“No passion, no purity....”
“What measure of luck has this world borrowed to survive until today?”
“Brace yourselves! There are no accidents on the wrestling stage! Of course, if you wish to stick to the principle of tucking your tail between your legs, you're free to run away right now!”
“I possess boundless passion that will burn ever brighter on this stage until it consumes itself! And you standing across from me, what do you have to clash with me?!"
My connection with professional wrestling dates back to my childhood.
Arms raised high, drenched in sweat yet brimming with pride, strutting triumphantly across a battlefield where smoke still lingered – that was the scene I witnessed countless times and imagined countless more in my dreams. Though I didn't fully grasp the nature of professional wrestling performances back then, it looked bloody cool, and that was enough.
Or so it seemed. At least to my younger self.
So I trained relentlessly, leveraging my naturally tall frame to endure muscle-building workouts beyond the capabilities of ordinary men. The weight of bowls and chopsticks gradually vanished from my grasp; dumbbells that made beginners grit their teeth could now be spun effortlessly between my fingers. Satisfied with my progress, I leveraged this formidable physique to swiftly rise as the top star within a fledgling professional wrestling team. My innate flair for performance meant that after gaining recognition in my debut match, I never again encountered so-called scripts.
This only reinforced my conviction that professional wrestling was no mere fabrication, as some claimed, but a genuine battlefield.
When my team and I, now somewhat renowned, embarked on our first nationwide tour, we were scheduled to face other teams in exhibition matches. Ultimately, because our opponents were more famous than us, we were given a script that demanded we lose.
Yet, miraculously, despite the bitter resentment and the seething anger and sorrow that kept me awake at night, I simply agreed without hesitation. Even that dissatisfaction faded away completely over time, and I grew utterly accustomed to the rules of professional wrestling.
It was only then that I realised my journey down this path had long ceased to be about mere "coolness".
I had fallen utterly in love with professional wrestling.
The sweat poured out in exhilarating bursts, the fists thrown at each other born purely from our mutual, heartfelt love for the sport, the names of ourselves or our opponents shouted by the crowd, the pain of being thrown down and the primal, savage thrill of throwing someone else to the mat...
My heart simply cannot beat without them anymore.
