Post by Jubei on Jun 26, 2020 17:10:03 GMT -5
Entry 308…. Today began as it does on most weekends for Masuda Allied Technologies. My usual observation deck became too expensive for my dwindling funds, so I had to relocate to an adjacent café. Good lattes, bad boba. What I tried to follow at first came in three categories—a process similar to the FBI identification model: Who arrives first? How many cars arrive in total? How many bring entourages? All of these appear simple observations on the surface, but I need a concrete picture to understand how they work. One thing limits this part of Japan from its neighbors in that Yokohama has no municipal airport. When Masuda Jubei did not show up first, I suspected he might have beat me to the site by hours, or that he might have come by helicopter. Until his escort pulled into place with a fleet of Lexus SUVs… I suppose it’s in good face to go domestic too. I should have noted that.
Entry 309…. Masuda left in a hurry. I pulled a ride share and did our best to follow them through Yokohama’s congested streets. It’s no New York, but it’s quite lengthy. I didn’t know much about the city when I elected to come here and observe Mr. Masuda in his natural environment. I also didn’t expect that might be playing goose chases with me. He’s swapped SUVs three times already while his people make his casual errands. He has no less than ten people—that’s not including individual drivers—on these busy routes. They buy his groceries while another had his cellphone serviced. Good to know even someone like Jubei has human problems like the rest of us. They went into the back of a restaurant I could neither enter nor hope to afford a plate from on my operating funds. Reviews give their sashimi four Michelin stars. I suppose even the mysteriously powerful Masuda Jubei has to cut losses somewhere… although I have to imagine places like these are shields from nosey sleuths.
Entry 310…. This one is a dud. Check back in the morning as his driver gave my new Uber the slip because of a congested tunnel.
Entry 311…. Morning at Masuda Allied Technologies was quiet. I wonder if that means Mr. Masuda has gone off to train for his big match in Tokyo. Promises of the APW World Title haven’t seemed to affect him as I anticipated. It almost feels like he knew it was coming. Perhaps that’s something else to investigate, especially if it involves that shadowy, unseen executive Jason Zurra. He, like almost everyone with connection to APW, refused any form of interview. Did so politely… unlike Masuda’s people who brought threats of physical violence if I kept poking my nose into their business. There’s a lot to be said from that upright remark: It means I’m close but not close enough to make them squirm. I know police arrested Cassidy Kaine for the murder of Zion Simmons. A story that still feels incomplete to me… not withholding Mr. Kaine’s lack of recollection of the events but ability to murder with authority. Nothing of the two men connects. Their prime suspect and the berserk actions of Simmons’ killer cannot be a lonesome stoner. No, something is mucking up what should be a clear and cut case. More coffee.
The scene opens to a massive table of men kneeling at a table. Most of them appear to be in their mid-forties or older with scars of the profession notching years of dutiful service. A long, panning shot follows to the end of the table where Masuda Jubei kneels in the same fashion; however, his pillow elevates him slightly over the rest. Haori robes add layers of tradition to what seems to be an otherwise average business meeting for Masuda Allied Technologies. That is until the late entrance of his former business partner, Shoda Daisuke, in all his towering shape from bullet torso to squared-off bald head.
Jubei: Take your seat. I was just about to say your name, to speak of devils.
Everyone laughs as if begging for treats.
Jubei: You see, this is why we should never have abandoned the Japan promotion. New Blood wasn’t perfect. In fact, it was the worst wrestling of my entire career. Even those house shows in my twenties had some character and purpose. New Blood was all but new and completely full of blood.
Shoda: Apologies, Jubei-sama, we had a complication. Nothing my people couldn’t handle.
Jubei: I trust you removed her from our facilities.
Shoda: No, I had the hotel across the street charge that pI twelve times their rate. And she never caught on!
Jubei barely smirks while motioning for Shoda to settle himself.
Jubei: We needed some good news. As of late my body has not been to its peak self. No excuses for any of losses I’ve incurred, but the natural order is telling me that there’s much left for these old bones in the ring. However, the search for a successor begins soon. Until then, I have the chance to make a final statement to this company. To give them the full Japan experience every rotten fanboy will enjoy.
Everyone takes a celebratory drink from sake cups.
