrestling gear and protective equipment. I went door‑to‑door to each of my old training partners' facilities. Though my BJJ career hadn't lasted very long, the grappling skills I'd picked up had become an important weapon in my wrestling arsenal. I spent the entire morning picking up new "special moves" at every dojo—at the cost of bruises all over my body and muscles swollen and congested from friction and pressure. Around three in the afternoon, I finally decided to head to the Osaka Gymnasium. I figured I'd check out the venue first—maybe it was for a rehearsal, or a meet‑and‑greet, or perhaps even a real easter egg for the fans. I parked in the staff lot, changed into my gear right there in the corridor without even bothering to go to the locker room, and walked straight into the training hall wearing my full outfit. Some of the girls stopped and looked at me, nodding, waving, or even looking stunned—because obviously, everyone knew what had happened between Hana and me. Even though the livestreams had cleverly packaged those scuffles into storylines, the other wrestlers knew full well that both of us had used real moves that day. Hana was on the ring just a few meters away from me, practicing her moves with another wrestler. I walked over to the equipment area not far behind the ring, sat down under a power rack, loaded the barbell onto my shoulders, and started doing squats—all while watching every single one of your moves.

Hana_Jeong: I arrive at the Osaka Gymnasium to find a crowd of fans already congregating around the perimeter of the venue. In the grand entrance hall still sealed off from the general public a massive, high-contrast poster of our match hangs from the rafters. The hype surrounding this match is absurdly high... but deep down, I know my chances of winning tonight are devastatingly low. I make my way to the locker room and begin pulling on my ring gear, lacing my boots with heavy, deliberate tugs. The door clicks open, and my former coach Mizuki steps inside. "Hello, my dear. I knew you would arrive early," she says warmly. I force a weak smile, my frustration bubbling over. "Why is Stardom screwing me like this, Mizuki? They know I'm not a technical wrestler, and they know she is." Mizuki sits on the bench beside me, pulling me into a protective embrace under her arm. "You know the Japanese audience loves technical wrestling... but I assure you, the stipulations for the next match will be extremely advantageous for you." The next match doesn't matter right now, I think bitterly. I need to prove I'm the better woman tonight. "Don't consume yourself with the outcome of tonight," Mizuki continues gently, looking me straight in the eyes. "The more you overthink it, the worse it will be. Just go out there and do what you do best. Win or lose, you will always be my favorite trainee. You are amazing, Hana." We share a tight, heartfelt hug, and her words anchor me just enough to clear my head.

Hana_Jeong: For the next couple of hours, I hit the ring with a few other Stardom roster members, running drills, taking bumps, and sharpening my grappling speed until I suddenly feel a heavy, burning gaze on my back. I glance over my shoulder and catch you sitting under a power rack just a few meters away, squatting a heavy barbell while your eyes track my every single move. My heart instantly speeds up, a cold spike of adrenaline hitting my chest. I know you're trying to play psychological mind games with me, but I grit my teeth, turn my back to you, and go right back to my drills, trying to drown out your presence and stay locked in.

Princess_Misaki: I don't want to miss a single minute here. You might think I'm focused on your moves and technique, but actually I'm paying much closer attention to your reactions every time you take a bump during training. In technical wrestling sequences, when a single hold or move is applied over and over again, the pain gradually makes your muscles and bones adapt to the twist and angle like clay—so I'm watching to see which moves you're more sensitive to. I'm not a sadist. I just need a win right now—even if it's a win by a huge margin. I need it to salvage my pride here. I'm not angry about your violent behavior on the first day; at most, I'm frustrated. I was attacked by my own tag team partner from the same faction, and then I lost my composure and started brawling in the match afterward—that's beyond what my professional attitude can tolerate, including both your actions and my own. After I finished my squats, I racked the barbell and let out a long breath. I checked the time—maybe about two hours left before the crowd starts filing in. I cracked my neck, let my shoulders relax, and headed toward the backstage bathroom. I needed to wake myself up again, then show up in the locker room, fully prepared. I looked back at the ring one more time, blurring everything as much as possible—except for that Korean girl sprinting and leaping across the canvas.

Hana_Jeong: I forced myself to keep my head down and stay locked into my drills until you finally racked the barbell and walked toward the backstage area. Once you were gone, the heavy atmosphere around the ring eased up slightly, but my chest still felt like a pressure cooker. Before I knew it, the arena lights dimmed, the crowd began filing in, and the deafening roar of the Osaka fans signaled the start of the show. I retreated to a quiet corner backstage to stretch, wrapping my wrists tighter and pacing the concrete floor to keep my adrenaline from flatlining. I didn't see you anywhere in the hallways, but I could feel the invisible countdown ticking away in my head. Suddenly, a young female staffer with a clipboard runs up to me, panting slightly. "Hana! Five minutes until your entrance! You enter first!" Of course I enter first, I think bitterly, giving her a quick nod. I'm the underdog tonight. I take off my N.E.W. top, and step up to the gorilla position right behind the heavy black curtain. The thumping bass of the opening matches fades, replaced by the rising hum of thousands of fans in the Osaka Gymnasium waiting for this match. Standing there in the shadow of the curtain, my cool composure completely cracks. My hands are trembling slightly as I adjust my elbow pads. I am terrified, nervous, and my heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. There are no referees to break us up tonight, no Stardom girls to hold us back, and no storyline scripts to hide behind. It's just me and you and in less than five minutes, I have to step out into that arena and fight for my life.

Princess_Misaki: After a shower that feels incredibly refreshing, I close the door to my locker. For some reason, tonight is supposed to be my perfect showcase, yet the closer the opening gets, the more nervous I become. You're not even a heel character in NOIR, but I'm ready to give it everything I've got—to do my best to make sure you walk away from this match without the win. I shake my head. I can't afford any extra thoughts right now, because I can already hear the cheers and the performances of the opening wrestlers out there. I walk to the other side of the passageway and wait quietly for my stagehand's signal. The stagehand across from me, wearing headphones, gives me a thumbs‑up. I return the gesture, letting him know I'm all set. Then, I smell gunpowder burning in the air. The pyrotechnics around the ring burst forth, illuminating the entranceway on the other side...

Hana_Jeong: I stand like a statue behind the curtain, my chest heaving as the pyrotechnics flash on the other side. Then, I feel your presence before I even see you, you step up right next to me, sliding into the entranceway. We stand shoulder to shoulder in the dim light, the distance between us microscopic. Neither of us utters a single word. We just lock eyes a long, heavy, suffocating stare loaded with everything we've built up over the past weeks. Suddenly, my entrance music hits the arena speakers with a deafening blast of bass. I pull my gaze away from yours, raise my left arm, and press my lips firmly against my elbow pad—kissing the exact spot where I keep a tiny picture of my family tucked safely inside. I burst through the black curtain, forcing every ounce of terror out of my body and slapping a wild, electric grin onto my face. I charge down the ramp, doing my signature energetic entrance, slapping high-fives with the screaming fans leaning over the guardrails. Reaching the apron, I slide slickly under the bottom rope, sprint straight up to the top turnbuckle, and hit my signature pose hand raised over my eyes, staring off into the cheap seats before throwing myself into a flawless, graceful backflip, landing perfectly on the canvas. The crowd roars, but as my theme fades into silence, the arena drops into a tense hush. I stand alone in the center of the ring, my gear glinting under the house lights, my heart beating a thousand miles an hour as I turn toward the entrance ramp, waiting for your music to hit.

