Yuriko Tanaka: Ch.2 – “Empire’s Blood”
Blood in the Water
The underground facility felt different after the Ronin Rumble.
The air still smelled like sweat, leather, and old chalk, but there was something sour under it now—resentment, humiliation, the aftertaste of a night when Tokyo had watched one of its own temples invaded and defiled. Every time the big screen on the far wall flickered, it replayed the same moment on a loop: Drake Nygma dumping the last AAPW hopeful over the top rope, the crowd in Korakuen going from roar to stunned silence.
Yuriko Tanaka made herself watch it.
She stood in the center of the ring, sweat dripping from the ends of her hair, chest heaving as she stared at Nygma’s smirking face on the screen. The dragon inked across her midsection moved with each breath, coils flexing as if it wanted to tear itself free and climb into the monitor to strangle him.
Another replay. Another angle. The Ultimate Wrestling cameras loved him.
Yuriko Tanaka: Turn it up.
One of the younger trainees hesitated with the remote.
Trainee: Tanaka-san, we’ve been watching this all day. Maybe we should—
Her eyes cut to him, flat and cold.
Yuriko Tanaka: I said. Turn it. Up.
The volume jumped. The commentary screamed about “Drake Nygma conquering the Ronin Rumble on AAPW soil,” about “Ultimate Wrestling’s ascension,” about how this guaranteed Nygma a shot at the Unified Champion—Saiko Sasori, who had barely saved face by beating Chuluun Bold later that night.
Daichi Sasaki sat on a folding chair at ringside, elbows on his knees, one taped hand dangling between them. He watched Yuriko instead of the screen, tracking the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flexed like she was choking a ghost.
Daichi Sasaki: You know, most people would rather forget that night.
Yuriko didn’t look at him. She bounced on the balls of her feet, then exploded forward, hitting the ropes with a sharp snap. She sprang to the second rope, then the top, twisting into a tight spiral and crashing down in a perfect Crimson Wings on the crash pad laid out in the center of the ring.
The ring shook. The crash pad wheezed under the impact.
Yuriko rolled through to her knees, breathing hard.
Yuriko Tanaka: Most people are cowards.
She pushed herself up, ripping the crash pad away with a violent kick so it slid to the ropes.
Yuriko Tanaka: Most people watch someone like Nygma embarrass us in our own house and tell themselves, “At least Sasori won later.” They cling to that. They pretend that’s enough.
She looked over her shoulder at the screen as the replay looped yet again.
Yuriko Tanaka: It isn’t.
Daiki Yamashita lounged against the turnbuckle, arms folded, the ever-present smirk tugging at his mouth.
Daiki Yamashita: Yeah, but if Sasori hadn’t won, we’d be having this conversation from the bottom of Tokyo Bay.
Daichi grunted in agreement.
Daichi Sasaki: Clan doesn’t forgive public humiliation. Not on that scale.
Yuriko hopped down to the floor, grabbing a fresh trainee by the back of his shirt and shoving him into the ring under the bottom rope.
Yuriko Tanaka: Then it’s simple.
She slid in after him, stalking her new victim as he scrambled to his feet.
Yuriko Tanaka: We don’t let them humiliate us again.
Trainee: T-Tanaka-san, I’m not sure I’m ready for—
Her hand snapped out, cracking across his face with a sharp slap that echoed through the facility.
Yuriko Tanaka: Neither is Ultimate Wrestling. That didn’t stop them from walking into our ring and stealing our moment.
She backed him into the corner with a flurry of kicks to the thighs and ribs, her shins thudding against his guard. Each strike was quick, surgical, nothing wasted. Finally she hooked his wrist, spun out, and yanked him into the center of the ring.
Her body flowed around his like water. One heartbeat she was at his side, the next she was springboarding off the middle rope, twisting mid-air.
Scarlet Cutter.
His face spiked into the mat. The ring rattled.
He groaned, body going slack.
Yuriko pushed herself up on one knee, hair in her face, chest rising and falling. She glanced at Daichi and Daiki.
Yuriko Tanaka: Nygma winning that Rumble… that stain doesn’t wash out just because Sasori survived Bold. Every belt they take at Empire’s End makes it darker. If Sasori falls to Nygma, if we lose the Stable titles, if the tag belts go, the Aerial X…
She smiled—a slow, cruel thing.
Yuriko Tanaka: Then everyone starts whispering that AAPW was a nice empire while it lasted.
Daiki rolled his eyes.
