Post by Heavy Metal Masutarou on Jan 14, 2018 16:21:52 GMT
“Look out, here's Starbreaker
Cruisin' into town
Set his mind to stealin'
Every little heart around”
- “Starbreaker” Judas Priest
Masutarou’s hands delicately worked a blade along a hunk of freshly prepared fish. It perfectly split at the hem and fell over in a cascade of intricate, neat pink slivers along a wooden cutting board. A pot simmered behind him and the smell of hot miso soup traveled throughout his humble apartment. He took a sip of the Hitachino espresso stout stood in the snifter glass next to the cutting board, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing it down. The scene was set for a relaxing dinner except for the Judas Priest belting from the Echo dot located in the corner of the kitchen. Though the music was heavy, it fell on Masutarou’s ears like a symphony belying Beethoven or Chopan, and he worked harmoniously with the licks and chords.
Though it appeared Masutarou had a date, this was actually how he prepared food for himself - were he not stepping in the ring that night, that is. He had a fondness for female company - and a healthy sensibility of male companionship as well - but he found them distracting in his current pursuits and he couldn’t allow any mistakes. His father - from a very young age - had beaten into his mind that punishment breeds perfection.
His back quivered at the thought before hastily pushing it away and continuing his preparation. He took a ladle full of the miso soup and smelled it as a knock sounded from the front door of his apartment. He crossed the hardwood floors of the scantily furnished living room and swung the door open, where John E. Curiously stood, his signature toothy smile instead replaced by sour disposition, and crossed the threshold without invitation.
Masutarou watched him fume silently; he knew what was coming, but his patience with the short, fat man was remarkably high for the amount of anger in such a stout vessel.
Curiously: What did I say?
Masutarou chuckled silently to himself, imagining steam hissing from his red, plump ears.
Curiously: Destroy SHADOWLOVE. It was simple. The plan was simple. Why couldn’t you stick to it?!
John articulated with his hands a lot, a small sign that his confidence in his self had begun to wane.
Curiously: Are you going to say anything? Or just stand there with that ridiculous smirk on your face?
Masutarou: Please take off your shoes in my home.
John E. scoffed, but hiked his short legs up to remove his twenty dollar Airwalks and tossed them to the side. He huffed before taking a seat at a bar stool facing towards the kitchen.
Masutarou: Now, let me explain my actions.
SHADOWLOVE believed himself to be the impact player in that match. You told him as much. He thought - with no shade of doubt - that his hand would be raised in victory. I decided to make him a non entity in the overall decision, though his oversized, but porcelain, ego won’t allow him to believe anything else. By pinning Specter, off a simple maneuver, I managed to dead two birds with one stone.
Curiously: What are you saying?
Masutarou: Easy; I burned out Shadow’s star and made him a nonentity. His fragile manhood won’t be able to accept it, so he’ll forever be known as the Handsome Choke Artist. It’s simple psychology. He’ll spend the rest of his career chasing an elusive victory over me, and then he’ll crumble in to dust. I'll do the very same to Legato this week.
Curiously: That’s...demented. I just wanted you to get a pinfall over him. Boost your reputation in the states. You know guys of your...ethnicity don’t really have a proven track record in US based promotions. Funny, considering every place in Japan is being systematically white washed by greedy promoters.
Masutarou: It really is sad.
Masutarou went back to work in the kitchen, slicing his knife along the fish.
Curiously: Anyways, I’ve spoken with Pryde.
Masutarou: And?
John E.’s smile returned.
Curiously: You have the main event this week. Masutarou vs Legato, another chosen front runner in the race for the World Championship. You have to show Pryde why you’re the only option.
Masutarou: Patience, John. I know you have vision which is why I took you up on your offer, but you have to have faith that I know what I’m doing. Otherwise, you come into my apartment in such a huff, I’ll have to show you why Dark Specter went down from a simple knee to the head.