Princess_Misaki: Finally, after a long period of silence, I feel some strange power starting to surge into my body. Unlike those routine scripted segments from the past, this time I've fought for—and earned—three rounds of match time, for myself and for you. The desire to conquer the ring begins to swell in my mind once again. As I give myself over to my fans and to this squared circle, I start bouncing on my feet—I want every spectator to feel my excitement reignite. Then my girl group's explosive BGM suddenly hits, and streams of fire burst out from the entranceway. I wave and slap hands with genuine warmth, then without a moment's hesitation I spring through the ropes and into the ring, landing in a crisp forward roll before striking a pose I haven't used in a long time—dedicated to my fans. That chain of high‑energy moves leaves me slightly sweaty and breathless, but right now I feel like I'm running on an engine that never stops. "Finally..." I murmur under my breath, as if I've turned a setback into a blessing and rediscovered the reason I came back here. Then I turn my head and look at you. Now, I need to do something here that I haven't done in a very long time...

Hana_Jeong: The arena’s PA system crackles to life, and the referee steps back as the ring announcer begins the formal introductions in booming, theatrical Japanese. When my name echoes through the speakers, a polite, scattered applause washes over the venue the kind of lukewarm respect reserved for the clear underdog. But the moment he drags out the syllables of your name, the Osaka Gymnasium absolutely erupts. The deafening roar of the crowd rattles the very canvas beneath my feet, making it brutally, unmistakably clear exactly whose side this arena is on. You are their technical prodigy; I am just the obstacle standing in your way. Standing across the ring from you, the adrenaline in my veins turns entirely to ice. My legs are physically shaking beneath my kickpads, and my heart is accelerating so violently I can feel the pulse hammering in my throat. I desperately try to wear a mask of fearless defiance, jutting my chin out to look tough. But the second my eyes lock onto yours, the facade crumbles. My eyes denounce everything. The raw, unfiltered panic staring back at you is impossible to hide I know you can see right through me, and you know exactly how terrified I am of what you can do to my joints. Ding! Ding! Ding! The sharp, echoing ring of the bell officially starts the clock on my survival. I don't waste a single millisecond. I immediately drop my center of gravity, raise my arms into a tense, defensive guard, and start backing away. I begin circling the extreme perimeter of the canvas, using rapid, nervous sidesteps to stay as far away from the center of the ring as physically possible.

Hana_Jeong: My game plan is simple, desperate, and terrifying: keep my distance at all costs. I know that if you get your hands on me, if you manage to close that gap and drag me down into your world on the mat, this match is already over. So I just keep circling like trapped prey, my eyes tracking every single twitch of your shoulders, coiled and ready to bolt the second you try to lunge for a grapple.

Princess_Misaki: The bell rings faster than I expect—clearly, you are not someone who is blindly overconfident. From the very start, you are skirting the edges of the ropes, and I know exactly what you are worried about. I lower my center of gravity and raise my arms, without moving too much, because I know that under these rules, no matter how many times I catch your flying kicks or dives, the ensuing pinfall is always ruled invalid. I know how to make someone willingly admit their own helplessness and despair. I lick my palm, pivot on my feet to keep myself facing you, occasionally feigning sudden rushes to pile on the psychological pressure and keep your nerves wound tight. I know you can pull off some moves—you are no rookie in that regard—but clearly your specialty lies in the ropes and nonstop momentum. Slowly, I move forward, closing the gap almost imperceptibly, compressing the space you can move in, trying to corner you against a turnbuckle. 'Come on, Hana, where do you think you are running to...'

Hana_Jeong: I feel the cold leather of the turnbuckle press against my bare spine, and my heart leaps straight into my throat. C'mon Hana, be brave, I whisper to myself through clenched teeth. Refusing to let you trap me like a cornered animal, I suddenly explode forward. I throw my entire body weight directly into yours, wrapping my right arm around the back of your neck and hooking my left above your elbow to lock into a fierce, desperate collar-and-elbow tie-up. "ARRGGHH!" I scream, digging my feet into the canvas and shoving against you with every ounce of strength I have. I know it's complete madness to engage a grappling specialist in a head-on lock-up, but I need to try to push you back, break your momentum, and force you out of the center of the ring before you can drag me down to the mat.

Princess_Misaki: You finally muster the courage to engage me in a head‑on grapple. Whether you are the one initiating it or not, when you hook the back of my neck and shove me backward with force, I hold just as tightly onto your elbow and your neck, refusing to let myself be pushed away. I lower my head and let out a low chuckle. 'What, you finally have the guts to come up? Why don't you keep slapping me, Hana? Are your palms out of strength? Didn't you eat enough? Come at me!' I say in a taunting tone, trying to distract you. Then I suddenly yank you backward—exactly in the direction you expect—but I quickly dip down slightly, slip under your arm and get behind you. In one swift motion, I lock one of my knees against your calf, trap your other arm under my armpit and secure it behind my back, then rapidly try to wrench you into an Abdominal Stretch.

Hana_Jeong: Your relentless taunts cut straight through the roaring crowd, overwhelming my brain and sending my panic into overdrive. I try to hold my ground, but the psychological noise makes my reactions a split-second too slow. Before I can adjust my base, you whip me backward, fluidly slip right beneath my guard, and take my back. You drive your knee viciously into the back of my calf to break my posture, trapping my arm behind your back as you start to torque my spine into a devastating Abdominal Stretch. "AAGHH!" I grunt, a sharp burst of pain shooting up my ribs as you begin to lock the hold in. Not like this. Not in the first two minutes! Driven by sheer desperation, I refuse to let you fully cinch the leverage. As you pull my torso sideways, I deliberately throw all my weight into the direction of the twist instead of fighting it. I drop my hips low, planting my free boot hard onto the canvas, and use the momentum to violently swivel my upper body inside the hold. Reaching back blindly with my free arm, I wrap my hand around your waist and hook my inner leg behind yours, trying to turn the corner on you. I attempt to pull you over my hip trying to wrench us both forward into a hip toss counter, or at least break your grip enough to force a scramble on the mat where we're both scrambling for control.

Princess_Misaki: My initial plan is nearly perfect. I smoothly disrupt your line of force, making you rush right into my trap. Just as I am about to start enjoying your moans and pleas, I feel that my hold is not stable. Although you let out some pained sounds, it does not feel completely locked in—I can even sense that you can still twist your body. I am about to lower my head to see what is happening, when I feel my center of gravity rising. I start to stumble forward uncontrollably. Since one of my legs can barely grip the mat, I have to keep hopping on my only supporting leg just to stay balanced. But as your arm circles around my waist, I am shoved forward hard. My arm and shoulder are sharply yanked because of the disjointed motion from my torso. 'Ughhh...' I suck in a cold breath, and then my body pitches forward.

Hana_Jeong: Seeing your posture shatter under my desperate hip-toss attempt fills me with a sudden, wild surge of hope. My strategy actually worked. As you pitch forward into the canvas, I release my grip around your waist and immediately throw myself into a fast, aggressive scramble to take top control. I plant my knees firmly into the mat on either side of your torso, trying to ride your back and trap your upper body down before you can regain your base. Breathing heavily, my chest heaving against yours, I reach around your chin to attempt to secure a tight side headlock, digging my knuckles into your cheek and pressing all my weight into your shoulders. "Not so arrogant now, are you?!" I gasp out, my voice laced with pure adrenaline as I try to hold you down and squeeze the air out of your lungs, desperate to keep the upper hand for as long as I can.