Daiki Yamashita: You think the company’s that fragile?
Yuriko stood, planting her boot on the trainee’s chest and pressing down until he wheezed.
Yuriko Tanaka: Companies are fragile. Power isn’t. My uncle’s empire isn’t just AAPW. It’s everything connected to it. Sponsors. Politicians. Other clans. They all watch the same footage you just turned up.
On the screen, Nygma stood on the turnbuckle, arms spread, soaking in the boos and shock like it was rain.
Yuriko Tanaka: They see him standing in our ring. They see our logo under his feet.
She pressed harder with her boot. The trainee clawed at her ankle, gasping.
Yuriko Tanaka: At Empire’s End, they either see us rip that image apart…
Her gaze sharpened, eyes glittering.
Yuriko Tanaka: Or they start wondering if it’s time to bet on someone else.
Daichi scratched his jaw, eyes half-lidded.
Daichi Sasaki: So this is about more than the belts.
Yuriko laughed once, low and humorless.
Yuriko Tanaka: The belts are just pretty trophies. The Stable Championship? It’s leverage. Proof that my uncle and father still own this ring, this city, this country when it comes to wrestling. If we let Ultimate walk out with those belts around their waists, they walk out with our reputation.
Daiki tilted his head.
Daiki Yamashita: And you really think Kenny Volcano, LuLu Biggs, Elizabeth Devereaux O’Rourke, and Riko Matsumoto are the ones who can tear all that down?
Yuriko’s eyes slid toward him. She finally lifted her boot off the trainee’s chest and nudged him out of the ring with a casual kick to the ribs.
Yuriko Tanaka: They don’t need to understand what they’re doing to be dangerous. Tourists still cause car crashes.
She grabbed the top rope, leaning into it as she started pacing, ring squeaking under her bare feet.
Yuriko Tanaka: Volcano is chaos with a death wish. Biggs is a walking contagion of cheap violence. Elizabeth brings this smug Western morality, like she’s here to “cleanse” Japanese wrestling. And Riko…
Her lips curled, something colder sliding behind her eyes.
Yuriko Tanaka: Riko is the one that interests me.
Daichi’s gaze sharpened.
Daichi Sasaki: The kicker.
Yuriko nodded once.
Yuriko Tanaka: Sharp, disciplined, striking-based… she’s like someone took Haruka, squeezed all the honor out of her, and left the technique. That makes her the most dangerous of all.
Daiki snorted.
Daiki Yamashita: You say that like you didn’t spend the entire Rumble trying to murder the real thing.
Yuriko stopped pacing. The mention of Haruka hung in the air like smoke. On the screen Nygma’s arm was raised again, the Unified Title graphic flashing under the replay. Sasori’s painted face appeared beside Nygma’s in a split-screen, hyping Empire’s End as if it were a boxing card.
Yuriko watched it for a heartbeat too long.
Yuriko Tanaka: Haruka is unfinished business. Nygma interrupted a family execution. So yes… I’m in a bad mood.
She stepped through the ropes to the apron, then hopped down to the floor. Her boots clipped the concrete with a dull echo. She reached for a towel, dragging it across the back of her neck.
Yuriko Tanaka: But that’s good. Bad moods win wars.
Daichi rose to his feet, cracking his neck.
Daichi Sasaki: And if Sasori loses to Nygma?
She tossed the towel aside, shrugging.
Yuriko Tanaka: Then we make sure it doesn’t matter.
Daiki frowned.
Daiki Yamashita: “Doesn’t matter”? The Unified Championship is the top of the mountain, Scarlet. If Nygma takes it, every camera in the world stays on him.
Yuriko stepped closer, jabbing a finger into Daiki’s chest.
Yuriko Tanaka: Let them. Let the world watch him… while we tear out the foundation under his feet. If Sasori falls, the only way AAPW recovers is if the rest of us make Ultimate pay for it. That starts with the Stable titles. We go out at Empire’s End and we don’t just defend—we humiliate them.
She looked back at the screen one last time. Nygma stood over the ropes, pointing at the Empire’s End logo.
Yuriko Tanaka: We make every fan see that Drake Nygma’s victory was a fluke, a stolen moment. When I walk out of that arena with our belts still in our hands and their heroes lying broken around us, they’ll remember which side owns this empire.
Daichi crossed his arms.
Daichi Sasaki: And if you fail?
Yuriko’s smile was small and sharp.
