Edge of Pain: Match 9: El Diablo vs Kana Matsumoto
The crowd was already alive with anticipation as Kana Matsumoto and El Diablo stood face-to-face in the center of the ring. The spotlight bore down on them, illuminating every bead of sweat on Kana’s brow and every flex of El Diablo’s imposing frame. The tension was a living, breathing thing, thrumming in the air as the two wrestlers stared each other down.
El Diablo’s smirk was razor-sharp, his tone mocking as he broke the silence. “Tell me, Kana. How’s your sister, Reika?” His voice carried easily over the din of the arena, his taunt laced with venom. “Still recovering from the last time we danced? Or did she finally figure out she’s better off on the sidelines?”
Kana’s fists clenched at her sides, her body rigid. She held his gaze, her expression stoic, but her eyes burned with fury. “Leave Reika out of this,” she said, her voice low but firm. “This is about you and me now.”
He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Oh? Is that what this is? A grudge match? You’re here to settle some score, are you?” His smirk widened as he leaned in, lowering his voice just enough that she alone could hear the venom in his next words. “You both begged me to stop last time. Do you think you’ll do any better without her?”
Kana’s nails bit into her palms as she fought to steady her breathing. “I don’t need to win,” she said evenly, though her tone was steel. “I just need to make it the full thirty minutes. And if I can land even one good shot on you, that’s enough for me.”
El Diablo threw his head back and laughed, the sound cold and hollow, cutting through the arena like a knife. “One good shot? That’s all you’ve got?” He shook his head, mock pity dripping from his voice. “What is it with you Matsumoto sisters and these delusions of grandeur? You want to last thirty minutes? Against me?” He tapped his chest, the movement deliberate, a declaration of his superiority. “You should be aiming to survive thirty seconds.”
Kana met his laughter with a hard glare, refusing to let him see her waver. “You underestimate me,” she said, her voice calm but defiant. “Maybe I’m not as strong as you. Maybe I never will be. But I’ll tell you this: I’m stronger than I was before. And I’m not leaving this ring without giving you hell.”
El Diablo’s smirk faded, his expression darkening as he took a step closer, the air between them crackling with menace. “You think you’ve gotten stronger? Fine,” he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “Then I’ll turn it up a notch. Let’s see how far that so-called strength takes you.”
The crowd roared as the tension reached a boiling point, the energy in the arena electric. Kana didn’t flinch as El Diablo loomed over her, his size and presence a stark reminder of the challenge ahead. Instead, she straightened her back, lifting her chin as she stared him down.
The bell rang, but for a moment, neither moved. Their eyes locked, the intensity of their silent clash speaking louder than any words. Then, like a thunderclap, El Diablo surged forward—and the match began. Kana barely had time to react before El Diablo lunged forward, his movements precise and deceptively quick for a man of his size.
His first strike landed clean—a thunderous body shot that drove into Kana’s midsection like a wrecking ball. Her eyes widened, the impact stealing the air from her lungs as she stumbled back, clutching her abdomen. The crowd winced in unison, the sickening thud of the blow audible even over their cheers and jeers.
“Too slow,” El Diablo taunted, his voice cutting through the haze of Kana’s shock. She doubled over slightly, gasping for breath, but he gave her no reprieve.
With a calculated step forward, he delivered a vicious punch to the back of her head. The blow was perfectly placed, striking just below the crown and sending her sprawling to all fours. Pain radiated through her skull, the canvas rough against her palms as she fought to steady herself. Her vision blurred momentarily, and she instinctively reached out to find her balance.
“Get up,” El Diablo growled, his tone a mix of command and mockery.
He didn’t wait for her to recover. Grabbing her around the waist, he hauled her upward with an ease that made the audience gasp. For a moment, Kana dangled helplessly in his grip, her legs kicking weakly. Then, with a brutal display of power, he hoisted her up and over, slamming her down with a gutwrench powerbomb that shook the entire ring.
The impact was catastrophic. The sound of Kana’s body hitting the mat reverberated through the arena, drawing a collective intake of breath from the crowd. She bounced slightly upon landing, her arms and legs splayed out as if her body had momentarily forgotten how to move.
El Diablo stood over her, his chest heaving slightly, his expression one of cold satisfaction. “This is the part where you start regretting your little vow,” he said, his words laced with derision.
Kana groaned softly, her body wracked with pain, but she refused to let herself lie still for long. Her fingers twitched, and slowly, she tried to roll onto her side, the determination in her eyes flickering faintly despite the agony.
El Diablo glanced down at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Still got some fight in you, huh? Good. I wouldn’t want this to be over too quickly.”
El Diablo wasted no time after the devastating powerbomb. Grabbing Kana’s legs, he flipped her onto her stomach with a forceful tug, positioning her as if for a traditional Boston Crab. The crowd leaned forward, eager to see the champion’s next move. But he wasn’t settling for anything ordinary.
With calculated precision, El Diablo shifted his hold. He trapped Kana’s right arm behind his shin, pinning it awkwardly against her back. Her face twisted in discomfort as she tried to twist away, but he was relentless. With her arm immobilized, he stepped over her head, pressing his massive weight down and twisting her upper body unnaturally.
The audience gasped as he locked in a modified half-crab, but this wasn’t the usual variation. Instead of pulling her leg straight back, he yanked it across her body at an angle, forcing her torso into an excruciating twist. The unique positioning caused her to lie partially on her side, her body contorted in a way that made the strain on her spine and leg painfully evident.
Kana clenched her teeth, her fingers clawing at the mat as she tried to suppress the scream bubbling in her throat. From her vantage point, she could see how her own body was being stretched and twisted—her leg pulled one way, her upper body another, with her arm pinned awkwardly beneath her. The unnatural bend of her back made every breath a challenge.
El Diablo applied more pressure, leaning back slightly to increase the torque. "Take a good look, Kana," he taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "You’re not just feeling it—you’re watching yourself break."
Kana’s breaths came in ragged gasps as she gritted her teeth. The pain was blinding, radiating from her lower back to her shoulders and down her trapped leg. Her pinned arm throbbed, the lack of circulation adding to the torment. Sweat dripped from her forehead, pooling beneath her as she struggled against the hold.
“You can end this anytime,” El Diablo said casually, his tone almost bored. “Just tap out, and I might even let you walk out of here.”
“No... chance...” Kana hissed, her voice strained but defiant. Her body trembled with the effort of enduring the hold, her determination shining through the agony.
El Diablo chuckled, the sound low and menacing. “Suit yourself.” He leaned back further, eliciting a sharp cry from Kana as the tension in her spine reached its breaking point. The crowd erupted, some cheering for the brutality, others calling for Kana to hold on.
Kana’s mind raced as she tried to find a way out. Every small movement only seemed to increase the pressure, the unique angle of the hold leaving her with no clear escape. Her vision blurred as the pain grew sharper, yet she refused to submit. Her fingers clawed uselessly at the mat, searching for any leverage to relieve the strain.
El Diablo kept the hold locked in, his expression a mixture of amusement and disdain. “You look exactly like you did the last time—helpless. And no big sister to tag in. To share the burden!”