Princess_Misaki: ‘Ahhhh...e....' The pressure of your knuckles on my jaw makes my whole face look so distorted that the sounds I make are unconventional syllables. I never thought this would be the opening move—clearly you have been thinking about this for a long time. I do my best to keep my neck from twisting along with your arm; the muscles in my neck twitch nervously. I raise my arm and extend it forward, but I can't even see the ropes in my vision—I don't know how far away they are, but I know this might be a chance. The referee rushes over, almost kneeling in front of me, and points his fingertip at my nose—the one distorted by the squeeze—and asks, 'Do you give up, Misaki?' The referee also seems to be a trademark of Japanese Joshi matches; they love to keep chattering and pestering the disadvantaged wrestler with questions. I can only force out an awkward syllable from my throat, 'Naaaah......' I desperately keep my palms from touching the canvas, so that these foolish referees don't misjudge it. I try to lift my back a little and crawl toward the ropes in front of me.

Hana_Jeong: Hearing you refuse to give up only fuels my adrenaline. I know a simple side headlock won't be enough to finish a technical specialist like you, and if I let you crawl even an inch closer to the ropes, the referee will break us up and I'll lose my leverage. Before you can build momentum with your knees, I make a split-second decision to transition to a high-flying hold. I suddenly release my grip on your chin and press both palms firmly into the canvas near your shoulders. Using the leverage, I push off the mat, posting up and springing my hips high into the air. In one fluid, seamless motion, I try to swing my legs forward and wrap them tightly around your neck locking a textbook, beautifully executed Headscissors right in the middle of the ring!

Princess_Misaki: For a moment, all the twisting pressure on my neck vanishes. I gasp for air in big heaves—asphyxiation isn't what kills me, but the soreness in my neck muscles forces me to need a quick release. I feel the canvas vibrating beneath me; I don't know what you are up to, but staying here is clearly not a good idea. I use that instant of relief to roll quickly to one side—if this is a high‑flying move meant to wear me out, then things will turn out differently when you crash yourself onto the canvas. As I roll to the side, I notice that you aren't trying any slam or drop—your legs are stretched out forward instead. That was close! A head scissors. 'Heh, heh, cough, cough. The price of loving to jump, Hana. If you had just moved your legs straight over, maybe I would still be there. You like to bounce yourself up?' I keep taunting you, while also feeling relieved about my current situation. I quickly close in on you; as you land your hips on the canvas, I move behind you, deliver a low kick hard to your back, then pull your arms backward, grip your wrists tightly, and plant one of my feet right between your shoulder blades. 'Tell me where it hurts now—I'll help you out! Do you like my Surfboard Stretch?! Hora!!!!!! Givooouppo????'

Hana_Jeong: "AAAGGGIHH!" A sharp, violent scream tears from my throat as your boot digs deep between my shoulder blades and you wrench my arms backward. The sudden, agonizing tension rips through my chest and shoulders, locking my spine into a brutal arch. I snap my head toward the rafters, my jaw wide open, my eyes wide with sheer agony as the arena lights blur into streaking lines. "AAAAGH! NO! NO!" I cry out, fighting through the blinding pain. I can't tap. I can't let her win like this! I grit my teeth so hard my jaw hurts, sucking in ragged, burning gasps of air. The Surfboard Stretch is a death sentence if I just sit here and take it, but because your weight is stacked on one foot planted directly against my spine, your own balance is inherently top-heavy. I stop pulling against your wrist grip and instead sink my weight down for a split second to catch my footing. Digging the balls of my boots firmly into the canvas, I lock my core and begin the agonizing process of fighting the hold. Slowly, inch by grueling inch, I use the raw power of my legs to push my hips upward, straightening my knees and forcing my entire body into a stand. As my torso rises, I tilt my upper body forward, shifting the center of gravity and forcing your foot to slip off my back. With a desperate, roaring grunt, I try to snap my arms forward, leveraging your own grip to pull you over my shoulders in a heavy, desperate back-body flip to break the hold!

Princess_Misaki: As I triumphantly pour my weight bit by bit onto your spine, I excitedly show off my opening—yes, the beginning of all the torture. How could I finish you off with such a simple hold? Indeed, your resilience starts to show. You begin to force open your compressed torso, and with a low grunt, my foot loses its foothold. I am thrown forward over one of your shoulders—that's your signature throw. I'm somewhat taken aback; I had planned to release the hold on my own, but I didn't expect you to come up with a counter that quickly. 'Phew... That was close...' In mid‑air, I stretch out both palms, arch my back, and land safely with a smooth forward roll onto the canvas. Without pausing, I rush toward the ropes ahead, use the rebound to spring back, and extend my arm, driving my elbow toward your chest, hoping to catch you off guard with a clothesline amid all that painful pressure.

Hana_Jeong: You hit the ropes and rebound with insane, blistering speed, charging back with your arm extended for a brutal, full-momentum clothesline. I turn around right into your path, my head still spinning from the back-body toss, completely unprepared for the strike. WHAM! Your forearm catches me flush across the collarbone with sickening force. The sheer impact violently turns me inside out: I flip completely upside down in mid-air, my boots kicking up toward the arena ceiling as the entire venue lets out a collective gasp. I crash hard onto the canvas, landing awkwardly on my shoulder and back in a crumpled heap. The arena lights overhead spin in a disorienting, dizzying blur, and for a split second, the air is knocked completely out of my lungs. "Urrgh..." I gasp, my vision swimming. Desperate not to stay down while you're standing over me, I scramble blindly on all fours, trying to force my legs to work. I stagger back up to my feet, but my knees wobble violently beneath me. I sway unsteadily in the middle of the ring, my posture broken, dizzy and completely exposed as I try to blink away the haze and locate where you are.

Princess_Misaki: Like the children's game of hide‑and‑seek, I keep moving behind you, shifting constantly so you can't pinpoint my position. I am like a mischievous cat toying with its prey. As you stagger to your feet, trying to steady yourself, I chop down with a karate strike at your shoulder blade from behind, then without hesitation I grab your hair. "Stop, Hana. What are you looking for? There's no ambulance here right now. But if you need one, I can oblige—have them wait for you at the gymnasium entrance in two hours..." I pull your head close to my lips, teasing you with dangerous, taunting words. Then I forcefully press your head down, tucking it between my armpit and ribs, locking you in a side headlock. I straighten up, forcing you to bend over and match my height. "See that pillar ahead? We're going there, Hana... Run!" I force you to charge with me toward the turnbuckle wrapped in white padding, and I aim to make your forehead slam against it with a dull thud. "Horaaaaaa!"

Hana_Jeong: "AARRGGH!" I cry out, my hands flying up to frantically claw at your fingers as you yank my head back by the hair. Your sharp, taunting whispers right in my ear make my blood run cold, but before I can even process your words, you lock my head tight under your armpit. You force me into a blind, desperate sprint toward the corner. I try to dig my boots into the canvas to brake, but my legs are too weak, and the sheer momentum carries us forward. **BAAAAM!** My forehead smashes violently into the top turnbuckle pad. The agonizing impact reverberates through my skull, sending a blinding flash of white light across my vision. My knees instantly buckle. I don't even fall to the canvas; instead, my upper body completely collapses forward over the turnbuckles. My head hangs limp over the top ring pad, staring blankly down toward the floor outside, while both of my arms dangle lifelessly over the top and middle ropes like a broken ragdoll. My mouth hangs open, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as blood begins to rush to my face. I am completely defenseless, trapped in the corner, unable to lift my arms to protect myself as the arena spins in a nauseating circle.

