Post by Deleted on Jul 23, 2021 11:47:56 GMT -5
Masuda Teijin settled at the comically small dining counter, where he ordered a simple ribeye: Nothing too fancy, but just the right amount of steak to suffice after that long plane flight. Accouterment of the American style with garlic butter melted on top. It was not the best steak his young teeth tore and rendered with animalistic pressure; except, in the moment, the atmosphere of this golden calf brought him to a new plane of understanding.
An Olympus of talent had walked those hallowed grounds on the search of pure, unrestricted amounts of protein: Tiger Mask. Baba. Rikidozan. NWA greats from every continent spanning Harley Race to Macho Man to even Corey Black in his ancient days of WCF green and black. If these humble seats befit the asses of kings; surely, he told himself amidst a thick, buttery bite, his plebian weight should feel welcome. Except he didn't. No, there was more work to do. There would be hundreds of matches between then and now and the future of Action Wrestling into its 4th growing year. A new pantheon to ascend with All-Japan's "Four Pillars" and other super powers.
The potato side was simple. Some things, he thought with a shrug, need to be simple so that truly great things can shine. His black can of Sapporo pilsner kicked it all back with the peasant quality deserved of such athletes craving a moment of spotlight. Tokyo Fite took the Tokyo Dome in the same fervor as Starcade ambushed Detroit. Whatever made him a eat a steak at the feet of gods made Teijin wonder exactly what it takes to be a wrestler in this modern age while never reaching a pinnacle. His credits list only a winning bowl of risotto and some random win over a tired, jetlagged and possibly drunk Odin Balfore. Moments only his Instagram will cherish because those followers must believe he's common enough that Masuda would like and follow them too... and he did at first. Misawa would never be so low as to give fans that insight of his life - he was an emperor for gods sake - although his people power came from a work ethic. Something Teijin lacked severely.
And then his stare caught a monstrous visage:
Unlce Jubei could not help but join that sacred wall from wagon wheels to the aggressive amount of paneling. Jubei had captured a generational gap between the 90s and now, but his death told so many stories. To die in the ring was a sacred right made for martyrs...except he was a fucking devil walking among men. Towering, he reduced to zero was more. The steak felt normal. His bill was meager and accessible to all. His can of Sapporo, albeit being the High Life of beers on the Island, tasted like piss. Maybe, he said with words designed towards mental seppuku, Terra Walker was right all along. Maybe he was just the tapering shadow of a greater man.
Teijin overpaid his bill and gave the sort of bow people assume of Japanese but never see in real life. He was truly honored to have sat before gods on this mortal plane. When someone from the back stopped him at the door. Tears sucked in but streamed invisibly as those on staff posed with him--and the cherry on top when someone dropped a folded Ribera jacket into his hands. No title in AW could compare at that moment... only the unsure but dreaming satisfaction of defeating Terra Walker Sunday.
Nothing else mattered.
An Olympus of talent had walked those hallowed grounds on the search of pure, unrestricted amounts of protein: Tiger Mask. Baba. Rikidozan. NWA greats from every continent spanning Harley Race to Macho Man to even Corey Black in his ancient days of WCF green and black. If these humble seats befit the asses of kings; surely, he told himself amidst a thick, buttery bite, his plebian weight should feel welcome. Except he didn't. No, there was more work to do. There would be hundreds of matches between then and now and the future of Action Wrestling into its 4th growing year. A new pantheon to ascend with All-Japan's "Four Pillars" and other super powers.
The potato side was simple. Some things, he thought with a shrug, need to be simple so that truly great things can shine. His black can of Sapporo pilsner kicked it all back with the peasant quality deserved of such athletes craving a moment of spotlight. Tokyo Fite took the Tokyo Dome in the same fervor as Starcade ambushed Detroit. Whatever made him a eat a steak at the feet of gods made Teijin wonder exactly what it takes to be a wrestler in this modern age while never reaching a pinnacle. His credits list only a winning bowl of risotto and some random win over a tired, jetlagged and possibly drunk Odin Balfore. Moments only his Instagram will cherish because those followers must believe he's common enough that Masuda would like and follow them too... and he did at first. Misawa would never be so low as to give fans that insight of his life - he was an emperor for gods sake - although his people power came from a work ethic. Something Teijin lacked severely.
And then his stare caught a monstrous visage:
Unlce Jubei could not help but join that sacred wall from wagon wheels to the aggressive amount of paneling. Jubei had captured a generational gap between the 90s and now, but his death told so many stories. To die in the ring was a sacred right made for martyrs...except he was a fucking devil walking among men. Towering, he reduced to zero was more. The steak felt normal. His bill was meager and accessible to all. His can of Sapporo, albeit being the High Life of beers on the Island, tasted like piss. Maybe, he said with words designed towards mental seppuku, Terra Walker was right all along. Maybe he was just the tapering shadow of a greater man.
Teijin overpaid his bill and gave the sort of bow people assume of Japanese but never see in real life. He was truly honored to have sat before gods on this mortal plane. When someone from the back stopped him at the door. Tears sucked in but streamed invisibly as those on staff posed with him--and the cherry on top when someone dropped a folded Ribera jacket into his hands. No title in AW could compare at that moment... only the unsure but dreaming satisfaction of defeating Terra Walker Sunday.
Nothing else mattered.