The night hung heavy over Tokyo like a wet blanket, the air thick with humidity that clung to Takuma Sato's skin, mixing with the sweat trickling down his brow. Neon lights flickered in the distance, reflecting off rain-slicked streets like shards of broken glass scattered across the city's underbelly. The low rumble of his motorcycle echoed through the narrow, labyrinthine alleys, a steady hum in the restless silence. Each engine vibration reverberated in his chest, syncing with his quickening heartbeat.
"What the hell am I doing?"
The thought was a dull throb in his mind, relentless and gnawing. His grip tightened on the handlebars, his knuckles white against the dark leather of his gloves. His stomach churned with a cocktail of fear and determination, a sensation he was no stranger to—but tonight, it felt different, sharper, as if a blade were pressed against his ribs.
This isn't just another fight. He knew that much. Valora won't make this easy. She never did, but he wasn't here for an easy conversation. He was here because he had no choice.
As the bike roared beneath him, speeding past the dimly lit storefronts and shuttered businesses, he felt a familiar ache in his side—his forehead, still sore from the last brutal encounter with the North Koreans and their kendo sticks. The pain grounded him and reminded him why he needed to do this.
"You can't keep fighting everyone alone, Takuma. Not anymore. Not with all that's transpired this week."
But another voice, darker and more cynical, whispered back: "She won't forgive you. She might not even hear you out." His jaw clenched involuntarily. He could already see her eyes, that fierce, cold stare that had burned into him like acid during their last match. "You betrayed us, Takuma."
Those words hadn't been spoken yet, but he could feel them in the pit of his stomach, coiling like a snake ready to strike. He had faced down men twice his size, men who fought with the intent to maim, to kill—but Valora… Valora was different. She was more than an adversary. She reminded him of everything he'd lost and been forced to sacrifice due to Anderson and Yamamoto.
"Maybe this is a mistake."
The thought slithered into his mind, unwelcome but persistent.
"Maybe you should just turn around and find another way. She won't listen; she's too fucking stubborn. She'll just send you away, or worse, come at you swinging."
But he shook his head, gritting his teeth against the doubt gnawing at his resolve. "No. You're not running this time. Not from her. Not from anyone." His grip on the throttle tightened, and he pushed the bike harder, the engine's growl rising to a roar.
The apartment complex came into view—a squat, gray building that looked like it had seen better days decades ago. Valora's temporary prison. He immediately saw her standing on a balcony, her silhouette framed against the faint glow of a single flickering bulb. Even from a distance, he could feel the intensity of her gaze, like the sun's hot glare through a magnifying glass. Beside her, Abbigail sat slumped in a chair, a bottle of tequila hanging loosely from her fingers. She looked like a shadow of her former self; the fight in her dimmed but not extinguished.
Sato killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening in the wake of the noise. He stayed there momentarily, perched on his bike, the cool night air brushing against his face. His heart was pounding harder now, his pulse a steady drumbeat in his ears. "Here we go", he thought, taking a deep breath. "Just remember why you're here. Remember what's at stake."
He swung his leg over the bike, his movements slow and deliberate, with each step feeling like he was walking through quicksand. His boots crunched against the gravel as he approached the building. The smell of damp concrete and stale alcohol reached his nose, mixing with the faint, acrid scent of cigarette smoke wafting from somewhere nearby.
"She's not going to forgive you, Takuma. She may not even let you explain." His anxiety tightened its grip, coiling around his chest like a constrictor. He could feel his muscles tensing, every fiber of his being bracing for impact.
Valora's eyes were on him now, sharp and unyielding, as if daring him to come closer. Her gaze was like a blade against his skin, cold and cutting. He forced himself to meet it, swallowing the urge to turn on his heel and leave.
"No. Not this time."
He stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up, feeling the weight of her stare pressing down on him like a physical force. The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy like a rope pulled taut, ready to snap.
His throat was dry, his mouth a desert. He opened it, trying to find the right words, but they seemed to stick in his throat like shards of glass. Finally, he managed to speak, his voice low and hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
Sato: Valora… I just need to talk.