Princess_Misaki: I just watch your body lunge forward helplessly, until I hear that satisfying dull thud and your groan. I turn around to play to my fans again, signaling that I'm about to unleash my submission hell on you. I look back at you—you're dazed but still stubbornly hanging onto the ropes, refusing to get down, blood dripping from your hair. "Mmm... no, no, no, this isn't a hardcore match, darling. Save your blood for the next one." I point to the referee on the side, and he gets the hint, taking a few dozen seconds to fetch a can of hemostatic gel. I grab your hair again, pull your head up, and apply the gel onto your wound—seemingly rough but actually precise. Then I push your upper body out over the ropes, letting the middle rope rub against your waist and back. I turn around so we're back‑to‑back, raise my arms, grab your chin, and start bending you forward, using the ropes to lock you in a Neck Crank. I laugh excitedly and confidently—my emotions are pushing my abilities to new heights. "Hahaha, scream, Hana! Moan! I love hearing your voice! Hora! Hora! Hora!" With every shout, I keep bending your chin back like turning the pages of a book. I can feel that both of us are drenched in sweat. The match has only just begun, but for me, this is no easy physical drain either.

Hana_Jeong: "AAAAARGGG! AARRRGHHHHH!" My screams echo raw and raspy across the arena as the brutal tension in my neck reaches a breaking point. I throw both of my hands up, my fingers frantically digging into your wrists, desperately trying to pry your grip off my chin as you torque my spine backward over the steel-tight ropes. Every time you jerk my head back, a fresh wave of white-hot agony shoots straight down my spinal column. The canvas beneath us is slick with our sweat, and the heavy friction of the middle rope digs mercilessly into my waist, pinning me in place as you bend me like a twig. The referee instantly drops to his knees beside the apron, pumping his arm in the air as he begins a loud, rhythmic count: "ONE! TWO! THREE!" "Break the hold, Misaki! " the ref yells, thrusting his hand right in front of your face. My knuckles turn white as I squeeze your hands with every remaining ounce of my strength, my legs kicking wildly against the bottom rope, praying the official's count forces you to let go before my neck snaps!

Princess_Misaki: I pull a goofy face and pout at the referee. 'Really? Mr. Referee, she should like this—are you sure I have to let go?' I deliberately put on a pitiful expression. 'Let go! Time's up!' As the referee starts to grab my wrist, I give one last hard yank on your chin. Then I slowly release you, letting your body stay caught between the ropes. The ropes keep swinging, making your body sway with their bounce—tired, desperate, rocking helplessly. Satisfied, I take a few steps back, cross my arms over my chest, still wearing that sweet smile, and stare at you, who are nearly broken. I roll my neck, crack my wrists and ankles, and in a relaxed, effortless way, announce to everyone—and to you, if you can even see it now—that this is only the beginning.

Hana_Jeong: I bounce limply off the middle rope and spill awkwardly onto the apron outside the ring, my body landing with a heavy, sickening thud. The referee instantly drops to his knees, leaning over the bottom rope. His eyes are wide with concern as he whispers frantically into my ear, "Hana, do you want to continue? " I look up through my tangled, sweaty hair. You're standing there in the middle of the ring so polished, so calm, wearing that obnoxious, sweet smile with your arms crossed over your chest, looking down at me like I'm a warm-up exercise. A violent surge of hatred cuts through the fog in my brain. "Fuck yes... I want to continue," I gasp, my voice thick with raspy venom. I reach up, grabbing the middle rope with trembling hands, and haul my broken body back up onto the apron. My chest is heaving as I pause to yank my slipped knee pad back into position. Slid back into the ring, I hook my arms back over the top rope, letting it support my full weight while my boots stay planted on the mat. I hang there in the corner, arms spread wide along the ropes, sucking in deep, desperate gulps of air as I stare you down, waiting for my head to stop spinning so I can take another piece of you.

Princess_Misaki: I've done my best to give you enough respect in this ring—I even wait until you get back on your feet. I see the red abrasions on your neck from the skin and muscle stretching. Even though you say you can continue, I notice your deltoids trembling, and you barely steady yourself using the ropes. I scrape the sweat off my forehead with my fingers, then bring them to my lips and suck on the salty taste of my sweat mixed with the metallic tang of your dried blood. 'So? Having fun yet, Hana—my partner~?' I tease you again with my playful words. Then I move forward nimbly, using a skip-step into a ballet-like moon kick, trying to drive my heel straight into your chin.

Princess_Misaki: The fans gasp—they may have forgotten that a few years ago, a rookie little girl on this very same ring was also trampled and crushed just like this. That was when Misaki first stepped into STARDOM. To be honest, I hadn't stayed here long. Back then, before Sara and Hana achieved their glory, the atmosphere here was as bleak as an office—the seniors did too many things in the ring that went completely off-script and off-storyline. I don't know how many tears I shed backstage. When I finally made up my mind to leave and join other promotions, I still regarded this place as a turning point in my destiny. And right now, your chin is the target that the crying little girl must hit.

Hana_Jeong: Instead of reeling back, I catch the trajectory of your leg just in time. I duck my head sharply underneath your sweeping boot, letting your heel whistle harmlessly through the air above me. As your momentum carries you around, I charge forward into your exposed blind spot, wrapping my arms tight around your waist and planting my boots to drive you straight down into the canvas! BAM! You hit the mat belly-first with a heavy gasp. I don't give you a single second to recover or scramble away. I immediately drop to my knees, straddling your back to trap you under my weight. Reaching down with both arms, I wrap my forearms firmly around your face and chin, locking my hands together in a tight, merciless grip. I lean back with everything I have left, cranking your head and neck backward into a deep, agonizing Crossface!

Princess_Misaki: You're as slippery and elusive as a fish. My kicks get no reaction—I know I'm on the defensive again. I feel you cinch my waist tight, and before I can turn my body toward you, you send me sprawling forward. 'Ughhh... Damn it!' I pound the canvas in frustration. Just as I'm about to get up, my head is yanked up again—unnaturally—and I see your bra trim, glistening with sweat, right in front of my face, inches away. At the same time, my wrists are painfully squeezed, the friction coming from the leather of your boots and your knee pads. My head is forcibly twisted to the side, and a hissing breath escapes my throat. I grit my teeth! The pain instantly concentrates on the muscles in my neck! 'Aaaargh! You bastard!' The referee comes over again. 'No! Get away!' I don't give him a chance to distract me. I use my only free arm to grab yours from above, intending to pull it down. It's not a smart move, but it's the best I can do in my panic.

Hana_Jeong: The raw, burning pain in my arms completely vanishes, replaced by a surge of pure, electric triumph. Hearing you curse at me hearing you scream in frustration for once is better than any drug. I realize I still have a chance. "Not so sweet now, are you?!" I snarl into your ear, digging my knees harder into the mat and arching my back to pull your head back even further. I feel your free arm reach up, frantically clawing at my wrists to pry my grip loose. You're panicking, breaking your form just to escape the hold, and I refuse to give you an inch. I double down, gritting my teeth until my jaw aches as I squeeze your face tighter against my chest, torquing your neck to its absolute limit. "Tap out, Misaki! Come on, tap!" I roar over the deafening noise of the Osaka crowd, who are losing their minds at the sudden turnaround. Every muscle in my upper body is screaming from the exertion, my vision blurring with sweat and exhaustion, but I keep my weight pressed heavily onto your back. I pull backward with every ounce of strength left in my body. I start to feel desperate to make you tap and end this

Princess_Misaki: Aaaargh! Don't you dare—ughhhhhh...!’ My screams and groans spare no ounce of strength. I pour out all my anger and defiance with what little voice I have left in my throat. You make me tap—using that commanding, ordering tone—while my legs kick and thrash wildly against the canvas. I refuse to admit that you've caught me, that you've almost broken me down to the point of tapping out. But I will not surrender easily in this type of match—least of all to a high‑flyer. I gamble on the risk of tearing my tendons, doing my best to follow the pull of your backward drag. My muscles go from sore to agonizing, then start to go numb. Gradually, I feel the pain beginning to ease—I'm slowly getting used to your rhythm of force. My teeth grind against each other with a loud crack. I slide my hands up along your arms, groping blindly, trying to grab your chin or anywhere on your face. But you lean back as far as you can, and I can't reach a thing. My eyes start to blur with tears threatening to spill. Just as my hands are about to go limp from exhaustion, I brush against a strand of damp, soft hair—I know this is my chance. Without a second thought, I grab hold of every strand I can and yank downward with all my might. If you keep pulling me back, I swear you'll taste the most unbearable pain this world has to offer.