Yuriko Tanaka: I don’t. My father’s name is on that belt. My uncle’s money built that arena. If I let some imported freak show walk out with our property, I may as well cut my own throat and save the clan the trouble.
She started toward the exit, grabbing her jacket from the back of a chair. Her tattoos glowed faintly under the harsh fluorescent light, the inked cherry blossoms on her arms like fresh blood.
Daiki called after her.
Daiki Yamashita: Where are you going?
Yuriko paused at the doorway without looking back.
Yuriko Tanaka: Haruki and my father want a war council for Empire’s End. They can’t have it without their sharpest blade.
She tilted her head just enough that they could see the edge of her grin.
Yuriko Tanaka: You two keep replaying Nygma’s little miracle. I like being reminded of what happens when we let outsiders breathe too long.
Then she slipped through the doorway and disappeared down the corridor, leaving the echo of her footsteps and the endless roar of the Ronin Rumble replay behind her. In the ring, the trainee she’d dropped with the Scarlet Cutter still hadn’t moved.
On the screen, Drake Nygma pointed at the camera and mouthed words the audio didn’t need to catch.
Challenge accepted.
War Council
The elevator climbed like a slow blade.
Fluorescent light hummed overhead, throwing a pale sheen across the mirrored walls. Yuriko Tanaka watched her own reflection instead of the ascending floor numbers. Sweat from training still clung to her skin beneath the leather jacket, the dragon tattoo on her stomach half-hidden by the zip. Her knuckles throbbed pleasantly under the tape—a reminder that someone had already bled tonight.
Tokyo glowed beyond the glass elevator shaft, a sea of neon sigils and headlights. Somewhere down there, fans were still arguing online about the Ronin Rumble and Drake Nygma’s “historic” victory. Somewhere, Ultimate Wrestling’s marketing team was cutting highlight packages to shove in AAPW’s face at every opportunity.
The doors slid open with a quiet chime.
Haruki Tanaka’s office spread out before her like a throne room. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city, the Yamamoto clan banners hanging like bloodstains between shelves of lacquered masks, ceremonial blades, and framed posters from AAPW’s golden years. Tonight, a new graphic glowed on the giant screen behind his desk:
Every belt from both companies was pictured in pristine, high-definition glory. Unified. World. Tag. Aerial X. Strong Style. Stable.And dead center, like the heart of a beast, the Unified Championship—Sasori’s painted face on one side, Drake Nygma’s smirking profile on the other.
Haruki stood with his back to the door, hands clasped behind him, suit perfectly tailored, dark hair pulled back. Kenjiro sat in a leather chair near the desk, his old ring-worn shoulders still broad beneath his crisp shirt, a porcelain teacup resting in his hand.
Haruki didn’t turn when she entered. He didn’t have to.
Haruki Tanaka: Yuriko. Close the door.
She did, the soft click sealing them off from the rest of the skyscraper. She took a few steps inside, eyes flicking briefly to the screen, then to the ornate display case on the wall. Her father’s old championship belt sat there, polished to a sacred shine.
Kenjiro placed his cup down with a quiet clink.
Kenjiro Tanaka: You look tired.
Yuriko smirked faintly.
Yuriko Tanaka: I look prepared.
Haruki finally turned. His gaze drifted over her like a scalpel, cataloguing the scuffed boots, the damp strands of hair, the faint bruises rising already along her forearms.
Haruki Tanaka: Good. You should be. Three shows ago, Drake Nygma walked into Korakuen and made us look like amateurs. If Sasori had not defeated Bold later that night, we would already be picking this company out of our teeth.
He gestured lazily toward the Empire’s End graphic.
Haruki Tanaka: And now… the Westerners want more.
Kenjiro’s eyes shifted to the screen, then back to his daughter.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Every belt, from both sides, on the line. It is… ambitious.
Yuriko snorted.
Yuriko Tanaka: It’s desperate. Ultimate Wrestling is starving for relevance. They tasted blood at the Rumble and now they think they can devour the empire whole.
Haruki’s mouth twitched into something not quite a smile.
Haruki Tanaka: Perhaps. Or perhaps they are simply greedy, like us. That is not the part that bothers me.
He picked up a remote from the desk and clicked. The image on the screen shifted to a red-highlighted layout of the card: each title match listed, champions and challengers connected by jagged lines.
Haruki Tanaka: What bothers me is what it looks like if we fail. Imagine, Yuriko. Their cameras recording Drake Nygma holding the Unified belt above his head while your belts—
He clicked again. The Stable Championship graphic expanded to fill the screen: the multiple linked dragon plates gleaming, the words AAPW STABLE CHAMPIONS hovering above the photos of Ryota Arakawa, Yasha Gorō, Naoko Mori… and Yuriko herself.
