Finished

Nothing has been the same since Tokyo.

Certain thresholds were crossed. A tiger of a cat was let loose from a tiny, tiny bag.

I have experienced revelations that have unwittingly altered my outlook on my place in not just this industry, but the world at large.

Revelations that have left me haunted with so many questions these past few weeks.

How can I keep fighting for a legacy to which I suddenly don’t belong?

How do I give up and walk away from the culmination of my life’s effort, pain, and labor?

What point is there to staying the course when there’s no longer a set goal?

But the most important of all--the one that’s really been causing me to lose sleep these past few weeks since Culture Shock…

Did he know?

CALGARY

A labored sigh trailed Rocko Daymon’s admission, and his grizzled expression faded further into a memory still burning fresh in his mind twenty-five years later.

“Your father and I had our own little run-in with Anzu on a quick Japan run back in ninety-nine,” he elaborated. “Mind you, he wasn’t as high-ranking then as you’re making him out to be now, but… he made his feelings clear to us. To him...”

Processing this latest revelation, Kerry Kuroyama reacted with a slow, controlled nod.

“I see…”

His grip around the tumbler in his hand loosened a bit. His spirit, braced for some sort of reactionary spate of emotional furies, suddenly felt a bit more relaxed.

He didn’t know what to expect in asking the question, but hearing and absorbing the answer as it was told to him now, this latest of revelations felt rather anticlimactic.

He feels, maybe, he’s simply grown numb to the drama.

“Guess it doesn’t really matter...”

Did anything anymore?

Plenty still does, even if you won’t admit to it, said that voice from within.

“But Kerry, I need you to know…” Rocko continued, suddenly anxious to explain himself. “We had our reasons for keeping this from you…”

Kerry waved him off. “It’s fine, I believe you. And yeah, I probably would have been better off not knowing.”

That night, while an action-packed evening of violence and glory played beneath the Saddledome, Kuroyama was back at the hotel on the other side of Calgary, tending to what the news would later call “an emergency business-related matter”.

An “emergency” in the form of keeping to the solitude of the Vae Victis lounge. Because while the original plan had been to be there for the obligatory interview with Simon, a quick adjustment to his itinerary became necessary after receiving a random call earlier that day from his former trainer and father’s best friend.

Word was, a certain dipshit “financial associate” would be in the building, along with a brand new “can’t fail” business proposal. Maybe not an actual emergency, but still a business matter. One that required a certain degree of privacy and subterfuge.

A belch sounded from behind them. The Emerald Apex swiveled in his seat and looked down on the living loaf of gray fur that was Kerry Koalayama, sitting nearby on the floor snug in his “Eucalyze Legalyptus” shirt and eagerly snarfing down on the brim of the late Daytona Diamonds’ hat.

“Dangit, bud, what did I tell you about chewing on that thing?” chided Kerry, reaching down to retrieve the bedazzled cowboy hat from his kompanion’s two-thumbed grip. “Remember, the vets said your two stomachs can’t digest the rhinestones.”

Kerry hoisted the koala off the floor and displaced him into the empty stool beside him, sliding over a plate of dried eucalyptus leaves.

“Beginning to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth, Fuzzball…” said Kerry, giving the marsupial’s head an affectionate noogie with his knuckles.

Kerry Koalama yawned while he eagerly ate from his plate of leaves.

With the hat in hand, Kuroyama reached to return it to it's hook hanging over the bar, alongside all the other Vae Victis trophies of war that included the likes of the mask of Deacon, the lime green headband of c0n0r, the whole ass head of Cayle Murray, and the studded punk rock belt of…

“Fucking Raisin…” he muttered aloud.

Ruefully, Kerry glared up at “The Kraken” Henry Keyes’ most notorious plunder, claimed back in a time when its original owner (while still perpetually stupid and annoying, even back then) at least had a measure of authenticity and a warrior’s sense of commitment to the sport.

Far and away from the sleazy, snake-oil shilling, fake-haired wannabe crypto bro he had become.

He had neither seen nor spoken to the force of reformation and ruin that was Erik Black since the incident in Tokyo, and was confident that he was all the better for it. Especially considering how their tenuous “partnership” had resulted in a nonstop cavalcade of inconvenient headaches being inconveniently thrust upon his life.

The latest of which putting his waking moments so on edge in recent weeks that he had broken almost a full year of sobriety.

“I need to cut that turd loose,” he said, continuing to seethe at his mental image of the jackal in white. “Shaking his hand is beginning to rank high on the list of worst decisions I’ve made in my life.”

Consequently, he thought, so was following in the family trade.

There’s nothing to be gained from thinking like that, said that voice from within.