Jubei: On the surface, APW continues to elude from what we’re trying to forge between Yokohama, Silicon Valley and New York City. Three vital hubs in the shipping and technologies that will be the foundation of a lasting enterprise. All of it brokered on my transcontinental flights every week to and from America. I lose an entire day every week just to airline travel.
He looks to a wall with many stern faces of the past in varying degrees of harsh lighting. Each one judging him back like elder gods.
Jubei: What makes a legend? … If we’re trying to conceive of someone above the normal stakes, where else can they go but into hallowed halls of legendary status. Memories of our absolute best know that what happens in the moment, while golden then, will fade with time. So many young, aspiring talent in APW have no idea what it meant to experience the best of Masuda Jubei. I sacrificed everything to continue a legend that few gave credit. An uncompromising strength unlike anything they have ever seen.
Shoda: Unstoppable!
Jubei: And there’s your problem! See! Only those with digits to lose obey. No one has a reason to fear me anymore. They know I won’t be there the entire night. Nor will I, the Master, follow up on my threats because everything that happens in the ring hold no candles to my business here. This floral pillow—even if it has my ancestral name etched into its fabric—has no choice in the matter. I will sit and it will accept my weight. My oppressive gravity holds all of you to the ground too. It took years and expertise to join today’s meeting. A level of brutality and assured destruction across every gambit at our disposal. Yet none of you have the freedom to stare me in the eyes like all one hundred twenty pounds of Sarah Lacklan. You probably never will. And that’s why none of you have a chance at my throne will the Gods of Fate decide my time has finally concluded.
Shoda raises his cup, but Masuda points down with a heavy thrust.
Jubei: That’s the core problem. We’re bowing to the mere respect of being respected. Not one of you would be here if there were no incentives. You’re wolves outside my primal cave. My scraps are your dinner and they will be your undoing. So fatten up hens… you’re going to see a different side of your own stories today. Oh yes, I have some big plans ahead. I may not be the featured artist, but it will be a child of my design. And I don’t mean my miscreant of a nephew. He’s cold blood to me now.
Shoda: What of his legacy to your company? Is he not still a full Masuda?
Jubei: What is a Masuda? My sister and her philanthropic attempts to distance from what our name means. Where do I rank her? And then her daughter, an art student planning to attend a major university that has since gone digital. Lover of K-pop wannabees on mopeds. Is she one?
Shoda: Apologies, Jubei-sama, but your name is a pillar of this community. We have a duty to serve it.
Jubei: And what good does that do me in the middle of this big match? We are legitimate yet skirting a shadowy line with the suspicion of one private detective. Someone you hired as a means of throwing off the heat around our acquisition of Zion Simmons’ assets. Let me ask you then… what have you done for Masuda Allied Technologies?
Mr. Shoda goes pale with visible beads of sweat.
Jubei: I don’t want your answer to that because your eyes told me the moment you walked in that door. You don’t trust the process. You’d rather be out on the street roughing up loan sharks and their whelps in the broker business. We’re not heathens or barbarians anymore. No modern collective wants irizumi to announce allegiances. They don’t dare utter the concept of Yakuza. They make money and shut up!
Masuda slams his fist on the table hard enough to jar several drinks from their resting places.
Jubei: This weekend will be one of my last in Alpha Pro Wrestling. I’m going to show the world the heart of Masuda Jubei… even if it kills me.
The room has since emptied except for Masuda Jubei in his haori robe. It’s mostly black motif had a few accent from blue and teal insignias for the Masuda family name. He pushes a sake cup front and center.
”This is my exclusive invite to you, Zaigon Carter. From one business power to another, please, have a seat. Now I don’t from what corner of the world you’re watching this from and I don’t really care to find out either. This is not a meeting of friends. Not one of those take hor o’derves off a passing tray with some golden champagne. No, today is about legacy and nothing else. Leave that carbon paper of a champion at the door. I only want to speak to you now. We all know he’s just imitating things he thinks are worthy of a World Champion.
Then I have to wonder… where your head is going in the little game you’ve pit between an idiot and the one managing it. I’m sorry, this has to be said before we can be serious. I was raised on many of the smutty TV programs most digested outside of Kurosawa’s genius. One channel in particular drew my father to it. You have ti understand that he was born in the shadow of the Great War. So it comes to no surprise that films like Godzilla and Ultraman gave him the escapism to avert from atomic weapons and their threats to our world.