Haruki Tanaka: —are carried away to America around the waists of their freak show.
Kenjiro’s jaw tightened.
Kenjiro Tanaka: The company could survive one belt lost. Maybe two. But all of them? The perception would be fatal.
Yuriko stepped closer, eyes fixed on the belts.
Yuriko Tanaka: Then we don’t lose any.
Haruki chuckled softly.
Haruki Tanaka: Ah. If only our other champions were as confident as you.
Kenjiro turned fully toward her, his gaze sharper now.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Confidence can be a drug, daughter. Strong, and very easy to overdose on. The last time I saw you this sure of yourself, you were preparing for the Ronin Rumble.
Yuriko’s expression flickered, a hint of irritation showing before she masked it with a smile.
Yuriko Tanaka: And I would have finished things if Nygma hadn’t stolen the moment. Don’t confuse bad timing with weakness.
Kenjiro Tanaka: I do not. But the audience does not see timing. They see results.
Haruki clicked the remote again. Footage from the Rumble sprang to life—the final eliminations, Nygma celebrating, the Ultimate Wrestling logo invading the lower third of the broadcast.
Haruki Tanaka: They see this.
He muted the audio, letting the images speak for themselves.
Haruki Tanaka: The boards of directors, the sponsors, the other clans, the foreign television partners… they see AAPW toppled by a clown in our own house. That is why Empire’s End cannot be treated as a “supercard,” or a celebration of cooperation, like the press releases say.
He looked at Yuriko, eyes turning cold.
Haruki Tanaka: It is a containment operation.
Kenjiro nodded once.
Kenjiro Tanaka: At minimum, we must leave with the majority of our belts. Preferably… all of them. If Sasori fails against Nygma, the rest of you must make his loss look like a statistical outlier, not a sign of decay.
Yuriko folded her arms, considering that. Sasori, the painted demon of AAPW, standing across from Drake Nygma with the Unified belt between them. The idea of Nygma holding that title made her stomach twist with something very close to murder.
Yuriko Tanaka: Sasori won’t fail.
Haruki raised an eyebrow.
Haruki Tanaka: You sound certain.
Yuriko shrugged.
Yuriko Tanaka: He hates Nygma more than any of us. That kind of hate wins fights. Besides, if he does fail…
Her eyes slid back to the Stable graphic, to her own image beside Ryota, Yasha, and Naoko.
Yuriko Tanaka: Then it falls to us to make sure the rest of the night is a massacre.
Kenjiro watched her carefully.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Tell me, Yuriko. How do you see this match?
She tilted her head.
Yuriko Tanaka: The Stable Championship? Simple. A public execution.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Elaborate.
She stepped closer to the desk, planting her hands on the polished wood.
Yuriko Tanaka: Ultimate Wrestling is sending four examples—Kenny Volcano, LuLu Biggs, Elizabeth Devereaux O’Rourke, and Riko Matsumoto. Each of them represents something their company thinks we lack. Kenny is chaos and spectacle. Biggs is brute force and Western “hardcore.” Elizabeth is their moral authority, the “pure” wrestler they can sell to sponsors. Riko is discipline and heart.
Her lip curled.
Yuriko Tanaka: They’re wrong, of course. We have all of those things. We simply evolved beyond needing the costume.
Haruki’s eyes gleamed with amusement.
Haruki Tanaka: And what do you intend to do with these… examples?
Yuriko smiled, sharp and slow.
Yuriko Tanaka: Break them in ways that live forever in highlight reels.
She counted them off on her fingers.
Yuriko Tanaka: Volcano, we smother. Turn his chaos into panic. Yasha will enjoy that. Biggs… the crowd will want to see him fall the hardest. Ryota makes that look like art. Elizabeth is mine and Naoko’s to dissect—tear down her “pure” technique, expose the hypocrisy in her style. And Riko…
Her voice dropped, something darker threading through it.
Yuriko Tanaka: Riko I’ll keep for last. I want the audience exhausted from seeing their heroes fail before I show them what happens to the one who almost looked like she belonged.
Kenjiro studied her, fingers steepled under his chin.
Kenjiro Tanaka: You talk about them as tools.
Yuriko’s eyes flashed.
Yuriko Tanaka: They are. Tools to restore the image Nygma damaged. Tools to remind the world that invading our empire carries a cost.
