Pressure from Above
Akane Watanabe’s Tokyo apartment, early morning.
The room is a portrait of quiet discipline. Sparse decorations—a single bonsai tree on the windowsill, the mounted katana on the wall, and a stack of meticulously arranged files—speak to Akane’s focused existence. The glow from her laptop illuminates her face in the dimly lit room. Outside, the faint murmur of Tokyo’s waking city hums beneath a ticking wall clock.
Akane sits motionless at her desk, scrolling through digital files. The screen shows AAPW’s financial reports, with Haruki Tanaka’s name appearing frequently in connection with anonymous investors. She rubs her temple, her eyes sharp despite the early hour.
Her phone buzzes suddenly, breaking the stillness. Akane sets down her green tea and reaches for the device. A notification says, “New Message—Encrypted.” She opens it, decrypting the text with swift, practiced taps.
Chief Masaru Inoue (Text Message): Watanabe, the Prime Minister, is sharpening his knives. He wants results. We’re running out of excuses. Tanaka’s too clean on paper, but the Yamamoto thread is loose. Pull it carefully. No mistakes.
She reads the message twice, her expression hardening. Leaning back in her chair, she exhales slowly, the weight of her dual life pressing down. Her eyes flick to a framed photograph on her desk—a candid shot of The Onna-Bugeisha after their first group victory. Their smiles radiate confidence, camaraderie, and hope. Akane picks it up, running her thumb along the edge of the frame.
Akane: They have no idea. I’m leading them into a warzone blindfolded.
She returns the photo to the desk and turns to the katana on the wall. The sword gleams faintly in the dim light, a silent reminder of her commitment to honor and justice. Her hand hovers over the hilt as if seeking comfort, but she pulls it back. The laptop pings, pulling her attention. She leans forward, and the screen displays surveillance footage of Haruki Tanaka meeting with a group of men outside a known speakeasy bar. The timestamp places the meeting two nights ago, while Tanaka publicly addressed AAPW fans on a live stream.
Akane (muttering): Caught you.
Her fingers fly over the keyboard, cross-referencing names from Tanaka’s business dealings with known Yakuza affiliates. She pauses when a name stands out: Shoji Yamazaki. She clicks a link and pulls up a dossier—Yamazaki, a mid-level enforcer for the Yamamoto clan, recently “promoted” to an executive role at AAPW.
The connection is tantalizing but circumstantial. Akane scowls, her frustration mounting.
Akane: Damn it. Still not enough.
Her phone buzzes again. This time, the screen reads: “Anonymous Message.” Akane frowns but opens it. The message is short, chilling:
Anonymous Message: You’re being watched.
Her blood runs cold. She sits motionless, her senses suddenly heightened. A faint creak from the hallway outside her apartment sends her hand instinctively to the katana’s hilt. She stands, her body tense, and listens intently. The silence stretches, oppressive and heavy, broken only by the faint sound of footsteps receding down the corridor. Akane moves to the door, peering through the peephole. Nothing. She exhales sharply and locks the deadbolt before stepping back into the room. Her phone buzzes again. She hesitates, then checks the screen: another message from Chief Masaru Inoue.
Chief Masaru Inoue (Text Message): Stay sharp, Watanabe. This close to the Rumble, Tanaka will tighten the noose. Don’t let him catch you off guard.
Akane tosses the phone onto the desk, her jaw tight. She stands there momentarily, staring at the laptop screen, her thoughts racing.
The scene shifts into a brief flashback:
Flashback
Masaru Inoue’s office, a week earlier. The room is cramped with folders and papers. Masaru sits behind a cluttered desk, his expression grim as Akane stands stiffly before him.
Masaru Inoue: You’re doing good work, but it’s not enough. The Prime Minister’s losing patience. He’s demanding actionable evidence. Something irrefutable.
Akane: Tanaka’s too careful. He knows the game. If I push any harder, he’ll see through me.
Masaru Inoue: Then you’d better hope you don’t push too hard. If your cover’s blown, you’re on your own. And Watanabe… (He leans forward, his voice dropping.) You don’t want to end up on Yamamoto’s radar. Trust me.