Oh… you probably didn’t realize that Ultraman fought a hideous kaiju of the same name. Much like the way I saw you at first, crawling on multiple legs with useless appendages flopping around everywhere. Except even the strangest or ill-conceived kaiju from the program, eventually, grow to enormous size and present Ultraman with dire consequences. Perhaps you’re lucky to have skipped on that bane on Eastern cinemas. If not, then you realize where this has to go. So please… accept my drink and learn. It might just be the difference between taking the belt or becoming another sad hood ornament for Jason Ryan and his army of simpletons. Even if you don’t—I’m drinking to that.”
Jubei fills his own cup with the piping hot waterfall of regional sake.
”Again, I might have to explain this part of the game to you. We drink it warm because that’s the heart of sake’s flavor. Cold works against its fermentation, and gives to a bitter taste unfit for cultured warriors like ourselves. Like the blatant, unrectified way you waste the internet with your tweets. You and Jason lowering your place in the company because you think characters matter outside of the ring. You can’t say anything that will hurt Mr. Ryan’s feelings. He’s a refuge from common decency surrounded by misfits. That’s no army. They’re barely even a gang. While you produce, what I have to assume is assembly line genetic cloning, unless you can tap dance out of that one. Surprise me.
You learn so much about an adversary from how they drink. I like to think you’re a halfway sort. One large effort and second to clean up the all the mistakes. Jason will drown trying to put it all down in one gulp—just so he can say how much his gullet swallowed. Me… I only take what I know will benefit my goals. I’m no teetotaler. I only give into the power of something else when I know it cannot control me.
Which for some reason, in all your infinite wisdom and unabashed humility, allowed Jason Ryan to bullwhip you. What is your malfunction, Mr. Carter? You cannot let someone as daft as Jason Ryan get any advantage like that over you. Win or lose… you’ll always be the guy that took belt lashes on TV. How they laughed you off stage. Ridiculed you for licking this paper champion’s boots. There’s a limit to humiliation and respect. You can outlive your failures, but once you become that easy of a target, no one on this roster will forget that moment of vulnerability. And I thought Damon warrens was the weird one! Now the plot just keeps thickening.”
Masuda motions for a close-up.
”I am here because the two of you are making a mockery of the World Title. It’s not plaything for amusement. It represents the core principles of Alpha Pro Wrestling. Something the two of you seem to be unaware and unwilling to learn in the proper fashion. I was not about to stand back and let this go on any longer—into my homeland, no less—so here I stand between you two children. Boys and their toys. Prove to me otherwise and maybe I’ll extend the same courtesy.
This video was never meant to teach you, Zaigon, on the appropriate behavior of champion. It only serves to give you room to learn what makes your approach to APW flawed. Your recent success has no place in the annuals of our promotion’s history. All we hear are these empty threats of superiority. Promises enhanced by a living foosball table presented on our entrance ramp—the same place I’ve walked for weeks since my return—like a Calvin Klein photoshoot. Or worse, the volleyball scene from Top Gun. Yes, I’ve flown over a hundred thousand miles, which means countless bad movies have pierced my skull. Diverse as picking eggshell from chiffon—must I beleaguer us with the flavor profile of your bland palette any longer?
You enter Japan on my sacred ground. The same house where I nearly died last fall. Where I have more than redemption at stake. You might see yourself as the next Commodore Matthew Perry, but you’re no imperialist. You’re not even trying, Zaigon. The only effect you’ll have on this country is the revenue due to its people when I batter you and that Jason Ryan for the good of all wrestling… Osāma bansai.”
Entry 331… Today someone brought me a to-go box from the Steakhouse Masuda Jubei and his entourage entered about two hours ago. He went in wearing something unlike what I’m used to seeing on Mr. Jubei, replacing those signature suits with a track jacket. I haven’t eaten all day, and I fear my food might spoil before my stomach wants anything.
