Wrestling

Ryoman stood frozen. The General Manager of Japan Wrestling was a man accustomed to massive egos.

He looked at Bambietta, perhaps recognizing the stubbornness. He didn’t argue. He straightened his expensive looking silk tie and smoothed out his suit.

"Very well," Ryoman said. His voice was stripped of any faux sympathy he had brought over.

He turned without offering another glance at Jey or Linda. He just walked away, his polished leather shoes clicking down the long corridor until he disappeared around a corner, swallowed back into the corporate machine that ran the promotion.

"Let’s get out of here," Bambietta said. Her voice had lost the sharp edge she used on the executive. "Before anyone else decides to come down this hall and ask for a piece of me."

Jey nodded. He pushed himself even with his legs feeling heavy like lead.

Bambietta stepped behind Linda’s wheelchair. She released the manual brakes with the toe of her sneaker and began pushing the chair forward. Jey walked beside them, his stride uneven.

The walk through was a grim procession. They bypassed the locker rooms, the catering areas, and the interview stages. The backstage crew was already beginning the massive teardown process. Men in black shirts were rolling cables and dismantling the lighting. No one stopped them to ask for autographs. No one offered congratulations.

The crew members took one look at Jey’s bruised, exhausted posture and gave them enough space.

They reached the industrial double doors that led out to the loading bay and the secured parking lot. Jey pushed the metal crash bar with his stronger shoulder. The doors swung open, letting in a rush of humid air.

The loading bay was bathed in the harsh glare of floodlights, but it was the flashing red and white lights that immediately caught their attention.

A large medical transport truck was parked diagonally across the concrete pad, its rear doors thrown wide open. The engine idled loudly.

Four medical personnel in vests were clustered around the back of the truck. They were working with urgent, practiced efficiency. Between them, strapped securely to a rigid yellow backboard and a metal stretcher, was Billy.

Jey stopped walking. His boots felt glued to the concrete.

Bambietta brought the wheelchair to a halt.

The scene unfolding twenty yards away was stripped of all the theatricality and glamour of professional wrestling. There were no cameras here, no commentators to sell the drama, no fans to boo or cheer. It was just the reality of a ruined body...and probably a ruined career.

Billy’s black trousers had been cut away up to the mid-thigh. His leg was encased in a massive splint that immobilized the joint from his ankle all the way to his hip. The white fabric of his shirt was torn, stained heavily with his own dried sweat and blood.

His face was pale, almost gray under the flashing emergency lights. The angry, bitter fire that usually burned in his eye was completely gone. His head lolling limply against the side of the stretcher. They had clearly administered a heavy dose of narcotics the moment he got backstage just to manage the catastrophic pain of the ruptured knee.

He didn’t look like a menacing heel to Jey, neither did he kook like a threat to the Japan Wrestling roster. He looked pathetic.

Linda sat unmoving in her wheelchair. Her hands gripped the armrests so tightly her knuckles were practically turning white. She stared straight ahead, her eyes locked onto the stretcher as the medics lifted it in unison.

The metal wheels of the stretcher clattered loudly as they locked into the tracks on the floor of the truck.

Jey watched his mother’s face. He could see the exact moment the finality of the situation settled over her. This wasn’t a scripted injury.

This wasn’t an angle that would be resolved at the next show or pay-per-view. Billy was being loaded into the back of a truck, his career over, his contract terminated, and his ties to his family permanently severed by his own hands.

Linda didn’t cry. She had no tears left for him. She just stared, her face showed only grief. She was watching her son being hauled away.

Bambietta stood behind the chair, her eyes narrowing as she watched the medics secure the stretcher inside the vehicle. She didn’t feel an ounce of pity. She remembered the horrid things about Billy that the rest of his family seemed to forget.

"Tch."

The sound was sharp, a dismissive click of her tongue against her teeth. It carried a wealth of disgust.

She didn’t offer a single word as she locked her hands onto the rubber grips of the wheelchair, pivoted sharply, and wheeled Linda away, steering her toward the designated talent parking area.

Jey tore his eyes away from the ambulance scene and followed her.

They reached his sedan a few rows down. The parking lot was mostly empty, the majority of the roster were either already at their homes or hotels, or drinking and partying at local bars to wash away the adrenaline of the event.

Jey reached into the pocket of his bag, they had stopped to get his things on the way out, he pulled out his car keys. He took a step toward the driver’s side door, his thumb resting on the unlock button.

Bambietta stopped him. She held her hand out, palm up.

"Keys please," she asked.

"I can drive, Bam," Jey argued weakly, his voice lacking any real conviction. "It’s just my ribs. My arms are fine."

"You can barely stand up straight," she countered. "Give me the keys, Jey. Please."

He didn’t have the energy to fight her on it... atleast she added ’please’ this time. He dropped the keys into her waiting palm.

Bambietta unlocked the doors. She opened the rear passenger door first, helping Linda transfer from the wheelchair onto the backseat. Jey moved to the trunk, awkwardly folding th wheelchair with one arm and hefting it inside. He slammed the trunk shut, and slowly lowered himself into the front passenger seat.

Bambietta slid behind the wheel. she adjusted the rearview mirror, started the engine, and pulled the sedan out of the parking space.

They left the Arena behind them. The massive stadium faded into the rearview mirror. The drive back to the high-rise apartment in Osaka was long and oppressively quiet.

Bambietta kept her eyes on the road, her hands resting on the steering wheel. She drove smoothly, purposely avoiding the harsher bumps and uneven pavement to spare Jey’s ribs.

In the backseat, Linda had laid her head against the window. The passing streetlights flickered across her face, illuminating the exhaustion etched into her. She didn’t speak a single word for the entire duration of the trip. The silence coming from the back of the car was heavier than the silence in the front.

Jey stared out the passenger window, watching the neon signs and convenience stores blur past. The transition from performing in front of thousands of screaming people to sitting in a silent, temperature-controlled car always felt surreal, but tonight it felt particularly... jarring.

The ringing in his ears hadn’t stopped. The persistent ache in the base of his skull was a constant reminder of the physical limits he had pushed his body past.

He rested his head against the glass, letting the cool surface numb his skin.

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