Post by Deleted on Aug 22, 2019 1:49:54 GMT -5
Navy Pier, Investors Gala
Open to a conference room at Chicago’s Navy Pier, one of those offshoot spaces where a corporate event for Alpha Pro-Wrestling has gone underway. Rich and powerful serve themselves from chafing dishes while many of APW’s top brass meets and greets with top investors. From inside that conference room, a dark energy swells, wherein the entire Masuda Corporation has reconvened for strategy. Their leader Masuda Jubei stares through the automated blinds while his group departs on their own paths for Ascension. He turns towards the camera where viewers only see the back of someone, a black-haired woman, engaging in Japanese with subtitles below.
Wrestler: I accept your offer. However, if your group ever goes against my beliefs, then I will have no choice but to retaliate against them indiscriminately. Are we clear?
Jubei: Crystal… and welcome to the Masuda Corporation. We await your formal announcement.
He bows towards the camera and sees the unknown person out the door. Jubei then turns with the panning camera to where Dani Applegate, and recent mascot for Masuda Corp, sits stirring a Styrofoam cup of coffee. He joins her at that long conference table. Viewers now see them and the Ikeda Clan guarding every corner of that cramped space.
Dani: So your big plan is to win all the belts and horde them?
Jubei: If my plans were that simple, I wouldn’t deserve to call myself “The Master,” now would I?
Dani: Maybe… yet you take chances. Bring people like Leon Dread and Allen Anderson into your fold. They’re not exactly what I’d call “good for business.”
Masuda rests his chin on a fist, showing monogrammed cuffs under his dinner jacket. Dani looks equally as stunning, if people can look past the scarred and wrinkled face of the man across from her.
Jubei: How long do you plan to stay with us?
Dani: When Allen stops dragging me around like an oversized—
Jubei: You’re too smart and resourceful to let some man dominate you like that. I bet your stilettos could find the mark every time you needed a perfect kick.
Dani: Want to test that theory?
He laughs yet those soulless eyes pierce through her.
Jubei: People already assume too about the Masuda Corporation, Ms. Applegate. We have many untold projects in progress. So we can’t have some journalist sniffing around our business without knowing her true intentions. Allen has his reasons, but now you’re going to tell me the entire story.
Dani: Sometimes, there’s more to a story than the public face.
Jubei: Try me.
She stirs her coffee. Jubei leans back in his seat, seething, until his fist smash the table.
Jubei: I’m not joking. Answer me.
Dani: You seem on edge. Is Smitty—
Jubei: It’s not about Smitty. He’ll see why I am the champion, and why the Masuda Corporation is the only answer to control APW’s disorder. Only then will these people understand why I must be their king.
Dani: Okay… I’ll give you this with a raincheck on a fuller answer. How’s that sound?
Jubei scowls but waves for her to get on with it.
Dani: Allen Anderson is a troubled young superstar. If he gets with the wrong crowd—
Jubei: Are you questioning my methods?
Dani: No, no… I only meant that he needs positive influences. Namely, ones of feminine persuasion.
Jubei: I don’t discriminate by anything but one’s willingness to work.
Dani: Yes, but I feel he needs me more than I’d ever need an exposé of your company’s influence on APW. And while I’m not going to bail his ass out of jail, or bury a body for him, you can’t deny how sore that kid is for a mentor.
Jubei: Are you sure? He’s done well since our partnership.
Dani: For once “Jubei-sama” I have to agree. But he’s not the golden boy you sell to our crowds each week. He’s a troubled athlete in need of support systems and major counseling.
Jubei: Should I adopt him?
They laugh while Dani sips from a cup that has been empty for some time.
Jubei: What do you make of Smith Jones?
Dani: You might be the scariest guy in the locker room, but he’s not far behind. He’s fought his way up to the main event. Oh, and that win at Showdown proved “Smitty” isn’t just going to let this company shove him out of the main event spotlight. And he sure as hell won’t kiss your ring.