John E gulped, rather loudly, which pleased Masutarou. He liked to let John think he was in charge, he could draw heat like a missile, but he needed moments like these to remind him who exactly was in control of this tandem.
Curiously: Of course, of course.
He stammered.
Curiously: You’re one of the greatest...if not the...
He began to tug at the collar of his twenty-five-dollar shirt, but Masutarou grinned.
Masutarou: Don’t worry, John. I have this under control. Legato Fulbright.
A switch flipped in John E’s head and he was back to the mindset Masutarou needed him in.
Punishment breeds perfection.
Curiously: Legato Fulbright…need I even state how ridiculously easy this is going to be for you? Don’t get me wrong, Legato is one of the greatest pure wrestlers in the NBW today, but…it just doesn’t compare to THE BEST pure wrestler in the NBW today. That’s saying something when you really are that good, but my client, “Heavy Metal” Masutarou is just that much better. Really, it is. It’s nothing to be ashamed of Legato.
I know you’re going to come out there and you’re going to give my client everything you’ve got. He’s expecting it as well. He trains and prepares his body like every night is going to be the fight of his life, but the fight of your life is just my clients very average Monday. He makes it look easy, you make it seem an unattainable goal. Scratching, clawing, bleeding on the way to the top is in my client’s genetic makeup. You have to scratch, claw, and bleed just to scratch, claw, and bleed. That’s what separates Masutarou from you.
He went out there his first week and turned two very capable competitors into Masu soup…you barely defeated Corey Bull. Corey Bull. A sixteen-time backyard federation champion put you to task and the notion is simply laughable. Trust me, I’d be laughing now but I’m a consummate professional and laughing now would be very unprofessional.
Masutarou laughs in the background, but Curiously continues as if nothing happened.
Curiously: Monday Night, you’ll be standing at gorilla, the weight of the world on your shoulders, but my client will walk out airy as a cool Osaka night, nothing but victory in his heart and mind. He can see the forest for the trees, something you struggle with even getting out of bed in the morning. The Hymn of a Broken Man, indeed. You see the world jaded, still letting how your mommy and daddy treated you when you were a wee one effect your adult life. Does this not sound insane to you? Because it sounds insane to me.
In your very unique mountain man situation, you’re not supposed to not succeed because of your parents, you’re supposed to succeed in spite of them, but yet you haven’t seemed to figure that out in your twenty something years on this planet Earth even though most children discover this ideal in their crisp teens. I guess having wolves, or whatever the hell your parents are, doesn’t really leave much to the imagination so you instead exist in a mental prison of your own blend, trying your absolute best to create this image of the perfect life in your broken mind.
It just…doesn’t work Legato. Your perfect life doesn’t exist. Your damaged goods. The only thing you have is physicality and – somewhat – a grasp on the facets of professional wrestling, so here we are. Though, now you’re standing across the ring from Masutarou and this just doesn’t look good for you. Thoughts of defeating my client are the thoughts of a dead man, because he will stop at absolutely nothing to make sure he comes out the winner of Monday’s bout. He will stop at absolutely nothing to become the NBW World Champion. I see your talent, I see your struggle, but in my client’s eyes, you’re nothing more than another body to heap an unbelievable amount of pain upon.
It’s the pain that makes you feel alive, correct? Well, imagine a beating from Masutarou as life support. His painful flipping reverse suplex? That’s the tube feeding your body nutrients, so your organs don’t wither away. That knee to the chest? That’s the artificial pacemaker keeping the blood pumping to your precious heart. The dreaded “Panic Attack”? That’s the ventilator, breathing life into your crippled body. The thing about feeling alive? It doesn’t matter as much as being alive. My client knows how to live. My client knows how to win. You? Well, you only know how to descend into madness. Go ahead, climb to the top, but the sun will always rise over the mountain, my Legato Fulbright.
The Second Son, indeed.
Curiously ended his diatribe, a smirking Masutarou in the background.