Tokyo, Japan
Maki's Apartment - Early Morning
The early morning light spilled softly into Maki Nishimura's modest Tokyo apartment. The air was cool, still carrying the crispness of the lingering winter as cherry blossoms began to bud outside the window. Maki sat at her small, traditional, low-rise dining table, absently stirring her tea. Her thoughts drifted to Ricky Wolfie King, her tag team partner. She couldn't help but smile softly as she remembered the way they'd celebrated after their first-round victory. The fleeting kiss they shared—how his arms held her tightly in a moment of triumph and connection—lingered in her mind.
She wondered if he was awake yet. Lately, Ricky had seemed more tired than usual, even distant. He had shrugged it off, blaming it on the intense training for their second-round match against the Pyongyang Punishers. But something had felt off. She noticed it in the way his smile never quite reached his eyes anymore, the occasional cough he tried to hide, and the fact that he seemed to catch his breath a little more after workouts.
Maki (inner monologue): Is he pushing himself too hard... or is it something more?
That thought gnawed at her, making it hard to shake the unease inside. Blovid-13 had been spreading, and although they both took precautions and Ultimate Wrestling had good testing, she couldn't stop worrying that Ricky might have caught the virus. He hadn't mentioned feeling sick, but she could sense something was wrong. She had tried to talk to him about it a few days ago, but he'd brushed it off with that same half-smile, telling her not to worry.
Maki (inner monologue): He always says he must be strong for me. But what if...?
Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts. It was Ricky.
Ricky (text): Hey, Maki, morning. I'm not feeling too great today. I'm going to skip practice. I hope that's OK with you.
Maki frowned, her worry deepening. She hesitated for a moment before texting him back.
Maki (text): Take care of yourself, Ricky. Do you need anything like a Miso soup? I can drop by later.
There was a long pause before the dots indicating he was typing appeared.
Ricky (text): I just need some rest. I'll be fine.
Maki's fingers hovered over the screen, a lump forming in her throat. She wanted to push, to go over to check on him, but she knew Ricky. He was stubborn, always trying to handle things on his own. But this wasn't just about him anymore. She took a deep breath, staring at her phone, her mind racing.
After a long day of worrying and waiting that evening, she decided to stop by his apartment. She grabbed one of her masks—an item that had become as essential as her phone and wallet during the pandemic—and headed out into the cold night air. The streets of Tokyo, usually so alive and bustling, were quieter now, a reminder of the world's shared crisis.
Ricky Wolfie King's Apartment
Maki stood outside the door to Ricky's apartment, her heart pounding in her chest. The air felt heavy, and though it was just another brisk Tokyo afternoon, something about the silence in the hallway unsettled her. She hesitated momentarily, hand hovering over the doorbell, trying to steady her breath. She had tried to convince herself that Ricky was fine, that his sluggishness at training was just exhaustion. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.
With a soft sigh, she pressed the doorbell. The sound echoed through the quiet hallway. There was a long pause—too long—before she heard the shuffle of footsteps from inside.
The door opened slowly, and there stood Ricky. Maki's breath caught in her throat.
His once tanned and vibrant skin was now a sickly pale shade. His usually sharp blue eyes were bloodshot and glassy, and dark circles hung beneath them like bruises. His hair was disheveled, sticking to his damp forehead, and sweat glistened on his face despite the cool temperature outside. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his breathing labored, each inhale sounding shallow and strained.
Ricky: Maki...
His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. He tried to smile, but it faltered quickly, turning into a grimace.
Maki: Ricky... you look...
She bit her lip, unable to finish the sentence. She forced herself to step inside, the heavy atmosphere of the apartment immediately pressing down on her. The room was dimly lit, the curtains were drawn, and the once-tidy space looked cluttered and unkempt—empty water bottles and tissues littering the floor. It was clear he hadn't been able to take care of himself.
Ricky: I'm fine.
He muttered, attempting to wave off her concern, but his legs wobbled beneath him, and Maki rushed forward, catching him before he could fall.
Maki: Ricky, stop it. You're not fine.
Her voice shook as she helped him to the couch.
Maki: You need to rest.
Ricky collapsed onto the couch, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His breath rattled in his throat, and Maki could see how each word cost him the effort.
She pulled up a chair beside him, eyes scanning him in disbelief.
Maki: Why didn't you call me? I could've come sooner.
He coughed weakly, his whole body shuddering with the effort.
Ricky: Didn't... didn't want you to worry.