Hana_Jeong: "Fuck...!" The word explodes from my throat as a wave of sheer, unadulterated agony rips through my scalp. You're tearing at my hair with demonic strength, yanking my head down so hard I feel like my roots are being ripped clean off my skull. The blinding flash of pain shatters my focus instantly. My arch breaks, my elbows shake violently, and the vice-like grip I had on your chin begins to slip away. Sweat pours down my face into my eyes, mixing with the blinding sting on my head as I try to hold on, but the leverage is gone. My fingers loosen around your jaw. I grit my teeth, trying with everything I have to fight through the hair-pull, but my arms give out and my grip completely dissolves, leaving me gasping for air on the mat.

Princess_Misaki: The moment you release my chin, my head drops back onto the canvas. My nostrils are immediately filled with the strong stench of sweat and the nauseating smell of disinfectant from the mat. I loosen my shoulders and neck, freeing my arms from between your legs. 'Are you challenging me? With such a cheap move?' I suddenly grab your hair again and slam your forehead hard into the canvas. 'Do you even know what real pain is?' I mutter under my breath, then pull your hair, forcing you to stand up. I step my right leg between yours, then twist your calf into the shape of the character 'four.' I slowly thread my arms under your armpits, pull your arms back and lock them at your elbows, making you feel every joint in your limbs groan clearly. 'Let me see if this little scorpion of yours can sting me.' I use all my strength to lift you off the canvas, and the audience sees me holding you up like a suitcase. 'Come on! Tell me you give up! Scorpion Cross Lock!‘

Hana_Jeong: The impact of my forehead slamming against the mat rattles my jaw, and the agonizing thud dissolves into a hollow, pathetic groan. I exhale a shallow gasp of pure terror, completely unable to process your words as you yank me up by my hair. Before I can even try to scramble, you wrap my legs together and thread your arms beneath mine, trapping my elbows and torquing every single joint in my body into a devastating Scorpion Cross Lock. You hoist me completely off the canvas, suspending my weight in mid-air. The brutal pressure on my spine, knees, and shoulders hits all at once, folding me in half like a broken toy. "ARRGGHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUCK!" The scream tears out of my throat, unrefined and frantic. The agony is so agonizingly intense that hot, uncontrollable tears instantly well up in my eyes, spilling over my sweat-streaked cheeks as the Osaka arena lights blur into streaking lines above us. Every tendon in my lower back feels like it's about to snap in two. "ARRRGGHHHH! I... I DON'T GIVE UP!" I shriek through gritted, bloody teeth, my voice cracking with desperation

Princess_Misaki: ‘What did she say? She says she won’t give up? Then let’s cheer her on!’ I shout excitedly to the fans, and then I start adding some torment to your spine and joints. I keep squatting down and rising back up, making your body bob up and down with my rhythm. With each bounce, your elbow and shoulder joints are stretched and ground at their limits. ‘Do you give up? Hana!!!’ The referee keeps repeating that question tonight, pointing at your face, which is twisted in agony. Hearing him, I deliberately speed up the swinging! ‘Answer her, Hana! Be a good girl! The referee is asking you! Givoo uppooo?! Hora!!’ I continue taunting you in English with a distinct Japanese accent, heightening your humiliation, not giving your muscles and joints a single moment of rest or thought amid this pain.

Hana_Jeong: You keep squatting and bouncing, using my own suspended body weight to grind my shoulders and spine past their absolute limits. Each sharp drop sends a fresh bolt of blinding, white-hot agony straight through my chest, and the crowd's rising noise blurs into a sickening, static hum. The humiliation is far worse than the torture. Being held up like a trophy, mocked in front of thousands, and stripped down to nothing it cuts deeper than every pulled muscle in my body. The referee bends down right in front of my tear-streaked face, his eyes wide, shouting over your taunts: "Hana! Do you give up?! Tap out!" I look through the haze of sweat, blood, and tears, my mouth hanging open as I fight for a single breath of air. The fear is real, and the pain is suffocating, but the raw, burning fury inside me overrides it all. "NEVER!" I shriek directly into the ref's face, my voice cracking with a terrifying mixture of agony, terror, and pure defiance. I choke back a sob, digging my fingernails into my palms until they bleed, violently thrashing my upper body in mid-air as I try to throw off your balance and drag us both down to the mat!

Princess_Misaki: Submission specialists aren't just about using submission techniques to make opponents' joints and muscles bear unbearable pressure—they can also combine various throws and impacts into their moves. I hear your creed of never giving up, and my smile grows even brighter. 'Yes, Hana! Never! That way we have more time.' This is what I announce close to your ear, in a voice only the two of us can hear. 'Dear audience! Do you think I should put her down?' I loudly stir up the atmosphere, making all the fans cheer and wait for a result. 'They're telling me to put you down, Hana! So let's do it! Kiya!' I suddenly jump up from the spot, with you still trapped in all the holds, making you like a bound crab, slamming you face‑down onto the canvas.

Hana_Jeong: The icy whisper in my ear sends a terrifying chill straight through my overheated, adrenaline-soaked skin. Before I can even process your dark promise, you leap high into the air and drive us both down, planting me face-first into the canvas with sickening, brutal force. BAM My face takes the full brunt of the impact. The violent shockwave shatters my vision into a blinding explosion of white stars. A sharp, sickening crack echoes in my ears, and instant heat fills my face as a dark trickle of blood leaks from my nose, splattering onto the dirty white canvas beneath me. "A-Agh... hnnngh..." The Scorpion Cross Lock dissolves as we hit the mat, but the damage is done. My hands fly to my lower back, clutching at the agonizing, throbbing fire in my spine. Tears streaming down my face mix with the blood and sweat, and unmanageable, desperate sobs break from my chest. Driven purely by blind, primitive survival instincts, I begin to drag myself forward, my knees and free arm weakly clawing at the mat. I don't even know where I'm going away from you, toward a corner, anywhere out of reach as I crawl blindly, whimpering and trembling from the unbearable pain.

Princess_Misaki: This is the first throwing technique of the night. Even though I'm not great at this kind of move, it still gets the crowd a little fired up. I lie flat on the canvas, watching you crawl aimlessly not far away. I rest my chin on both hands, as if none of this has anything to do with me—that innocent, harmless smile of mine would never make anyone suspect that I'm the culprit behind this crime. I get up smugly and step right over you. I walk to the edge of the ring, nimbly climb onto the middle rope, and swing one leg over. I'm drenched in sweat, fanning myself with my palm constantly, telling the audience just how much I love their cheers. I keep wobbling on the ropes—I really don't think you can get back up. Maybe you're just one step away from my finishing move.

