The faint hum of cicadas filled the air as Duc Huy Nguyen approached the Fujimoto estate, its gates looming before him like a monument to tradition and legacy. A cold wind swept the hills, rustling the bamboo lining the narrow stone path. In the distance, the faint glow of Kyoto’s city lights painted the horizon, but here, the estate felt like a world apart—tranquil, isolated, and steeped in history.
The gate was a work of art, its wood darkened by time and weather but immaculately maintained. Each carved panel told a story of triumphs and trials, a silent reminder of the Fujimoto family’s storied past in wrestling. Duc hesitated, his hand hovering over the bronze knocker shaped like a dragon.
Duc: (murmuring) Don’t mess this up.
With a sharp breath, he struck the knocker against the wood. The sound echoed in the stillness, a disruption that felt almost sacrilegious. Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes before the faint sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears. The door slid open with a whisper, revealing Mariko Fujimoto.
Mariko’s presence was as commanding as ever despite her casual kimono. Her dark hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, accentuating the sharp angles of her face. Cold and unflinching, her eyes locked onto Duc with a look that could pierce steel.
Mariko: (curtly) Nguyen-san. Why are you here? Did all the liquor in Tokyo dry up?
Her tone wasn’t welcoming, but it wasn’t outright hostile either—more an invitation to explain himself before she decided to send him away. Duc straightened, bowing deeply, his respect evident in every movement.
Duc: Mariko-san, I apologize for arriving unannounced, but I come with great respect and purpose. I would not disturb you or your family otherwise.
She didn’t move immediately, her gaze scanning him as if weighing his sincerity. Finally, she stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.
Mariko: Come in, then. But don’t waste my time.
The air inside the Fujimoto estate was noticeably cooler, a soft breeze carrying the scent of cedar and incense. Duc removed his shoes and stepped onto the polished wooden floor, his movements deliberate to match the quiet reverence the space demanded. The walls were adorned with scrolls of calligraphy and black-and-white photographs—snapshots of Ryu Fujimoto’s career, each frame capturing a moment of glory in the ring.
Duc’s eyes lingered on one photograph: Ryu standing victorious in the center of the ring, holding the All Asia Pro Wrestling Heavyweight Championship aloft as the crowd roared behind him. His youthful face, a blend of pride and resolve, stared back at Duc like a ghost of wrestling’s golden age.
Mariko: (noticing his pause) He doesn’t live in the past. Those were his victories, not mine.
Duc: (nodding slightly) And yet his victories laid the foundation for all of us.
Mariko’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing further. She led him through the hall, her steps quick and purposeful. The path wound through the estate, each turn revealing more of its understated beauty. Duc caught glimpses of a training room with padded floors and a collection of weights, a library with shelves lined with wrestling tapes and books on martial arts, and finally, a sliding door that opened onto the garden.
The garden seemed to stretch endlessly, a masterpiece of Japanese landscaping. Lanterns lined the stone paths, their warm glow illuminating the carefully pruned bonsai trees and the koi pond that mirrored the moonlight. The soft burble of a stream added to the sense of serenity, but Duc couldn’t ignore the tension coiled in his chest. This was not just a garden—it was a stage for a conversation that could determine the future.
Mariko stopped just shy of the main path, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Mariko: My father is waiting. Speak to him with respect, Nguyen-san. He’s given far more to this sport than we ever will.
Duc: (bowing slightly) I wouldn’t dare do otherwise.
She gestured for him to continue, staying behind as Duc approached the garden's center. The path seemed longer with each step, his heartbeat growing louder against the backdrop of chirping cicadas and the occasional splash from the koi pond. The older man's stillness was almost unnerving when he finally saw Ryu Fujimoto seated on a wooden bench beneath a cherry blossom tree.
Ryu sat with his hands resting lightly on his knees, his back straight despite his years. His silver hair caught the lantern light, giving him an almost ethereal presence. Dressed in a simple yukata, he seemed perfectly at home in this tranquil setting, a man who had found peace in the chaos of life.
Duc stopped a respectful distance away and bowed deeply.
Duc: Fujimoto-sama, thank you for allowing me to speak with you. It is an honor.
Ryu raised his head slowly, his sharp eyes meeting Duc’s with an intensity that belied his calm demeanor. He gestured for Duc to sit on the cushion opposite him.
Ryu: (calmly) If you truly respect this opportunity, Nguyen-san, do not waste it. Sit, and speak your purpose.