He waited, each second dragging like an eternity. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his temples. "This is it. She could tell you to go to Hell, turn her back, or worse..."
But he stood his ground, his gaze steady, even as doubt clawed at him from every direction. He had faced demons, both inside the ring and out, but this… this was different. This was raw, real, and his last chance to make things right—or at least, less wrong.
"If she sends you away, you'll find another way. But you're not leaving until you've tried."
Sato's words hung in the air like smoke, drifting up to the balcony where Valora stood, tequila bottle gripped tightly in her hand. There was silence for a moment, which felt like it could split the night open. Then, Valora's laugh broke through, harsh and mocking, cutting through the stillness like a jagged knife.
Valora: (Voice slurred) Talk? Do you want to talk, Sato? After everything?
Her words were almost drowned out by the clink of the bottle hitting the metal railing as she set it down, her hand moving with the deliberate care of someone far too aware of their drunken state. She leaned over, her dark eyes burning with anger and something else—something like pain.
Valora: You think I'm just going to forgive and forget because you showed up here with that pretty little face and some half-assed apology? (She sneers) No, no, no. It doesn't work like that, pendejo.
Sato felt his stomach twist, but he kept his expression neutral, his eyes locked on hers. He could feel Abbigail's gaze flicker between them, tense and wary, like she was bracing for the storm she knew was coming.
Sato: I know you're angry, Valora. You have every right to be. But just hear me out. I'm not here to make excuses but to explain.
Valora's lips curled into a snarl, her temper flaring like a lit match.
Valora: Explain? Do you think there's anything you can say to make this right? You betrayed us, Takuma! You betrayed Abbigail… you betrayed me. (She slams her hand against the railing, the metal ringing out in the quiet night.) You broke whatever trust we had, and for what? For that maldito Anderson? For Yamamoto? You don't get it, do you?
Abbigail shifted uncomfortably, clearly torn between her loyalty to Valora and some sympathy for Sato. She took a swig from her bottle, her shoulders hunched as if she wanted to disappear into the chair.
Sato felt a surge of frustration but pushed it down. He knew this would be hard; Valora wouldn't make it easy, and she would need to vent. He took a deep breath, his voice low and measured.
Sato: I did what I had to do, Valora. Yamamoto had my mother. Anderson was blackmailing me, playing me against you, using everything against me to keep me under his thumb. It was a choice between betraying you and losing the only family I have left forever.
Valora's eyes narrowed, her fists clenching, and her knuckles whitening against the railing. Her voice was sharp and dripping with venom.
Valora: And you think I care about your excuses? We all have our problems, Takuma. We all have things we've lost or been forced to do. You don't see me crying about it, do you? (She takes a deep breath, her voice lowering to a dangerous growl) Do you think I haven't lost anything? My home, my family, my people... my freedom? I'm stuck here, like a damn prisoner, because of what I've done—for the things I believed in, for the people I tried to protect.
Sato felt the weight of her words, the raw emotion behind them. He had expected the anger and fury, but this… was deeper—a wound that still bled, a pain that throbbed.
Sato: Valora, I know you've lost. I know you're stuck here, and I know you're angry—
Valora cut him off with a sharp laugh, her head thrown back as if he'd just told the funniest joke in the world.
Valora: Angry? No, no, Takuma, I'm not angry. (Her tone turns darker, more menacing) I'm furiosa. I'm livid, and you… you stand there with your sad eyes and sorry voice, and you think that will change anything? Do you think you can just walk back into our lives like nothing happened?
Sato took a step closer, carefully keeping his movements slow and unthreatening. The tension between them was like a crackling and dangerous live wire.
Sato: No, Valora, I don't expect that. I don't expect you to forgive me. I need you to understand—I didn't have a choice. That sick fuck Anderson had me trapped in an impossible situation, and he enjoyed every minute of it!
Valora's expression hardened, and for a moment, Sato thought she might hurl the bottle at him. Her hand twitched, but then she seemed to catch herself, her gaze narrowing as she studied him, searching his face for something—truth, remorse, maybe even fear.
