The NPJW Arena is an ancient remnant of the past. It was once a warehouse used to ship crates and machinery before being converted into a venue for wrestling out of sheer necessity.
Exposed beams are covered with rust, dirt and dust have accumulated on corners of the building that have gone uncleaned for too long, and the wrestling ring itself is structurally sound; however, it bears scars from years of abuse. All around the wrestling ring are rows of varies sizes of chairs, some of which are bolted down while others have been brought in from other locations to sit on.
However the venue is still being utilized.
Wrestlers are sitting in different seats scattered throughout the audience area of the venue. Some have their boots resting on the metal safety railings, while others are sitting with their arms crossed and the body posture of relaxed anticipation with their eyes wide open and alert.
Standing in the ring is Zen. He has his arms folded, and his jaw is tense. Zen has a minor bruise on his face close to his eye. The bruise is from where Vince Maston clawed him. Zen does not care about the bruise; instead the bruise will serve as a measure of payment for his work in the wrestling business.
Across the ring from Zen is Yoichi Isagi, and he is holding a microphone. (I APOLOGIZE IF THE NAMES ARE NOT AS PER JAPANESE CULTURE)
He seemed out of place.
He was short, thin, with narrow shoulders that were hidden by an expensive suit jacket that did not seem appropriate for this setting. He had soft features that, if dressed differently, could have been interpreted as something else entirely. His hair was styled very deliberately, and he had rehearsed a very specific posture.
He was the head of NPJW.
More accurately, he was the son of the head of NPJW.
Yoichi Isagi was the sole heir to the construction empire that his father had built across vast areas of the United States. Meguru Isagi had been responsible for constructing entire cities, roads, and stadiums. When Meguru realized he was too busy with multiple projects in New York City to continue to devote time to his regional wrestling promotion, he sent his son, Yoichi, to run NPJW.
It was simply nepotism.
Which Yoichi loved.
His first day as "the boss," he received some unexpected, but welcome, news.
A wrestler named Maya Hart had made her way into NPJW's territory, along with her alleged handsome boyfriend.
When Yoichi first heard about this development, he almost burst out laughing because of their folly and their nerve; it was like fate handing him an opportunity on a silver platter.
He wasted no time in taking advantage of it.
"Zen, I want you to teach these guys what no one else can teach them".
Here he is now standing inside the ring with a microphone in one hand and a fire in his eyes as he speaks to all the wrestlers at ringside.
"You've all heard what happened to Maya Hart, right?" Yoichi's voice is high pitched, but clear and crisp as it fills the arena. "Maya Hart had not one person with her when she made the announcement of the fight. She had one more with her."
The reaction from the audience began as a series of murmurs and then as a stream.
"He was Maya's boyfriend," he said with a pause just to build the anticipation and stress of everyone. "He is none other than Vince Maston himself. The man that owns IRW."
A moment of silence.
Vince Maston.
The crowd erupted at the mention of the IRW owner.
Gasps, shouts, and laughter. Some cheers were loud and mocking; others glanced nervously at one another. Zen's defeating an IRW owner was a serious situation. People rarely crossed that line lightly.
Yoichi allowed the noise to build before he lifted his finger.
"Yes, I said he defeated him," he taunted. "Zen beat him with his own fists."
Zen was unmoved and did not show any response.
"Now that—" Yoichi stated—"this is the reason why IRW forgets where it stands."
Several of the wrestlers cheered loudly while others remained mutedly concerned about the ramifications of Yoichi's comments.
Yoichi's smile grew even larger.
"Also now—" stated Yoichi while moving about the ring—"we have received an even better news."
At that point, Yoichi stopped.
"I heard that the IRW Ultras have been told to stand down."
The crowd was overwhelmed by the deafening silence that followed.
Zen looked up.
Yoichi laughed. "That's right. Their precious Harry Khan told them to stay back. To wait. Can you believe it?"
He shook his head theatrically. "What kind of fans refuse to fight for their boss?"
The crowd continued to cheer, displaying conflicting opinions among the wrestlers. Not every wrestler believed the story—but Yoichi was unconcerned.
"To me, it is obvious," Yoichi continued.
Yoichi leaned forward toward the microphone.
"We can do anything. We can do whatever."
Cheers erupted.
"IRW streets are open," Yoichi declared. "No retaliation. No consequences. We hit them, and they won't hit back."
The crowd roared its approval.
Yoichi soaked it in, chest puffed, basking in the validation. He loved this—the power, the control, the way his words moved people.
When it was over, he left the ring and took his place in the elevated seat overlooking the arena—his father's seat.
His assistant approached immediately.
A middle-aged man was sitting at a desk with a clipboard and had sharp eyes for all of the players on the field. He was not loyal to Yoichi, but to Meguru Isagi. The assistant's face was devoid of any other emotion besides a blank expression.
"The report is in on ratings for our latest show," he said quietly.
Yoichi quickly scanned through the report.
"Not bad," he muttered.
"But not good," the assistant added. "IRW is second in the city. Behind WF."
Yoichi clicked his tongue in irritation.
WF was a national giant. They had been number one in their league for decades. Even Yoichi's father was afraid to cross them.
But IRW?
IRW was just a fledgling company, and thus extremely vulnerable.
"I will destroy their company little by little," Yoichi replied coldly. "Piece by piece."
The assistant said nothing in reply, but inside he was sighing.
Meguru Isagi was correct in saying that if his son was given power, he would use it in any way possible to prove himself.
"Also," the assistant said, continuing on, "we will be out of contract with Vox in four months."
Yoichi waved him off. "Vox will be needing us."
The assistant did not argue with him, but he knew that Vox needed to stay strong for the short term.
Vox is slowly falling apart nationally, yes. But still, they are one of the last of the national broadcasters. They are much stronger than RedTV; they are actually stronger than most of the National Broadcasters, with Government backing.
But now, they're not very stable.
-----
At Vox's headquarters in downtown Dodge, Vince Maston was shaking Kenji Jinkawa's hand for the second time.
The feeling of the two men in this office was very different to that at the contract table.
Quiet, organised and very professional.
Jinkawa and Vince were standing together near a row of large windows providing views of the City of Dodge, with the contracts and agreements placed neatly on a table behind them.
"We have achieved many positive outcomes," stated Jinkawa, "There is much agreement on terms. As far as legal issues, the road ahead is clear."
"I agree," replied Vince.
At the same time, Gavin was already busy discussing contract clauses with Ren Hoult while highlighting and marking areas where changes were necessary.
Jinkawa took Vince aside.
"I'm going to be honest with you. When I took over here at Vox, I felt exactly the same way as you do now," Jinkawa said quietly.
Vince listened.
"I figured I could fix everything here," Jinkawa continued. "But you inherit far more than what you believe to be there. Fraud done by the previous owner. A mountain of hidden liabilities. A large number of untrustworthy managers/directors."
He sighed.
"I am going to take a step away now because I no longer want to be in this fight."
Vince looked into Jinkawa's eyes. "I want to be in the fight."
Jinkawa gave Vince a slight smile. "I can see that."
He pointed to the opposite corner of the office.
"Your head of creative will be Nicholas Branchett. The previous director was removed by me because of his several bad decisions."
Vince looked towards that area.
Nicholas sat quietly, hands folded, eyes focused somewhere distant. The young man had barely spoken throughout the negotiations—absorbing, assessing.
"He's passionate," Jinkawa said. "And stubborn. Vox needs that."
"I agree," Vince replied.