The flashback ends abruptly.
Back in the apartment, Akane shakes off the memory and sits down again, refocusing on her work. The tension in her body remains, her mind racing with possibilities and dangers. She types furiously, saving the files and encrypting her data before shutting the laptop.
Akane: If they’re watching, let them. I’ll give them a show.
She picks up her green tea and takes a long sip, her eyes narrowing with steely determination as the camera fades out.
Haruki Tanaka’s Public Display
AAPW Training Facility, late morning.
The facility buzzes with activity. Fans and media mingle in clusters, their voices creating a low hum beneath the occasional burst of applause or flash of cameras. Banners hang from the rafters, showcasing AAPW’s greatest stars. At the center of the room, a sleek stage draws all attention. Haruki Tanaka stands at the podium, a commanding figure in a navy suit, his polished demeanor radiating confidence. The air is charged with anticipation.
Haruki Tanaka: Today, we celebrate the essence of All Asia Pro Wrestling. AAPW is not just a wrestling promotion—it is a legacy, a fortress built on discipline, honor, and strength. We are the guardians of puroresu, a tradition no outsider can ever tarnish.
The crowd erupts into applause, their cheers echoing through the facility. The camera pans to Akane Watanabe and The Onna-Bugeisha standing near the stage. Akane’s expression is calm but intense, her eyes fixed on Tanaka. Beside her, Yuka Kitamura, Asuka Ito, and Haruna Aoki soak in the crowd’s admiration, their confident postures a testament to their rising stardom.
Tanaka raises a hand, silencing the applause with practiced ease. His tone shifts, softer yet more deliberate, drawing the audience closer.
Haruki Tanaka: And at the heart of this legacy are warriors like The Onna-Bugeisha. These women exemplify the strength and grace that define AAPW. Their victories are not just theirs—they belong to all of us.
He gestures toward The Onna-Bugeisha, and the crowd cheers louder. Cameras flash, capturing their stoic expressions as they nod in acknowledgment. Akane allows herself a faint smile, but her hands remain tightly clasped, her mind focused on every word Tanaka says.
As the crowd settles, a flicker of something darker enters Tanaka’s voice.
Haruki Tanaka: But make no mistake. Our success is envied. Some would see us falter—outsiders who believe they can invade our territory and claim what we have built. To them, I say this: you will fail. AAPW is unshakable.
The applause swells again, but Akane’s expression hardens. Her eyes dart to Tanaka’s hand gripping the podium, the faintest tremor betraying his controlled exterior. She knows his words are aimed at Ultimate Wrestling, but they feel personal, as though directed at her.
As Tanaka steps away from the podium, a reporter calls out.
Reporter: Mr. Tanaka, how do you respond to claims that Ultimate Wrestling is outdrawing AAPW in virtual ticket sales?
Tanaka’s smile sharpens, his eyes flashing as he pivots back to the microphone.
Haruki Tanaka: Numbers can be manipulated. Stories can be spun. But the truth is undeniable. AAPW is more than a brand—it is a way of life. The Ronin Rumble will prove that no outsider can match the heart, the discipline, and the honor of puroresu.
The audience erupts once more as Tanaka steps off the stage. He scans the room, his gaze landing on Akane. With deliberate strides, he approaches her, his smile warm but his eyes calculating.
Haruki Tanaka: Akane Watanabe. The heart and soul of AAPW. May I have a word?
Akane glances at her stablemates, nodding before stepping aside with Tanaka. She stands tall, her posture unflinching despite the faint edge in his voice.
Haruki Tanaka: You’ve done exceptional work, Akane. The Onna-Bugeisha has become the pride of this promotion. Your leadership is admirable. But I wonder—how heavy is the burden of leadership?
Akane: It’s worth carrying. My team doesn’t need my strength; they have their own. But they deserve my focus.
Tanaka chuckles softly, tilting his head as though considering her words.
Haruki Tanaka: Loyalty. Focus. These are admirable qualities. But loyalty isn’t just a virtue—it’s an expectation, especially in such times.
Akane’s eyes narrow, her expression carefully neutral. The weight behind his words is clear.