Jubei: Harsh… but you’re right. He watched from afar while I climbed the ladder.
Dani: I wouldn’t call him jealous. But the guy’s insatiably hungry for your belt. Where is it, by the way?
Jubei: You wanted to hold it, didn’t you?
Dani answers with a wide, enterprising grin. Masuda looks outside where more guests are still arriving.
Jubei: Enough politics… Shall we go play kiss-ass so Dante can keep this company afloat?
Jubei offers her a gentleman’s crook, escorting Dani Applegate to the main floor like a debutante. Someone meets him at the door, draping the World Title over his waist. Its fresh polish gives a sense of regality to that intimidating face. They mingle with Dani acting as his opener to unfamiliar business types. Jubei’s charm bleeds through; likewise, his commanding presence (even at 5’9”) and shiny belt make them magnetic to partygoers. Both complement each other to a scary degree—so much that it becomes a game of engaging the entire room. Dani remains vigilant albeit this unexpected side to someone she once vilified to the likes of Satan and worse. Everything settles down around 11 o’clock when Masuda takes the stage. He gets their attention by tapping a champagne flute.
Jubei: Investors. Friends of APW. We welcome your company tonight, but more importantly, your Swiss bank accounts.
He pauses for laughter.
Jubei: Fans of this company will see my suit and wonder what is our champion doing with those who don’t go to the shows. Elitists whom put their names on the arenas instead of sitting ringside for dark matches. Because responsibility is never fun. If we wasted every moment trying to be nice to people and bandage every wound, work would never get finished. Also, the price of Band-Aids© goes up every day. That’s the reality of where we stand, dear friends. And why I’m the only one fit for this position.
He takes a breath through golf claps.
Jubei: I won the belt with my hands and my wits. But the real fight is saving this company from self-destruction… yet the fans want someone nicer wearing this belt. I hear it in their voices. Only here are we soundproof from hopeless cries. Where the real works gets done. Thank you again for the lovely evening and this champagne. On second thought, thanks for the booze.
He walks offstage to an uproar and over to where Dani Applegate sits giving a Pelosi clap.
Dani: I almost bought it. Now those rich fogies… you just drove up our stock price.
Jubei: You know it’s the truth, Ms. Applegate. APW would be dead without me.
Dani: Jubei, do you know the four stages of Dictatorship?
He folds his arms waiting for Dani to share them.
Dani: First stage is the great battle.
Jubei: Ah, like my victory over Braxton Locus?
Dani: Exactly, stage two is dissent.
Jubei: Nyeo-chan?
Dani: Among others, but yes. It’s when a ruler lashes out at his enemies. Stage three—
Jubei: Enclosure?
Dani: Build up, actually. You do know people consider the Ikeda Clan a private army?
Jubei: That’s the point. Now what’s last phase, my downfall?
Dani: It’s not an overthrow, Jubei… even most end that way. It’s disillusionment.
He steps so close she can feel his breath—a face disillusioned by overt warnings.
Jubei: Say what you want about me on your blogs, or your talk shows, Ms. Applegate. If you ever come between the affairs of Allen Anderson and my group, I won’t destroy your career. And I won’t hurt you. That’s what normal people do. Me… I’ll make the world forget you ever existed. Anyways, had a wonderful time tonight. Now I suggest you catch up with Allen before he comes looking for you.
The Master snaps, having the Ikeda Clan escort him outside to a waiting vehicle. Dani remains seated, clutching her phone to her chest. A loud buzzing has no effect on that vacuous expression. Cameras pan from her face to the caller’s ID on screen: Allen Anderson.
We see a blurry image of Masuda Jubei wearing the same dinner jacket, only now he stands in front of a green screen currently showing a white gradient background. He then walks towards the static camera where an empty table waits in focus. The Master sets three items on the table in this order: a crown, a signet ring, and finally, the APW World Heavyweight Championship. His figure comes into focus.