Valora: (Quietly) I'm sure you saw Anderson's dead... I killed him myself before we left Mexico. I beat him until he begged for his life, and then shot him in the stomach multiple times and watched him bleed out slowly. So take solace that his demise was painful and long...
Sato's eyes widened slightly at her words, the revelation hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had known Anderson was gone, but to hear it from Valora's lips and how she spoke of it with such cold, detached satisfaction sent a chill down his spine.
Sato: (Slowly) You… you killed him?
Valora smirked a cruel smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Valora: Damn right, I did. I promised myself that I would make him pay for what he did to Los Angeles, to my people… to me. (She takes a breath, steadying herself) But it still didn't fix anything, Takuma. It didn't bring back the 24 million dead or undo the damage. It just… made the world a little quieter for a moment.
Sato felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him—relief that Anderson was gone, dread at what this meant for Valora's state of mind and a deep-seated fear of what she might be capable of if pushed too far.
Sato:Valora, listen… I don't want this to be another fight. I don't want more blood spilled between us. We have to focus on the North Koreans, surviving this match, and finding a way out of this mess alive.
Valora's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, and she stepped forward, pointing a finger at Sato.
Valora: Don't you dare talk to me about survival. I've been surviving since before you were born. I know how to handle myself. Do you think I'm scared of some North Korean cabrones? I've faced worse and come out swinging every time.
Abbigail, sensing the tension was about to boil over, reached out and put a hand on Valora's arm, a silent plea for calm.
Abbigail: (Softly) Val… maybe we should hear him out. Just… just for a minute.
Valora glanced at Abbigail, her expression softening just a fraction, before returning to Sato. She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly still on edge.
Valora: (Grudgingly) Fine. Talk. Make it quick, Sato.
Sato nodded, taking a deep breath. The tension in the air felt like a weight pressing down on his shoulders.
Sato: Thank you. We don't have to like or trust each other. But we're all stuck here, fighting the same enemies. We need to work together, at least until this match is over.
Valora scoffed, rolling her eyes, but she didn't cut him off. That, at least, was progress.
Valora: Work together? With you? And who else, huh? That masked freak you brought along? What's his name, Lightning Man? What a joke!
Sato resisted the urge to snap back. He knew he needed to stay calm, to keep her engaged, even if it felt like he was walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers.
Sato: I get it; you don't trust him. However, he saved our asses when we were getting beaten bloody in the steel cage by Lim. Kronin vouches for him, and that's good enough for me. If we don't at least try to devise a plan with him, we're walking into that ring blind and alone. Those North Koreans don't want just to beat us; they want to kill us for what we did to the Emperor.
Valora considered his words, her eyes narrowing. The silence stretched out, heavy and fraught with tension, before she finally sighed and grabbed the tequila bottle, taking another long swig.
Valora: (Sighing) You want a plan, Sato? Here's your plan: don't die. Keep your head on a swivel, watch your back, and don't get in my way. That's all the advice I'm giving you.
Sato nodded, taking what he could get, knowing that in Valora's world, that was as close to a truce as he would get.
Before he could speak again, the sound of an engine approaching broke through the tense silence. Sato turned, spotting the black Volvo pulling up behind his motorcycle. Kronin Reinhardt stepped out, looking grim, his sister Kara pale and gaunt in the passenger seat.
Sato turned, his attention shifting from Valora's fierce gaze to the black Volvo that had pulled up behind his motorcycle. The car door swung open, and Kronin Reinhardt stepped out, his expression serious and tired. He moved around the vehicle quickly, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if expecting trouble. In the passenger seat, Kara sat slumped, her complexion ashen, her eyes glassy with a strange, unfocused stare.
Kronin's gaze flicked between the trio on the balcony—Valora, Abbigail, and Sato. He could sense the tension in the air, the unspoken hostilities simmering beneath the surface, but he pushed past it, knowing he didn't have much time.
Kronin: (Urgently) We need to talk. All of us. Now.
Valora, her patience already worn thin, let out a snort of annoyance. She turned her attention to Kronin, her eyes narrowing.
Valora: And what the Hell do you want, Kronin? Are you here to lecture us, too?