Haruki moved away from the window, circling toward her like a shark.
Haruki Tanaka: Good. Because that is what this is, Yuriko—a sacrifice. You are not just defending gold. You are making an offering to every eye that watched the Ronin Rumble and wondered if the Tanaka name had lost its edge.
He stopped in front of her, so close she could smell the faint spice of his cologne over the incense.
Haruki Tanaka: Which is why I need to hear you say it. What happens if you fail?
She didn’t flinch.
Yuriko Tanaka: I don’t.
Haruki’s expression didn’t change.
Haruki Tanaka: Hypothetically.
The word came out like a test.
Yuriko held his gaze, then exhaled slowly through her nose.
Yuriko Tanaka: If I fail, then the Stable belts cross that ocean, and every vulture watching us learns we can be bled. Sponsors grow nervous. Rivals grow bold. The clan has to spend twice as much money, twice as much blood, to keep what we already own. And my name…
Her jaw tightened.
Yuriko Tanaka: My name becomes the punchline in every back-room conversation for the next decade.
Kenjiro’s voice softened only slightly.
Kenjiro Tanaka: And for the family?
Yuriko didn’t look at him.
Yuriko Tanaka: For the family, I become an apology they have to make in private.
Silence settled for a moment. Haruki’s eyes flicked to Kenjiro, something wordless passing between them.
Kenjiro broke it first.
Kenjiro Tanaka: I did not build my career on apologies. Neither did your uncle. We built it on certainty. When we were announced for a match, fans knew what they were buying. Promoters knew what they were getting. That is the part you must carry forward, Yuriko.
He stood, stepping toward her, the faint limp in his old knee only visible if one knew to look for it.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Do you remember what I told you when you first stepped into a ring?
Yuriko’s answer came without hesitation.
Yuriko Tanaka: “Once you climb through those ropes, you don’t represent yourself. You represent your teacher. Your blood.”
Kenjiro nodded.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Good. At Empire’s End, that is tripled. You represent me. You represent Haruki. You represent AAPW in front of the entire world—including those vultures your uncle mentioned.
Haruki’s tone grew colder, steel under velvet.
Haruki Tanaka: And you represent the Yamamoto clan’s willingness to punish trespass.
He turned the remote in his fingers like it was a knife.
Haruki Tanaka: So here is what I want from you in that match.
He clicked. The Stable graphic zoomed in on Yuriko’s face.
Haruki Tanaka: I want the world to see you enjoy it.
Yuriko blinked once.
Yuriko Tanaka: Enjoy… what?
Haruki’s smile spread, crocodile-slow.
Haruki Tanaka: The dismantling. The screaming. The moment when Kenny realizes his fireworks can’t save him, when Biggs feels his knees give out, when Elizabeth’s composure cracks, when Riko looks up at you and understands she’s not going home the same way she arrived.
He set the remote down.
Haruki Tanaka: Nygma turned the Ronin Rumble into a celebration for his company. You will turn Empire’s End into a warning for every other one.
Kenjiro sighed softly.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Just remember, spectacle without structure is empty. You are still a wrestler, Yuriko. Not just an enforcer. Win cleanly if you can. Use the ropes if you must. But do not turn this into a street brawl unless you are absolutely certain you will win.
Yuriko’s eyes flicked between them—father, uncle. Honor, ruthlessness. Old-school and underworld. She felt the weight of both on her shoulders like two different brands of steel.
Yuriko Tanaka: So I’m to be both, then.
Kenjiro gave a small, tired smile.
Kenjiro Tanaka: You always were.
Haruki’s tone cut across the warmth.
Haruki Tanaka: You were made for this, Yuriko. Your father gave you the craft. I gave you the purpose. Empire’s End is where you prove that combination is unbeatable.
She straightened, shoulders squaring.
Yuriko Tanaka: Consider it proven.
Haruki studied her face for a long moment, then nodded.
Haruki Tanaka: Good. Ryota, Yasha, and Naoko will be briefed as well, but make no mistake—you are the knife’s edge in this match. The others carry the weight with you, but you are the point.
Kenjiro picked up his teacup again.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Your entrance music, the crowd’s reaction, the first exchange—you set the tone. Do not waste it.
Yuriko turned toward the door, then paused, glancing back at the Unified graphic where Nygma and Sasori glared at each other through the screen.
Yuriko Tanaka: And if Sasori loses?
Haruki’s expression went flat.