Kana gritted her teeth, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed, even as her body screamed in protest. She refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking her spirit, no matter how much her body begged her to surrender.
El Diablo gave the hold another wrench, causing Kana’s body to arch painfully. The crowd roared in approval, their excitement feeding his ego. “Go on, Kana,” he urged mockingly. “Let everyone see just how much fight you have left.”
Kana’s only response was a muffled groan as she dug her nails into the mat, refusing to let him hear her scream. Her defiance only seemed to spur him on, and he shifted his weight again, ensuring the hold stayed firmly locked in. El Diablo leaned back slightly, further torquing Kana’s spine as she writhed beneath him. The pain etched across her face was clear for all to see, but he wasn’t satisfied—not yet. With the crowd roaring around him, he shifted his grip with the precision of a master technician, never releasing her trapped leg.
In one fluid motion, he adjusted his hold. His massive hand slid from her thigh down to her ankle, maintaining complete control as he pivoted on his knee. The movement forced Kana’s leg into an even sharper angle, her knee twisting uncomfortably as she gasped in pain. El Diablo then planted her foot firmly against his chest, using his body as a brace while cranking her ankle with deliberate, focused pressure.
The crowd's collective gasp turned into a cacophony of cheers and jeers as they recognized the transition—a seamless shift from the brutal modified half-crab into an equally devastating toe hold. Kana’s body jerked reflexively, her hands instinctively clawing at the mat as the sharp, localized pain radiated from her ankle up her calf.
“Smooth, isn’t it?” El Diablo taunted, his smirk evident even as he focused on applying just the right amount of pressure. “I could do this all day.”
Kana bit down hard on her bottom lip, her face flushed with the effort of suppressing a scream. The hold was precise and unrelenting, targeting the delicate ligaments in her ankle. She dared not struggle too much, knowing any sudden movement could worsen the damage—or worse, leave her unable to stand.
El Diablo adjusted his grip again, twisting her foot at a sharper angle to elicit another groan of agony from his opponent. “Come on, Kana,” he mocked, his voice rising above the din of the crowd. “This is child’s play compared to what I’ve got planned for you. Why not save yourself the trouble and tap?”
Kana shook her head, the motion weak but defiant. “Not... a chance...” she managed through gritted teeth, her voice trembling but resolute.
Her defiance only seemed to amuse him. “You always were stubborn. Let’s see how far that gets you this time.”
With another wrench, he shifted his weight forward, driving her heel closer to her shin in a way that sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through her leg. Kana’s fingers curled into tight fists as she pounded the mat, her resolve tested with every second that ticked by.
Her vision blurred, and her breathing came in ragged gasps, but she refused to yield. The crowd’s chants of encouragement—or calls for her to submit—blurred together, her focus narrowing to the singular goal of enduring the hold.
El Diablo, meanwhile, was in his element, feeding off the energy of the audience. He adjusted his stance again, his movements smooth and deliberate, ensuring that Kana remained completely at his mercy. “Let me guess,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You think if you hold on long enough, you’ll get some miraculous second wind? Spoiler alert: that’s not going to happen.”
Kana’s lips trembled as she forced out a weak reply. “You... talk too much.”
El Diablo’s grin widened, and he wrenched the toe hold one last time, drawing a sharp cry from Kana. “And you scream too little,” he retorted, holding the position a moment longer before finally releasing her leg.
Kana collapsed onto the mat, her injured leg trembling as she instinctively tried to pull it close to her body. She didn’t dare put any weight on it, and her muscles screamed in protest as she attempted to crawl away, desperate to gain a moment’s respite.
El Diablo rose to his full height, towering over her, his confidence unshaken. He raised his arms to the crowd, basking in their reaction. “You wanted this, Kana,” he called out, his voice booming. “Don’t stop now—you’re just getting warmed up!”
Kana lay on her side, clutching her leg as she struggled to steady her breathing. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to stop, to submit, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus through the haze of pain.
El Diablo turned back toward her, his expression cold and calculating. “What’s the matter?” he sneered. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got.”
Kana lay motionless for a moment, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The sharp, throbbing pain radiating from her ankle and up her leg threatened to overwhelm her, but she refused to let it win. The noise of the crowd became a dull roar in her ears, distant and unimportant compared to the singular task ahead—getting back to her feet.
El Diablo loomed nearby, leaning against the ropes with an air of casual confidence. “Take your time,” he called out mockingly, spreading his arms wide as if to invite her to rise. “I can wait all night.”
Gritting her teeth, Kana pressed her palms to the mat. Her arms trembled as she pushed herself upward, every movement a test of her endurance. Her targeted leg protested violently, the ankle screaming in agony as she instinctively tried to use it. She bit down hard, cutting off a cry of pain, and quickly shifted her weight to her good leg instead.
She managed to get onto one knee, pausing to steady herself. Her hands briefly clutched at the ropes for support, her injured leg hovering just above the mat as if touching it would send another wave of pain through her body. Sweat dripped down her temple, but her expression remained determined.
The crowd began to chant her name, their voices blending into a chaotic rhythm that pushed her forward. Slowly, carefully, Kana rose to her feet, keeping her injured leg bent and slightly off the mat. She adjusted her stance, favoring her uninjured side, and kept her arms raised defensively. Her breathing was labored, but her eyes burned with a mixture of defiance and fury.
El Diablo cocked his head, his smirk widening as he pushed off the ropes. “Look at you, still standing,” he said, his tone dripping with mock admiration. “You’ve got guts, Kana, I’ll give you that. Not much else, though.”
She didn’t respond, focusing instead on keeping her balance. Each second felt like a small victory, a triumph over the pain that threatened to pull her back down. She shifted slightly, testing her footing, but avoided putting any weight on her injured leg. The awkward stance wasn’t ideal, but it was enough to keep her upright.
“You’re stubborn,” El Diablo remarked, circling her like a predator sizing up its prey. “It’s cute. Futile, but cute.”
Kana’s lips twitched into a faint, defiant smile. “I’ll take ‘cute’ over ‘coward,’” she shot back, her voice steady despite the strain in her body.
The crowd roared at her retort, and for a moment, even El Diablo seemed taken aback. Then his grin returned, more menacing than ever. “You’re going to regret that,” he said darkly, stepping toward her.
Kana braced herself, shifting her weight further onto her good leg. The throbbing in her ankle was a constant reminder of her vulnerability, but she forced herself to push it aside. Her focus sharpened as El Diablo closed in, his movements deliberate and measured. El Diablo’s steps quickened, his towering frame closing the gap between them with ease. Kana instinctively shifted her weight to her good leg, raising her arms in a defensive stance. She wasn’t fast enough.
With the precision of a predator targeting its prey’s weakest point, El Diablo unleashed a devastating kick to her injured thigh. The impact was thunderous, his shin crashing against her leg with unrelenting force. Pain exploded through Kana’s body, and a strangled cry escaped her lips as her knee buckled. Her leg gave out entirely, and she crumpled to the mat, catching herself on all fours.
“You should’ve stayed down,” El Diablo growled, towering over her. He reached down, grabbing her by the head and yanking her upright. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and she struggled to keep her balance, the injured one barely able to hold her weight.