Hana_Jeong: Watching you preen and play to the crowd posing on the ropes with that insufferable, innocent smile as if I'm already a defeated trophy sparks something ugly and dangerous deep inside me. You think it's just a matter of time before I tap out. And deep down, in the cold, dark quiet of my agony, I know you might be right. But if I am going down tonight, I am taking a piece of your arrogant soul with me. I have my pride, and I will be damned if I let you turn my humiliation into your highlight reel. Sucking in a bloody, ragged breath, I force my shattered body into action. I don't bother trying to stand. Instead, I stay low to the canvas, using the last desperate surge of my adrenaline to lunge forward like a wounded animal. I reach out with both hands and snag your supporting ankle right out from under you while you're still wobbling on the middle rope. With a raw, guttural roar, I yank your leg hard off the wire, trying to tear away your balance and send you crashing awkwardly down, getting your limbs tangled up in the ropes!

Princess_Misaki: "'Gr... ahhhhhh!' A cry escapes both me and the fans at ringside as my ankle is suddenly yanked from behind. My body drops fast, and the rough elastic rope scrapes against my thigh—its texture is much harder than I expected. In my panic, I throw my arms out to keep my balance, and they collide head‑on with the ropes. My calf gets wedged between the bottom rope and the middle rope, while my shoulder and arm get tangled up in the twisted top rope. At this point, I look just like a fish caught in a net. I struggle to free myself, but all I can do is make the ropes shake—I feel all my strength being sucked away by those thick black ropes. I turn my head and see your worn‑out but triumphant expression. 'Damn... I need to hurry...' I fumble frantically, trying to untangle the ropes around my upper body first."

Hana_Jeong: A sharp, maniacal smile breaks through the blood and sweat on my face as I watch you thrash helplessly, hopelessly tangled in the ropes like a trapped animal. For the first time all night, *you* are the one panicking. "Not so pretty now... is it?" I rasp, spitting a drop of blood onto the canvas. Every nerve in my lower back screams in protest, sending blinding needles of agony up my spine, but my pride drives me forward. I force my wobbly, trembling legs underneath me and slowly haul myself up to a stand. My vision swims, and my knees threaten to buckle with every heavy step, but I summon every last drop of adrenaline left in my broken body. I take two staggering steps backward, turn, and hit the far ropes for speed ignoring the white-hot fire burning through my core. With a raw, desperate battle cry, I launch myself into the air with everything I have, throwing both feet straight forward into a flying Running Dropkick, aiming blind and wild right for your exposed chest and body trapped in the ropes!

Princess_Misaki: 'No, no, no... don't... hurry...' I frantically start pulling at the ropes around me, but they seem to work against me—the more I pull, the tighter they rub and dig in. I can already feel the canvas shaking as you run without hesitation in the opposite direction. The most desperate thing in the world is probably knowing that something is about to hit you in a matter of seconds, being fully aware of it, and yet being completely powerless. Your fierce, angry face gets closer and closer—here it comes, you jump... 'Ugh!!!!!!!' Those damn ropes hold me perfectly in place—I absorb the full force of your feet dead‑on, turned solidly into a punching bag. The strong pull of the bottom rope may have cut into my calf muscles. I can't even fall backward. My insides are all twisted together now. I want to drop to my knees and rest, but this position is incredibly awkward—I can only twist left and right, unable to move up or down at all. I open my mouth wide in pain, emptying all the air from my lungs. 'Referee... Mr. Referee... these ropes... you have to get me out of them...' I call out to the referee for help, hoping he can deal with or even free me from this unexpected situation in the match.

Hana_Jeong: The sheer impact of my boots driving into your trapped body vibrates right down to my teeth, and seeing you trapped, gasping for air and begging the referee for help, fills me with a dark, euphoric rush. The referee rushes over, starting to untangle you, but I don't give him a single second to complete his rescue. Driven by pure, unadulterated venom, I shove the ref out of the way. I reach into the tangled black ropes, wrap my fingers tight around both of your ponytails, and violently haul you backward with all my weight! "AAGHH!" You get ripped free from the ropes and slam flat onto the canvas, lying belly-up, dazed and defenseless in the middle of the ring. My lower back is screaming, every joint in my body throbbing with agonizing heat, but my pride demands I destroy you completely. A submission match might mean forcing a tap, but right now, I want to shatter your spirit into a thousand pieces. Breathing heavily, blood dripping from my nose, I summon the absolute last reserve of energy in my veins. I sprint toward the turnbuckle, spring onto the middle rope, grab the top rope for leverage, and launch my body backward into a high-flying, desperate Lionsault! My body arches in mid-air above the arena lights, flipping completely upside down as I aim to crash my full weight directly across your exposed chest and ribs!

Princess_Misaki: As the referee and I struggle with those annoying ropes, you come charging in almost screaming. You shove the referee aside and roughly grab my hair! 'Aaaah!!! Let go!' You yank my ponytail and hurl me onto the mat. My body hurts so much I can't even reach up to rub my throbbing scalp. Suddenly, I hear the crowd stir! 'Hana's flying!' This is what they've been waiting for—Hana, a star famous for her high‑flying moves, musters her courage in a submission match and unleashes her first aerial move of the night. I open my eyes in terror and see you like a crescent moon in the sky—that perfect silhouette slowly expanding in my vision! 'Bam!' In that instant, I'm violently bounced off the mat. My chest is almost completely exposed, and the immense pressure and impact make my brain rush with blood before going blank in an instant. My mouth hangs open in silent agony—my ribs feel like they're being crushed together. I clutch my upper body and roll to the side. As our skin touches, I can feel your temperature rising. I can even feel your pulse cursing and roaring with dissatisfaction, ready to devour the energy in your blood. Desperately, I try to push you off me.

Hana_Jeong: **BAAM!** The impact explodes through the ring as my back and hips crush directly across your ribcage, the shockwave vibrating through the canvas. For one suspended, breathless second, our broken bodies form a perfect, twisted 'X' in the dead center of the ring. Our chests heave against each other—my furious, erratic heartbeat hammering directly against the ragged rhythm of yours as the arena lights burn blindingly overhead. Then you desperately shove me off, and I tumble sideways, collapsing onto the mat in a crumpled, motionless heap. "A-AAGH... hnggh..." A horrific, silent panic seizes my chest. The brutal impact of the Lionsault shattered my own core, and now my lungs are completely locked. I roll onto my side, wrapping both arms tightly around my bleeding, aching abs, desperately trying to draw in a single drop of oxygen. Nothing comes. My diaphragm is paralyzed, and my ribs feel like they've been crushed in a vise. I writhe on the canvas in sheer agony, gasping like a drowning animal, my eyes wide with terror as I choke for air, unable to make a sound while the damage from my own aerial leap threatens to finish me off.

Princess_Misaki: I never expected this. In a match centered around stretching and twisting, you still choose to face me with your best technique—even if it doesn't give you any advantage in terms of winning. My mind still can't process all this information right now. I don't know what you're thinking or planning, but I clearly see that neither of us can move an inch. The referee comes over and checks on us in turn. I'm the first to want to try something—maybe it's some Easter egg left by the officials. With all my strength, I crawl toward you, who are lying on your side, push you over like a sandbag to make you lie face up, and struggle to climb on top of you until I'm fully pressing against your chest. I tilt my head to one side and rest it on your chest, as if listening to your heartbeat, because right now I don't even have the strength to lift my arms. I close my eyes, and sure enough, nothing happens—the sound of the count that I dreamed of doesn't come. I sigh, knowing that I have to really chase this victory on my own.