Kronin raised a hand, trying to keep things calm, his tone firm but respectful.
Kronin: No lectures, Valora. Just… news. Bad news. Kara and I… we're leaving. Tonight.
Valora's eyes widened briefly, surprise flickering across her face before it was quickly masked with a look of indifference. She took another swig from her tequila bottle and set it down with a loud clink.
Valora: Leaving? And why do we care?
Kronin glanced back at his sister, who still looked pale and disoriented. He turned back to the group, his voice quieter now, laced with concern.
Kronin: Kara's... Not well. Since Mexico, when Chuluun Bold bit her… she's been changing. She's getting weaker but also… different. I don't know how to explain it, but I have to get her back to Germany, where maybe someone can help.
Valora rolled her eyes, leaning back against the railing.
Valora: So, you're running away, just like everyone else, huh? Typical.
Sato could sense the frustration in Kronin's stance, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He took a step closer to him, trying to bridge the distance.
Sato: (Gently) Kronin, I get it. You're doing what you have to do for Kara. But what about you? What's next for you in all this?
Kronin sighed deeply, glancing between Sato and Valora and then down at his sister in the car.
Kronin: I've given everything I have to this sport, to my country, to my family… and now it's time to take care of Kara, to take care of myself. Rupert Mudcock called us deserters and told us we were abandoning the fight against AAPW. But I've got nothing left to prove. Not here, not anymore.
Valora's expression softened as if she could understand that part of his reasoning, even if she disagreed.
Valora: So that's it then, huh? You're just gonna go?
Kronin nodded, his face grim but resolute.
Kronin: I don't have a choice, Valora. If I stay, Kara might… she might not make it. I owe it to her to try and find a cure for whatever this is.
Sato, still processing everything, felt a pang of worry.
Sato: Kronin… before you go, do you know what's coming next? Anything about the Yakuza or AAPW?
Kronin hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly.
Kronin: I've heard some things… that Etsuji Yamamoto is planning something big, something drastic. I don't know the details, but it's bad, Sato. Really bad. You need to be ready. You need allies, not just enemies.
Valora crossed her arms, her expression skeptical but intrigued.
Valora: Allies? Do you think we can trust anyone right now, Kronin?
Kronin shrugged, looking tired but sincere.
Kronin: I don't know, Valora. I do know this: if you two don't find a way to put aside your issues and focus on the real threat, you're going to get yourselves killed. The Yakuza probably will kill you if the North Koreans don't finish the job. Rupert's playing with fire, and all of Ultimate Wrestling will get burned.
Sato nodded, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. He knew Kronin was right; he had to find a way to bring some kind of cohesion to their fractured group.
Sato: Thanks. I understand how dire things are. It's why I'm here, trying to mend bridges.
Kronin gave a small, appreciative nod before turning back towards the car. He opened the door and helped Kara out. She leaned heavily on him, her body trembling slightly. As she stood there, she looked over at Valora, her eyes strangely focused, and spoke in a softer but eerily calm voice.
Kara: There is… darkness around you, Valora. I can feel it… it's… all around you.
Valora stiffened, taken aback by Kara's words. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she just stared at Kara, a mix of defiance and unease flashing across her face.
Valora: (Hissing) What the Hell are you talking about, chica?
Kara's lips curled into a faint, almost sad smile.
Kara: Time... is running out...
Before Valora could react, Kronin gently guided Kara back into the car, giving a final nod to Sato and a brief, wary glance at Valora.
Kronin: Take care of yourselves—all of you.
With that, he shut the car door and moved to the driver's side, starting the engine. As the car pulled away, Sato watched them disappear into the Tokyo night, a sense of unease settling over him.
Valora's voice cut through the silence, rough and dismissive.
Valora: I don't know what's crazier—the fact that she thinks there's some "darkness" around me or that you two still think we'll play nice in this mess.
Sato turned back to face her, his expression serious.
Sato: We don't have to like each other, Valora. But if we don't work together, this could end badly for us all.
Valora sighed, grabbing her tequila bottle again, but this time, instead of drinking, she poured a bit out onto the ground, almost as if in thought.