Locking his arm around her neck, he pulled her into a tight front facelock. The pressure on her head and neck was immediate, his biceps constricting like a vice as he marched her backward toward the center of the ring. Kana clawed weakly at his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh, but it was like trying to bend steel.
“Let’s remind you why you don’t step into the ring with me,” he hissed.
With a grunt of exertion, El Diablo hoisted her into the air, her body vertical as he prepared for a suplex. The crowd erupted, their cheers a chaotic symphony as Kana hung suspended, gravity momentarily defied. Then, with brutal efficiency, he drove her back-first into the mat, the ring shaking with the impact.
Kana gasped sharply, her body arching instinctively from the pain before collapsing limp against the canvas. The suplex alone would have been devastating, but El Diablo wasn’t done. He maintained his grip, hauling her back to her feet, her legs dragging weakly beneath her.
This time, he didn’t waste any time. He lifted her again, holding her aloft in a stalling vertical suplex position, her body displayed like a trophy for the crowd. Blood rushed to her head as she dangled helplessly, her arms hanging limply at her sides.
Suddenly, he shifted his weight, pivoting mid-move. Instead of driving her backward again, he swung her downward and forward, slamming her front-first into the mat with a vicious gourdbuster. The impact was sickening, the sound of her body hitting the canvas reverberating through the arena. Kana let out a guttural cry, rolling onto her side and clutching her abdomen as she gasped for air.
El Diablo straightened, dusting his hands off theatrically as he looked down at her. “Still think you’re going to last thirty minutes, Kana?” he asked, his voice dripping with mockery.
Kana writhed on the mat, coughing and gasping, her body screaming in protest. She tried to push herself up, her arms trembling beneath her weight, but her strength was fading fast.
The crowd was a cacophony of noise—cheers, jeers, chants—but Kana’s world had narrowed to the pain radiating through her body and the towering figure of El Diablo looming above her. Still, even through the haze of agony, the fire in her eyes hadn’t extinguished.
Kana barely managed to get onto her hands and knees, her body trembling from the repeated impacts. She sucked in shallow, ragged breaths, her lungs fighting to keep up as she tried to gather her bearings. But El Diablo was relentless.
He closed the gap between them with a few deliberate strides and planted a heavy boot on her back. The force drove her down, her chest hitting the canvas as her limbs sprawled outward. The crowd erupted as he began grinding his heel into her shoulder blades, adding insult to injury.
"Stay down," he growled, applying more weight. The grind was methodical, a calculated act meant to emphasize his dominance. Kana gritted her teeth, her hands clawing at the mat as she tried to resist the pressure. But the weight pressing her down was unyielding, and each shift of his boot sent sharp jolts of pain through her spine.
Satisfied, El Diablo knelt beside her, pulling her left arm up and tucking it securely behind his armpit. Her right arm, weakened from earlier impacts, was pulled between his legs, locking it in place. With both of her arms immobilized, he placed his large hands under her chin, wrenching her head back as he leaned into a devastating double arm crossface.
The pain was immediate and all-encompassing. Kana’s neck strained against the pull, her spine arching unnaturally as El Diablo’s powerful grip forced her into the brutal submission hold. Her trapped arms offered no reprieve, adding to the helplessness of her situation. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the overwhelming agony radiating through her body.
“Does this feel familiar, Kana?” El Diablo’s voice was low and taunting, cutting through the noise of the crowd. “It should. This is the same move I used to break you in our very first match. Funny how some things never change.”
Kana’s lips trembled as she fought to suppress a scream. The memories of that match flashed through her mind—how he’d dismantled her, leaving her humiliated and defeated. But that wasn’t who she was anymore. She’d sworn to herself that she’d never give him that satisfaction again.
"You’ve come a long way," El Diablo continued, almost conversationally, as he tightened the hold further. "Stronger, tougher, more resilient. I’ll give you credit for that. But this vow of ‘payback’ you made? It’s nothing but empty words.”
Kana shook her head weakly, her voice strained but defiant. “You’re... wrong,” she managed to choke out. “I’m... not done yet.”
El Diablo leaned back even further, the added torque causing Kana’s back to arch painfully. Her head was forced upward, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Still mouthing off, huh?” he said with a smirk. “Fine. Let’s see how far your pride can carry you.”
The crowd was a roaring tide of noise, some chanting for Kana to hold on, others reveling in her suffering. El Diablo pulled her head back even further, his knuckles pressing into her chin as he increased the pressure on her neck and spine.
Kana’s breath came in shallow gasps, her body trembling with the effort of enduring. Her nails clawed at the mat, seeking any kind of leverage, but her trapped arms and El Diablo’s unrelenting grip made escape impossible.
“Just give up,” he hissed, his voice low and cold. “Save yourself the humiliation.”
Kana gritted her teeth, her voice a strained whisper. “Never...”
The crowd erupted at her defiance, their cheers blending into a cacophony that seemed to spur her on, even as her body screamed for her to stop.
For a moment, El Diablo simply held the position, as if savoring the sight of her stretched and broken beneath him. Then, with an air of mock generosity, he released the hold, letting Kana collapse onto the mat. She lay there, her chest heaving as she sucked in desperate breaths, her body trembling from the strain.
El Diablo rose to his feet, towering over her. “Suit yourself,” he said, stepping back to give her space—or perhaps to toy with her further. “You wanted to play tough, Kana. Let’s see how long you can keep it up.”
Kana lay motionless for a moment, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Her body screamed in protest, every joint and muscle radiating with pain from El Diablo’s relentless assault. Yet deep inside, a flicker of defiance still burned. She couldn’t let it end like this. Not on her knees. Not in front of him.
She pressed her palms to the mat, her arms trembling under her weight as she forced herself upward. Slowly, painstakingly, she pushed onto one knee, her injured leg held slightly off the ground. Her body wavered, unsteady as a gust of wind, but she clenched her teeth and steadied herself, her mind willing her battered form to rise.
The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and astonished gasps as Kana finally made it to her feet, her good leg braced and her injured one barely skimming the mat. Her body swayed, exhaustion clear in every labored breath, but her arms raised in a shaky defensive stance. Her gaze locked on El Diablo, determined and unyielding despite the agony coursing through her.
El Diablo chuckled, the sound low and menacing. “Back on your feet again? You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” He began to circle her, his posture relaxed, his eyes glinting with amusement. “But we both know how this ends.”
Kana didn’t respond, focusing on staying upright. Her stance was awkward, her weight shifted entirely to her good leg, but her arms remained ready. As El Diablo closed in, she tightened her guard, bracing herself for the inevitable.
He lunged forward, throwing a powerful right punch aimed squarely at her face. Kana reacted on instinct, raising her arm just in time to block the blow. The impact reverberated through her forearm, and though she managed to deflect the worst of it, the sheer force left her arm tingling and numb.
El Diablo barely paused, transitioning seamlessly into his next move. Before Kana could fully recover, he slipped behind her, locking his massive arms around her waist in a crushing grip. The crowd roared as he cinched the waistlock tight, his fingers interlocking just above her abdomen.