Haruki Tanaka: Then he will answer to us later.
Kenjiro’s voice was quieter.
Kenjiro Tanaka: But in the eyes of the world…
Haruki finished it for him.
Haruki Tanaka: In the eyes of the world, your match becomes the true main event. The last line of defense. The moment everyone remembers when they speak about Empire’s End.
Yuriko absorbed that. The idea didn’t frighten her. It thrilled her.
Yuriko Tanaka: Then I’ll make sure what they remember isn’t Drake Nygma’s smile.
She turned fully, walking toward the door with measured steps. At the threshold, she stopped again, speaking without looking back.
Yuriko Tanaka: Uncle. Father.
Haruki: Yes?
Kenjiro: Hm?
Yuriko Tanaka: When this is over… when I’ve put their champions on the mat and sent their belts back where they belong…
Her lips curved into a lethal smile.
Yuriko Tanaka: I want Haruka in front of me again. No more interruptions. No more miracles. Just us and the ropes.
Kenjiro’s eyes softened for a heartbeat, then hardened again.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Earn it at Empire’s End, and we will talk.
Haruki’s answer was more practical.
Haruki Tanaka: Break Ultimate Wrestling first. Then break your cousin. One empire at a time.
Yuriko nodded once and left, the door shutting quietly behind her.
Outside, the hallway was cool and silent. She slipped her hands into her jacket pockets, replaying their words in her head. Confidence. Caution. Violence as language. Wrestling as diplomacy.
Empire’s End.
By the time she reached the elevator, the decision was already made.
Yuriko Tanaka: (to herself) No belts leave this country. Not while I’m breathing.
The elevator doors closed, and the city lights swallowed her reflection as she descended toward whatever training, blood, and preparation the next few days would demand.
The Scarlet Blade was sharpened. All that was left was to see whose empire bled first.
Scarlet Declaration
The Empire’s End arena felt different before the crowds arrived.
The seats were empty, rows of dark silhouettes curling up into the rafters like a stone tide. The ring stood alone under the hard white glare of the house lights, canvas bare, ropes still pristine. Above it, the giant screen cycled through the match graphics on mute.
Unified Championship: Saiko Sasori vs Drake Nygma.
World Titles. Tag Titles. Aerial X. Strong Style.
Each one flashed by like an omen.
Then the screen settled on the image that made Yuriko Tanaka’s pulse slow and sharpen at the same time.
AAPW STABLE CHAMPIONSHIP
AAPW vs ULTIMATE WRESTLING
On one side: Ryota Arakawa, intense and composed. Yasha Gorō, a looming slab of fury. Naoko Mori, cold-eyed and coiled. Yuriko herself, chin tilted, tattoos blazing, the faintest hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth.
On the other side: Kenny Volcano mid-scream, LuLu Biggs grinning like a wolf, Elizabeth D’Orouke poised and pristine, Riko Matsumoto with fists raised and eyes burning.
Yuriko watched it all from the floor, leaning against the barricade with her hands in her jacket pockets. The belts themselves sat on a black-clothed table at ringside, polished plates gleaming under the lights. The Stable title’s multiple coiled dragons caught the light, throwing sharp glints across the empty arena.
Daiki Yamashita adjusted a handheld camera on his shoulder, looking mildly irritated but resigned.
Daiki Yamashita: For the record, this is supposed to be a simple pre-show promo. You standing in the ring, you say a few scary things, we cut to the match graphic, everyone goes home happy.
Yuriko didn’t look at him.
**Yuriko Tanaka:**Then you shouldn’t have booked me.
Daiki exhaled through his nose, gesturing toward the ring.
Daiki Yamashita: Fine, Scarlet. Your stage. Just remember—this is for broadcast. Try not to incriminate the entire clan.
She smirked and pushed off the barricade.
Yuriko Tanaka: No promises.
She slid under the bottom rope, rising smoothly to her feet in the center of the ring. The house lights dimmed on a cue from the production crew, leaving a harsh spotlight centered on her. Somewhere high above, a red “ON AIR” light blinked to life on a camera rig.
Daiki’s voice came through the small speaker at ringside, the live feed running through a monitor.
Daiki Yamashita: We are rolling in three… two… one…
He pointed.
Yuriko let the quiet sit for a moment.
She could feel the emptiness pressing in from the seats, could hear the faint hum of the building breathing—the distant whir of generators, the crackle of cables, the murmur of crew members who had all stopped what they were doing to watch.
