The Eternal Climber

It's hard not to think it was all for nothing.

The sad reality of this industry is that everything is run on optics. We seldom remember the ones who only made it ninety-nine percent of the way. 

As it is, it doesn’t really matter that I took part in a five star classic on the biggest show of the year. It doesn’t really matter that I busted someone’s face open and took them to their limit. No one will remember that I “almost” made it.

Results matter. Wins and losses. It’s all anyone sees. 

And I'm sure that all the world will see when they look back on Kerry Kuroyama's climb to the upper echelons of PRIME is that it ended becoming yet another notch in Don Winters’ belt.

Now here I am, walking into 2025 with a deficit of weight around my waist and a dull ache in my shoulder. All despite the strides I made this past year, in pursuit of reaching for the pinnacle.

So, yeah… hard not to think it was all for nothing. Even harder to keep myself from accepting it.

But I didn't sign myself into this shit to do things the easy way.

All I can do in an effort to move forward is cling to the reminder that ninety-nine is still less than one hundred. That even after coming this far, there’s still room for growth. That even after putting up my best performance to date, I can still be better.

This is where you come in, Rose.

There isn’t a more appropriate time to be facing off with an opponent like you… other than now. Coming into this new year at rock bottom, with nothing left to lose.

Only you can help me find that missing one percent.

The break was sorely needed.

The body demanded rest. The mind longed for solace. For at least a few weeks, he had both. All the time he needed to slow down. Think. Reflect.

Bring the world back into perspective.

But then text from his cousin dolefully shattered the tranquil calm, and dragged him back into the storm of waking reality.

"We have a visitor," it said.

Even through a simple four words, the message was clear: He was needed at the school.

Break is over, Kerry.

Then it’s time to get to work, he thought to himself.

The timing was hardly ideal, considering the flight across the Pacific was scheduled to depart soon, but somehow he managed to find the time tondrop by for a last minute check-in.

The building still felt as cold and vacuous as the day of his first walkthrough. But at least the lights were on and the sum of their equipment had been moved in and set up over in a corner of the room. Cold, but not dead. Vacuous, but not empty.

Kerry still felt it strange adjusting to calling this place “the school”. Especially considering their “class” was a whopping four people, himself included.

It will grow. And you'll grow with it.

Time would tell, he surmised.

A sparring session was going down in the practice ring between Leo Burnett, the Chicago-born powerhouse who came to them four years ago, and Beto Gutierrez, coming back to them to shake off the rust and get on the level after a stint of hard times up in Vancouver.

Zack Daymon stood on the apron, watching the battle of leverage and making mental notes. As Kerry walked up to him, his cousin gave him a welcoming nod, wincing slightly at the sight of the duffel bag at his side.

"Sorry, I know you're flying out today..."

Kuroyama immediately waved him off.

“You were right to hit me up,” he said. “So where is he?”

Zack tilted his head in the direction of the second-story row of windows overlooking the main room. As he did, Kerry could faintly pick up the pitter-patter of dulled footsteps coming from above.

“Said he wanted to see you in the office.”

Kerry arched an eyebrow.

“We have an office?”

Zack shrugged. “We do now, I guess.”

Kerry sighed, shook his head, and turned slightly to the short hallway leading to the stairs, only to hang back.

“Hey…”

Zack gave him his attention.

“I know I haven’t been around much lately,” he said. “I made the deal to get this place, only to ghost. Wasn’t fair of me to put it all on your hands, so… I wanted to apologize. I promise, I’ll start pulling my weight around here.”

It was his cousin’s turn to wave him off.

“Just worry about fucking shit up down in Sydney, Kay,” said Zack, returning his attention to the session happening between the ropes. “We’ve got it handled here.”

A chill down Kerry’s spine. The sight of his cousin intently watching the action looked eerily similar to how his father looked in Kerry’s early days at the old Dojo.

History repeats itself.

Hopefully not in every way, Kerry thought to himself.

He turned away, ready to go up and face the music.

“Wish me luck…”

I miss this feeling.

Being back to work with the day-to-day physical grind. Following the internal warmth of a fire that burns within, pushing me to shape and sharpen myself into a living tool of destruction.

A part of me longs to constantly be here. Beneath this overarching umbrella of tension and anticipation. Forever chasing this feeling…

The one I get when I visualize myself standing in that ring across from you, waiting for that bell to ring. 

Waiting for the bolt to the cage door to slide aside. Waiting to unleash what I really am.

It’s really too bad that the human body comes with all these damned limitations. In my downtime, I have this constant worry that I’m going to lose a bit of my lightning.

But all it takes to keep those dynamos roaring is this very feeling I live for. All it takes is a time, a place, and a face.

ReVival. Sydney. 

YOU.

A generational talent, groomed to become an uncompromising warrior, with a thirst for valor and conquest and glory.

Someone who gambled big at Colossus, and walked out with less than what they had going in. Someone who, in all likelihood, is looking to ESCAPE their current situation.

Someone… like me.

Which leads to my one and only question, Rose…

Do you also long for this feeling?