Kana’s eyes widened as the pressure built, his hold squeezing the air from her lungs and pinning her arms awkwardly to her sides. She struggled, twisting and jerking in an attempt to break free, but his grip was unyielding. The muscles in his arms bulged, the sheer power behind the hold making escape seem impossible.
“Where do you think you’re going?” El Diablo murmured, his voice a mix of amusement and menace. He gave the waistlock a sharp squeeze, eliciting a strangled gasp from Kana as her body jerked involuntarily.
Her feet scrambled for better footing, her good leg braced firmly while her injured one barely supported her. She twisted her torso, trying to slip free, but every movement only seemed to tighten the hold further. The pressure on her ribs made breathing difficult, each inhale shallow and strained.
Kana gritted her teeth, refusing to let him see her panic. “Let... go,” she rasped, her voice strained but defiant.
El Diablo laughed, a deep, mocking sound that seemed to echo in her ears. “Let go? You don’t get to make demands, Kana. You’re mine now.”
He adjusted his stance slightly, pulling her tighter against his chest. The crowd’s noise swelled as Kana continued to struggle, her movements growing more frantic with each passing second. Her fingers clawed at his hands, trying to pry them apart, but it was like trying to bend iron.
Kana’s mind raced, searching for an opening, a moment of weakness she could exploit. But El Diablo’s technique was flawless, his grip unshakable. She could feel the raw power behind his hold, the dominance he exuded with every calculated squeeze.
“Go ahead,” he taunted, leaning in so his voice was close to her ear. “Struggle. Fight. It won’t make a difference.”
Kana’s breaths came in short, ragged bursts as she tried to push past the mounting pressure. Her body trembled, her legs threatening to give out, but she refused to fall. If she was going to fight, she’d do it standing. Even if her ribs felt like they were being crushed, even if her legs burned with exhaustion, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.
She shifted her weight, attempting to drive her elbow backward into his side. But his position was perfect, his hold angled in a way that made the counter ineffective. The attempt only drew another mocking laugh from him, his grip tightening further as he adjusted his stance to keep her firmly in place.
The crowd roared louder, some chanting for her to escape, others cheering for El Diablo’s unrelenting dominance. Kana’s vision blurred slightly from the lack of air, but the flicker of defiance in her chest refused to extinguish. El Diablo shifted his grip slightly, keeping Kana trapped in the crushing waistlock but preparing for his next move. He leaned forward, his hot breath brushing against her ear as he taunted her. “You’re starting to fade, Kana. Let me help you along.”
Before she could react, he smoothly transitioned his hold, releasing the pressure on her waist only to snake his arm around her head. He pulled her into a side headlock, his bicep pressing against her temple as his forearm cranked her neck at an awkward angle. The sudden shift left Kana momentarily disoriented, her body forced to follow as he marched her toward the corner.
The crowd’s noise swelled as El Diablo dragged Kana across the ring, her body sagging slightly under the strain of the relentless hold. She clawed weakly at his arm, her fingers scraping against his sweat-slicked skin, but it was futile. His grip was like a steel clamp, locking her head in place as he closed the distance to the turnbuckle.
“Time to give you a little wake-up call,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.
Kana barely had time to register his words before he yanked her forward with brutal force, driving her head face-first into the top turnbuckle. The padding offered little protection against the impact, her forehead bouncing off with a dull thud that echoed through the arena.
Her vision swam, stars bursting behind her eyes as she staggered backward, her hands instinctively flying to her head. The disorientation was immediate, the world tilting on its axis as she tried to steady herself.
El Diablo didn’t give her a moment to recover. His arm remained locked around her head, keeping her upright as she swayed unsteadily. He pushed her back toward the corner, pressing her face against the turnbuckle again, this time grinding her forehead against the padding with calculated cruelty.
The crowd roared, their cheers and jeers blending into a chaotic symphony as Kana struggled weakly against the relentless pressure. Her hands clawed at the ropes, trying to gain some leverage, but El Diablo’s control was absolute.
“Feeling awake yet?” he growled, pulling her head back slightly before slamming it into the turnbuckle once more. The impact sent another wave of pain shooting through Kana’s skull, her knees buckling slightly as she sagged against the ropes for support.
El Diablo finally released the headlock, stepping back to admire his handiwork as Kana slumped against the corner, her arms draped weakly over the top ropes. Her chest heaved with labored breaths, her body trembling from the relentless onslaught.
“Pathetic,” he sneered, his voice carrying over the deafening crowd. “I thought you’d at least make this interesting.”
Kana’s head tilted slightly, her eyes fluttering open as she tried to focus on him. Despite the pain and disorientation, the faintest flicker of defiance remained in her gaze. She wasn’t done yet—not by a long shot.
El Diablo smirked, cracking his neck as he loomed closer. “Still got some fight in you? Good. That’ll make this next part even better.”
El Diablo wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. As Kana slumped against the turnbuckle, her chest heaving with labored breaths, he reached down, grabbing her injured leg with a cruel grin. The crowd buzzed with anticipation, their cheers and jeers fueling his every calculated move.
"Let’s make sure you remember this match," he muttered, threading her leg over the middle rope. The sharp pull forced Kana’s body to twist slightly, her hands gripping the top rope to keep from falling. She hissed through clenched teeth as the pressure on her already-injured limb intensified.
El Diablo stepped back just enough to admire the sight before reaching out to seize her ankle. He yanked her leg back, using the rope as leverage to torque her knee and thigh at an unnatural angle. Kana cried out, her body jerking as she tried to relieve the pressure, but the ropes left her with nowhere to go.
"Submit," he commanded coldly, yanking harder to emphasize his point.
Kana shook her head frantically, her green hair matted with sweat as she clung desperately to the ropes for support. "No!" she spat, her voice hoarse but defiant.
El Diablo’s smirk deepened. "Still so stubborn." He adjusted his grip, pulling her leg even tighter against the rope. The strain on her muscles and joints was excruciating, every pull sending a fresh jolt of pain shooting through her body. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, even as her resolve was tested to its limit.
"Let’s see how long that pride of yours holds out," he growled.
The crowd roared in approval as he leaned forward, his grip firm as he cranked her leg one last time. Kana bit down hard on her bottom lip, stifling a scream as her knuckles whitened around the top rope. Her face twisted in pain, but her defiance never wavered.
El Diablo suddenly let go of her ankle, letting her leg drop limply against the ropes. Kana gasped in relief, but it was short-lived. Without warning, he stepped in close, cocking his arm back and delivering a brutal kidney punch to her exposed side.
The sound of the blow was sickening, a dull, meaty thud that echoed through the arena. Kana’s body jerked violently, her eyes widening in shock as the air was driven from her lungs. She clutched at her side, her face contorted in agony as she struggled to breathe.
Her grip on the ropes faltered, and her body crumpled backward, sliding down the turnbuckle in slow motion. She hit the mat with a thud, her legs sprawled awkwardly beneath her as she lay on her back, gasping and clutching at her ribs.
El Diablo straightened, towering over her with a look of satisfaction. He raised his arms to the crowd, basking in their mixed reaction. "This is your payback, Kana?" he mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Looks more like desperation to me."
