The sterile hum of the medical room’s fluorescent lights blended with the faint roar of the Tokyo Dome crowd still echoing in the distance. Maki Nishimura sat on the edge of the examination table, her massive frame hunched forward. Blood stained her mawashi, streaked down her chest, and dried in jagged lines on her face. Her forehead gaped open as Dr. William Drake leaned in, needle poised, his movements quick and precise.
Dr. Drake: (Grumbling, his voice a mix of dry wit and gruff authority.) Sit still, Maki, unless you want me to give you an eyebrow where your forehead used to be.
Maki remained silent, her stoic demeanor hiding the exhaustion and frustration bubbling inside. She didn’t flinch as the needle pierced her skin, her fingers tightening around the table’s edge.
Dr. Drake: (Continuing as he worked.) I’ve patched up Marines who cried like babies for less than this. You? Quiet as a grave. Very inspiring. Also, very unsettling.
Maki: (Through gritted teeth.) It doesn’t feel like a victory.
Drake raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop his work. His sharp eyes flicked to her briefly, assessing more than just her physical injuries.
Dr. Drake: Huh. You go out there, take on two juggernauts by yourself, walk out on your own two feet, and it doesn’t feel like a victory? Let me guess—Sato?
Maki’s jaw clenched at the mention of Takuma Sato. Her hands tightened their grip on the table.
Maki: (With measured restraint.) It wasn’t my win. Sato interfered.
Drake gave a low chuckle, shaking his head as he tied off another stitch.
Dr. Drake: Oh, give me a break. He kicked a guy in the head. He didn’t wrestle the match for you. But sure, let’s dwell on how the guy who saved your skull might’ve stolen your moment.
He leaned back for a moment, studying her. His tone softened slightly, though the bite remained.
Dr. Drake: Listen, Princess of Power, wrestling isn’t ballet, and it sure as hell isn’t fair. It’s survival. You survived. You bled for that crowd, and they roared because they saw you. Not Sato. You.
Maki didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. The image of the Tokyo Dome crowd chanting her name flashed in her mind, but it was overshadowed by the sight of Sato standing over a crumpled Moon outside the ring.
Maki: (Quietly.) The people might think I couldn’t do it without him.
Drake let out a theatrical sigh, leaning back dramatically as he set his tools down.
Dr. Drake: Oh, the people. Do you wrestle for them or for yourself? Because if it’s for them, you’re never going to win. The crowd? Fickle. Today they love you, tomorrow they’ll chant for whoever hits the hardest superkick. Wrestle for yourself, Maki. Wrestle because you’re a damn force of nature, and the Pyongyang Punishers are probably still seeing double right now.
Before Maki could reply, there was a knock on the door. A nurse stepped in, her expression uneasy, holding a phone.
Nurse: Ms. Nishimura, there’s an urgent call for you. It’s from the Tokyo Hospital.
Maki stiffened, her posture straightening. Drake’s sarcastic demeanor shifted instantly. He stepped aside, gesturing for the nurse to hand over the phone.
Dr. Drake: (Calm but firm.) I’ll give you the room.
He paused at the door, his sharp gaze meeting hers.
Dr. Drake: Whatever it is, handle it like you handled those two goons out there.
With that, he stepped out, closing the door behind him. Maki pressed the phone to her ear, her voice steady despite the growing tension in her chest.
Maki: This is Maki.
The voice on the other end was calm but tinged with urgency.
Hospital Representative: Ms. Nishimura, I’m calling about Ricky King. His condition has worsened significantly. I’m afraid he may not have much time left.
Maki’s grip on the phone tightened, her breath catching. The silence that followed was heavy.
Maki: (Low, strained.) I want to see him.
Hospital Representative: (Regretful.) I’m sorry, Ms. Nishimura, but we cannot allow any visitors due to the severity of his Blovid-13 infection. However, we can arrange a Zoom call if you want to speak with him.
The weight of the words settled heavily on Maki’s shoulders. Her chest tightened, and her composure wavered for the first time that night.
Maki: (Softly, almost to herself.) A Zoom call…
The voice on the other end softened.
