Riko sat alone on the rooftop of a half-abandoned apartment block in Shinjuku, her boots hanging over the edge while the city murmured beneath her. Neon signs blinked unevenly, washing her face in reds and blues that cut across the shadows. She’d been up here long enough for the night air to settle into her clothes. Her knuckles were wrapped, but she kept picking at the tape, tightening and loosening it like she couldn’t decide what felt right.
Far below, a train screamed past on elevated tracks. The sound hit her harder than she expected. It dragged up a memory she didn’t want — Naoko sitting beside her on a silent train years ago, both of them heading to Riko’s first real AAPW training session. Naoko had sat with perfect posture, calm and centered. Riko had been jittery, bouncing her knee the entire ride.
Naoko: Your breathing. Slow it down. You’re wasting energy.
Riko blinked the memory away and tightened her fists until the tape tugged painfully. She didn’t sit up straighter. She kept slouching forward, elbows on her knees, refusing to take the form Naoko taught her.
Riko: Doesn’t matter anymore.
She said it quietly, but hearing her own voice annoyed her. She pushed herself to stand, rolling out her shoulders as she paced a short line along the rooftop. Her boots scuffed against the concrete, kicking a loose piece of gravel that skittered and fell over the edge.
She watched it disappear into the night.
Eliminating Naoko in the Ronin Rumble had felt good. Too good. And the way Naoko looked at her — shock in her eyes, like she never thought Riko could do it — that image stuck to her ribs like something she couldn’t cough out.
She didn’t want to think about that, either.
Riko rubbed a hand across her face and looked out over Tokyo. Every building pulsed with light. Every street hummed with life. Yet up here, everything felt distant. Like the whole world was watching but none of it mattered.
Riko: She thought I’d go nowhere without her.
She said it sharper this time. The rooftop swallowed the word “her” like it was dangerous to speak too loudly.
Another train passed. Another memory surfaced — Naoko adjusting the wrist tape on Riko’s arm before a match, pulling it snug and giving a small nod of approval. Without thinking, Riko adjusted her tape the same way now. Her fingers froze halfway through the motion.
Riko: …dammit.
She ripped at the tape a little, like punishing it for betraying her.
She didn’t come up here to miss Naoko.
She came up here to stop feeling anything.
Riko stepped closer to the ledge again. The wind hit her harder this time, cold and honest. It made her eyes water, and she pretended it was just the wind.
Riko: She’s gonna see me at Empire’s End. Whether she wants to or not.
Her jaw tightened. She cracked her neck, then her knuckles. Every movement was sharp. Controlled. Defensive.
She didn’t believe half the things she told herself, but she kept saying them anyway. It was easier than admitting the truth — that facing Naoko again scared her more than any Russian giant, witch, cartel bruiser, or Ultimate Wrestling monster she’d ever met.
Riko took a long breath and stepped away from the ledge. She pulled open the rooftop door. The rusted hinge squeaked, too loud in the quiet.
It reminded her of Naoko calling her name the night she told Riko to leave.
She didn’t look back.
Riko walked inside and let the heavy door swing shut behind her.
Empire’s End was coming.
And she refused to be the girl Naoko remembered.
Later That Evening
The stairway down to Suplex Sunrise always felt colder than the rest of the building, like it belonged to a different world tucked beneath Tokyo’s skin. Riko descended it slowly, her hand sliding along the rail chipped from years of elbows and boots. The hum of the bar grew louder with each step—the bass from the hidden speakers, the low conversations, the occasional clash of glass on wood. It was familiar noise. Comforting noise. The kind that usually steadied her.
Tonight it didn’t.
Riko paused at the bottom step, breathing out hard through her nose before pushing the heavy door open. The hinges groaned in protest. Joey Talladega always said he liked it that way—said the sound warned him when trouble walked in.
Tonight, it did.
Amber lighting washed over Riko as she stepped inside, tinting the smoke clouds drifting near the ceiling. The place was half-full—wrestlers, drifters, night wanderers—but the room felt like it shrank as soon as Joey spotted her.
Joey: You look like you lost a fight on the way in. And considering you didn’t, that’s impressive.