Entry 334… Enjoyed what appeared to be Takoyaki balls from somewhere else up the street. A napkin inside, however, dropped what is either a trick or an unwelcomed tip. Its courier had no part in the delivery outside the act and subsequent pay. Who would dare disobey Masuda Jubei in broad daylight like this? From what I’ve learned of Yakuza… someone, maybe more, will lose a pinky digit for this. Onto the note which reads, “Judo was his first love,” and nothing else. Maybe I should reevaluate the tapes. Takoyaki is strange but excellent. I never pegged myself to eat or enjoy octopus. Should try it again before this leg of the investigation concludes from Yokohama. Tomorrow, I’m off to Tokyo.
Entry 309…. Masuda left in a hurry. I pulled a ride share and did our best to follow them through Yokohama’s congested streets. It’s no New York, but it’s quite lengthy. I didn’t know much about the city when I elected to come here and observe Mr. Masuda in his natural environment. I also didn’t expect that might be playing goose chases with me. He’s swapped SUVs three times already while his people make his casual errands. He has no less than ten people—that’s not including individual drivers—on these busy routes. They buy his groceries while another had his cellphone serviced. Good to know even someone like Jubei has human problems like the rest of us. They went into the back of a restaurant I could neither enter nor hope to afford a plate from on my operating funds. Reviews give their sashimi four Michelin stars. I suppose even the mysteriously powerful Masuda Jubei has to cut losses somewhere… although I have to imagine places like these are shields from nosey sleuths.
Entry 310…. This one is a dud. Check back in the morning as his driver gave my new Uber the slip because of a congested tunnel.
Entry 311…. Morning at Masuda Allied Technologies was quiet. I wonder if that means Mr. Masuda has gone off to train for his big match in Tokyo. Promises of the APW World Title haven’t seemed to affect him as I anticipated. It almost feels like he knew it was coming. Perhaps that’s something else to investigate, especially if it involves that shadowy, unseen executive Jason Zurra. He, like almost everyone with connection to APW, refused any form of interview. Did so politely… unlike Masuda’s people who brought threats of physical violence if I kept poking my nose into their business. There’s a lot to be said from that upright remark: It means I’m close but not close enough to make them squirm. I know police arrested Cassidy Kaine for the murder of Zion Simmons. A story that still feels incomplete to me… not withholding Mr. Kaine’s lack of recollection of the events but ability to murder with authority. Nothing of the two men connects. Their prime suspect and the berserk actions of Simmons’ killer cannot be a lonesome stoner. No, something is mucking up what should be a clear and cut case. More coffee.
The scene opens to a massive table of men kneeling at a table. Most of them appear to be in their mid-forties or older with scars of the profession notching years of dutiful service. A long, panning shot follows to the end of the table where Masuda Jubei kneels in the same fashion; however, his pillow elevates him slightly over the rest. Haori robes add layers of tradition to what seems to be an otherwise average business meeting for Masuda Allied Technologies. That is until the late entrance of his former business partner, Shoda Daisuke, in all his towering shape from bullet torso to squared-off bald head.
Jubei: Take your seat. I was just about to say your name, to speak of devils.
Everyone laughs as if begging for treats.
Jubei: You see, this is why we should never have abandoned the Japan promotion. New Blood wasn’t perfect. In fact, it was the worst wrestling of my entire career. Even those house shows in my twenties had some character and purpose. New Blood was all but new and completely full of blood.
Shoda: Apologies, Jubei-sama, we had a complication. Nothing my people couldn’t handle.
Jubei: I trust you removed her from our facilities.
Shoda: No, I had the hotel across the street charge that pI twelve times their rate. And she never caught on!
Jubei barely smirks while motioning for Shoda to settle himself.
Jubei: We needed some good news. As of late my body has not been to its peak self. No excuses for any of losses I’ve incurred, but the natural order is telling me that there’s much left for these old bones in the ring. However, the search for a successor begins soon. Until then, I have the chance to make a final statement to this company. To give them the full Japan experience every rotten fanboy will enjoy.
Everyone takes a celebratory drink from sake cups.
Jubei: On the surface, APW continues to elude from what we’re trying to forge between Yokohama, Silicon Valley and New York City. Three vital hubs in the shipping and technologies that will be the foundation of a lasting enterprise. All of it brokered on my transcontinental flights every week to and from America. I lose an entire day every week just to airline travel.
He looks to a wall with many stern faces of the past in varying degrees of harsh lighting. Each one judging him back like elder gods.