Hospital Representative: We can set it up immediately if you'd like. It would be best to find somewhere private.
Maki closed her eyes, steadying her breath. She nodded, though the gesture was lost over the phone.
Maki: Yes. Please.
As the call ended, Maki remained seated momentarily, the phone resting limply in her hand. The roar of the Tokyo Dome from earlier in the night seemed like a distant memory now. She wiped at the blood crusting on her face and stood, her movements slow but purposeful. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Drake’s words echoed: Wrestle for yourself. Wrestle because you’re a force of nature. Now, she would need that same force for something much harder than any match.
The locker room was silent, save for the soft hum of fluorescent lights above. Maki sat alone, clutching her phone tightly, her hands trembling. Her face, still raw and bandaged from the grueling match, reflected the emotional storm brewing inside her. She stared at the screen as the Zoom call connected, and her breath caught when Ricky Wolfie King’s image appeared.
Ricky lay in a hospital bed, his face pallid and gaunt, barely recognizable from the vibrant man she had known. The oxygen mask over his nose and mouth made his labored breathing audible, and the sight tore at Maki’s heart. But even through the haze of his suffering, his eyes softened at the sight of her.
Ricky: (Weakly, his voice muffled by the mask.) Hey… there’s my Juggernaut.
Maki bit her lip, her tears spilling freely. Hearing the nickname, one he had always said with a mix of pride and affection, felt like a dagger to her chest.
Maki: (Choking back a sob.) Ricky…
Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth, struggling to compose herself. But Ricky shook his head slowly, his trembling hand reaching up to adjust the mask.
Ricky: Don’t… don’t cry, Maki. You’ve got enough to carry… without this.
The weight of his words hit her like a tidal wave. She leaned closer to the screen, her fingers grazing it as though she could somehow reach through and hold him.
Maki: (Desperately.) Don’t say that. Don’t you dare. You’re going to get through this. You’re the strongest man I know.
Ricky managed a weak smile, but his eyes betrayed the truth he already accepted. He hesitated, his voice trembling.
Ricky: I wasn’t strong… not like you. I… I didn’t listen, Maki.
His hand trembled as he reached toward the camera, as if trying to touch her face. Tears streamed from his eyes as his words faltered.
Ricky: I thought it was all… just noise. The masks, the pandemic… I thought it was a lie. A stupid… conspiracy.
Maki shook her head violently, tears flowing unchecked.
Maki: (Through sobs.) It doesn’t matter now. Please, Ricky, just focus on fighting. We’ll figure out the rest later, okay? Just don’t give up.
Ricky’s smile faltered, and his eyes filled with regret.
Ricky: (Voice cracking.) I wasted so much time… and now I don’t have enough left. I’m sorry, Maki. I’m so sorry.
His chest heaved with the effort of speaking, each word a struggle. The guilt in his voice was unbearable, and Maki’s heart shattered all over again.
Maki: (Screaming through her tears.) Stop it! Don’t talk like this! You’re going to make it, Ricky! You have to! For me! For us!
Ricky’s hand dropped to the bed, his strength fading. His eyes, though heavy with exhaustion, locked onto hers one last time.
Ricky: (Barely audible.) I love you… Maki. Always have. Always will.
Her sobs turned into wails, her head shaking violently.
Maki: (Pleading.) No, no, no! You’re not leaving me! Stay with me, Ricky! Stay with me!
Ricky’s lips moved as if to respond, but no sound came. His eyes fluttered closed, and his chest rose and fell one final time before going still. The monitor beside him let out a long, unbroken tone, signaling the end. Maki froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. The reality of what had just happened crushed her like a tidal wave. The phone slipped from her trembling hands, clattering to the floor as she fell to her knees.
Maki: (Screaming his name over and over, her voice breaking.) Ricky! RICKY!
Her cries echoed through the empty room, raw and unrelenting. She pounded her fists against the ground, her grief pouring out in waves. The screen on her phone still displayed Ricky’s lifeless form, the image burning itself into her mind.
The world around her seemed to blur, the room spinning as her sobs grew quieter, turning into broken whispers.