Riko dropped onto her usual stool and pulled down her hood. Her hair clung to her cheeks from the humidity outside. She brushed it back with a slow hand.
Riko: Just give me something strong.
Joey twirled a bar rag around his fingers as he reached for a bottle on the top shelf. He didn’t ask what kind. He knew her tells. Knew when she wanted to feel the burn instead of taste it.
He poured a double and set it in front of her without ceremony.
Joey: Whiskey. No ice. No mercy.
Riko wrapped her fingers around the glass, rolling it once against the bar. Her nails tapped lightly on the surface, restless. She lifted it halfway, stopped, and stared into it like it held an answer she’d missed somewhere along the line.
Joey: Funny. Usually you drink before you think.
Riko: Didn’t come here to think.
Joey: Good. Because you’re terrible at it.
She narrowed her eyes at him, but her retort never came. Instead, she took a long drink that scorched her throat on the way down. She hissed quietly, then hid the reaction behind a slow exhale.
Joey leaned in on his elbows.
Joey: Empire’s End getting under your skin?
Riko rolled the glass between her palms. The condensation squeaked against her tape.
Riko: It’s just another match.
Joey: And I’m eighty years old. Try again.
Riko’s jaw tightened. She looked away. The room felt too quiet despite the music, like Joey had built a wall around her without meaning to.
Joey: You’ve been pacing rooftops and alleyways for three nights straight, kid. Even the crows noticed.
Riko: Guess they’re bored.
Joey smirked.
Joey: Guess they’re watching someone run from something.
Riko drank again—shorter, sharper, angrier.
Joey said nothing. He just wiped the same spot on the counter repeatedly, a habit he used to coax people into talking.
It worked.
Riko: Everyone keeps acting like I should be scared of Naoko. Like she’s this unstoppable thing.
Joey: And you’re not?
Riko: No.
Joey: Liar.
Riko slammed her empty glass down harder than intended. The sound cracked through the bar, turning a few heads. She didn’t apologize. She never did.
Riko: She’s just another opponent. I pushed her out of the rumble. That should’ve shut everyone up.
Joey: Should’ve. Didn’t.
He refilled her glass. Riko didn’t touch it right away.
Joey: Eliminating someone isn’t the same as facing them when they’re looking right at you.
Riko stared at the drink. Her fingers twitched.
Joey: And that woman… she’ll be looking straight through you.
Riko: Good. Let her.
The way she said it lacked conviction.
Joey noticed.
He leaned in slightly.
Joey: Tigers don’t forget their cubs.
Riko’s glare came fast, like a reflex.
Riko: I wasn’t her cub.
Joey: Funny. You sound like one.
Riko’s breath hitched for half a second—a crack in armor she didn’t expect. She masked it quickly, but Joey caught it. He always did.
The door behind her opened. Heavy footsteps approached, steady and measured. Riko didn’t turn. She knew the rhythm.
Duc Huy Nguyen sat beside her without a word at first, signaling Joey with two fingers for his usual.
Duc: You’re spiraling.
Riko: I’m drinking.
Duc: Same thing for you.
Joey slid Duc his drink. The older wrestler took a sip before speaking again.
Duc: Empire’s End isn’t a grudge match. It’s not a rematch. It’s not even about the rumble anymore. AAPW wants blood. Ultimate Wrestling wants domination. And Naoko? She wants closure.
Riko stared straight ahead.
Riko: Closure for what?
Duc: You know damn well for what.
Riko didn’t respond. She kept her eyes on the bottles behind the bar, focusing on the reflections of the lights instead of the people pressing in on her truth.
Duc: You’re not afraid of losing. You’re afraid of what she’ll say while she’s beating you.
Riko’s throat tightened. Joey didn’t break eye contact.
Joey: She’s not coming for your body. She’s coming for whatever’s left of your pride.
Riko finally grabbed the fresh drink, but her hands shook faintly as she lifted it. She steadied them before either man could comment.
Riko: I don’t care what she thinks.
Joey: Then why are you drinking her name without saying it?
Riko froze midswallow.
Joey didn’t push further. Duc didn’t either. They let the silence sit there, heavy and honest.
After a moment, Riko slid off the stool. She pulled her hood back up and shoved her hands into her pockets.
Riko: I’m done with this conversation.