Akane: Loyalty is a two-way street, Mr. Tanaka. I’ve never forgotten that.
Tanaka smiles wider, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
Haruki Tanaka: Good. Let’s keep it that way. AAPW can’t afford cracks in its foundation—not now.
He straightens, clapping her shoulder firmly before walking away. Akane’s jaw tightens as she watches him disappear into the crowd. Her stablemates approach, their expressions curious.
Yuka Kitamura: What was that about?
Akane: Just a reminder to stay sharp.
Her tone is clipped and dismissive. Yuka, Asuka, and Haruna exchange uncertain glances but don’t press further. The camera lingers on Akane as she glances toward the podium, Tanaka’s words echoing in her mind. The scene ends with a slow fade, leaving an air of tension and unspoken threats.
The Veiled Threat
Backstage at the AAPW Training Facility, shortly after the public event.
The energy from the crowd outside still buzzes faintly through the walls, though the backstage area is quieter. A low hum from fluorescent lights mingles with the distant clatter of equipment. Wrestlers and staff move through the hallways with purpose, but their voices are hushed, as if aware of the tension in the air. Akane Watanabe strides down the hallway, her stablemates Yuka Kitamura, Asuka Ito, and Haruna Aoki trailing behind her. Akane’s steps are measured, her posture rigid. She’s deep in thought, replaying Haruki Tanaka’s earlier speech and the unspoken threats that lingered between his words.
Haruna Aoki: You’ve been quiet since the speech. Something on your mind?
Akane slows her pace, glancing over her shoulder with a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Akane: Just thinking about the Rumble. We need to stay sharp. No room for mistakes.
Haruna nods, taking the response at face value. Yuka, however, narrows her eyes, her sharp instincts catching something beneath Akane’s calm exterior.
Yuka Kitamura: That’s not all. You’ve got that look again.
Akane pauses, turning to face them fully. Her voice remains steady but firm.
Akane: Focus on what’s ahead. That’s all that matters.
Before Yuka can respond, Haruki Tanaka’s voice cuts through the hallway like a knife.
Haruki Tanaka: Ah, Watanabe. There you are. I was hoping to catch you.
The Onna-Bugeisha instinctively straighten, their expressions guarded as Tanaka approaches. He’s alone, his polished shoes clicking on the tiled floor. His presence is magnetic, exuding authority and calm menace. Akane steps forward to meet him, subtly raising a hand to keep her team from following.
Akane: Mr. Tanaka. I didn’t realize I was needed.
Haruki Tanaka: Oh, not needed, Akane. But valued. Shall we?
He gestures toward a quieter side hallway. Akane hesitates for the briefest moment before nodding, following him. The two walk in silence, their steps echoing faintly in the empty corridor. Tanaka’s hands are clasped behind his back, his stride leisurely compared to Akane’s tense precision.
Haruki Tanaka: You’re quite the enigma, Watanabe. Fans adore you. Wrestlers respect you. Even the minority shareholders in the boardroom sing your praises. It’s not often someone commands that kind of loyalty across the board.
Akane: I don’t command anything. The Onna-Bugeisha are strong because we believe in something bigger than ourselves.
Tanaka chuckles softly, the sound almost affectionate but with a sharp edge beneath it.
Haruki Tanaka: What a noble sentiment. Belief is a powerful thing, Akane. It can inspire... or destroy. Especially when cracks begin to show.
Akane stops, turning to face him fully. Her voice is calm, but her words cut cleanly.
Akane: If you have something to say, Mr. Tanaka, say it.
Tanaka’s smile falters for a heartbeat, his eyes hardening before the mask of charm slips back into place. He steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
Haruki Tanaka: Leadership is fragile, Akane. One misstep, one fracture, and everything you’ve built comes crashing down. I’ve seen it happen. I’d hate to see it happen to you.
Akane doesn’t flinch. Her gaze is unyielding, matching his intensity.
Akane: And I’d hate to disappoint you. But I don’t break as easily as others.
The silence between them stretches, a battle of wills fought in unspoken words. Then, Tanaka steps back, smoothing his lapel with a calculated smile.