Kana rolled onto her side, her body trembling as she cradled her ribs. The pain was overwhelming, her vision blurring as she fought to stay conscious. But even through the haze, she could hear the faint cheers of the crowd calling her name, urging her to rise. El Diablo exited the ring with deliberate ease, the cold grin on his face signaling to the crowd that something truly sinister was about to happen. The audience erupted into a mixture of cheers and gasps, anticipating the brutality he had planned. Kana remained crumpled near the turnbuckle, her chest heaving as she tried to push herself up, utterly unaware of what awaited her.
Circling the corner where Kana lay, El Diablo reached down and grabbed both of her ankles with a firm, unyielding grip. The sudden motion jolted Kana from her daze, her eyes snapping open. She tilted her head back, her vision blurry but clear enough to see his smug expression from outside the ring.
"No… wait—" she managed, her voice trembling.
Too late.
With a sharp tug, El Diablo yanked her legs toward him, dragging her lower body across the mat until her groin slammed hard into the unforgiving steel of the turnbuckle post. The impact was sickening, the sound reverberating through the arena as Kana’s head snapped back, her mouth opening in a silent scream. Her hands flew to her abdomen, clutching at herself as her body curled reflexively, the pain radiating from her pelvis and lower back like a wildfire.
The crowd let out a collective gasp, some cheering for the devastating move, others wincing in sympathy at the sheer brutality of the maneuver.
Kana’s legs twitched as she instinctively tried to pull them back, but El Diablo wasn’t finished. He adjusted his grip on her ankles, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. He leaned back, using his full weight to drag her again, slamming her groin against the post for a second time. The impact was even more jarring than the first, drawing a sharp, high-pitched gasp from Kana as her body jolted violently.
She reached weakly for the ropes, her fingers brushing against the canvas as she tried to find something—anything—to anchor herself. But El Diablo’s strength was absolute, her struggles meaningless against his unrelenting grip.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he taunted, leaning in close enough for her to hear. “This is what payback feels like, Kana. The kind of pain you don’t forget.”
Kana shook her head weakly, her eyes fluttering as the pain threatened to overwhelm her. Her breaths came in short, desperate gasps, tears streaming down her face despite her efforts to suppress them. The sheer humiliation of the moment was almost as unbearable as the physical agony, but she refused to let him break her spirit.
El Diablo smirked, clearly savoring her suffering. The crowd’s noise surged again as he adjusted his stance, planting his feet firmly before using the turnbuckle post to lock Kana into a devastating figure-four leglock. The steel dug into her thighs as he twisted her legs into the brutal hold, the added leverage amplifying the pressure on her already battered limbs.
Kana screamed into her hands, her body writhing as she tried to block out the pain. The crowd's mixed reaction only added to the chaotic atmosphere, the cheers of admiration for her resilience clashing with shouts of encouragement for El Diablo's cruelty.
El Diablo leaned into the hold, grinding her legs against the steel post with ruthless precision. "Go on," he sneered, his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Tap out. Cry. Beg me to stop. Give them a show they'll never forget."
Kana’s hands trembled as she reached out weakly, clutching at the ropes in a futile attempt to pull herself free. Her screams turned into muffled sobs as the pain became all-encompassing, but still, she refused to submit. The moment stretched on, the hold as unrelenting as the man applying it. El Diablo basked in the crowd’s reaction, feeding off their energy as he continued to dominate Kana, leaving her broken and trapped against the cold steel of the turnbuckle. El Diablo lingered outside the ring, his hands still gripping Kana’s ankles as he stared at her writhing form with cold satisfaction. The crowd roared, their anticipation building as he held the figure-four leglock a moment longer, savoring every cry and gasp that escaped her lips. Then, with a calculated twist, he released the hold.
Kana’s legs collapsed limply onto the mat, her body trembling from the unrelenting pain. She instinctively tried to curl into herself, her arms weakly wrapping around her midsection, but El Diablo wasn’t done.
Grabbing her injured leg, he lifted it sharply, ignoring the way she weakly flailed in protest. "You wanted to keep going, Kana," he muttered, his voice low and menacing. "So let me help you finish the story."
Without hesitation, he slammed her bad leg against the corner post with brutal force. The impact echoed through the arena, and Kana’s entire body convulsed as a guttural scream tore from her throat. Her hands flew to her leg, clutching at it as tears streamed down her face, the pain radiating in sharp, stabbing waves. El Diablo smirked, his eyes glinting with a cruel sense of satisfaction as he released her completely. He took a moment to admire his handiwork, watching as Kana lay sprawled against the turnbuckle, clutching her leg and writhing in agony.
With deliberate movements, he climbed back onto the apron and then stepped through the ropes, re-entering the ring. The crowd’s energy surged as he stood tall, raising his arms and basking in their reaction. Some cheered his ruthlessness, others shouted for Kana to rise again, but all eyes were locked on the towering figure in the center of the ring. Kana remained near the corner, her breaths ragged and uneven as she fought to push herself away from the ropes. Her leg throbbed mercilessly, every movement a reminder of the damage inflicted. But even as the pain threatened to pull her into unconsciousness, the flicker of defiance in her eyes refused to fade.
El Diablo turned his gaze back to her, his smirk widening. “Still alive, huh?” he remarked, his tone almost impressed. “Let’s see how much longer that lasts.”
l Diablo stood motionless in the center of the ring, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Kana with a mixture of amusement and indifference. His towering frame cast a long shadow across the mat, a silent reminder of the punishment he had already inflicted. The crowd’s noise dimmed slightly, all eyes focused on Kana as she began to stir near the corner.
Kana’s breathing was labored, her chest heaving as she tried to pull herself together. Her hands gripped the ropes, trembling with the effort it took to move even an inch. She dragged herself forward, her injured leg dragging uselessly behind her, leaving a faint smear of sweat across the canvas. Her arms shook as she planted her palms on the mat, crawling out of the corner with every ounce of willpower she had left.
El Diablo tilted his head, his smirk widening as he watched her struggle. "This is just sad," he muttered, loud enough for the audience to hear. "You really think there’s anything left for you to prove? Just stay down, Kana. Do yourself a favor."
Kana didn’t respond, her focus entirely on getting to her feet. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself upward as her hands braced against the mat. Her arms strained, muscles burning, until finally, she pushed herself into a kneeling position. From there, she began the painstaking task of rising fully.
She got one foot beneath her, then the other, her injured leg trembling violently as it bore her weight. She was upright for only a moment before her legs gave out entirely. Kana fell forward, catching herself on her hands and knees with a thud. Her head hung low as her hair draped around her face, hiding her expression, but the trembling in her arms betrayed her frustration.
The crowd reacted with a mix of cheers and sympathetic groans, their voices swelling as Kana slammed a fist into the mat, visibly refusing to give up.
El Diablo laughed darkly, spreading his arms wide as he addressed the crowd. "This is what happens when you bite off more than you can chew," he mocked. Turning his attention back to Kana, he leaned slightly forward, his voice dripping with derision. "You don’t look like a fighter right now, Kana. You look like someone who doesn’t know when to quit."
Kana’s fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into the mat as she gathered her strength. Slowly, she pushed herself up again, this time taking a moment to steady her footing. Her injured leg wobbled beneath her, threatening to collapse again, but she adjusted her stance, favoring her good side.