“NO, goshdarnit, the filing cabinet goes THERE! In LA ESQUINA! CUIDADO! CUIDADO, you IDIOTAS!”

Irate and exacerbated, Erik Black occupied the middle of the “office”, angrily hopping in place while directing no fewer than half a dozen movers that were hard at work bringing furnishings into the room.

“Are you guys SORDO o ESTUPIDO?! The coffee table has to be pointed NORTE! Have any one of you even READ a book on FENG SHHHHhhhh…”

The one-time “Goat Bastard” and punk rock icon of the wrestling world, now the living embodiment of sleaze, greed, and bad tastes in fashion, trailed off mid-sentence upon discovering that someone had quietly slipped into the room and found a place leaning against the wall near the door.

With the flip of a switch, Black immediately perked up and flashed the fakest smile in all of creation.

“KER-RYYYYYY! Didn’t hear you come in!”

His hand lassoed the air over his head, accentuated with a loud snap.

“SALIR! SALIR!”

The movers quickly filed out, leaving the room to the two of them.

Kuroyama scanned the room. A few days ago, it was empty storage space. In a matter of minutes, it was suddenly a fully furnished luxury office.

“Settling in, are we?” he observed out loud.

Black’s smile widened as he waved his hands across the room.

“You like?” he said. “Now that you and I are going to be working CLOSE together -- and, you know, since you seem to be having some TROUBLE answering your goshdarned phone as of late -- I felt it necessary to set up a tiny little HOME away from HOME! So that I can keep a better EYE on things!”

He went around and situated himself into a sturdy purple leather chair on the business side of his fauxmish mahogany desk. Like everything else in the room, it had a chintzy luster to it. It implied “new” and “fancy”, but hid signs of cheap craftsmanship. All face and no soul.

Kinda like him.

“On that note, glad I could catch up with you before you left for the Land Down Under,” Black continued. “Where, so I’m told, women glow and men plunder. Anyway, PLEASE, have a seat!”

Kuroyama glanced only briefly at his offered seat, a folding chair of cold and uninviting steel.

“I’m good.”

A flash of reproach ever so briefly crossed Black’s face. Then his forced grin only grew wider.

“Heh, right, suit yourself!” he said. “So then, how was that quick little excursion of yours to JAPAN? Did you have FUN over there with your Vae Victis pals?”

“I mean, I guess…” said Kerry, shrugging.

You guess?

Okay, sure, maybe he did have a tiny bit of fun last week with the gang in Tokyo. More importantly, the Clash of the Aces appearance served as a refreshing pick-me-up after Colossus, and a good practice run for PRIME’s oncoming tour across the Pacific. Not to mention, a way to start off the new year with a (pun very much intended) Bang!

“And the shoulder? Fully healed? Giving you any issues…?”

“It’s fine.”

“And you’re absolutely sure about that?” Black continued to probe. “Because I sure as heck would prefer to avoid any more unpleasant surprises, like with what happened down in L.A. And I know this match should be an easy little lay-up for you, given you’ve got a good hundred pounds on little Duskette, but BOY-OH-BOY, Ker, you sure do have a history of letting me down!”

“I’m not worried about it.”

But why is he?

“Good to hear…” Erik replied. “Because, you know, we’ve got a brand to consider here. And, thanks to you pooping the bed with the Five Star Title, I’m not sure that it can afford to take another hit…”

Kerry felt his eyes roll. The audacity of this motherfucker…

“Forgive me for not having the ‘brand’ on my mind while in the middle of a fight,” he grumbled with sarcasm. “I’m sure that was the missing piece I needed to win...”

The smile on Erik Black’s face slowly began to wane.

“We needn’t get snippy here, partner,” he said quietly. “Or do I need to remind you who holds the keys here? After all, it’s not like I bought this place so that you and your little gang of hoodrats could frick about and play-wrestle with each other. I made an investment in you, and with or without your help, Kerry old pal, I still intend to make money out of it.”

Kerry made a face, uncomfortably scratching the back of his head.

“So I suppose all that talk of being ‘business partners’ was just bullshit…” he said with a shake of his head. “Didn’t realize that all I am to you is an investment.”

Black narrowed his eyes. Kerry noted that they lacked their characteristic bloodshot and glazed-over look.

Now, with a fully sober and clear mind, Black’s eyes cut like razors.

“When you get a chance, Ker,” he began. “I want you to do me a favor…”

He swiveled in his seat, an arm waving out to the window behind him.

“I want you to take a long, hard look at how things really work out there in the modern world. And when you do, you might recognize that the one thing separating the haves from the have-nots is the ability to see everything as an investment.”

By now, his wide, conniving smile was fully gone. He stared back at Kerry across the desk with cold and ruthless authority.

“I finally realized that, as soon as I pulled my head out of the clouds,” he said, stamping an index finger into the unmarked surface of his gaudy and cheap desk. “Which is why I’m here… pulling the strings, and you’re there, desperate for a lifeline. Because the reality is that this world leaves us with no other option other than to FRICK or BE FRICKED. And only an idiot would want to be anything other than the former.”