Duc settled onto the cushion across from Ryu, carefully adjusting his posture to match the older man’s composed demeanor. The night air was cool, and the faint scent of cherry blossoms mingled with the earthy aroma of the stone lanterns burning nearby. A gentle breeze rustled the branches above, scattering a few petals onto the lacquered wooden table between them.
For a moment, neither man spoke. Duc gathered his thoughts, fully aware that this moment required precision, respect, and a delicate balance of ambition and humility. Ryu’s eyes studied him, calm yet probing, as though searching for the man behind the words he hadn’t yet spoken.
Ryu: (breaking the silence) You carry yourself with intent, Nguyen-san. Speak plainly. What brings you here tonight?
Duc leaned forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on his knees. Though steady, his voice carried a note of humility.
Duc: Fujimoto-sama, I come seeking not just your wisdom but also your trust. The wrestling world finds itself at a crossroads—where honor and tradition are under siege by greed and corruption.
Ryu’s expression didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. Duc continued, sensing the need to tread carefully.
Duc: Haruki Tanaka has taken what was once a sanctuary for warriors and turned it into a spectacle of vanity and excess. He has not only dishonored the legacy of AAPW but has trampled over those who built it with blood, sweat, and sacrifice.
Ryu: (his tone is even yet cutting) You speak of honor, yet you come here as a representative of Ultimate Wrestling—a promotion no stranger to excess and spectacle. Why should I trust that your intentions are any different?
Duc straightened, meeting Ryu’s gaze with resolve.
Duc: You’re right to question me, Fujimoto-sama. Ultimate Wrestling is far from perfect. But what sets them apart—what sets us apart—is that we still fight for something greater than ourselves. We’re not beholden to Tanaka’s whims or the Yakuza’s shadow games. We stand against them and need allies who share that vision.
Ryu remained silent, his gaze unyielding. Duc breathed, his voice softening as he leaned into the personal connection he hoped to establish.
Duc: I’ve spent my career chasing glory, only to find it empty when it wasn’t built on a foundation of respect. But I’ve seen what men like Tanaka do to those who oppose them. He doesn’t just defeat his enemies—he dismantles them. Fujimoto-sama, I won’t stand idly by while he does the same to the legacy you and so many others fought to create.
Ryu’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, it seemed he would dismiss Duc entirely. But then he leaned back slightly, his gaze shifting to the cherry blossoms swaying gently in the breeze.
Ryu: (after a long pause) You speak of legacy, Nguyen-san. Tell me—what legacy do you seek to leave behind?
Duc’s brow furrowed as he considered the question, its weight settling heavily in his chest. He met Ryu’s gaze again, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability.
Duc: I want to leave behind a wrestling world where the strong protect the weak, where honor isn’t just a word but a way of life. I’ve seen what happens when men like Tanaka go unchecked, and I won’t let that be my story—or yours.
Soft footsteps on the stone path announced Mariko’s return before she appeared in the doorway. She carried a tray with two cups of steaming green tea and set it on the table between them. Without a word, she sat beside her father, her presence grounding and challenging.
Mariko: (coolly) Father Nguyen-san speaks with passion. But passion alone isn’t enough to win a war. What makes you think he can succeed where so many others have failed?
Duc glanced at her, her sharp eyes mirroring her father’s. He chose his words carefully, knowing he now had to convince not one but two formidable minds.
Duc: Because this isn’t just my fight, Mariko-san. It’s ours. Tanaka has wronged more people than I can count—warriors cast aside, their careers ruined because they dared to stand against him or because of strange xenophobic rules about wrestlers from other Asian countries. I’ve already begun rallying those who share our cause. Together, we have the numbers and the skills to challenge him.
Mariko: (arching an eyebrow) Numbers and skill are useful, but strategy wins wars. What’s yours?
Duc: (leaning forward, his tone confident) The Ronin Rumble is Tanaka’s declaration of war, and we’ll meet him on the battlefield. Ultimate Wrestling’s roster includes fighters who risk everything to expose his corruption. But we need someone like you, Mariko-san—someone with the heart of a warrior and the intelligence of a strategist.
Her expression softened, but only slightly. She turned to her father, her voice quieter but no less committed.
Mariko: What do you think, Father? Can Nguyen-san’s cause restore honor to what Tanaka has destroyed?