Jubei: The day of Ascension is upon us, Alpha faithful. You will find yourselves amused by a talented roster giving everything they have all for your sake. Take a moment to gratify them. Shower them with praise on Twitter. Do whatever makes you happy…. Now, pay attention to what I’m saying.
Jubei takes off his cufflinks—shaped like tiny wrestling rings—and sets them on the table. He then rolls up his monogrammed sleeves and loosens his collar.
Jubei: We’re scared of crowns. None more than Americas. Your entire history stems from the deceit of a bad king. Yet here I stand as your fearless leader against another wave of dissention. Am I disillusioned to threats? Perhaps. Maybe even drunk on myself, and feeling invincible. Yet as people like Braxton Locus and Nyeo Son have proven already, am I far from godliness… just like all of you.
The background morphs, depicting scenes of battlefields from ancient China to Rome to present day via night vision. A generic war drum theme plays along with it.
Jubei: From century to century, wars waged on who should be king. We’ve since changed the name, stripped and restored powers, but one constant remains: Can there be peace, or will there always be a power struggle. I’ve spearheaded main events. Advanced this young promotion from YouTube reposts and internet threads to sold-out arenas nationwide. Yet conquest was only the first step.
Depictions of the Shogun Tokugawa, Charlemagne and modern dictators flash behind him.
Jubei: Smith Jones is the next man up in an endless line of dissenters. People with no understanding of what this position demands. Being a champion means culling rank when needed. Running a locker room. It even means kissing the hands of people you would never give the light of day—all for the sake of preservation. Not of your own self. That all-powerful form kings, tsars and presidentes assume upon their throne of darkness. When humanity leaves them for an embodiment of state. Braxton Locus never understood that sacrifice. Sadly, Smitty my friend, you’re walking down the same path.
The screen goes black and then flashes “Masuda” in golden hiragana lettering.
Jubei: All he understands is that I spent the last month building infrastructure. What he and idle fans believe will be bad for “the Business.” He sees a king hiding behind walls and private security. Not at all. If I wanted to duck people, I would never have challenged that brat Nyeo Son to match of his choosing. I am not afraid of you or any bad press you try to mudsling at me.
The Master takes a long breath, calming himself to Buddha level serenity.
Jubei: The Masuda Corporation came into being because I saw weakness in those contractually signed to our wellbeing. That being Zurra’s and his group people know as the ASU. Now to spare multiple history lessons on Zurra and I, understand what it truly means to protect someone. We were lawless. Now I’ve brought order back to this company.
Letters of his name begin entwining like golden vines.
Jubei: I said from day one that I’d bring order to APW. And I did.
The letters start branching out, squeezing the names of every member of the roster like tentacles. All these spawn from what used to be his name; now, it looks like a 19th century diagram of a kraken.
Jubei: We heard you drumming up support from the lowest common denominator. Stoking fears as if you felt for these people. Highlighted invisible struggle. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to be the great octopus constricting the life out of Alpha Pro-Wrestling. Where were you, Smitty, when these people apparently needed a hero? When you were crushed under Braxton’s boot, were you looking to them for answers? No. You were in it for every self-aggrandizing reason you accuse me of doing. Why is that? Because it was convenient! Now with your back to the wall, and the true king of APW bearing down upon you like an act of god, only then do you beg our fans to rally behind you.
The octopus finally branches out to where every name of management and the company logo disappear within its countless tentacles. Each limb also has a range of motion for added display.
Jubei: He flips and flops like a stack of Canadian flapjacks. Harsh, sure, but it wakes up everyone at home. A little comedy never killed anyone. So let’s sit back for a moment and enjoy the stylings of Smith Jones… the one and only maverick of Alpha Pro-Wrestling.
Members of his Ikeda Clan come into shot carrying a throne chair. He takes a seat while the green screen changes to a cinematic collage of Smith Jones detailed in bright blue. Jubei steeples his fingers.