The single finger of (aptly named) Lucky Bastard had not been touched in two hours since he had it poured, all the while he held himself to the modest comforts of the tumbler’s weight in his hand and the hypnotizing escape of liquid gold. Now, he instinctively brought it to his lips and poured it back in a single gulp.

Daymon watched, eyeing his former student with a kind of sternness masking a slight degree of concern usually reserved for fatherly figures.

“Doing okay…?”

Kerry’s lips stretched into a sour grimace, while tragically watered down Canadian whisky offended every last damn taste bud lining his mouth.

“Promised Ami I’d stick to a two drink a day limit,” he said, smacking his lips. “That’s number one.”

Thus far, he had held that promise. The last thing he wanted--or needed, for that matter--was losing control like he did weeks ago in Tokyo.

Even if, deep down, that beast inside still longed for it. That wild and uncompromising sensation of true and absolute freedom. A year’s worth of coiled, constricting tension springing forth into a blood-soaked and beautiful release of raw, animalistic fury.

Leave it for the ring, said that other voice from within.

The voice of his father.

The great Daisuke Kuroyama’s bastard.

Doesn’t mean I’m any less right.

Leave it for the ring.

So he would

“Well, on the topic of cutting certain people loose…”

Rocko reached into his tried and true Seattle flannel and withdrew a manilla envelope, which he set onto the bar. Kuroyama could immediately see by the stupid six-letter anagram for his “Set The Ring Ablaze Wrestling School” printed in the corner that it was relevant to Black’s business.

Now that the tumbler was empty, Kerry found himself suddenly uninterested in its presence. He slid it off to the side, where Kerry Koalayama curiously groped at it, gave it a sniff, and with an almost indignant snort, pushed it away.

“He’s planning something big for Indianapolis,” said Daymon, nodding to his offering of information left on the bar. “I know you don’t need my help any more than I’d expect you to want it, Kerry, but I’m worried about Zack. I don’t want that maniac getting to my son. You’d be the one doing me the favor here.”

Kerry nodded, giving heavy consideration to what he realized was a desperate father’s plea.

He was initially reluctant to meet with Daymon, given how rocky things had been between the former trainer and student over the past ten years. But given his present state, still heavily reeling from the life-shattering discovery of the existence of the Yakuza branch of Kuroyama, and realizing far too late that he’s made a deal with a devil in white, that past strife came off to Kerry as relatively trivial.

And while Rocko himself had a history of deceit, cowardice, and self-abuse, Kuroyama had to begrudgingly admit that his disgraced mentor was doing a comparatively better job at keeping his own life in check.

If anything, it’s a step forward, said that voice from within.

“Any help is appreciated,” said Kuroyama, reaching for the envelope.

Daymon turned in his seat and rose to his feet. “I should get back to the arena before he realizes I’m missing. How do I get out of this place?”

“One of the Plague Doctors will see you out,” Kerry answered. “Just… mind the tiger, yeah?”

“Okay…?” said Daymon, dubiously looking toward the beaked humanoid figures lurking in the shadows of the lounge’s peristyle architecture.

“Take care of yourself, Rock,” Kerry called after him as he departed. “And… thanks.”

Daymon favored his former student with a nod that was both solemn and reassuring.

“You too, Kerry,” he said, and then left.

INDIANAPOLIS

Erik Black was the blasphemous image of a warped evangelical preacher with a Christ complex blindly leading his flock to a poisoned well.

“YES, KURRY, my boy, THAT is how we’re calling you from here on out! The DIAMOND-BREAKER!! Because EVERYONE KNOWS that EMERALDS are TOUGHER than DIAMONDS! Let me tell you, THIS is what we need, PAL, to FINALLY get you up to that TOP LEVEL!”

All Kerry could do was squint back at the lunatic in white in complete befuddlement.

Black’s home “office” consisted of an offensively opulent gold-plated desk and a plush purple throne, paradoxically surrounded by three “walls” of dirt-flecked tarp haphazardly tied to a grid of scaffolds, several stories up within a building that was still deep into the construction process.

From everywhere around them came the cacophony of hammers and power tools being put to work. In lieu of an actual window, the view of the city was actually an open thirty-foot drop to the streets of downtown below. The blowing winds from this high up looked as though they could uproot the fake hairs implanted into his head.

Not quite the office Kuroyama would come to expect of an actual self-made millionaire and business tycoon. But for Raisin? It was spot on.

“But VISUALIZE IT, Kyurry! Against ALL ODDS and ALL EXPECTATIONS, the ETERNAL CLIMBER ROSE to the OCCASION and PREVAILED over the loathsome DAYTONA DIAMONDS!”