Ryu didn’t answer immediately. He sipped his tea, his gaze fixed on the lanterns flickering in the garden. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured and deliberate.
Ryu: Honor cannot be restored by words alone, Mariko. It requires action, sacrifice, and unwavering resolve. Nguyen-san, if you truly believe in this cause, you will have to prove it—not just to me, but to every man and woman you hope to stand beside.
Duc bowed his head deeply, his voice steady despite the gravity of Ryu’s words.
Duc: I will, Fujimoto-sama. I swear it.
Duc shifted his gaze between Ryu and Mariko, noting the palpable connection between father and daughter. The weight of Ryu’s approval was evident, but it was Mariko’s resolve that would ultimately determine the outcome of this meeting. He knew he needed to address both their concerns if he was to win their trust.
Duc: (with measured sincerity) Fujimoto-sama, I respect your bond with Mariko. I know that asking her to step into this fight means asking you to place your faith not just in her abilities but in my intentions. I won’t waste your time with false promises—I can’t guarantee victory. But I can promise this: we’ll fight with honor and purpose and stand together against Tanaka’s corruption.
Mariko’s sharp eyes softened slightly, though her posture remained composed. She studied Duc, weighing his words against her father’s unspoken concerns.
Mariko: (after a pause) You speak of honor, but honor is earned, not claimed. Why should I risk my name and legacy for a cause that may be as fleeting as Tanaka’s promises?
Duc: (meeting her gaze directly) Because your legacy doesn’t belong to Tanaka, Mariko-san. It belongs to you. And by joining us, you can reclaim it—not just for yourself, but for every wrestler Tanaka has wronged. You’re not just fighting for a match; you’re fighting for the soul of what AAPW once stood for.
Ryu watched silently, his expression unreadable as his daughter considered Duc’s words. Finally, he deliberately set down his teacup, the sound resonating in the room's stillness.
Ryu: (calmly) Mariko, Nguyen-san’s cause is not without merit. The AAPW I once knew—the one to which I dedicated my life—no longer exists. Tanaka has twisted it into a reflection of his ambition, discarding tradition and honor in favor of greed and power. If you choose to join this battle, you must do so with the understanding that it will demand more than your skill in the ring. It will demand your resolve, integrity, and trust in those who fight beside you.
Mariko nodded slowly, her features firming as her father’s words took root. She turned back to Duc, her voice steadier now, carrying the conviction of someone ready to take a stand.
Mariko: If I join your cause, it will be on my terms. I won’t follow blindly, and I won’t tolerate betrayal. If you’re as committed to this fight as you claim, you’ll find no stronger ally than me.
Duc inclined his head in respect, recognizing the strength of her resolve.
Duc: That’s all I could ask for, Mariko-san. You have my word—this is not just about revenge. It’s about restoring balance and giving wrestlers like us the respect we’ve earned.
Ryu leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful as he regarded his daughter and Duc. After a moment, he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom and authority.
Ryu: If Mariko chooses to join you, she must not stand alone. A warrior without allies is vulnerable, no matter how skilled they are. Surround her with those who share her values and will fight for more than glory. And remember, Nguyen-san, my daughter is not a pawn. She is a Fujimoto.
Duc bowed deeply, his tone filled with genuine reverence.
Duc: I understand, Fujimoto-sama. Mariko will have my unwavering support and that of every ally we bring into this fight. I promise you, she will never stand alone.
Mariko glanced at her father, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and determination. Ryu gave her a slight nod, a gesture of approval and trust.
Ryu: (with finality) Then it is decided. Mariko, if you believe in this cause, I will not stand in your way. But tread carefully. The road ahead will not be easy.
Mariko: (with quiet resolve) I wouldn’t expect it to be, Father.
The air between them settled into a quiet understanding, the weight of the decision palpable yet empowering. Duc rose from his seat, bowing deeply again to Ryu and Mariko.
Duc: Thank you, Fujimoto-sama. Mariko-san. I won’t let you down.
As Duc turned to leave, the faint sound of the garden wind chimes seemed to echo the promise of change. Mariko and her father remained seated, their unspoken bond a testament to their mutual strength. The battle ahead was uncertain, but the seeds of rebellion had been sown, and with Mariko’s resolve and Ryu’s blessing, Duc’s cause now had a formidable new ally.