Joey: No you’re not. You’re just leaving it here for us to clean up.
Riko paused at the door—not long, but long enough.
Riko: She’s not gonna break me.
Joey: She already did once. That’s why you’re scared she’ll do it again.
Riko tensed. Her shoulders squared. She didn’t turn around.
Riko: She can try.
She walked out, letting the door shut behind her. The bar fell quiet in her wake, the kind of quiet that follows storms.
Duc finished his drink slowly.
Duc: She’s not ready.
Joey shook his head.
Joey: No… but maybe that’s the only way she learns.
The scene ended with Joey wiping the bar again, staring at the door Riko had walked through, the faint ring of her abandoned glass still visible on the wood.
The backstage hallway of the Ultimate Wrestling arena was half-lit, the overhead fluorescent lights flickering just enough to make the shadows move with her. Riko stood alone near a stack of unused crates, bouncing lightly on her toes as she shadowboxed into the cold air. Her breath came out in short bursts. She hadn’t slept, but she felt wired—like electricity threaded through her veins.
A cameraman rounded the corner and slowed when he spotted her.
Cameraman: They’re ready for your pre-match promo.
Riko cracked her neck and moved into place without saying a word. When the red light above the camera flicked on, she stopped bouncing. Her feet planted. Her shoulders squared. Her eyes locked directly on the lens.
She didn’t smile.
She didn’t posture.
She didn’t blink.
Riko: Naoko Mori.
She said the name calmly, but there was nothing calm underneath it.
Riko: You’ve been waiting for this match ever since I sent you over that top rope in the Ronin Rumble. I know you have. And honestly? I’m glad. Someone like you should feel what it’s like to lose to someone like me.
She rolled her wrist out with a slow twist of her taped hand, letting the tension settle in her shoulders.
Riko: You always thought you were the one who made me. The one who shaped me. The one who pushed me into wrestling. But you’re wrong. You didn’t create this. The streets did. Survival did. All you did was try to turn me into something I’m not.
She took a small step closer to the camera. Her voice dropped a level, firmer, colder.
Riko: And when I didn’t fit your perfect little mold, you threw me away. Told me you regretted training me. Told me I wasn’t worthy of your legacy. You think I forgot that?
Her jaw flexed.
Riko: That night broke something in me, Naoko. You tore it out with your own hands and acted like you didn’t care. So when I eliminated you at the rumble… yeah. It meant something. It meant maybe I wasn’t the failure you said I was.
She shook her head once, sharp.
Riko: But I know you. You’ve been replaying it ever since. You’ve been training harder than ever. You’ve been telling yourself you’re gonna “correct my path” or whatever bushido crap you whisper into your mask.
She stepped closer again until her shadow swallowed the back wall behind her.
Riko: Let me make this clear for you.
Riko: I’m not your student anymore.
Riko: I’m not your responsibility.
Riko: And I sure as hell ain’t your disappointment.
Her breathing picked up, but she didn’t shy away from it. She lowered her head for a moment, letting her hair fall forward, then pushed it back with one quick swipe.
Riko: You’re coming into Empire’s End looking for revenge. Looking for redemption. Looking to prove that you’re still the honorable warrior holding AAPW together. And that’s fine. Do whatever you need to do to sleep at night.
She paused.
Riko: Me? I’m coming to finish what started the day you told me to get out.
Silence sat heavy in the hallway before she spoke again, softer but darker.
Riko: You think I’m scared of you. And maybe I am. Maybe a part of me always will be. But fear doesn’t stop me anymore. Fear used to control me. Used to choke me. But now? It pushes me forward.
She raised her hands, flexing her fingers slowly, the tape creaking as it tightened.
Riko: At Empire’s End, when it’s just you and me in that ring… you’re gonna see the girl you trained. The girl you abandoned. The girl you tried to break.
A beat.
Then her voice cut through the air like a blade.
Riko: And you’re gonna realize she grew teeth.
She stepped right into the lens—no theatrics, no screaming, no showboating.
Just truth.
Riko: You made me, Mori-san.
Riko: But I’m the one who’s gonna end you.
The camera light went dark. Riko held her stance for a moment longer before lowering her hands and walking off without looking back.