Jubei: What makes a legend? … If we’re trying to conceive of someone above the normal stakes, where else can they go but into hallowed halls of legendary status. Memories of our absolute best know that what happens in the moment, while golden then, will fade with time. So many young, aspiring talent in APW have no idea what it meant to experience the best of Masuda Jubei. I sacrificed everything to continue a legend that few gave credit. An uncompromising strength unlike anything they have ever seen.
Shoda: Unstoppable!
Jubei: And there’s your problem! See! Only those with digits to lose obey. No one has a reason to fear me anymore. They know I won’t be there the entire night. Nor will I, the Master, follow up on my threats because everything that happens in the ring hold no candles to my business here. This floral pillow—even if it has my ancestral name etched into its fabric—has no choice in the matter. I will sit and it will accept my weight. My oppressive gravity holds all of you to the ground too. It took years and expertise to join today’s meeting. A level of brutality and assured destruction across every gambit at our disposal. Yet none of you have the freedom to stare me in the eyes like all one hundred twenty pounds of Sarah Lacklan. You probably never will. And that’s why none of you have a chance at my throne will the Gods of Fate decide my time has finally concluded.
Shoda raises his cup, but Masuda points down with a heavy thrust.
Jubei: That’s the core problem. We’re bowing to the mere respect of being respected. Not one of you would be here if there were no incentives. You’re wolves outside my primal cave. My scraps are your dinner and they will be your undoing. So fatten up hens… you’re going to see a different side of your own stories today. Oh yes, I have some big plans ahead. I may not be the featured artist, but it will be a child of my design. And I don’t mean my miscreant of a nephew. He’s cold blood to me now.
Shoda: What of his legacy to your company? Is he not still a full Masuda?
Jubei: What is a Masuda? My sister and her philanthropic attempts to distance from what our name means. Where do I rank her? And then her daughter, an art student planning to attend a major university that has since gone digital. Lover of K-pop wannabees on mopeds. Is she one?
Shoda: Apologies, Jubei-sama, but your name is a pillar of this community. We have a duty to serve it.
Jubei: And what good does that do me in the middle of this big match? We are legitimate yet skirting a shadowy line with the suspicion of one private detective. Someone you hired as a means of throwing off the heat around our acquisition of Zion Simmons’ assets. Let me ask you then… what have you done for Masuda Allied Technologies?
Mr. Shoda goes pale with visible beads of sweat.
Jubei: I don’t want your answer to that because your eyes told me the moment you walked in that door. You don’t trust the process. You’d rather be out on the street roughing up loan sharks and their whelps in the broker business. We’re not heathens or barbarians anymore. No modern collective wants irizumi to announce allegiances. They don’t dare utter the concept of Yakuza. They make money and shut up!
Masuda slams his fist on the table hard enough to jar several drinks from their resting places.
Jubei: This weekend will be one of my last in Alpha Pro Wrestling. I’m going to show the world the heart of Masuda Jubei… even if it kills me.
The room has since emptied except for Masuda Jubei in his haori robe. It’s mostly black motif had a few accent from blue and teal insignias for the Masuda family name. He pushes a sake cup front and center.
”This is my exclusive invite to you, Zaigon Carter. From one business power to another, please, have a seat. Now I don’t from what corner of the world you’re watching this from and I don’t really care to find out either. This is not a meeting of friends. Not one of those take hor o’derves off a passing tray with some golden champagne. No, today is about legacy and nothing else. Leave that carbon paper of a champion at the door. I only want to speak to you now. We all know he’s just imitating things he thinks are worthy of a World Champion.
Then I have to wonder… where your head is going in the little game you’ve pit between an idiot and the one managing it. I’m sorry, this has to be said before we can be serious. I was raised on many of the smutty TV programs most digested outside of Kurosawa’s genius. One channel in particular drew my father to it. You have ti understand that he was born in the shadow of the Great War. So it comes to no surprise that films like Godzilla and Ultraman gave him the escapism to avert from atomic weapons and their threats to our world.