Jubei: Evil has many forms. Last week on Metal, we saw it in manifest in the heart of your write-in champion. Ole Smitty… he took the victory from the backdoor I opened. Seriously, he could have beaten Defenestration Jones on level ground. He took my lure instead. Everyone saw it. And what about the evil king watching them over his parapets? Ha! Masuda called the match right down the line until that fateful finish. Watch the tapes. Listen our loyal announcers. I’m not the one at fault. You are.
Golden tentacles enwrap the collage, all while Jubei maintains a flat expression.
Jubei: It’s been a few weeks since you had this wild dream put in your head. One where you by the force of sheer will and fighting spirit are enough to overcome me. Blame management. Blame the fans. Maybe concoct another narrative about me that suits your situation. Morph like a Power Ranger—it won’t change a thing about us. I am leaving Ascension as king while raising my own platform because I’m not going into this PPV with my eyes on status quo. No… I want more. To erect a wall so high only a hero of extraordinary talent can ever hope to climb its façade. Sadly, Smitty, it won’t be you.
The tentacles suddenly invert, showing the kraken at its base with symmetrical limbs growing upwards. Details color in black spaces to where it is no longer an animal, but the image of a golden crown.
Jubei: Being king isn’t easy. Everyone you trust becomes potential threats. Rivalries intensify every moment your human body occupies this infallible seat. To wield power is to turn your back on everything you once dreamt for yourself while enforcing the image of the APW Championship. Many will dream, even less will try, but ultimately, few will ever succeed.
That octopus below morphs into a skull protruding with crown-like spires. That’s when we see Masuda’s infamous smirk. A banner unfurls above that image declaring: “Long Live the King”.
Jubei: Ascension will not end with a new king. This world will stay on its axis because I am the only one that can keep it that way. Stop dreaming and get back to what you do best: Priming my next challenge. And forget what all these people tell you over barricades or Twitter. We don’t vote for kings because they could never find someone good enough to replace me. But I’ve read your book. And I know you’ll just look back at them and promise that you’re ready to face The Master of APW. It’ll be the last time they ever nod back…. Osāma banzai.
Masuda pantomimes slitting his throat as the scene distorts to darkness.
Open to a conference room at Chicago’s Navy Pier, one of those offshoot spaces where a corporate event for Alpha Pro-Wrestling has gone underway. Rich and powerful serve themselves from chafing dishes while many of APW’s top brass meets and greets with top investors. From inside that conference room, a dark energy swells, wherein the entire Masuda Corporation has reconvened for strategy. Their leader Masuda Jubei stares through the automated blinds while his group departs on their own paths for Ascension. He turns towards the camera where viewers only see the back of someone, a black-haired woman, engaging in Japanese with subtitles below.
Wrestler: I accept your offer. However, if your group ever goes against my beliefs, then I will have no choice but to retaliate against them indiscriminately. Are we clear?
Jubei: Crystal… and welcome to the Masuda Corporation. We await your formal announcement.
He bows towards the camera and sees the unknown person out the door. Jubei then turns with the panning camera to where Dani Applegate, and recent mascot for Masuda Corp, sits stirring a Styrofoam cup of coffee. He joins her at that long conference table. Viewers now see them and the Ikeda Clan guarding every corner of that cramped space.
Dani: So your big plan is to win all the belts and horde them?
Jubei: If my plans were that simple, I wouldn’t deserve to call myself “The Master,” now would I?
Dani: Maybe… yet you take chances. Bring people like Leon Dread and Allen Anderson into your fold. They’re not exactly what I’d call “good for business.”
Masuda rests his chin on a fist, showing monogrammed cuffs under his dinner jacket. Dani looks equally as stunning, if people can look past the scarred and wrinkled face of the man across from her.
Jubei: How long do you plan to stay with us?
Dani: When Allen stops dragging me around like an oversized—
Jubei: You’re too smart and resourceful to let some man dominate you like that. I bet your stilettos could find the mark every time you needed a perfect kick.
Dani: Want to test that theory?
He laughs yet those soulless eyes pierce through her.