As he babbled, Black gestured wildly at a nearby easel, displaying poorly made AI “art” of an emerald crystalline Kuroyama standing atop a ladder, smashing the head of a diamond cowboy as though it were made of glass.

“By bringing him CRASHING DOWN on that SICK and WICKED BRAIN of his, you have dealt those abhorrent Poor Whor-who-who-wh-HARLOTSMEN a DEATHBLOW from which they may NEVER RECOVER! And RIGHT NOW, our FAITHFUL DIAMOND-BREAKER sets his sights on the literal NEXT DIAMOND…”

He pulled the cardstock image aside, revealing a familiar smiling face.

“As in… NATE COLTON! Ol’ Evansville himself…”

Black’s unstained yet gnarled hands throttle the air at the sight of his former rival for the Five Star Championship. His dastardly, disingenuous smile looked every bit more like a sneer.

“Yes… this is FINALLY OUR CHANCE to GET EVEN with that tow-headed, twit! REMEMBER, KURRY?! Just a year and some change, he left YOU, the newly arrived PARAGON of VAE VICTIS utterly HUMBLED and HUMILIATED in your first PRIME pay per view appearance! And thus, it was FOREVER establishing the so-called ‘Emerald APEX’ is ACTUALLY just an Emerald PLATEAU!! But NOW, Kyurry, my boy, we have COLTON versus KUROYAMA TWO! And this time, with MY SAGE-LIKE WISDOM backing you up… the ‘nExT dIaMoNd’ is going to learn that EMERALDS are SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN to be TOUGHER!”

Unimpressed, Kuroyama scratched at his jawline. No geologist was he, but he was pretty sure that last bit wasn’t exactly true.

“Now, let’s talk STRATEGY here! I’m thinking I can do something backstage to get Colton riled up, see? Like punch his girlfriend, or cripple his brother, or something on those lines. Something to get him GOOD and EMOTIONALLY BLIND! And then YOU--”

“No…” said Kerry, his arms cutting through the air to effectively cut off the rambling asshole. “You are not doing any of that stupid shit.”

Black’s face went blank as these words of resistance fell upon his ears.

“For two reasons,” Kerry went on. “One, as you pointed out, this is my chance to even the score with Colton, and to do that, the last thing I need is you doing something to fuck things up. But that won’t happen, because, two, the whole reason I even drove down here from Chicago was to tell you to your face that I’m officially ending this partnership. We’re finished.”

Black’s face twisted in on itself.

It was the kind of expression that said, excuse me, but while I was just bending over and inspecting the torn seam on the seat of your pants as you requested, did you just up and fart in my face?

Then, like a Biblical serpent, his notoriously insincere smile appeared as he slithered himself into leaning on the corner of his disgustingly lavish desk.

“Finished…?” he echoed, still somewhat in disbelief. “FINISHED!? But KYURRY, we’ve only JUST BEGUN! Only THREE MONTHS IN, and you’re already wanting to BACK OUT of the DEAL of a LIFETIME!?”

“Any deal with you is a mistake,” Kerry responded. “I see that now. So now it’s time to fix this mistake, before it fucks up my life any more.”

Black’s smile faltered. His eye began to twitch, realizing he was losing control of the situation.

“Are we forgetting who holds the KEYS to YOUR precious castle back in Seattle?” he said. “Where do you and your crew plan on holding your Little Buff Boy competitions without MY building?

Kerry responded with an unconcerned shrug. “A basement? A barn? The back of a Greek bakery? I don’t really care… we’ll make do in any place big enough for us to throw down a mat and do our thing. Any place that’s far the fuck away from you.”

Further smoldering, and now beginning to sweat, Black nervously ran a hand through his stringy hair implants.

“C’mon, pal… is this because of that unfortunate business back in Tokyo?! So you met your long lost uncle, and he turned out to be one scary son of a gun… I mean, THESE THINGS HAPPEN! Heck even I have a long lost uncle, and--hey, you know what? I just realized I never followed up on that. But the THING IS, Kurry--”

“The thing is, sober or not, you’re too fucking stupid to be trusted by anyone,” said Kerry. “So like I said, we’re finished. Kindly stay the fuck away from me and my family from here on out.”

As Black stood there, fuming and dumbstruck, Kuroyama turned to exit through a seam between tarp that led into an open-roofed corridor that led to a worksite elevator.

Kuroyama stepped into the empty carriage and hit the button when…

“KERRY!!”

The tarp exploded as Black frantically came bursting out after him.

“You think I don’t already have a contingency for THIS?! I ALWAYS knew you’d quit! Maybe not this soon, but I KNEW it was inevitable! And do you wanna know WHY, Ker?? Because your HEAD is TOO BIG to ACCEPT the HELP YOU NEED, and your GONADS are TOO SMALL to step out of the Queen’s overbearing shadow!”