Oh… you probably didn’t realize that Ultraman fought a hideous kaiju of the same name. Much like the way I saw you at first, crawling on multiple legs with useless appendages flopping around everywhere. Except even the strangest or ill-conceived kaiju from the program, eventually, grow to enormous size and present Ultraman with dire consequences. Perhaps you’re lucky to have skipped on that bane on Eastern cinemas. If not, then you realize where this has to go. So please… accept my drink and learn. It might just be the difference between taking the belt or becoming another sad hood ornament for Jason Ryan and his army of simpletons. Even if you don’t—I’m drinking to that.”
Jubei fills his own cup with the piping hot waterfall of regional sake.
”Again, I might have to explain this part of the game to you. We drink it warm because that’s the heart of sake’s flavor. Cold works against its fermentation, and gives to a bitter taste unfit for cultured warriors like ourselves. Like the blatant, unrectified way you waste the internet with your tweets. You and Jason lowering your place in the company because you think characters matter outside of the ring. You can’t say anything that will hurt Mr. Ryan’s feelings. He’s a refuge from common decency surrounded by misfits. That’s no army. They’re barely even a gang. While you produce, what I have to assume is assembly line genetic cloning, unless you can tap dance out of that one. Surprise me.
You learn so much about an adversary from how they drink. I like to think you’re a halfway sort. One large effort and second to clean up the all the mistakes. Jason will drown trying to put it all down in one gulp—just so he can say how much his gullet swallowed. Me… I only take what I know will benefit my goals. I’m no teetotaler. I only give into the power of something else when I know it cannot control me.
Which for some reason, in all your infinite wisdom and unabashed humility, allowed Jason Ryan to bullwhip you. What is your malfunction, Mr. Carter? You cannot let someone as daft as Jason Ryan get any advantage like that over you. Win or lose… you’ll always be the guy that took belt lashes on TV. How they laughed you off stage. Ridiculed you for licking this paper champion’s boots. There’s a limit to humiliation and respect. You can outlive your failures, but once you become that easy of a target, no one on this roster will forget that moment of vulnerability. And I thought Damon warrens was the weird one! Now the plot just keeps thickening.”
Masuda motions for a close-up.
”I am here because the two of you are making a mockery of the World Title. It’s not plaything for amusement. It represents the core principles of Alpha Pro Wrestling. Something the two of you seem to be unaware and unwilling to learn in the proper fashion. I was not about to stand back and let this go on any longer—into my homeland, no less—so here I stand between you two children. Boys and their toys. Prove to me otherwise and maybe I’ll extend the same courtesy.
This video was never meant to teach you, Zaigon, on the appropriate behavior of champion. It only serves to give you room to learn what makes your approach to APW flawed. Your recent success has no place in the annuals of our promotion’s history. All we hear are these empty threats of superiority. Promises enhanced by a living foosball table presented on our entrance ramp—the same place I’ve walked for weeks since my return—like a Calvin Klein photoshoot. Or worse, the volleyball scene from Top Gun. Yes, I’ve flown over a hundred thousand miles, which means countless bad movies have pierced my skull. Diverse as picking eggshell from chiffon—must I beleaguer us with the flavor profile of your bland palette any longer?
You enter Japan on my sacred ground. The same house where I nearly died last fall. Where I have more than redemption at stake. You might see yourself as the next Commodore Matthew Perry, but you’re no imperialist. You’re not even trying, Zaigon. The only effect you’ll have on this country is the revenue due to its people when I batter you and that Jason Ryan for the good of all wrestling… Osāma bansai.”
Entry 331… Today someone brought me a to-go box from the Steakhouse Masuda Jubei and his entourage entered about two hours ago. He went in wearing something unlike what I’m used to seeing on Mr. Jubei, replacing those signature suits with a track jacket. I haven’t eaten all day, and I fear my food might spoil before my stomach wants anything.
Entry 334… Enjoyed what appeared to be Takoyaki balls from somewhere else up the street. A napkin inside, however, dropped what is either a trick or an unwelcomed tip. Its courier had no part in the delivery outside the act and subsequent pay. Who would dare disobey Masuda Jubei in broad daylight like this? From what I’ve learned of Yakuza… someone, maybe more, will lose a pinky digit for this. Onto the note which reads, “Judo was his first love,” and nothing else. Maybe I should reevaluate the tapes. Takoyaki is strange but excellent. I never pegged myself to eat or enjoy octopus. Should try it again before this leg of the investigation concludes from Yokohama. Tomorrow, I’m off to Tokyo.