She straightened her back, forcing herself fully upright. Her body swayed slightly, every inch of her screaming in protest, but she remained standing. Her chest heaved with labored breaths, and her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried a weight that silenced the crowd.
“I… promised…” Kana panted, her eyes locking with El Diablo’s. “I’m… not done yet…”
El Diablo’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, sharper than before. "Still clinging to that, huh?" He cracked his neck, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her once more. "This is foolish-You can barely stand."
Kana’s legs wobbled, her body trembling from the effort of staying upright, but she held her ground. The crowd erupted, their cheers pushing her forward as she prepared to face whatever El Diablo had planned next.
El Diablo sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if the effort of toying with Kana had become a chore. “Alright,” he muttered, stepping forward with deliberate ease. “Let’s put an end to this little charade.”
Before Kana could react, he closed the distance in a single stride. His powerful arms wrapped around her midsection, locking her in an unrelenting bearhug. With one swift motion, he lifted her off the ground, her feet dangling helplessly in the air as his crushing grip enveloped her.
Kana gasped sharply, her back arching against the pressure. The pain in the small of her back was immediate and intense, the crushing force of his arms compressing her core and straining her already battered body. El Diablo was methodical in his hold, avoiding her ribs just enough to ensure she could still breathe—though only barely.
The crowd erupted, their cheers and shouts echoing through the arena as Kana’s body writhed in his grip. She clawed at his wrists, her fingers prying desperately at the iron-like strength that bound her, but it was no use. El Diablo’s hands remained locked, unyielding as he tightened the bearhug further.
Kana let out a pained grunt, her hands shifting to his shoulders as she tried to push herself away. Her elbows came down sharply, aiming for the muscles in his upper arms and shoulders, but each strike landed with diminishing force. The effort was draining her, and El Diablo barely flinched in response.
“You’re wasting your energy,” he said calmly, his voice carrying over the chaos of the crowd. “But go ahead. Struggle all you want.”
Kana refused to give up, her legs kicking weakly in a futile attempt to gain leverage. She pushed at his face, her palms pressing against his jaw in an attempt to force him to loosen his grip, but he didn’t even blink. The bearhug grew tighter, the strain on her spine increasing with every second.
Her head tilted back, a groan escaping her lips as the pain threatened to overwhelm her. The small of her back felt like it was being compressed into a singular point, the tension radiating outward in waves that made her limbs go limp.
El Diablo leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “It doesn’t matter what you try,” he said, his tone almost conversational. “There’s no escaping this.”
Kana’s hands slipped from his face, falling to his wrists as she clawed weakly at his grip one last time. Her breathing came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to endure. Even as her strength waned, the defiance in her eyes remained, flickering like a candle in the wind.
The crowd’s chants grew louder, some calling for her to hold on, others urging El Diablo to finish her off. His smirk returned, and he adjusted his grip slightly, pulling her even closer and adding a new level of pressure to the hold. Kana’s body jolted at the adjustment, a sharp cry escaping her lips as the bearhug became all-consuming.
Still, she refused to surrender. Despite the crushing pain, despite the exhaustion that weighed on her like a lead blanket, she clung to her resolve. Her fingers curled into fists, pressing against his arms in a final, desperate show of resistance. El Diablo gave a low chuckle as Kana’s struggles weakened further, her body going limp in his crushing grasp. “I think that’s enough of this,” he muttered, adjusting his grip slightly. With a sudden motion, he hoisted her higher in the bearhug, holding her suspended for a split second before dropping her tailbone-first over his knee.
The impact was brutal. Kana let out a sharp, pained cry as her lower back and hips absorbed the shock. The crowd winced collectively, the sickening thud reverberating through the arena. The move forced her back onto her feet, her body trembling as she tried to steady herself.
Kana’s legs wobbled uncontrollably, her injured one barely able to hold her weight. Her knees threatened to buckle, and her arms dangled at her sides as she gasped for breath, her body refusing to cooperate. Still, somehow, she managed to stay upright, a flicker of resolve in her eyes even as her entire frame shook with exhaustion and pain.
El Diablo stood a step back, watching her with a mix of amusement and disdain. “Look at you,” he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “You can’t even stand properly, and you’re still trying. It’s almost admirable.”
Kana’s head tilted up slightly, her labored breaths audible even over the roaring crowd. Her eyes locked with his, and though her body betrayed her weakness, her gaze burned with a stubborn defiance that refused to fade.
El Diablo’s smirk deepened. “Enough of this.”
He lunged forward, his massive arm swinging with devastating precision. The lariat connected hard, his forearm slamming into Kana’s chest and neck with enough force to flip her backward. The impact was catastrophic, sending her crashing to the mat with a resounding thud.
Kana lay sprawled on the canvas, gasping for breath as her chest heaved. The sheer force of the lariat had left her winded, her hands weakly clutching at the air as she tried to pull herself together. Her vision blurred, the lights above seeming to spin as the pain coursed through her body in relentless waves.
El Diablo stood over her, his chest rising and falling in steady, controlled breaths. He glanced down at her prone form with a mixture of satisfaction and disdain, then turned his attention to the roaring crowd. Raising his arms, he soaked in their reaction, feeding off the chaotic energy of the arena.
Kana remained on the mat, her body trembling as she fought to recover. Her mind screamed at her to get up, to keep going, but her body refused to cooperate.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
High above the chaos of the match, tucked into the shadowed alcoves of the arena, Wallace Hartley watched the spectacle unfold with a sinking heart. The crowd’s thunderous cheers and jeers rang hollow to him, a cacophony that only deepened the pit of despair gnawing at his soul. He clutched his violin in trembling hands, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his composure.
Down below, Kana Matsumoto lay sprawled on the mat, gasping for breath, her body trembling from the relentless onslaught she had endured. Wallace’s chest tightened at the sight of her defiance, her unyielding spirit crushed under the weight of El Diablo’s calculated cruelty. He had seen this brutality play out countless times in this vile league, but now his tolerance for it was at breaking point. His mission, his obligation to the Zaibatsu could go to hell and stay there now: He could not witness any more of this.
A single tear rolled down his cheek, tracing the well-worn lines of grief etched into his face. He had felt this same suffocating helplessness once before, over a century ago, as icy water rose around his ankles and chaos swallowed the decks of the Titanic. He had played his violin then, too, pouring his sorrow and fear into the music, hoping to offer comfort to others even as he faced his own doom.
And now, as Kana lay motionless below, her faint breaths barely visible in the harsh spotlight, that same overwhelming grief clawed at his chest.
Wallace took a shuddering breath, his trembling hand reaching to shoulder his violin. The polished wood was a familiar weight, grounding him against the storm of emotions threatening to consume him. He lifted the bow, his fingers finding their place with a precision born of a lifetime of practice—albeit a lifetime long past.
One of his bandmates, seated nearby, leaned in with a whisper. “Joseph, what are you doing? We’re not supposed to play until—”
Wallace ignored him. His lips pressed into a thin line as he positioned the bow against the strings. His eyes fluttered closed, shutting out the violence below, the roaring crowd, and even his own spiraling thoughts. All that remained was the music.