When she finally spoke, her voice rolled through the empty space, echoing just enough to sound bigger than human.
Yuriko Tanaka: Do you hear that?
She turned slowly, taking in the vacant arena.
Yuriko Tanaka: That’s what your empire sounds like right before it dies.
She looked straight into the nearest camera, eyes hard.
Yuriko Tanaka: Kenny Volcano. LuLu Biggs. Elizabeth D’Orouke. Riko Matsumoto.
She said each name like it tasted bad.
Yuriko Tanaka: You’ve already rehearsed this night in your heads, haven’t you? You see yourself standing here later, fans screaming, Ultimate Wrestling’s music playing while you hold our belts above your heads. You imagine your boss shaking your hands, telling you that you “made history.” You imagine your little locker room parties, your celebrations, your speeches about how you “came to Japan and took everything.”
Her upper lip curled.
Yuriko Tanaka: That’s cute.
She stepped toward the ropes facing the hard camera, fingers curling over the top strand.
Yuriko Tanaka: Three shows ago, Drake Nygma slipped through the cracks in our defenses and stole the Ronin Rumble. On our soil. In our building. In front of our people. The world watched him stand in this ring and point at Empire’s End like he owned it.
Her grip on the ropes tightened until her knuckles went white under the tape.
Yuriko Tanaka: I have been replaying that moment every day since.
The screen above her flickered briefly, showing a silent clip of Nygma’s victory. Yuriko didn’t look up; she didn’t have to. She knew every frame.
Yuriko Tanaka: So let me explain something to you four before you follow him off the cliff.
She released the rope and moved back to the center of the ring, rolling her shoulders, loosening her neck.
Yuriko Tanaka: You’re not walking into a “dream match.” You’re not walking into some cross-promotional festival where everyone shakes hands afterward and posts happy photos on social media. You’re walking into a crime scene, and you’re the ones the body bags are for.
She raised one hand, ticking a finger out.
Yuriko Tanaka: Kenny Volcano.
Her body shifted subtly—chin drifting forward, shoulders rolling, energy getting a little more jagged as she matched the idea of him.
Yuriko Tanaka: The human explosion. The walking wildfire. You’ll rush the ring like you always do, screaming, throwing your body at everything that moves, hoping chaos will save you because it always has.
She smiled, slow and poisonous.
Yuriko Tanaka: The problem is, you’re walking into a building owned by people who profit off chaos. We have learned how to weaponize it, cage it, sell tickets to it, and walk away clean while it burns everyone else. In this match, you’re not the wildfire, Kenny.
Her eyes sharpened.
Yuriko Tanaka: You’re kindling.
Another finger.
Yuriko Tanaka: LuLu Biggs.
She mimed hefting something heavy, then let her arms drop.
Yuriko Tanaka: Big man. Big mouth. Big appetite for violence. You’re used to being the one who can’t be moved, can’t be knocked down, can’t be kept down. You’re used to people bouncing off you and realizing halfway through the match that they’re too small to matter.
Her head tilted, expression almost sympathetic.
Yuriko Tanaka: You won’t have that luxury here. You’re stepping into a ring with Yasha Gorō.
Somewhere in the shadows of the arena entrance, a low, amused rumble echoed—Yasha’s laugh, carried over from where he watched, unseen by the cameras.
Yuriko Tanaka: You’ll finally get what you’ve always wanted, Biggs. Someone who can take everything you throw and return it with interest. Someone who will meet you in the middle and not move. And while you’re busy realizing you’re not the immovable object you thought you were, I’ll be somewhere above you.
She glanced up, eyes tracing the invisible path to the top rope.
Yuriko Tanaka: Falling. Fast.
She snapped her fingers, as if marking the beat of a Blood Moon Drop crashing down.
Third finger.
Yuriko Tanaka: Elizabeth.
She didn’t bother with the last name this time. The word itself sounded like a sneer.
Yuriko Tanaka: The pure wrestler. The technician. The one who thinks this is about rules and honor and “representing the sport.” You probably think of AAPW as a corrupt temple that you’re here to cleanse. You see our ties to the underworld, to politics, to power, and it makes you feel superior, doesn’t it?
Yuriko’s expression went flat, voice dropping.
Yuriko Tanaka: I hope you bring that purity with you. I hope you arrive in this ring convinced that technique and discipline alone can conquer anything. Because when Naoko Mori and I are twisting your joints the wrong way, when every counter you know has already been anticipated and dismantled, when you realize that the rules won’t save you and the referee can’t… that’s when I want the camera on your face.
