Wrestling

The Grand Auditorium wasn’t sold out tonight, but it was close enough to that level.

This wasn’t a payperview. No confetti cannons rigged into the rafters, no pyrotechnics budgeted into the show, no special guest commentators either. This was a regular JW television taping, the kind that ran every other week, the bread and butter that kept the company’s lights on between the big events.

[Braxton: Welcome back everybody, live from the Grand Auditorium here in Osaka! We’ve got a stacked card for you tonight!]

[Tanaka: Stacked doesn’t begin to cover it, Braxton. Our opening bout tonight has been a long time coming.]

The house lights dimmed halfway, the arena settling into that half-lit hum before a show properly kicks off. Camera operators paced along the barricade, finding their marks. The new ring announcer stood in the ring with a microphone gripped in both hands, waiting on his cue.

A low, grinding bassline cut through the speakers first, no warning, no buildup. It hit like a door being kicked open.

[Braxton: Oh, here we go.]

Nakamuro stepped through the newly curtained entrance.

He didn’t rush the ramp...he never did. He walked with his shoulders back, his crimson attire catching the light with every step, no padding on his knees, none needed. The crowd’s reaction split down the middle, noise that came from equal parts respect and resentment. Nakamuro fed off both.

The ring announcer raised the microphone to his mouth.

"Introducing first," the announcer’s voice boomed through the sound system, "from Kyoto, Japan, weighing in at two hundred and fify five pounds... Nakamuroooo!"

Nakamuro slid under the bottom rope without breaking stride, rising to his feet in one motion. He walked to the nearest turnbuckle, planted his forearms against the top rope, and looked out at the crowd with his usual half-smirk.

[Tanaka: For those just tuning in, this is a rematch nobody expected to see again so soon.]

[Braxton: Explain that for the folks at home, Tanaka.]

[Tanaka: A few weeks back, Nakamuro and Ray Jr had their first match. A real classic in the making, both men trading everything they had. Then Billy Bones showed up out of nowhere, pulled Ray Jr out of the ring, and turned the whole thing into a chaos. The match got thrown out on a DQ before either man could finish what they started.]

[Braxton: Right, and Nakamuro made it clear afterward, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t satisfied with how that night ended.]

[Tanaka: Neither was management. They want this one finished clean.]

Nakamuro paced a slow circle around the inside of the ring, rolling his neck from side to side, working the tension out of it. He crouched down near the corner, waiting. He didn’t look impatient, he looked like he’d waited longer for less.

The referee checked with the timekeeper, exchanging a short nod. The house lights held their dim half-state a moment longer.

Then everything went black.

The scream from the crowd came before the first note even landed, a wall of anticipation that rattled through and climbed into the upper deck. Phones lifted into the air on instinct, screens glowing like scattered stars across the dark arena.

A single clean guitar note rang out, cutting through the blackness.

[Braxton: There it is!]

The bassline dropped in underneath it, and the crowd came apart entirely, the noise swelling into something too loud to hear individual voices in, just one continuous roar rolling wall to wall. Twin spotlights snapped on at the top of the ramp, gold and blue crossing in slow arcs over the entrance curtain.

[Tanaka: You will never get tired of hearing that hit live. Never.]

The ring announcer waited for his opening, timing his cue against the swell of the music.

"And his opponent," the announcer called out, his voice fighting to be heard over the noise, "hailing from Mexico City, Mexico... representing the Ray Legacy... Ray Jrrrrr!"

The curtain parted.

Ray Jr stepped out into the light, his blue and silver tights catching every flash from the surrounding cameras. He wasn’t wearing the fur-lined jacket tonight, just a simple black hood thrown over his shoulders with the hood up and the mask visible beneath it. He stood at the top of the ramp for a moment, letting the noise wash over him, his head tilted slightly toward the ceiling before he started his walk down.

[Braxton: The reaction for this young man just keeps growing every single week.]

[Tanaka: He’s earned every bit of it, Braxton. Nobody in this company has been through what he’s been through these recent weeks and kept walking forward the way he has.]

Ray Jr moved down the ramp at an even pace, slapping hands over the barricade as he went, pausing only long enough to bump fists with a row of kids leaning as far over the barricade as their parents would allow. One of them, a boy no older than eight, wore a foam version of Lee Ray’s old mask, the cheap kind sold at every merchandise stand in the building. Ray Jr stopped in front of him long enough to tap his own mask against the kid’s, sending the kid into a fit of excited jumping.

He reached the ring steps, climbed them with the same steady pace, and wiped the soles of his boots against the apron before ducking through the ropes.

Once inside, he shrugged the hood off, handing it to a ringside attendant who folded it over one arm and retreated toward the timekeeper’s table. Ray Jr walked to the nearest corner, climbed to the middle rope, and raised both arms toward the upper part of the arena crowd, soaking in another wave of noise before dropping back down to the canvas.

Across the ring, Nakamuro hadn’t moved from his crouch in the corner. He watched the display with the same half-smirk from earlier, very unimpressed.

[Braxton: Nakamuro doesn’t seem too concerned with the reception Ray Jr is getting out here tonight.]

[Tanaka: Why would he be? He’s not here for the crowd. He’s here to finish what got interrupted.]

The referee stepped between the two men, first patting down Nakamuro’s light trousers and forearms out of habit more than suspicion, then moving to check Ray Jr the same way. Satisfied, he backed toward the ropes and raised a hand toward the timekeeper.

Ray Jr rolled his shoulders, testing the joint that had been wrenched loose a few times by the same opponent. It held fine. He planted his feet at the center of the ring, eyes fixed across the canvas.

Nakamuro rose out of his crouch slowly and unhurried, stretching his neck one final time before stepping away from the corner. He didn’t offer a nod of respect, didn’t extend a hand. He settled into a loose stance, arms hanging relaxed at his sides, the same deceptive calm he wore into every fight.

[Tanaka: Both men look ready. The crowd certainly is.]

[Braxton: You can feel it building in this building. Let’s not waste another second.]

The referee glanced toward the timekeeper’s table one final time, confirming both broadcast and hard camera were set. He raised his hand high, held it, then dropped it.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

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