The first notes of Summer Storm by Antonio Vivaldi rang out, slicing through the noise like a beacon in the dark. The bright, powerful opening reverberated across the arena, silencing the crowd for a fraction of a second as heads turned toward the band alcove. The violin's piercing cry was sorrowful yet fierce, a reflection of the anguish in Wallace's soul and the defiance he wished he could give voice to.
After the second measure, the other band members fell into place. They joined him seamlessly, their instruments swelling to fill the vast space with Vivaldi’s tempestuous masterpiece. The violins harmonized with the cello’s resonant depths and the harpsichord’s haunting rhythm, weaving a soundscape that was as turbulent as the match itself.
His fingers danced across the strings with practiced grace, the violin singing its mournful yet defiant tune. The storm in the music mirrored the storm in his heart, the rapid notes cascading like rain on the deck of a sinking ship. Wallace's vision blurred with tears, but he did not falter. The music became his voice, his scream of defiance against the horrors he could not stop.
As the first movement surged toward its crescendo, Wallace opened his eyes briefly, his gaze drifting back to Kana. She was stirring, her body trembling as she pushed herself onto her elbows, her head tilting toward the band alcove as if she could hear the music over the roaring crowd. Her expression was one of quiet determination, her eyes flickering with a faint light that had not yet gone out.
The music surged on, filling the arena with its raw, unrelenting energy, an anthem for those who refused to yield even in the face of overwhelming odds. Wallace Hartley played on, his grief and defiance bleeding into every note, a voice for those who could not speak.
And still, the match continued.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
El Diablo’s ears twitched at the sound of the band playing. The melody surged through the arena, sharp and commanding, an unexpected intrusion into his moment of dominance. His brow furrowed, his head snapping upward to the alcove where the musicians sat. He could see their silhouettes illuminated against the dim lighting, the bow of the lead violinist moving with furious precision.
“What the hell is this?” El Diablo muttered, his voice low but edged with irritation. The audience buzzed with energy, their attention split between the ring and the hauntingly powerful performance above.
Before he could ponder further, Kana’s voice rang out behind him. “El Diablo!” she shouted, her tone carrying a raw edge of anger.
He turned back to find her standing. She was battered, her body trembling with exhaustion, her injured leg clearly favoring her good side. Yet there she was, upright, defiant, her chest rising and falling as she glared at him with fire in her eyes.
“I’m not done yet!” she shouted, her voice cracking slightly but resolute.
El Diablo’s lips curled into a smirk. “Not done?” He laughed, the sound rich with derision. “You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” He began walking toward her, his steps measured and confident. “Fine. Let’s see how much more you can take.”
He closed the distance in a flash, his fist driving into her midsection with the force of a sledgehammer. The body blow connected solidly, the sound of impact echoing through the ring. Kana’s face contorted in pain, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as she collapsed to one knee, her arms wrapping around her abdomen.
El Diablo stepped back slightly, satisfied. “There it is,” he said, nodding as if confirming something obvious. “That’s where you belong.”
But to his surprise, Kana didn’t stay down. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself back to her feet, her legs shaking but strangely stable given the punishment she’d endured. Her breaths were labored, her body clearly struggling, yet her posture was firm, and the defiance in her eyes remained undimmed.
El Diablo frowned slightly, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his amusement. “That should’ve kept you down,” he muttered under his breath.
Shrugging it off, he stepped in and delivered a sharp backhanded chop to her chest. The crack of his hand meeting her sternum echoed loudly, drawing gasps from the crowd. Kana staggered back, her feet stumbling as she fell into the ropes for support. She grabbed onto them, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain her footing.
El Diablo tilted his head, his curiosity deepening. Something didn’t feel right. She should’ve been done by now—barely able to move, let alone stand. Yet here she was, bracing herself on the ropes, her body trembling but still standing, still fighting.
He strode forward, intending to finish her off. But as he closed in, Kana pushed off the ropes with surprising force, thrusting her feet forward and kicking him square in the chest. The impact made him stumble back a step, his eyes widening briefly in surprise.
“Still kicking, huh?” he growled, rubbing his chest as he regained his bearings.
Kana didn’t answer. She stepped off the ropes, her footing more stable than before, and moved toward him. Her face was a mask of determination as she cocked her arm, her body twisting slightly as she threw an uppercut aimed at his jaw.
El Diablo’s instincts kicked in. He dodged the strike, his reflexes sharp despite his earlier complacency. In an instant, he retaliated, his arm wrapping around her as he slammed her down with a thunderous rock-bottom. The ring shook with the impact, and Kana’s body hit the mat with a loud thud, drawing another wave of gasps from the crowd.
El Diablo rose to his feet, taking a step back as he looked down at her prone form. For the first time in the match, a flicker of doubt crossed his features. He had dodged. Not tanked the hit, not absorbed it—dodged it. Something he hadn’t needed to do in the league for as long as he could remember.
His gaze shifted to the band alcove, where the music played on, fierce and unrelenting. He turned back to Kana, her body trembling on the mat but still shifting slightly, as if preparing to rise again.
Realization dawned on him, his eyes narrowing as he snapped his head back toward the alcove. The pieces fell into place: the strange second wind, the unnatural stability, the defiance burning brighter than it had any right to at this stage of the match.
The music.
El Diablo strode to the ropes closest to the alcove, pointing a finger toward the band. His voice boomed, cutting through the arena. “Stop playing! Now!”
The lead violinist didn’t falter. His bow moved with the same furious precision, his expression one of grim determination as the violins surged into a new crescendo. The rest of the band followed, their instruments building in intensity, as if answering El Diablo’s demand with defiance of their own.
El Diablo’s jaw clenched, his frustration mounting. “I said stop!” he roared, slamming his fist against the top rope for emphasis. The crowd erupted, their cheers now directed at the unexpected drama between the ring and the alcove.
Kana stirred behind him, unnoticed for the moment, as the storm of music raged on. El Diablo’s glare intensified as the music surged on, his demand to stop ignored. His attention zeroed in on the lead violinist, the man standing at the forefront of the band. The violinist’s bow moved with unrelenting ferocity, his fingers dancing across the strings as the storm of notes filled the arena with defiance. His eyes locked onto El Diablo with a glare so piercing, so unwavering, that it momentarily froze the towering wrestler in place.
Then, as if to challenge him further, the violinist angled the head of his instrument toward El Diablo in a deliberate, pointed gesture. It wasn’t just a performance—it was a statement, one that unsettled El Diablo in a way he couldn’t fully understand.
Before he could process the strange tension that gripped him, he felt arms snake around his waist from behind. His eyes widened in shock as Kana Matsumoto let out a guttural cry, summoning every ounce of strength she had left. Her muscles strained as she lifted his massive frame off the mat.
“No way—” El Diablo started, but his words were cut short as Kana arched her back and slammed him down with a thunderous German suplex. The crowd exploded in disbelief, their cheers a cacophony of astonishment and elation.
El Diablo’s body hit the canvas hard, but his conditioning absorbed the impact better than anyone else in the league could have. Rolling to his feet almost instinctively, he spun around to face Kana, ready to retaliate. But what he saw stopped him in his tracks.