He managed between breaths, his voice almost a rasp now.
Maki clenched her fists in her lap, feeling frustrated and helpless. She reached into her bag, pulled out a mask, and slipped it over her face.
Maki: You idiot. Do you think I'm not worried now?
Ricky closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the couch cushions.
Ricky: It's just a flu or something...
He mumbled, even though he wasn't convinced anymore. His hand weakly reached out for hers, and Maki took it, holding on tightly as if her grip alone could keep him anchored.
But his hand was cold, and Maki could feel his fingers trembling slightly.
Maki: Ricky...
Her voice wavered, and she could no longer hide the fear creeping into her chest. She had seen him fight through the worst injuries in the ring, always with a smile, always unbreakable. But this was different. His body was giving out, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Ricky: I'm... sorry.
His voice was barely audible now.
Maki shook her head, blinking back tears.
Maki: Stop apologizing. We're going to get through this. I'll take you to the hospital, OK?
But Ricky didn't respond. His eyes fluttered shut, his breathing shallow, each exhale more labored than the last. Maki's panic surged as she gently shook his shoulder to rouse him.
Maki: Ricky? Ricky!
Her voice cracked, and her heart thundered in her chest. With trembling hands, she grabbed her phone and quickly dialed the emergency services.
Maki: Please, just hold on.
She whispered, her hand gripping his cold one even tighter.
Tokyo General Hospital
** The Emergency Room**
Maki paced the sterile white floor of the emergency room, the sound of her sneakers tapping softly against the tiles beneath her weight. Every few minutes, she would glance toward the double doors where the paramedics had wheeled Ricky through, his pale face barely visible beneath the oxygen mask. The ambulance ride had been a blur of flashing lights and the repetitive beeping of the machines they had hooked him up to. Every sound in that ambulance felt like a ticking clock, each second pulling him further away from her.
Now, the waiting felt unbearable. She kept her mask firmly in place, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty. Outside, the world was suffocating beneath the grip of the Blovid-13 pandemic. Still, the threat felt all too personal here in this cold, clinical room.
She had been sitting when a nurse finally emerged through the double doors, her expression grim behind the layers of protective gear. Maki's heart lurched in her chest, and she shot to her feet.
Nurse: Nishimura-san?
The nurse called out, glancing at the clipboard.
Maki: Yes, that's me.
She stepped forward, her voice shaky as she responded. The nurse gave a short bow before stepping closer, keeping a respectful distance between them. Still, Maki could see the weight of her words in her eyes before she even spoke.
Nurse: Your friend, King-san, has been admitted. His condition is... critical.
The nurse said gently.
Nurse: He's been placed on a ventilator to assist with his breathing. The virus has severely compromised his lungs.
Maki swallowed hard, her body going cold as the words hit her like a punch to the gut. She had been bracing for this, but nothing could have prepared her for its reality. The room seemed to spin for a moment, and she had to steady herself against the wall, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her.
Maki: Can... can I see him? Just for a moment?
She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The nurse shook her head, her gaze softening in sympathy.
Nurse: I'm afraid we can't allow visitors in the ICU, not with the risk of infection being so high. We'll keep you updated, but for now, the best thing you can do is go home and take care of yourself.
Maki stared at the nurse in disbelief.
Maki (thinking): Go home? How could I possibly leave Ricky here, alone, hooked up to machines that were keeping him alive?
Every instinct told her to fight, to demand to see him, but the rational part of her knew the nurse was right. She couldn't risk bringing the virus back to the people around her. Not when Ricky's condition was this severe.
Tears stung her eyes, and she turned her face away, taking a shaky breath.
Maki: Please... please do everything you can.
She whispered, her voice breaking.
Nurse: We will.
The nurse promised, bowing slightly before turning and walking back through the doors, leaving Maki alone again.
Maki collapsed onto one of the cold plastic chairs in the waiting room, burying her face in her hands. Everything felt surreal—like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. Just days ago, she and Ricky had been training together, sharing smiles and small, private moments hinting at something more than a professional bond. There had been a spark, something fragile and new. Still, now, all of that seemed so distant, overshadowed by the cold reality of the virus ravaging his body.
She blinked away the tears, forcing herself to stay composed. This was Ricky. He was strong and stubborn. He wouldn't give up easily. But Blovid-13 didn't care how strong you were. It was a silent predator, striking down even the healthiest people without warning. The helplessness she felt gnawed at her insides like a deep, festering wound.