Hana_Jeong: The sheer weight of your collapsed body pressing down on my broken chest sends a fresh wave of panic through me for a terrifying second, I genuinely think you're pinning me, my battered mind forgetting this is a submission match. But as the referee stays silent, I feel the warm, ragged rhythm of your breath fluttering against my collarbone. You're just as exhausted as I am. You're out of options. A violent, electric flash rips through the fog in my brain. It's now or never. Before you can pull away, I summon every last, desperate drop of adrenaline left in my broken soul. I snap my legs up, throwing them around your waist and locking my ankles tight in a suffocating Body Scissors, pinning your torso flush against mine. Simultaneously, I reach up and snake my arm under your chin, trapping your head and yanking it backward flush into the crook of my neck. I wrap my other arm over your shoulder, locking my hands together in a vice-like grip behind your skull—sealing you into a brutal, suffocating Reverse Sleeper Hold. Your face is pulled inches from mine, trapped tight against my collarbone. The combination of my legs crushing your ribs and my arms constricting your windpipe cuts off your air completely. I squeeze with pure, unadulterated venom, my muscles shaking violently as I torque your neck and crush your lungs. I don't scream. I don't taunt. I just stare directly down into your eyes with a hollow, dead, cold gaze blood still dripping slowly from my nose onto your cheek, waiting to watch the light drain out of your eyes as I squeeze the life out of you.

Princess_Misaki: You're ready long before I am. Now I truly see you as a warrior. You lie in wait in silence—when I try to chase some meaningless pinfall for a final result, you calmly wait for your prey to come to you. When your scissors catch my torso, you force my face deep into your collarbone—sweat, blood, your body odor and perfume all mix together, flooding my nostrils. At the same time, I feel my windpipe being crushed. My eyes slowly start to fill with blood. You just watch me—two people clearly exhausted, yet still having to decide a winner. My body begins to struggle, and the suffocation jolts me awake from the cowardice of muscle paralysis. 'Misaki! Do you hear me? Do you give up?' The referee thinks I've already lost consciousness, grabbing my wrist to see if I can still take control of myself. Like falling off a cliff, my body jerks violently—the feeling of death pulls me back from the brink of collapse. I see your cold eyes. 'Don't... don't think...' I whisper softly. Maybe you think it's over, but I can't just watch you look down on me again. I have to prove you're wrong—at least in this first match. 'Don't think you've caught me that easily.' After saying that, I don't have the strength for another word. Your biceps seem set on shutting down my carotid artery completely. I'm making a huge gamble—I bet that at your weakest moment of resolve, you'll believe victory is yours. So, after a long silence, with the last of my strength, I throw a series of elbow strikes from the bad angle on my side, aiming one final time for your nose. If I lose consciousness first... then I'll be the biggest joke after this match.

Hana_Jeong: "Just tap..." I whisper, the raspy plea audible only to you through the deafening roar of the crowd. Hot, frustrated tears break past my lashes, tracking through the dirt and sweat on my cheeks. Deep down, a terrifying realization settles in I'm squeezing with everything I have left, yet you still refuse to break. I can't beat you. Your first elbow strikes wild, catching me flush on the jaw. The pain blares through my skull, but I grit my teeth and double down, stubbornly tightening the vice around your neck. Then comes the second strike. Your elbow smashes brutally, straight into the bridge of my already nose. A violent spray of bright crimson explodes across your face and chest. Blinding, white-hot agony rips through my entire head as my hands instantly fly off your neck. The body scissors break, and my arms drop limp onto the mat as I roll onto my back, clutching my shattered face with both hands. "AAAAAGHH!" I lie flat, belly-up in the middle of the ring, sobbing uncontrollably into my blood-soaked palms. Tears and warm crimson stream between my fingers, splattering onto my chest as the sheer pain and utter defeat completely break me, leaving me writhing helpless on the canvas.

Princess_Misaki: When I see the STARDOM sign and logo again, I know my gamble has paid off completely. But when people can clearly recognize their own defeat, most of them become cowardly. I see you already slumped to the side—maybe the damage to your spine exceeded your expectations. I start to grin smugly, that barely concealable joy. Right now, we're less than half a meter apart in this ring, yet in this moment, the joy and sorrow of the world could not be more different. I crawl over like a leopard, brush aside your scattered hair, and lean close to your ear. 'Just Tap. I'm giving those words back to you—no, more precisely, I'm gifting them to you, because you never had a chance from the start. You made too much trouble for me, little girl. Now you've got to pay a fine...' With that, I lock my hand around your neck and frantically start licking the bloodstains off your cheek. 'Tell me—emmm—how long can you hold on? I don't go easy on cowards, remember? I told you that.' I roughly pull you up from the mat, forcing you to sit upright, then jerk your arms back behind you. I sit down behind you, crossing my legs over your shoulders and wedging my boots against the sides of your head. As I push my body up with both hands, a lotus lock slowly begins to devour your shoulder blades and shoulder ligaments. 'Misaki is just getting started!!! Hora! Hora! Hora!'

Hana_Jeong: The bitter tang of your tongue dragging across my bloody cheek sends a wave of revulsion through me, but the fire of defiance in my eyes has completely flickered out. All that's left is pure, broken stubbornness. I'm completely fucked. As you haul my upper body upright and cross your legs over my shoulders, locking me into that horrific, suffocating Lotus Lock, my arms are violently levered backward. "AAAAAGHHGHHH!" The agony ripping through my shoulder blades and ligaments is beyond anything I've ever felt. Screams tear from my throat, raw and ragged, as my arms are cranked to their absolute breaking point. I can't even draw air through my shattered, blood-clogged nose my mouth hangs open, my chest heaving in frantic, desperate gasps as my heart explodes against my ribs like a trapped bird. The referee drops to his knees right in front of us, his face pale as he sees the crimson pouring down my chin and pooling on the white canvas below. "Hana! Hana, do you want to give up?! I'm stopping it!" he shouts frantically, hovering his hands over us. With blood dripping off my chin and splatter marks staining the mat beneath me, I furiously, frantically shake my head no. I can't speak, I can't breathe, and my body is screaming for mercy, but even as tears blind me, my stubborn, stupid neck refuses to nod.

Princess_Misaki: I continue to tighten the strength of my quadriceps. If there is a watermelon in my legs at this time, I am even sure to let it crack under the squeezing of my muscles. My boots have been pressed on the back of your head, and now your head is forced to stretch forward funnyly, 'Aren't you proud just now, Hana, come on, hit me, you are now very You can't stand up, can you? I deliberately raised my crotch to make your shoulder blades more prominent." Hurry up! Give up now!' I continue to punish your shoulder meanly. I can see you clenched your fists and try your best to resist, proving that you still have an inexhaustible fighting spirit that needs me to work harder to eliminate it.

Hana_Jeong: The unrelenting pressure from your thighs feels like a hydraulic press crushing down on my skull and neck. Your boots dig mercilessly into the back of my head, driving my face forward into a humiliating, broken angle while my shoulder blades feel like they are being ripped clean out of their sockets. Fresh tears burst from my eyes, streaming hot and fast down my blood-caked cheeks. I am crying violently now, sobbing uncontrollably as my entire body shakes from the sheer, unadulterated torture. My hands curl into tight, trembling fists, my knuckles white as I try with every remaining fiber of my soul to push back against the crushing weight, but my strength is completely depleted. The referee drops right down beside my face, his eyes filled with genuine panic and heartbreaking pity. He looks at my shattered nose, the blood pooling on the canvas, and the inhuman angle of my shoulders. "Hana, come on... it's ok to give up! Please, Hana!" he pleads frantically, his voice trembling—for a Japanese referee, openly begging a competitor to surrender is the ultimate testament to the horror I am enduring. Hearing him say that hearing him pity me slices through the agony for a fraction of a second. I choke on my own blood and tears, my chest heaving in horrific, broken sobs. "N-N... O...!" I gasp out through the blood in my mouth, the word barely a ragged whisper wrapped in a desperate, sobbing cry. "N-O...!"