She mimed the Tanaka Vice, hooking an invisible head under her arm, fingers locking.
Yuriko Tanaka: That’s when the world will see the exact second your belief breaks.
Fourth finger. The last one.
Yuriko Tanaka: And then… Riko Matsumoto.
She let the name hang in the air a moment longer than the others.
Yuriko Tanaka: You’re the interesting one. The striker. The disciplined killer. You remind me of someone I know.
Her eyes darkened, a flicker of Haruka’s shadow crossing her face, there and gone.
Yuriko Tanaka: You fight like every blow has a purpose. Like you understand that a single clean shot can end a career. I respect that. Which is why I’ve chosen you for last.
She began to pace slowly, each footstep measured.
Yuriko Tanaka: By the time we get to you, your partners will already be broken. Volcano’s fire will be ash. Biggs will be on his knees wondering why the world suddenly feels heavy. Elizabeth will be lying on the mat, staring at her hands like she doesn’t recognize them.
She turned back to the camera, pupils narrowed.
Yuriko Tanaka: And you… you’ll still be standing. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it, Riko? You endure. You take pain and turn it into fuel. You take impact and turn it into opportunity.
Her smile went thin and vicious.
Yuriko Tanaka: The problem is, you’re walking into a ring with people who know how to cut the fuel line.
She lifted her hand and brought it down in a sharp chop against the top rope, the “thwack” echoing.
Yuriko Tanaka: I am faster than you. I am meaner than you. And I have something you don’t.
She tapped her chest with two fingers, over the dragon’s coiled head beneath the jacket.
Yuriko Tanaka: A city that will not let me fail.
She walked to the side of the ring where the Stable belts rested. Stepping through the ropes, she hopped down to the floor and ran her fingertips lightly over the main plate of the championship.
Yuriko Tanaka: These belts aren’t just metal and leather. They are contracts. Promises. Threats. They say that when you enter AAPW as a unit, as a so-called “family,” you answer to us.
Her reflection stared back at her from the gold—distorted by the curve of the plate, eyes stretched, grin warped into something monstrous.
Yuriko Tanaka: At Empire’s End, the world will see Drake Nygma and Saiko Sasori try to decide who sits at the top of the mountain. Let them. Let the main event steal the headlines.
She lifted the belt slightly, enough for the camera to catch the engraved dragon.
Yuriko Tanaka: Because when people look back on this night, they won’t just remember who held the biggest prize.
She lowered the belt again, straightening.
Yuriko Tanaka: They’ll remember what happened to the ones stupid enough to come for all of them.
Her voice sharpened, each word like a blade.
Yuriko Tanaka: No belts leave Japan. No belts cross that ocean. Not while Ryota Arakawa is breathing. Not while Yasha Gorō is walking. Not while Naoko Mori is glaring.
She paused, then smiled, small and deadly.
Yuriko Tanaka: And definitely not while I’m here.
She let go of the belt and turned back to the ring. In one fluid motion, she slid under the bottom rope, popped to her feet, and sprinted to the corner. Her boots hit the turnbuckles—one, two, three—and she launched herself into the air, body twisting into the tight, perfect corkscrew of the Blood Moon Drop, landing in a heavy impact roll in the empty ring.
The sound echoed like distant thunder.
Yuriko pushed herself to her knees, hair hanging in her face. She looked up at the hard camera through the strands, breathing steady.
Yuriko Tanaka: Empires don’t end in Tokyo.
She stood, slowly.
Yuriko Tanaka: They start ending here… and then they die everywhere else.
She spread her arms slightly, as if welcoming something invisible.
Yuriko Tanaka: Welcome to your ending, Ultimate Wrestling. I’ll make sure it’s beautiful.
Daiki’s voice cut in from the monitor.
Daiki Yamashita: …And cut.
The “ON AIR” light blinked off. The house lights brightened a notch. The spell broke; crew members went back to work, the whir of preparation resuming.
Yuriko rolled out of the ring, dropping back to the floor. As she passed the table of belts, her hand drifted once more over the Stable title.
Just a touch. Just enough.
Yuriko Tanaka: (under her breath) Over my dead body.
She walked up the ramp toward the back, the Empire’s End logo glowing on the screen behind her. In a few hours, the seats would be full, the noise deafening, the stakes more real than any promo.
But for now, the empty arena held her words like a promise.
The Scarlet Blade had made her declaration.
All that remained was to see who bled enough to honor it.