Kerry felt it strange hearing these words from someone who for years, despite his disheveled and debaucherous nature, defined himself as a staunch anti-authoritarian. Someone who shunned the ideas of fame and fortune, longing for the thrill of the fight.

From punk rock, to sell-out.

Clearly, the man who answered to the handle of “Rezin” was dead and buried. Erik Black had become something else entirely.

“So yes, you are my investment, Kerry,” he went on. “I invested in you because I assumed you had value. All you had to do was kick the choir boy’s keester and win the championship, and your stock would have gone through the roof. But no belt means no value… which means instead of kicking back at home in Indy and reaping the rewards, I have to fly all the way out to the hipster armpit capital of North America to salvage your colossal frick-up.”

His shoulders lurched into a shrug.

“I suppose that’s what I get for being sentimental,” he said with a grievous sigh. “I went with you, cause I thought you and I had a real connection. Two sides of the same coin. But I’m beginning to see now that you lack that ‘it’ factor -- that special sauce that made a TRUE athlete like ME a former Five Star AND Universal Champion. Clearly, all the talent in this room is on this side of the desk. And now, with no belt and no value, the rest of the world sees you as just another hanger-on, and I can’t help but think maybe they’re right.”

Kerry glanced down once more at the folding chair left for him on his side, wondering how the man in white would look wearing it as a hat.

You’re handling this a lot better than I would.

“Be as it may, it’s too late for either one of us to be feeling buyer’s remorse,” said Black with a sigh. “But, as luck should have it, I know exactly how to spin this, and hopefully make some chicken salad out of the chickenshucks you graciously brought to my plate…”

He held out a hand, visualizing the marquee.

“Picture it… we ditch this ‘Emerald Apex’ nonsense,” he said, readopting his bombastic sales-pitch tone of voice. “From now on, you’re Kerry Kuroyama, the ETERNAL CLIMBER! Forever pushing that boulder up the mountain! Will he FINALLY catch his big break, or will he tragically be sent CRASHING DOWN once more? THAT is the million dollar question right there! The thing that’s going to HOOK those people and get them to BUY IN!”

Kerry thoughtfully rubbed his chin.

Not that he needed to waste any brain cells considering whether or not he’d be buying into this particular type of “branding”. Instead, he was contemplating how much more of his bullshit he could put up with.

“Pushing a boulder up the mountain…” he quietly repeated. “Sounds very… Sisyphean.”

“Ooh, now THERE’S a fancy twenty-dollar word!” said Black, snapping his fingers. “I think we can REALLY WORK with that!”

He immediately brandished a pen and scrawled it down on his memo pad.

“NOTHING sells like good old fashioned FALSE HOPE!” he went on. “And JUST LIKE THAT, Kyurry, we have our business model! Your students? They’ll be all the WEAK-WILLED DREAMERS out there! The ones who buy into the delusion that they can actually MAKE something of themselves!”

Eagerly, he rubbed his hands together.

“They’ll pay us for YEARS!” he said enthusiastically. “All in the HOPE that we’ll be the ones to show them the way to the top! Instead, they'll learn from YOU! The EXPERT in making middling and mediocre pass as “good”! And if one of them should strike gold and actually break through the glass ceiling? Even better! We can say that WE were the ones to produce them!”

Kuroyama had come to the realiziation that he had reached his limit.

“I guess if anyone’s an expert on ‘false hope’... it’s you. Raisin.”

Erik’s mask shattered, as a sneer crossed his face.

Then the room went dark.

Something outside was blocking out the sun. Something BIG.

Then the building quaked from an unseen force.

Suddenly forgetting his anger, Erik Black’s hands desperately gripped the surface of his desk for dear life while every piece of chintzy furniture arranged in his newly furnished office shook uncontrollably.

“What the HECK is GOING ON?!” he exclaimed, both in confusion and panic. “Is this some sort of SEATTLE thing?!”

Arms casually folded over his chest, Kerry continued to stand before him as still as a statue.

“My ride’s here,” he said. “We done?”

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Kerry turned for the door.

“HEY!” Black called after him. “Think about what I said, Kerry! It's your LEGACY is at stake here!”

“Don’t I know it,” Kerry muttered back, scooping his bag off the floor and exiting the room.

“Hey, KYERRY!! KERRR-RYYYY--”

Kuroyama closed the door behind him.

A wrestling school for the Dreamers of the world?

You know, it’s not a bad thought.

No, it wasn’t -- minus the exploitation angle. But it was an idea he’d have to leave it for future consideration.

Right now, Henry's airship was docked and waiting. It was time to set sail.

I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Rose…

Other people are much more invested in the outcome of this match than I am.

Which isn’t to suggest I’m going to give you any less of my all. But the thing is, I’m not really interested in outcomes at this point. All that matters is finding that missing piece. 

And at this point I’m more than willing to lose a thousand matches, so long as I find it. Fuck whatever the world chooses to see.

I see so much within you that I see in myself. But the most important quality you have is the hunger to make yourself known.

So let us benefit one another, through this absurd game of violence we play.

The path I walk can no longer be called a “climb”. As far as I’m concerned, it’s now a chase.

So keep running, Rose. Because it's too late for me to stop.