Jubei: People already assume too about the Masuda Corporation, Ms. Applegate. We have many untold projects in progress. So we can’t have some journalist sniffing around our business without knowing her true intentions. Allen has his reasons, but now you’re going to tell me the entire story.
Dani: Sometimes, there’s more to a story than the public face.
Jubei: Try me.
She stirs her coffee. Jubei leans back in his seat, seething, until his fist smash the table.
Jubei: I’m not joking. Answer me.
Dani: You seem on edge. Is Smitty—
Jubei: It’s not about Smitty. He’ll see why I am the champion, and why the Masuda Corporation is the only answer to control APW’s disorder. Only then will these people understand why I must be their king.
Dani: Okay… I’ll give you this with a raincheck on a fuller answer. How’s that sound?
Jubei scowls but waves for her to get on with it.
Dani: Allen Anderson is a troubled young superstar. If he gets with the wrong crowd—
Jubei: Are you questioning my methods?
Dani: No, no… I only meant that he needs positive influences. Namely, ones of feminine persuasion.
Jubei: I don’t discriminate by anything but one’s willingness to work.
Dani: Yes, but I feel he needs me more than I’d ever need an exposé of your company’s influence on APW. And while I’m not going to bail his ass out of jail, or bury a body for him, you can’t deny how sore that kid is for a mentor.
Jubei: Are you sure? He’s done well since our partnership.
Dani: For once “Jubei-sama” I have to agree. But he’s not the golden boy you sell to our crowds each week. He’s a troubled athlete in need of support systems and major counseling.
Jubei: Should I adopt him?
They laugh while Dani sips from a cup that has been empty for some time.
Jubei: What do you make of Smith Jones?
Dani: You might be the scariest guy in the locker room, but he’s not far behind. He’s fought his way up to the main event. Oh, and that win at Showdown proved “Smitty” isn’t just going to let this company shove him out of the main event spotlight. And he sure as hell won’t kiss your ring.
Jubei: Harsh… but you’re right. He watched from afar while I climbed the ladder.
Dani: I wouldn’t call him jealous. But the guy’s insatiably hungry for your belt. Where is it, by the way?
Jubei: You wanted to hold it, didn’t you?
Dani answers with a wide, enterprising grin. Masuda looks outside where more guests are still arriving.
Jubei: Enough politics… Shall we go play kiss-ass so Dante can keep this company afloat?
Jubei offers her a gentleman’s crook, escorting Dani Applegate to the main floor like a debutante. Someone meets him at the door, draping the World Title over his waist. Its fresh polish gives a sense of regality to that intimidating face. They mingle with Dani acting as his opener to unfamiliar business types. Jubei’s charm bleeds through; likewise, his commanding presence (even at 5’9”) and shiny belt make them magnetic to partygoers. Both complement each other to a scary degree—so much that it becomes a game of engaging the entire room. Dani remains vigilant albeit this unexpected side to someone she once vilified to the likes of Satan and worse. Everything settles down around 11 o’clock when Masuda takes the stage. He gets their attention by tapping a champagne flute.
Jubei: Investors. Friends of APW. We welcome your company tonight, but more importantly, your Swiss bank accounts.
He pauses for laughter.
Jubei: Fans of this company will see my suit and wonder what is our champion doing with those who don’t go to the shows. Elitists whom put their names on the arenas instead of sitting ringside for dark matches. Because responsibility is never fun. If we wasted every moment trying to be nice to people and bandage every wound, work would never get finished. Also, the price of Band-Aids© goes up every day. That’s the reality of where we stand, dear friends. And why I’m the only one fit for this position.
He takes a breath through golf claps.
Jubei: I won the belt with my hands and my wits. But the real fight is saving this company from self-destruction… yet the fans want someone nicer wearing this belt. I hear it in their voices. Only here are we soundproof from hopeless cries. Where the real works gets done. Thank you again for the lovely evening and this champagne. On second thought, thanks for the booze.
He walks offstage to an uproar and over to where Dani Applegate sits giving a Pelosi clap.
