Spotlight
My fingers tighten around O-bāchan’s hand. My
pulse hammers against my ribs, loud enough that I almost miss her voice beneath
the crowd’s roar.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her grip warm, steady.
I swallow hard. “Didn’t you say she was
champion…?”
O-bāchan nods slowly. “Yes…”
“And didn’t you say the Legionnaires were the
tag-team champions?”
Another pause. “Yes…?”
A cold weight settles in my stomach. My gaze
snaps back to the ring. Raven Moon stands in the center, her chest rising and
falling in deep, measured breaths. The female Legionnaire slides toward her,
arms wrapping around her in an embrace. A moment passes. The sumo slumps into
the corner, his massive frame heaving with exhaustion. The male Legionnaire,
already back on his feet, wipes his face with the back of his hand, shoulders
trembling.
Then it hits me.
“Then why…” My voice catches. “Why did none of
them come out with their title belts?”
O-bāchan stiffens. Her breath hitches. The
silence between us is thicker than the cheers beyond it.
In the ring, Raven Moon lifts her hands, fingers
trembling. She grips the edges of her mask. The crowd quiets, anticipation
pressing down like a held breath.
And then—she pulls it off.
Gasps ripple through the arena, sharp and
electric.
My heart lurches.
Raven Moon stands in the ring, gripping the
microphone with trembling fingers.
"WE LOVE YOU, RAVEN!!" A voice cuts
through the crowd.
She smiles, but her eyes glisten under the harsh
arena lights. She swallows, her voice tight.
"Everyone…" Her breath shudders.
"This was my last and final match… as a wrestler, as your wrestler."
The arena exhales as one. Gasps. Groans. A few
muffled cries. But no boos. Not a single one.
She inhales, steadying herself. "As you
know, a couple of years ago… I had a son, with my husband."
She turns, gesturing toward the sumo in the
corner. He lifts a massive hand, waving with an easy grin. The crowd erupts,
the cheers shaking the rafters.
"And… I feel it’s time for me to put down
the mask. Or rather, retire it. In other words… I’m retiring altogether."
Silence. Heavy. Final.
Then, from somewhere deep in the stands, a chant
rises: "Legion! Legion! Legion!"
Raven chuckles, swiping at a tear. "I
started with the Legionnaires of Doom," she says, her voice lighter.
"It only felt right to end my career with those who helped me begin
it."
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The four wrestlers embrace, clinging like they
never want to let go.
"But before I go…" Raven steps toward
the ropes, scanning the front row.
Something about the way she looks out at the
crowd makes my stomach twist.
"I heard that one of my favorite idols is in
attendance?"
Wait. What?
Then I see it.
Grandma and Ruri, holding up a massive cardboard
sign. Right here.
Straight at me.
Blood drains from my face.
"Hey there, girl…" Raven grins.
"Want to sing me my favorite song from my favorite artist?"
The crowd erupts.
Ruri smirks, leaning in. "Guess your
disguise didn’t work, ‘Ana the Neko Girl.’"
I can’t move. My legs refuse.
Then—
"Oh, for crying out loud, get up there!"
O-bāchan shoves me forward.
For a moment, fear grips me, tight and
suffocating. My father’s words slam into me, drilled in since childhood.
"Kurosawa’s don’t perform for free."
A rule. A warning. A leash.
But then I look at Raven Moon.
She watches me, eyes bright, unguarded—hopeful.
No demand, no expectation. Just the kind of faith that makes something inside
me shift.
I remember the livestream—Moon cradling her
newborn, humming one of my songs, her voice thick with love.
This isn’t about money. Or fame. Or proving
anything.
It’s about this.freedom.
About family.
My breath hitches. The weight of the crowd, the
pressure of the spotlight—it all dulls, shrinking to the space between us.
I step forward.
Raven extends her hand. I don’t hesitate. Her
palm is warm as she pulls me into the ring, where the world feels smaller,
quieter. Just us.
The microphone is heavy in my hand. I swallow,
lift my chin, and let the fear settle. Then, I close my eyes—and sing.
Sakura petals, soft on the breeze,
Like whispers of joy through ancient trees.
But deeper still, a light takes its start,
The smile of the heart, a painted work of art.
Not lips that curve, nor eyes that gleam,
The arena fades. The roaring crowd dims to a
hush.
In this moment, it’s just me, Raven Moon, and the
song.
And for the first time, I feel free.
The last note fades, and the arena erupts. Cheers
crash over me, wave after wave, swelling until they’re all I can hear, all I
can feel. My heart pounds. My face aches from smiling—really smiling.
Not the polished, camera-perfect kind. No. This is mine. Raw.
Unfiltered. The kind that says,
I open my eyes, the weight of the moment still
pressing into my skin. Then—my stomach drops.
Grandma and Ruri are gone.
I scan the crowd, my pulse spiking, but before I
can process, a warm hand grips mine—firm, steady. Raven Moon.
"Come on," she says, already pulling me
toward the ramp. "Your sister set up a proper meet-and-greet."
I blink. "My sister?"
Raven just grins, eyes gleaming. "Yeah.
We’re bolting."
"What—?" The question barely leaves my
lips before she yanks me forward.
The noise behind us shifts—cheers bleeding into
frantic shouts. Paparazzi. Reporters. The vultures are circling. I glance
back—just in time to see the Sumo and the Legionnaires of Doom plant themselves
between the cameras and us, a living barricade.
Then, headlights. A sleek black car idles just
ahead, door already open.
Raven doesn’t slow. We dive in. The door slams
shut.
The engine growls. Tires screech.
We’re gone.
I press back into the seat, breathless, the city
lights streaking past.
What the hell just happened?