As the hours dragged on, the sterile smell of the hospital seemed to cling to her clothes. Occasionally, a nurse would pass by, giving her a glance of pity as they rushed off to care for another patient. Maki hated it. She hated sitting here, being unable to help and unable to fight.
And yet, what could she do? She had to stay strong—for Ricky, their team, and herself. She believed he would pull through and get back in that ring together.
But deep down, the fear was gnawing at her, whispering cruel truths that she tried so hard to silence.
Tokyo, Japan: Training Dojo
The dojo was dimly lit, the moonlight filtering through the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floors. The usual buzz of activity was absent. It was just Maki, standing in the center of the empty room, staring at the worn-down sumo ring in front of her. The silence felt heavy, broken only by the occasional rustle of her training gi as she adjusted her stance.
The past few days had been a blur. Seeing Ricky deteriorate, the sounds of the machines beeping in the hospital, and the sight of his pale face hooked up to a ventilator haunted her. The image of the ambulance speeding away with him played in her mind on a constant loop.
But now, there was no time left to dwell on it. The second-round match against the Pyongyang Punishers was tomorrow. Ricky was still fighting for his life in the ICU. Maki tightened her fists, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on her shoulders. She was alone. But she had promised—to herself and Ricky—that she would carry on for both of them.
Maki walked slowly to the center of the ring, her bare feet whispering against the wooden floor. Her breaths were steady, but the ache in her chest was anything but. Her heart was heavy with fear, grief, and determination.
Maki: I'll fight for us, Ricky…
Her voice echoed softly through the empty dojo, a quiet vow spoken into the stillness of the night. Maki crouched into her stance, her muscles tightening as she shifted her weight. The Pyongyang Punishers were no joke—vicious, powerful, and ruthless. And now, she had to face them alone.
She took a deep breath, briefly closing her eyes as she recalled her training. Her body had always been her weapon, honed over years of sumo battles, shaped by discipline and unyielding effort. But tonight, it was more than the physical strength she needed to summon. She needed her resolve. Her spirit.
She could still hear Ricky's playful but determined voice pushing her to give just a little more during their training sessions. His laugh and grin after they won their first match together had only been days ago, but it already felt like a distant memory. Maki blinked away the sting of tears that threatened to spill over.
Maki: We're a team, no matter what.
She began her solo drills, her movements precise but filled with raw emotion. Each slam of her feet on the mat, each swing of her arms, was sharper, stronger. Her sweat dripped onto the floor as she pushed her body to the limit, throwing everything she had into every strike. Her breaths came harder and faster, but she didn’t slow down. She couldn’t afford to.
The silence around her felt suffocating, reminding her of her partner’s absence. The emptiness echoed Ricky’s struggle—to breathe and survive. She pushed harder, channeling that fear into every move, willing her strength to be enough for both of them.
Maki (thinking): I’m not alone. I’m never alone.
Her movements grew sharper and more aggressive as if she were already facing the Pyongyang Punishers. Every strike became a symbol of her determination to fight. To win. For Ricky. For their team.
Finally, after what felt like hours of relentless drills, Maki stopped in the center of the ring, her chest heaving with exhaustion. Sweat glistened on her skin, and her muscles burned with exertion, but her heart… her heart was still firm in its resolve.
She looked up, staring at her reflection in the mirror across the room. For a moment, she hardly recognized herself. The Maki, who had once been mocked for her size, had been told she was too aggressive and dominant, was gone. In her place stood a warrior, unyielding, unafraid, and determined to fight for what mattered.
Maki: Ricky… I’ll bring us through this. I’ll get us to the next round.
Her voice was stronger now, filled with the determination she needed for tomorrow. There was no turning back. The Pyongyang Punishers would face the Juggernaut Jewel of Japan, and she would make sure they knew just how strong she had become, not just in body—but in spirit.
With one final, deep breath, Maki bowed to the empty dojo. It was time. Time to prove not just to herself but to Ricky and to everyone else that she was capable of carrying the weight of this match alone.
Maki (thinking): I won’t disappoint you, Ricky. I’ll fight for both of us, and when you’re better, we’ll finish what we started.
The moon shone brighter through the windows, casting a soft glow on her as if offering silent encouragement. Tomorrow, she would face the Punishers. And no matter what, she would fight with everything she had. For Ricky. For their team.
With renewed determination, Maki walked out of the dojo, her heart pounding not with fear but with resolve.
Tomorrow… was theirs to take.