Maki: (Choking out the words.) You promised me… you promised…
Her hands clenched into fists, her body shaking uncontrollably. The room felt colder, emptier, as if it too had lost its light. Her bloodied face pressed against the floor, her tears soaking into the mat as she let out one last, anguished scream. The scene faded into silence, leaving only Maki’s heart-wrenching cries and the hum of the fluorescent lights above. Outside, the world moved on, but for Maki, time had stopped—frozen in this moment of unbearable loss.
Hours Later
The rain fell in steady sheets, drumming against the pavement like a relentless heartbeat. The Tokyo Dome loomed in the background, its lights piercing through the downpour. Maki Nishimura trudged forward, her heavy frame silhouetted by flickering streetlights, each step a battle to hold herself together after the harrowing events of the day. Her damp hair clung to her face, and her eyes, still puffy from tears, stared blankly ahead.
From the shadows, Duc Huy Nguyen emerged, his presence abrupt but deliberate. His voice cut through the rain, firm yet laced with urgency.
Duc: Maki. Wait.
Maki slowed but didn’t stop. She didn’t even look at him.
Maki: I’m not in the mood, Duc. Go bother someone else.
He stepped into her path, his posture unyielding despite the storm. His eyes searched hers, though they were met with nothing but cold indifference.
Duc: I know today’s been hell for you. I’m sorry about Ricky. Truly. But this is bigger than any of us, Maki. You know what Tanaka did to us—what he did to you. And now, he’s laughing while we fight for scraps.
Maki’s jaw tightened. She sidestepped him, but Duc grabbed her arm gently, his touch more desperate than forceful.
Duc: I’m putting together a meeting in Graffiti Alley. The others—everyone Tanaka discarded—they’re with me. We’re forming an alliance for the Ronin Rumble. We can take this fight to him, together. You don’t have to do this alone.
Maki wrenched her arm free, her voice sharp and cutting.
Maki: I don’t want alliances. I don’t want plans. I don’t want you.
She took a step forward, but Duc’s next words froze her in place.
Duc: Don’t pretend like this isn’t personal for you. You think I don’t know? You think I don’t remember why Tanaka fired you? It wasn’t your skill, Maki. It was your weight. He said you weren’t ‘marketable enough.’ That you weren’t ‘pleasant to the male gaze.’ And now you’re just going to let him get away with that?
Maki’s world narrowed. Duc’s words echoed in her mind, each syllable dredging up memories she’d buried deep—the mocking laughter from childhood, the judgmental stares in locker rooms, Tanaka’s cold, condescending voice.
"You’re a liability to ratings, Nishimura. No one wants to see… someone like you on their screen."
Her vision blurred, not from rain but from the flood of rage and humiliation surging through her veins. Her fists clenched at her sides as she spun around, her voice trembling with fury.
Maki: Stop. Talking.
But Duc didn’t stop. He took a step closer, his voice rising above the rain.*
Duc: You want to prove him wrong, don’t you? Then join us! Show him—show the world—that he made the biggest mistake of his life when he let you go!
That was the breaking point. With a guttural yell, Maki lashed out, her massive leg swinging upward in a devastating kick. Her foot connected with Duc’s groin with a sickening thud. He collapsed to his knees instantly, his face twisted in agony as bile rose in his throat. He vomited onto the wet pavement, gasping for air.
The rain seemed to hush for a moment as Maki loomed over him, her chest heaving with the force of her emotions.
Maki: I don’t need you. I don’t need your alliance. And I sure as hell don’t need to prove anything to anyone. I’m going to win the Ronin Rumble, Duc. Not for you. Not for them. For me. And when I do, Tanaka won’t just know he made a mistake. He’ll regret it for the rest of his miserable life.
Duc coughed violently, his voice weak but defiant.
Duc: You’re making a mistake, Maki… You can’t win alone. Nobody can…
Maki ignored him, turning on her heel and walking into the storm. The rain washed the sweat and grime from her face, but the fire in her eyes burned brighter than ever. Behind her, Duc cursed at the pavement, clutching his stomach as the sound of her footsteps faded into the night.
The camera lingered on Maki’s retreating form, a solitary figure in the storm—strong, unyielding, and utterly alone.
(Fade to black.)