Kana lay sprawled out on the mat, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. The suplex had taken more out of her than it had out of him. She wasn’t moving except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, her body utterly spent. Yet, she had done it. She had lifted him, slammed him—a feat no one would have thought possible at this stage of the match.
El Diablo stood there, bewildered. His mind raced to comprehend how she had managed it. The punishment she had endured, the sheer toll her body had taken—she should have been down for good long before now. And yet, she had not only risen but delivered a strike that left even him momentarily stunned.
The music continued to swell, reaching its final crescendo as Kana slowly stirred. Her body trembled as she pushed herself onto her elbows, then onto her knees. Every motion seemed to cost her, but still, she forced herself upright. Her legs wobbled dangerously beneath her as she stood, swaying like a reed in the wind, but her expression carried an unmistakable glimmer of triumph.
Through labored breaths, she managed a weak smile. Her face was pale, her eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but the corners of her mouth tugged upward just enough to show her satisfaction. With shaky determination, she raised one finger and pointed it straight at El Diablo.
“You… got your shot,” her voice rasped, barely audible over the still-raging symphony. “Score’s settled…”
El Diablo’s eyes widened, his disbelief turning to something else entirely—something that almost resembled respect. The crowd was eerily silent now, all eyes on Kana as the band’s final notes rang out, the last strains of Summer Storm fading into the still air. The bell rang, signaling the end of the match. The thirty minutes were up.
Kana’s smile lingered for a heartbeat longer before her body gave out. She collapsed to her side, her eyes fluttering closed as she passed out, completely spent. The audience remained frozen in stunned silence, the weight of what they had just witnessed settling over them like a shroud. The curtains at the back of the arena parted suddenly, and Reika Matsumoto burst through, her eyes wide with panic. “Kana!” she cried, her voice cracking with urgency. She ran toward the ring, sliding under the bottom rope without hesitation.
Dropping to her knees beside her sister, Reika gently turned Kana onto her back, cradling her head in her hands. “Kana, can you hear me?” she asked, her voice trembling. “It’s me, Reika. Please say something.”
Kana stirred faintly, her eyelids fluttering but failing to open fully. A soft groan escaped her lips, the only indication that she was still conscious. Reika let out a shaky sigh of relief, brushing a damp strand of hair from Kana’s face.
“You idiot,” Reika whispered, her voice a mix of affection and frustration. “You didn’t have to push yourself this far.”
She glanced toward the towering figure of El Diablo, still standing motionless in the center of the ring. His expression was unreadable, his attention fixed on the sisters. Reika’s eyes narrowed, and she shot him a glare full of venom. “What are you looking at? Haven’t you done enough?” she spat, her voice sharp despite the tears threatening to spill.
El Diablo’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his gaze back toward the band alcove, the gears in his mind clearly turning as he pieced together the strange events of the match.
Reika shook her head, turning her focus back to Kana. “Come on, sis,” she murmured, wrapping an arm around Kana’s shoulders. “We need to get you out of here.” She carefully began to lift Kana, her movements deliberate to avoid putting undue strain on her sister’s battered body.
Kana’s head lolled weakly, and she mumbled something incoherent, her voice barely audible. Reika leaned closer, straining to catch the words.
“Got… my shot…” Kana whispered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Score’s… settled…”
Reika froze for a moment, her heart aching at her sister’s stubborn pride even in this state. She swallowed hard, forcing back the lump in her throat. “Yeah, you did,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “You really did, Kana.”
With a final glance at El Diablo, who remained rooted in place, Reika began guiding Kana toward the ropes. The crowd remained eerily quiet, their stunned expressions mirroring the bizarre tension hanging in the air. Reika ignored them all, her focus entirely on her sister.
As they reached the ropes, Kana stirred slightly, trying to help despite her weakened state. “Reika…” she mumbled.
“Shh,” Reika whispered, her voice firm but gentle. “Don’t say anything. Just let me do the work, okay?”
Kana didn’t argue, her head resting against Reika’s shoulder as they slowly made their way out of the ring. The silence of the audience, the distant whispers of the Yakuza in the VIP booth, and the lingering weight of the music in the air—all of it blurred into the background as Reika helped her sister through the curtain, disappearing into the backstage shadows.
And still, El Diablo stood in the ring, unmoving, his mind churning as he stared at the now-empty alcove where the band had played their defiant melody.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
In the VIP booth overlooking the arena, the group of Yakuza men sat in stunned silence, their usual air of composed authority shattered by what they had just witnessed. El Diablo, the unstoppable force of their league, stood frozen in the ring, staring up at the band alcove where the last echoes of the violin performance lingered in the heavy air.
Ichiro Sakazaki, the leader of the Dotenbori Yakuza, was the first to stir. His sharp eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his chair, gripping the armrest tightly. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered under his breath, his tone low and laced with irritation.
El Diablo finally moved, turning his back on the now-empty corner of the ring. His steps were deliberate, but there was a weight to his usually commanding stride. The champion didn’t bother acknowledging the crowd as he exited the ring, his expression unreadable as he made his way toward the backstage area.
Tatsu Otome, one of Ichiro’s most trusted lieutenants, leaned over, his sharp features etched with curiosity and concern. “He’s rattled,” Tatsu said quietly, watching El Diablo’s movements with a keen eye. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”
Ichiro’s gaze flicked to Tatsu, his expression hardening. “Then make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” he ordered briskly. “Go. Now.”
Tatsu nodded once, rising smoothly to his feet. “Understood.” He adjusted his jacket, smoothing out the creases as he moved toward the exit with measured haste. His mind was already working through possible contingencies—what to say, how to approach the rattled champion, how to diffuse whatever storm might be brewing.
As Tatsu disappeared into the corridor, Ichiro’s attention shifted to another of his lieutenants. “Kenta,” he said sharply, his voice brooking no argument.
Kenta Hinamura, always the picture of calm and precision, turned his head toward his boss. “Yes, sir?” he replied, his tone even and measured.
Ichiro’s gaze bore into him. “You’re the one who hired the band. Deal with them.”
Kenta’s brows furrowed slightly, his normally unshakable demeanor faltering for a split second. “Deal with them?” he echoed, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.
“You heard me,” Ichiro snapped. “I don’t know what game they think they’re playing, but this league doesn’t tolerate disruptions. You brought them in; you deal with them.”
Kenta inclined his head, his features settling back into their usual stoic calm. “Understood,” he said simply, rising from his seat. He adjusted his cufflinks as he made his way out of the booth, his mind already running through the details of the band’s contract and the implications of tonight’s performance.
As the two lieutenants departed, Ichiro remained seated, his fingers steepled as he watched the aftermath unfold below. The arena was still steeped in a strange, oppressive silence, the usual energy of the crowd subdued by the inexplicable turn of events.
Ichiro’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the ring, his mind racing to make sense of what had happened. El Diablo’s shaken demeanor, Kana Matsumoto’s last-minute rally, the band’s defiant performance—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit.
Whatever it was, Ichiro knew one thing for certain: order had to be restored. And it would start with El Diablo and that damned band.