Haruki Tanaka: Good. Keep it that way. AAPW can’t afford cracks in its foundation—not now.
He turns on his heel, walking away with deliberate ease. Akane watches him go, her fists clenched at her sides. After a moment, her team approaches cautiously, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.
Haruna Aoki: Okay that was odd.
Akane exhales slowly, her voice measured.
Akane: I think the pressure is getting to him.
Yuka frowns, clearly unsatisfied with the answer, but doesn’t press further. The camera lingers on Akane’s face as she turns back toward the main hallway. Her expression is stoic, but her eyes betray the storm of thoughts brewing beneath the surface. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights grows louder as the scene fades to black.
The Attack
AAPW Training Facility’s main area, mid-event.
The camera opens on the lively training facility, now in full swing as fans and media mingle with AAPW wrestlers. Autograph tables line one wall while reporters interview wrestlers near the ring. The energy is high, punctuated by laughter, applause, and the flash of cameras. The Onna-Bugeisha stand near one corner of the facility, engaging with fans and posing for photos. Akane Watanabe’s expression is calm, but her eyes scan the room, and her mind is elsewhere.
Haruna Aoki: I’m telling you, Akane, Yuka’s been lifting heavier than ever. She will bench-press the whole roster if she keeps this up.
Yuka Kitamura smirks, flexing one arm dramatically for a group of fans. Asuka Ito chuckles, shaking her head.
Asuka Ito: Maybe after the Rumble, we’ll need a new team challenge. The Onna-Bugeisha Iron Gauntlet.
Akane gives a faint smile, but her focus remains on the far side of the room. Something feels off. Her hand subtly brushes the hilt of her katana, not in preparation, but as if seeking reassurance.
Yuka Kitamura: Akane, you good?
Before Akane can respond, the facility lights flicker, drawing murmurs from the crowd. The sounds of laughter and conversation falter as the lights flicker again and then cut out entirely. For a moment, the room is plunged into darkness. Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by shuffling and whispers.
Haruna Aoki: What the hell—
The emergency lights flash on, casting the room in dim, eerie red light. The crowd’s unease grows, but before anyone can act, a loud crash echoes from the main entrance. The doors burst open, and a group of masked assailants storm in, dressed in black and armed with bats and pipes. Panic erupts as they scatter through the room, targeting staff and wrestlers indiscriminately.
The Onna-Bugeisha spring into action. Akane barks orders, her voice cutting through the chaos.
Akane: Yuka, clear the fans! Asuka, Haruna—flank them. Move!
Yuka charges into the crowd, her powerful presence herding panicked fans toward safer exits. Asuka and Haruna dart into position, their movements coordinated as they intercept the attackers. Akane stays at the center, her eyes scanning the chaos for a leader among the assailants. One attacker swings a bat toward Asuka, but she ducks smoothly, countering with a sharp elbow strike to the ribs. She grabs the bat and twists it free, delivering a precision strike to the attacker’s knee, sending them crumpling to the floor.
Haruna faces two attackers at once, her martial arts background evident as she uses precise strikes to disable one before launching into her signature Aoki Avalanche, flattening the second against the wall. Near the main ring, Yuka intercepts three attackers at once. One swings a pipe, but she catches it mid-air with a vice-like grip. With a roar, she wrenches it free and slams the attacker to the ground with a Muscle Bomb. The remaining two hesitate before charging, only to be met with a double clothesline that leaves them sprawled on the floor.
Amid the chaos, Akane locks eyes with a masked figure who seems to be giving orders. She strides toward them, her movements deliberate and controlled. The figure raises a pipe, swinging it with force, but Akane sidesteps smoothly, countering with a brutal Crimson Strike that sends the attacker sprawling. She removes the mask, revealing a young man, his face bruised but defiant.
Akane (coldly): Who sent you?
The man spits blood onto the floor, sneering.
Masked Attacker: You think you’re untouchable? You’re nothing—just pawns in a bigger game.
Before Akane can press further, a sharp whistle cuts through the noise, the remaining attackers retreat, disappearing through the shattered doors as quickly as they appeared. The room is in disarray, with overturned tables, scattered chairs, and frightened fans huddling in corners. Akane straightens, glancing around to ensure her team is safe. The Onna-Bugeisha regroup, their faces marked by adrenaline and concern.