Princess_Misaki: "Did you hear that, Mr. Referee? I'm not a cruel man, but now she's asking for it—you'd better talk her out of it! Hora!!!!" After one last thrust of my hips, I slammed my buttocks heavily back onto the mat. Releasing my legs, your body instantly went limp against the canvas. "No, not yet, my roommate—you know the rules…" From behind you, I hooked my arms under your armpits and dragged you toward the center of the ring. "Let's rock 'n' roll too, shall we?!" I shouted loudly to the entire crowd. Then I quickly slid my arms down, wrapped them around your waist, and hurled you high backward—making your head and shoulders howl in pain once again under that Suplex. Without hesitation, I bent backward, squeezing your abs hard while letting everyone know that I, too, could deliver a Slam!

Princess_Misaki: When I slammed you onto the canvas, I didn't go for a pinfall as I usually would—there was no point in trying those clearly useless moves anymore. I turned back to look at you; your sweat was long spent, and I was almost as drained as you. I rolled out of the ring and walked up to a young guy who was cheering for me. "I need your drink, handsome," I said. Amid the roar of the crowd and the boy's ecstatic delight, I took the sparkling water from his hand and poured it over my head from above. The cool sensation woke my muscles right back up. I tossed the bottle aside, patted the boy on the cheek, and said, "Thanks, kid." Then I climbed back onto the canvas. "You think the idol's arsenal is empty? That's the biggest misunderstanding you've had about me tonight!" With that, I bent down, pulled you up from the mat, and hoisted you upside down, headfirst. I carried you slowly and laboriously around the ring, letting everyone see how I was in complete control of you. Then I turned your back against my abs, abruptly lifted you up, and let your neck land on my shoulder. As your legs swung forward from the momentum, I caught them precisely and quickly, bending your torso back into a forced fold—delivering a Muscle Buster to show off my absolute dominance right now."Say something to me, Hana. Are you still there?" I looked down at your broken face, so close to mine, and pressed a completely dominative kiss to your chin, with a sly, satisfied smile.

Hana_Jeong: The cold water splashing over your face might have refreshed you, but as you haul my ruined body up and flip me upside down, the world turns into a suffocating, violent red. Blood rushes straight into my head, my face flushing a deep, sickly purple as I hang trapped and helpless in mid-air. I can't even fight the hoist my limbs hang limp like dead weight while you parade me around the ring to show off to the fans. Then you drop me into position and drive my neck mercilessly into your shoulder. BAAAM! The Muscle Buster folds my spine in half with devastating, bone-shattering force. The violent shockwave crushes the remaining air out of my lungs in a sickening, breathless gasp. My body bounces off the canvas and flops onto its back, completely ruined. "AAAAAAGHH! AHHH... HNNGH...!" The agonizing scream dissolves into pathetic, messy, frantic sobbing. I lie there trembling uncontrollably, hyperventilating through my mouth as blood and snot mix with hot tears, smearing across my purple, swollen face. I sob like a broken child, every single muscle in my torso spasming in sheer, unadulterated agony. When you lean down and press that arrogant, possessive kiss to my bloody chin, I don't even have the strength to pull away. My head just lolls to the side, my eyes glazed over with tears, choking on my own broken breath. I am completely destroyed, crying and shaking in a pool of my own sweat and blood, but as the ref hovers over my devastated body... my bloody lips twitch, still refusing to utter the word quit.

Princess_Misaki: As I paraded around with your broken shell in my grip, I knew that this kind of humiliating technique could also drain your soul. Every hold I used today was an unorthodox submission—moves I'd traveled across several arenas to master. I wanted to shatter your spirit, to plant fear deep inside you, so that sooner or later, you'd surrender yourself to me. "Let's end this, shall we?!" I realized it was time to give the crowd the Misaki they were craving. I released my hold, hurled you behind me, and you crashed onto the canvas once more—now soaked with your own sweat and tears. I grabbed your legs and dragged you toward the center of the ring. "Over here, little punching bag. Are you all ready to see a flower in full bloom?!" I forced you onto your stomach, planted my boot against the back of your quadriceps, made you grab my wrists, and pulled your arms taut. "Three! Two! One! Here we go!" I fell backward sharply, spinning you around like a fan, forcing your spine into a reverse hyperextension. Your insteps and knees bore the full force of my soles. "Horaaaaa!!!!!!!!! Givooo upppoooo?!"

Hana_Jeong: THUD! The crushing force of your soles driving into my knees and insteps, combined with the brutal, unnatural arching of my spine, pushes my broken body past its absolute human limit. "AAAAAAAGGGHHH! AAAAAAAAAAGHH!" I scream and scream until my vocal cords snap, leaving only a dry, raspy wheeze coming out of my throat. The white-hot agony radiating from my lower back fuses with the sickening pressure of the blood trapped in my skull. My vision rapidly blackens at the edges. My eyelids flicker, my jaw hangs slack, and a hot stream of saliva and blood spills blindly out of the side of my mouth as my brain starts to shut down, slipping into unconsciousness. Then, a sudden, brutal peak of unbearable pain snaps straight through my spine: a violent, electric shock that jolts me violently back awake into the nightmare. The pain is too much. My spirit finally shatters. "I... I GIVE UP! PLEASE!" The screaming plea bursts out of me in a frantic, sobbing wail, my voice high-pitched and completely broken. "I QUIT! PLEASE! PLEASE LET ME GO!" The words tumble out of my mouth before my battered brain can even process the devastating weight of what I'm saying. In front of thousands of screaming fans, under the harsh arena lights, I surrender completely. The proud high-flyer is gone leaving only a sobbing, weeping mess weeping onto the canvas, desperately begging for your mercy.

Princess_Misaki: "DingDingDingDingDing... Hahahahaha..." After I finally got everything I wanted tonight, I let out a crisp, silvery laugh—as if I had nothing at all to worry about this evening. I deliberately held it for a few more seconds, until the referee frantically tugged at my arm and pulled at my shoulder. Only then did I tumble to the side, releasing my grip. Streamers burst from the machines around the ring as if on cue. I rose triumphantly, and the arena was instantly flooded with posters and banners of me. I deliberately stood beside you, making no excessive movements—I knew this would get me scolded by those corporate suits again—but my smile was genuine. I pretended to check on my opponent after the match, leaning close to your ear, patting your back gently while whispering in the smallest voice: "Did you remember all that pain, Hana? You know I have a whole sketchbook full of moves I didn't even use. Hope you don't have nightmares tonight. Such a shame the match is over—you know, my Figure Four Leglock is still saved just for you... hehehe..."

Hana_Jeong: My body naturally curls into a tight, pathetic fetal position, my spine throbbing in agonizing spasms from being bent far past what any human should endure. I am a completely broken mess on the canvas bleeding, sobbing, and hyperventilating in a pool of my own sweat and crimson. When you lean down and whisper those chilling words into my ear, a fresh wave of uncontrollable sobs wracks my entire chest. Every word feels like a physical blow. I force my blurry, tear-filled eyes up to meet yours. There is no defiance left. No anger, no fight, no pride. There is only absolute defeat, crippling shame, and a terrifying, hollow submission. You didn't just beat me in a wrestling match; you completely broke my spirit. You tamed me, exposing every single weakness I had and leaving me broken in front of the entire world. As the streamers rain down around us and your victory music blasts through the arena, I bury my face into my bloody hands, weeping helplessly on the mat. In this exact moment, as the crowd cheers your name, all I want is to disappear from this ring, quit wrestling forever, and run as far away from Japan and you as I can possibly get.

(TO BE CONTINUED)