Dani: I almost bought it. Now those rich fogies… you just drove up our stock price.
Jubei: You know it’s the truth, Ms. Applegate. APW would be dead without me.
Dani: Jubei, do you know the four stages of Dictatorship?
He folds his arms waiting for Dani to share them.
Dani: First stage is the great battle.
Jubei: Ah, like my victory over Braxton Locus?
Dani: Exactly, stage two is dissent.
Jubei: Nyeo-chan?
Dani: Among others, but yes. It’s when a ruler lashes out at his enemies. Stage three—
Jubei: Enclosure?
Dani: Build up, actually. You do know people consider the Ikeda Clan a private army?
Jubei: That’s the point. Now what’s last phase, my downfall?
Dani: It’s not an overthrow, Jubei… even most end that way. It’s disillusionment.
He steps so close she can feel his breath—a face disillusioned by overt warnings.
Jubei: Say what you want about me on your blogs, or your talk shows, Ms. Applegate. If you ever come between the affairs of Allen Anderson and my group, I won’t destroy your career. And I won’t hurt you. That’s what normal people do. Me… I’ll make the world forget you ever existed. Anyways, had a wonderful time tonight. Now I suggest you catch up with Allen before he comes looking for you.
The Master snaps, having the Ikeda Clan escort him outside to a waiting vehicle. Dani remains seated, clutching her phone to her chest. A loud buzzing has no effect on that vacuous expression. Cameras pan from her face to the caller’s ID on screen: Allen Anderson.
We see a blurry image of Masuda Jubei wearing the same dinner jacket, only now he stands in front of a green screen currently showing a white gradient background. He then walks towards the static camera where an empty table waits in focus. The Master sets three items on the table in this order: a crown, a signet ring, and finally, the APW World Heavyweight Championship. His figure comes into focus.
Jubei: The day of Ascension is upon us, Alpha faithful. You will find yourselves amused by a talented roster giving everything they have all for your sake. Take a moment to gratify them. Shower them with praise on Twitter. Do whatever makes you happy…. Now, pay attention to what I’m saying.
Jubei takes off his cufflinks—shaped like tiny wrestling rings—and sets them on the table. He then rolls up his monogrammed sleeves and loosens his collar.
Jubei: We’re scared of crowns. None more than Americas. Your entire history stems from the deceit of a bad king. Yet here I stand as your fearless leader against another wave of dissention. Am I disillusioned to threats? Perhaps. Maybe even drunk on myself, and feeling invincible. Yet as people like Braxton Locus and Nyeo Son have proven already, am I far from godliness… just like all of you.
The background morphs, depicting scenes of battlefields from ancient China to Rome to present day via night vision. A generic war drum theme plays along with it.
Jubei: From century to century, wars waged on who should be king. We’ve since changed the name, stripped and restored powers, but one constant remains: Can there be peace, or will there always be a power struggle. I’ve spearheaded main events. Advanced this young promotion from YouTube reposts and internet threads to sold-out arenas nationwide. Yet conquest was only the first step.
Depictions of the Shogun Tokugawa, Charlemagne and modern dictators flash behind him.
Jubei: Smith Jones is the next man up in an endless line of dissenters. People with no understanding of what this position demands. Being a champion means culling rank when needed. Running a locker room. It even means kissing the hands of people you would never give the light of day—all for the sake of preservation. Not of your own self. That all-powerful form kings, tsars and presidentes assume upon their throne of darkness. When humanity leaves them for an embodiment of state. Braxton Locus never understood that sacrifice. Sadly, Smitty my friend, you’re walking down the same path.
The screen goes black and then flashes “Masuda” in golden hiragana lettering.
Jubei: All he understands is that I spent the last month building infrastructure. What he and idle fans believe will be bad for “the Business.” He sees a king hiding behind walls and private security. Not at all. If I wanted to duck people, I would never have challenged that brat Nyeo Son to match of his choosing. I am not afraid of you or any bad press you try to mudsling at me.