Haruna Aoki: You okay, Akane?
Akane: I’m fine. Everyone else?
Yuka dusts herself off, her expression grim.
Yuka Kitamura: We’re good. But this wasn’t random.
Akane nods, her gaze narrowing as she surveys the damage. Her mind races, piecing together the implications of the attack.
Akane: No, it wasn’t. And it won’t be the last.
The camera pans out, capturing the wreckage and the uneasy tension lingering in the room. The dim red emergency lights flicker once more before the screen fades to black.
The camera fades in on the wreckage in the training facility. Fans are being escorted out, staff scramble to assess the damage, and the eerie red glow of emergency lights still lingers. Haruki Tanaka strides into the room, flanked by security personnel. His suit is immaculate, his expression one of calm authority, though his eyes flicker with something darker as he surveys the scene. The Onna-Bugeisha stand near the stage, bruised but unbowed. Akane Watanabe’s posture is tense, her face a mask of composure as Tanaka approaches.
Haruki Tanaka: Ladies, I must commend you. Truly, an impressive display. If not for your quick thinking, this could have been far worse.
Yuka Kitamura crosses her arms, her voice sharp.
Yuka Kitamura: It shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Where was security?
Tanaka raises a hand, his smile thin.
Haruki Tanaka: A valid question, Ms. Kitamura. Rest assured, heads will roll for this lapse. But let’s not lose sight of what matters: the safety of our fans and the swift response of our wrestlers. You’ve all proven yourselves once again.
His gaze shifts to Akane, his smile tightening.
Haruki Tanaka: Especially you, Akane. As always, you lead with courage and precision. A true testament to AAPW’s values.
Akane doesn’t flinch under his scrutiny. Her voice is calm but firm.
Akane: This wasn’t random, Mr. Tanaka. Whoever sent them knew what they were doing. They targeted staff, wrestlers—our fans. It was deliberate.
Tanaka’s expression hardens imperceptibly, his hands clasping behind his back.
Haruki Tanaka: It’s Rupert Mudcock. Who else would it be? This was retaliation for the invasion no doubt about it!
Akane: I’d be inclined to agree with you, but it’s not the typical way Mudcock goes about handling his dirty laundry. This seemed close to home, whoever sent them has deep connection with the Tokyo underground if you ask me.
The tension between them is palpable for a moment, the unspoken implications hanging heavy in the air. Tanaka steps closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.
Haruki Tanaka: Be careful, Watanabe. Paranoia can be a dangerous thing. It clouds judgment. Divides teams. And in a storm like this, unity is our only weapon.
Akane meets his gaze unflinchingly, her tone icy.
Akane: Unity means nothing if the foundation is rotten.
The subtle barb lands, and for a split second, Tanaka’s mask slips, revealing a flicker of something darker—annoyance or perhaps a warning. He steps back, his smile returning with practiced ease.
Haruki Tanaka: Of course. As president of AAPW, I take full responsibility for ensuring the foundation remains strong. I trust I can count on you to do the same.
Akane doesn’t respond; her silence speaks volumes. Tanaka turns to address the room, his tone projecting confidence and control.
Haruki Tanaka: To everyone here today, I assure you that AAPW stands strong. No attack, outsider, or force will shake what we’ve built. The Ronin Rumble will go on as planned, and we will show the world the true strength of AAPW!
The staff and remaining wrestlers applaud half-heartedly, the lingering unease palpable. Tanaka descends from the stage, his composure restored. As he walks away, he glances back at Akane, his expression unreadable.
The Onna-Bugeisha gather around Akane, their voices low but urgent.
Haruna Aoki: You think he’s involved?
Akane: What I think doesn’t matter. What I can prove does.
Yuka frowns, frustration flickering across her face.
Yuka Kitamura: He’s playing games, Akane. We need to push harder. Make him slip.
Asuka places a hand on Yuka’s shoulder, her tone measured.
Asuka Ito: Careful, Yuka. If we push too hard, we could end up like the fans who got caught in that mess.