Kuroyama said nothing as the elevator car descended.

Refusing to be left behind, Black scrambled to the nearby set of stairs and began going down after him.

“Goshdarnit, Kerry, if you’re expecting me to BEG here, it’s NOT GOING TO HAPPEN! Do you HONESTLY BELIEVE that you’re so UNIQUE and IMPORTANT to EVERYTHING that you CAN’T be REPLACED?!”

The elevator stopped at ground level, and Kerry stepped out into the bustling construction site. Casually taking his time, he made his way over and out onto the street, where his rental waited parked at the nearby curb.

Moments later, a loudly wheezing Black came tumbling down the last few steps and fell hard into the dirt. In a flash, he was back on his feet, hurrying after the Emerald Apex.

“Listen to me RIGHT NOW, Kurry… I am NOT ANGRY! I am just REALLY, REALLY DISAPPOINTED! You have NO IDEA how much this INCONVENIENCES ME!”

Continuing to ignore him, Kerry opened the vehicle’s driver side door and got behind the wheel.

As he did, a desperate Black heedlessly threw himself upon the hood of the car.

“I mean, I thought we really BONDED over there! You know, when you spend a long night of endless horror being dragged through the streets of Tokyo by an emotionally unstable relapsed alcoholic, at every moment fearful for your life, it really changes your idea on what it means to actually TRUST someone!”

The Charger’s engine roared to life. Black’s eyes went wide with terror.

A second later, Kerry slammed on the gas, and peeled away.

“AAAAHHH!!”

With all the grit of a common mosquito, Black gripped the hood of the moving vehicle for dear life, all while Kerry smoothly drifted through traffic with an unflappable sense of calmness.

“And I TRUSTED YOU, Kerry! I TRUSTED YOU to be SMART about this! I TRUSTED YOU to DO THE RIGHT THING for YOURSELF! For your FAMILY, Kurry! Just like I’m TRUSTING YOU RIGHT NOW to STOP THIS VEHICLE so that I may SAFELY--”

Kerry slammed on the brakes at the sight of a red light,

“AAAAAAHHH!!” said Black, as gently as one can while uncontrollably flying off the hood of a car.

Black hit the pavement, croaking guttural moans as his lithe frame skidded and rolled until finally curling over into an unsightly heap of broken humanity in the middle of the intersection.

Regrettably, there was no cross-traffic at that point in time.

With an agonized groan, Black slowly pushed himself up. He gave his now ruined, asphalt-scuffed white suit a series of moot readjustments before finally turning around, again wearing that damnably stupid, annoying grin of his.

“Okay… you know what? Because I’m feeling GENEROUS, I’m going to give you the WEEK to think this over. Should also give you some time to break it to the boys and plan out their future endeavors. I think, at the very least, they deserve to hear it from YOU first!”

The grin faded into a snarl.

“But MARK MY WORDS, KURRY KURRAYARMA… when this inevitably does NOT go your way, I better not hear any BELLY-ACHING out of YOU! Because NOW that I KNOW where you STAND on this, and from here on out, it’s going to be ME dragging YOUR KEESTER ALL OVER THE PLACE! DO YOU HEAR ME, KURRY?! DO YOU--”

The light turned green, and Kuroyama slammed down on the pedal.

“WOSHUCKS!!!”

In a panic, Black threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding being steamrolled by the Charger as it barreled through the intersection and disappeared around the next corner.

Once again, he pushed himself to his feet.

“You wanna play HARDBALL, huh?” he groused aloud in a low, vile whisper. “Okay, Kurry… I’ll frickin’ PLAY with ya…”

It’s become painfully obvious to me that I have an issue with impulse control.

The devil in white offers me a deal? I shake his hand.

My long lost Yakuza boss uncle demands I erase my name? I punch him in his fucking face.

Never giving it a moment’s thought. Just acting for the sake of acting.

A sense of risk-taking I’ve somehow developed in this ongoing endeavor to finally break through in this place.

Risks, like the one I took at Culture Shock.

Being at the top of that ladder. Going toe to toe with a monster like Daytona Diamonds.

There’s no room for thought. Only action.

So I acted, and put that fucker down on his head.

And you know what? Of all the revelations that came out of Tokyo, the one that has given me the least grief is the realization that I may have damn well ended the man’s career.

And I have no regrets.

I would willingly do it again. To him, or anyone else standing in the way of what I’m climbing to.

And yes, Nate… that includes you.

When I first came to PRIME, you were one of the only ones to actually make me feel welcome. Because of who you are and how you fight, you’re one of the few in this place that I genuinely respect.

But I’m through with shaking hands.

It’s time to take heads.