Valora: (Reluctantly) Fine. We'll see how this goes. But don't think I'm doing this for you, Sato. I'm doing this for her. (She nods towards Abbigail, who gives her a small, appreciative smile.)
Sato nodded, feeling the tension ease just a little. It wasn't much, but it was a start. A small step toward something that might just help them all survive the madness they were walking into.
Sato: Alright, we don't have much time. The North Koreans expect us to walk into this deathmatch without a plan and with no cohesion, thinking we're all too divided to put up a real fight.
Valora rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his attempt at strategizing.
Valora: And you think just because you come here, spill your guts, and play nice, suddenly we're a team? You're dreaming, cabrón.
Sato nodded, accepting her hostility but refusing to back down.
Sato: I'm not asking us to be a team, Valora. I'm asking us to survive. There's a difference. We're dead meat in that Hell in the Cell if we don't figure out how to use each other's strengths.
Valora stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small, humorless laugh, she shook her head.
Valora: You think this is about strategy, Sato? That you can just waltz in here and make it all better? The North Koreans, the Yakuza, the AAPW… they don't play by your rules, and neither do I.
Abbigail, sensing the tension escalating, decided to step in, her voice soft but firm.
Abbigail: If I understood the match properly, there are no rules.
Valora glanced over at her protégé, her expression softening slightly, but her tone still laced with frustration.
Valora: That's the smartest thing you've said all night, niña.
Abbigail: I see this as a straight-up street fight broadcast live on an international global feed: no tags, barbed wire ropes, and four referees.
Valora seemed to consider this momentarily, her gaze flicking back to Sato.
Valora: It's more than that. It's a death match, Chica,
Sato took a moment, choosing his words carefully.
Sato: Valora, you're one of the toughest fighters in this business. You know how to handle yourself, especially in a death match. Abbigail, you've been in the ring with Eun-Young Han before. You know how she moves, how she thinks. We can use that.
He returned to Valora, hoping to catch her attention with his next point.
Sato: And Lightning Man… he's unpredictable, but that can be an asset. The North Koreans won't know what to expect from him either. We use that chaos to our advantage.
Valora raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued despite herself.
Valora: And what about you, Sato? What's your role in all this?
Sato paused, then answered with a hint of humility.
Sato: I'm not the strongest or the fastest, but I can adapt. I can read a situation and react on the fly. My job is to keep us moving, out of their traps, and ensure we're always one step ahead.
Valora seemed to consider his words, her expression still skeptical but less hostile.
Valora: You make it sound so simple. But you forget, Sato, those bastards aren't just here for a fight. They want revenge. Blood. And they won't stop until they get it.
Sato nodded, acknowledging her point.
Sato: I know. That's why we must hit them harder and faster than they expect. Keep them off balance, make them question themselves. We don't have to beat them at their own game; we just have to survive long enough to win and end the match. The faster we can eliminate them one by one, the better our odds of getting out of this match unscathed.
There was a long pause as Valora seemed to mull over his words. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing just a little.
Valora: I've never been part of... or seen anyone walk away from a Death Match unscathed.
Sato: Just trying to be positive. Realistically, I know the chances of us walking out of this thing unhurt are slim. Still, we must limit the damage to our bodies if we want to stay in this business.
Abbigail, sensing a slight thaw in the tension, leaned forward, her voice more hopeful.
Abbigail:… how will we find this "Lightning Man" dude?
Sato turned to face both women, feeling the moment's weight settle over him. This was their chance, maybe their only chance, to come together and face the threat before them.
Sato: I've arranged a meeting. We will meet with Lightning Man tomorrow to learn what he has to offer and develop our strategy. We will determine our roles, strengths, and how to compensate for each other's weaknesses.
Valora snorted but didn't outright dismiss him this time.
Valora: It's not the original plan, but it's fine. Time is short, and we don't have many options.
Sato nodded, his expression serious.
Sato: Exactly. It's crunch time, and we must get on the same page quickly.
Valora gave him a small, grudging nod of acknowledgment. It wasn't a truce, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.