Akane steps forward, her voice cutting through their conversation with quiet authority.
Akane: Enough. We stay focused on the Rumble. This isn’t over, but we can’t afford distractions. Not now.
The team exchanges glances but nods, trusting Akane’s judgment. The camera lingers on her face as she stares at the stage where Tanaka once stood. Her expression hardens, determination flickering in her eyes as she clenches her fists.
Scene fades to black.
The Hidden Truth
A dimly lit office in the AAPW headquarters, late at night.
Akane Watanabe stood in the shadowy office of Haruki Tanaka, her figure outlined by the glow of Tokyo’s skyline filtering through the blinds. The room was a blend of modern elegance and traditional Japanese decor—clean lines juxtaposed with wood carvings and calligraphy scrolls. On the desk before her sat a neat stack of folders and a framed photograph of Tanaka shaking hands with a prominent official. A faint blue light glimmered from the USB drive Akane held, the cap dangling between her fingers.
She exhaled quietly, inserting the drive into the computer’s port and beginning her work. Her fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, bypassing firewalls with ease. The sound of her typing filled the silence, broken only by the occasional distant honk of a car horn outside.
The screen flickered as a folder labeled “Discretionary Operations” appeared. Akane leaned in, scanning the files. Payments to anonymous accounts. Transfers through shell companies. Then, a name caught her eye: Shoji Yamazaki—a Yamamoto clan enforcer turned AAPW executive. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she clicked on the file.
The list of transactions was damning, linking AAPW funds to suspicious operations tied to known Yakuza activity. One entry stood out—a large transfer just days before the attack at the training facility. Her breath hitched as the pieces clicked into place.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed down the hallway. Akane froze, her hand instinctively brushing the hilt of her concealed blade. The footsteps stopped outside the door. A shadow appeared beneath the crack, and the knob began to turn.
Quickly, Akane ejected the USB drive, slipping it into her pocket. She stepped away from the desk, assuming a calm stance near the window. The door opened, and Haruki Tanaka entered, his silhouette sharp against the glow of the city lights. He paused briefly, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Akane seated behind his desk. His face betrayed a flicker of surprise before smoothing into his usual composed mask.
Haruki Tanaka: Well, this is... unexpected.
Akane: Mr. Tanaka. I was waiting for you. We need to talk about the attack.
Haruki Tanaka: At this hour? You could have called.
Akane: I thought it best to discuss this privately. Given the nature of the situation.
Haruki Tanaka: And what, exactly, is so urgent?
Akane: The attackers moved with precision. They knew where to strike. This wasn’t random, and you know it.
Haruki Tanaka: Conspiracy theories. Entertaining, but unfounded. Chaos is part of the business, Akane. Surely you’ve seen that.
Akane: This wasn’t chaos. This was calculated. Coordinated. Someone fed them information.
Haruki Tanaka: You’re bold, Akane. I admire that. But boldness can also be... dangerous. It can lead to missteps. Missteps that divide teams, undermine leaders, and cause foundations to crumble.
Akane: And foundations rot if no one questions the cracks.
The silence between them was heavy, the air charged with unspoken threats. Then, Tanaka stepped back, his polished mask slipping into place once more.
Haruki Tanaka: You’re a sharp one, Watanabe. But be careful. Some cracks are best left undisturbed.
Akane: I don’t scare easily.
Haruki Tanaka: Good. I’d expect nothing less. Now, if there’s nothing else, I suggest you get some rest. The Rumble is around the corner, and your team will need you at your best. Oh, and Akane? If I catch you in my office again without reason, I’ll have no choice but to take... disciplinary action. Understood?
Akane: Understood.
Tanaka inclined his head slightly, then exited the room. The sound of his footsteps receded down the hallway, leaving Akane alone once more. She drew a slow breath, her hand brushing the USB drive in her pocket. Her mind raced, the implications of what she’d uncovered swirling in her thoughts.
Akane (to herself): One more crack, Tanaka. That’s all I need.
Without another glance at the desk, she turned and exited the office, her footsteps silent as she disappeared into the labyrinth of hallways.