The Master takes a long breath, calming himself to Buddha level serenity.
Jubei: The Masuda Corporation came into being because I saw weakness in those contractually signed to our wellbeing. That being Zurra’s and his group people know as the ASU. Now to spare multiple history lessons on Zurra and I, understand what it truly means to protect someone. We were lawless. Now I’ve brought order back to this company.
Letters of his name begin entwining like golden vines.
Jubei: I said from day one that I’d bring order to APW. And I did.
The letters start branching out, squeezing the names of every member of the roster like tentacles. All these spawn from what used to be his name; now, it looks like a 19th century diagram of a kraken.
Jubei: We heard you drumming up support from the lowest common denominator. Stoking fears as if you felt for these people. Highlighted invisible struggle. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to be the great octopus constricting the life out of Alpha Pro-Wrestling. Where were you, Smitty, when these people apparently needed a hero? When you were crushed under Braxton’s boot, were you looking to them for answers? No. You were in it for every self-aggrandizing reason you accuse me of doing. Why is that? Because it was convenient! Now with your back to the wall, and the true king of APW bearing down upon you like an act of god, only then do you beg our fans to rally behind you.
The octopus finally branches out to where every name of management and the company logo disappear within its countless tentacles. Each limb also has a range of motion for added display.
Jubei: He flips and flops like a stack of Canadian flapjacks. Harsh, sure, but it wakes up everyone at home. A little comedy never killed anyone. So let’s sit back for a moment and enjoy the stylings of Smith Jones… the one and only maverick of Alpha Pro-Wrestling.
Members of his Ikeda Clan come into shot carrying a throne chair. He takes a seat while the green screen changes to a cinematic collage of Smith Jones detailed in bright blue. Jubei steeples his fingers.
Jubei: Evil has many forms. Last week on Metal, we saw it in manifest in the heart of your write-in champion. Ole Smitty… he took the victory from the backdoor I opened. Seriously, he could have beaten Defenestration Jones on level ground. He took my lure instead. Everyone saw it. And what about the evil king watching them over his parapets? Ha! Masuda called the match right down the line until that fateful finish. Watch the tapes. Listen our loyal announcers. I’m not the one at fault. You are.
Golden tentacles enwrap the collage, all while Jubei maintains a flat expression.
Jubei: It’s been a few weeks since you had this wild dream put in your head. One where you by the force of sheer will and fighting spirit are enough to overcome me. Blame management. Blame the fans. Maybe concoct another narrative about me that suits your situation. Morph like a Power Ranger—it won’t change a thing about us. I am leaving Ascension as king while raising my own platform because I’m not going into this PPV with my eyes on status quo. No… I want more. To erect a wall so high only a hero of extraordinary talent can ever hope to climb its façade. Sadly, Smitty, it won’t be you.
The tentacles suddenly invert, showing the kraken at its base with symmetrical limbs growing upwards. Details color in black spaces to where it is no longer an animal, but the image of a golden crown.
Jubei: Being king isn’t easy. Everyone you trust becomes potential threats. Rivalries intensify every moment your human body occupies this infallible seat. To wield power is to turn your back on everything you once dreamt for yourself while enforcing the image of the APW Championship. Many will dream, even less will try, but ultimately, few will ever succeed.
That octopus below morphs into a skull protruding with crown-like spires. That’s when we see Masuda’s infamous smirk. A banner unfurls above that image declaring: “Long Live the King”.
Jubei: Ascension will not end with a new king. This world will stay on its axis because I am the only one that can keep it that way. Stop dreaming and get back to what you do best: Priming my next challenge. And forget what all these people tell you over barricades or Twitter. We don’t vote for kings because they could never find someone good enough to replace me. But I’ve read your book. And I know you’ll just look back at them and promise that you’re ready to face The Master of APW. It’ll be the last time they ever nod back…. Osāma banzai.
Masuda pantomimes slitting his throat as the scene distorts to darkness.