The Next Evening
The en-suite bathroom was a sanctuary of warmth and tranquility. Soft golden light from a hanging fixture reflected off the gleaming tiles, creating an intimate ambiance that contrasted with the chill of the autumn evening outside. Mariko sank into the oversized tub, its steaming water enveloping her like a gentle embrace. The faint scent of jasmine filled the air, courtesy of the bath salts dissolving in the water, their delicate fragrance wafting around her.
Her hair was pinned up, a few rebellious strands clinging to her damp neck. She leaned back against the tub’s curved edge, allowing the heat to seep into her muscles, loosening the tension from days of rigorous training. Her skin glistened with water droplets, and she closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift. The gentle hum of a distant heater and the occasional condensation drip into the bath created a soothing rhythm.
Her fingers trailed idly along the water's surface, tracing small patterns as she reflected on the evening’s conversation. Duc Huy Nguyen’s proposal lingered in her mind, intertwining with memories she tried to suppress. Tanaka’s betrayal, the long road to recovery, and the relentless drive that brought her back to the ring. The thought of standing against him now—of finding vindication through action—brought a faint smile to her lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
She dipped her head forward, letting the warmth embrace her face for a moment before lifting it again, droplets sliding down her cheeks like tears. A nearby shelf held a glass of chilled wine she had poured earlier, a rare indulgence for evenings like this. She reached for it, savoring the first sip, the crisp flavor starkly contrasting to the comforting heat surrounding her.
Mariko allowed herself to linger a little longer, her mind oscillating between serenity and determination. As much as she relished this quiet moment, she knew the road ahead would demand every ounce of her strength and resolve.
With a soft sigh, she stood, the water cascading down her form as she stepped onto the plush bath mat. Reaching for a thick towel, she wrapped it around herself, the fabric soaking up the moisture clinging to her skin. A glance at her reflection in the mirror showed flushed cheeks and bright eyes, a testament to the rejuvenation she’d drawn from the bath. She pulled the pins from her hair, letting it tumble down her shoulders in dark waves.
As she padded softly to her wardrobe to dress, she carried with her not just the warmth of the bath but a renewed sense of purpose. Tonight would be a turning point—one way or another.
Mariko stepped into her room, still warmed by the lingering steam from her evening bath. The faint scent of lavender clung to her skin, calming her nerves yet failing to quiet the turmoil in her mind. She opened her wardrobe, her fingers brushing against the neatly hung fabrics before settling on a soft cotton turtleneck and tailored jeans—simple, practical, yet dignified.
As she dressed, her thoughts strayed to the scar that traced a faint line along her knee, a quiet reminder of the injury that had almost ended her career. She remembered the night vividly: the snap of ligament under pressure, the searing pain, and the stunned silence of the crowd as she collapsed in the ring. It was a cruel twist of fate, but the aftermath was far worse.
Tanaka’s voice had been cold and dismissive when he summoned her to his office days later.
Tanaka: We can’t afford to keep liabilities, Mariko. Wrestling is for the strong, and the broken have no place here.
The words had stung more than the injury. She had devoted years to AAPW, shedding blood, sweat, and tears for the company, only to be cast aside like an old relic. They hadn’t even given her time to recover before terminating her contract.
Mariko pulled her sweater over her head, her reflection in the mirror meeting her gaze with quiet defiance. That was years ago. She had fought her way back, piece by piece, painstakingly reclaiming her strength and stepping into the ring again with a renewed sense of purpose. But the wound Tanaka had left wasn’t just on her knee—it was etched into her pride, her sense of loyalty betrayed by the man she once respected.
She grabbed her car keys from the dresser, her hand lingering over them as a small frown crept across her face. Duc’s words echoed in her mind. "We can turn the tables, Mariko. We can show them they underestimated us."
Could she trust him? Was this a path worth taking, or was she setting herself up for more heartbreak? Her father’s steady and reassuring voice came to her then.
Ryu: "If your heart believes it’s the right course, you’ll have my support. And I’ll ensure you don’t walk that path alone."
Strengthened by the memory, she straightened her shoulders, pushing aside her lingering doubts. Mariko grabbed her coat and headed for the door. The estate grounds were quiet, the crisp evening air tinged with the earthy scent of autumn leaves. She climbed into her car, the engine purring to life as she pulled out of the long driveway, her thoughts swirling with determination and uncertainty.
The road stretched out ahead, winding into the night. Somewhere in the distance, a confrontation awaited—a chance to reclaim the honor stolen from her and write her name in a legacy that no one, not even Tanaka, could erase.