It had been a year since then.
In his mind, the hospital room was no more. Long gone too were the beeping monitors and the strong odor of bleach. Tonight the air was sweet with the aromas of popcorn, snacks and the electric, undeniable noise of a sold out crowd. It was the Grand Auditorium in Osaka, Japan. An entirely different ballgame than the one in Mexico.
He stood in perfect stillness behind the stage entrance. He shut his eyes and heard the deep, low vibration of ten thousand people awaiting the main event.
[Commentator 1: It has been exactly one year since we last saw this young man step inside a professional wrestling ring. A full year since the tragedy that permanently shook the foundations of the wrestling world.]
[Commentator 2: There were heavy doubts he would ever lace up a pair of boots again. But tonight, the doubting is finally over. He isn’t going by his old name anymore, folks. Tonight, we welcome a rebirth. We welcome Ray Jr!]
Ray Jr came out.
A single, piercing white spotlight hit the steel entrance ramp.
The noise of the Osaka fans was loud enough to echo through the ramp under his boots. He did not run or go with raising his fists. His pace was slow and deliberate as he went down the aisle.
He was welcomed by the giant screens above the ramp, which showed his official entrance graphic. It was impressive and in high resolution.
He was dressed in a huge, fancy entrance jacket. It was thick, and lined with pure white fur down the lapels and down the bottom hem. The thick sleeves were all covered in animal fur, mostly wild brown fur, with some bands of gold near the cuffs. The jacket’s main body was patterned in dark gold and black, with intricate designs.
Under his thick coat, his wrestling tights were a work of shiny blue and silver art, reflecting the lights of the arena as he moved through it. Aggressive gold knee pads with a single red circular emblem in the center protected his joints. His boots were shiny, with swirling decorations on them, and a thick black strap around his calves.
The crowd was focused on his face, though.
He was wearing a mask.
It was one of his father’s old designs that have been extensively touched up and completely modernized for a new era. The base material was still the same blue with a shimmering effect. A dark black mesh completely concealed his eyes and mouth, hiding his human expressions and replacing them with a stoic, immortal visage.
He climbed up the steel steps that led into the ring. He wiped the under of his boots on the apron, picked up the top rope and climbed into the ring between the top and second rope. He walked right to the nearest corner and jumped up to the highest turnbuckle.
He sat down. He put his forearms on his knees and held his hands together. He lowered his head, revealing the thick white fur of the collar of his jacket, and his masked face.
There he sat, motionless, feeling every moment of the love from the fans.
Only wrestle if you love wrestling.
He loved it. He needed it as much as he needed oxygen to breathe.
Ray Jr unclasped his hands. He lifted himself up on the middle rope and undressed the heavy fur coat, slipping it off and giving it to one of the ringside attendants.
He was on one side of the ring, while his opponent was on the other side. A wrestler of the Japan independent scene known as "Flyin" Yamza.
Yamza was a cruiserweight, known for his incredible speed and ruthless technical mat wrestling. He wore simple red trunks, a sneer was across his face and he seemed confident. The heritage did not frighten him off. He only saw a boy who has been sitting on a sofa for 12 long months.
The referee, in a clean white and black T-shirt, checked both men for any illegal objects. He lifted his hand and rang the bell.
The auditorium was filled with a sharp metal bell chime that rang out loud.
It was Yamza who burst out of his corner. He didn’t wish to allow Ray Jr one second to clear the ring rust. Yamza took to the air trying a running dropkick straight at the rookie’s chest.
Ray Jr sidestepped.
Yamza was unable to stop and flew past him, crashing violently into the padded turnbuckle.
Instincts remained. He wasn’t too numb, he retained his reflexes after a year off. Infact, it had merely heightened his concentration.
Yamza scrambled rapidly up to his feet, holding his shoulder, his expression very surprised. This time, he circled Ray Jr. He lunged and tried for a single-leg takedown. He grabbed Ray Jr’s ankle, trying to drag him down to the mat where he would be grounded.
Ray Jr was able to hop on his free leg to keep his balance. He delivered a quick and hard heel kick right onto Yamza’s back. The hold immediately released.
It made Yamza yelp, then he rolled away.
[Commentator 1: Ray Jr is showing incredible poise right out of the gate! Yamza tried to rush him, but the young man is looking completely unbothered.]
[Commentator 2: That’s the difference a year of pure mental preparation makes. He’s not fighting with raw emotion tonight. He’s calculating every single step.]
His face flushed with frustration, Yamza rose to his feet. He headed forward and tried to deliver a powerful right hook. But Ray Jr caught wind of that and went under the punch. He ricocheted off the ropes behind Yamza, gained immense speed and soared into the air.
He caught Yamza’s head between his legs and twisted his hips with great power and delivered a beautiful hurricanrana.
Yamza’s momentum carried him across the ring, slamming him onto his back.
The crowd erupted. What a smooth movement it was. Undeniable, pure lucha libre.
Ray Jr. didn’t stop to take a break. He sprinted, wanting to take the lead on the match. But, Yamza was experienced... atleast more than Ray, for a reason. As Ray Jr closed the distance, Yamza shot his leg out, catching the masked wrestler in the knee with a stiff kick.
Ray Jr stumbled over. Yamza immediately capitalized, grabbing Ray Jr’s head and driving it down over his own knee for a vicious neckbreaker.
The crack of the impact reverberated through the arena. Ray Jr crashed to the mat with his hands on his neck.
Yamza didn’t give him a second to breathe. He seized Ray Jr’s left arm, twisted it behind his back and landed his entire body weight on it. He easily got into a grounded armbar position and wrapped his legs around Ray Jr’s shoulder to isolate it.
Ray Jr felt pain in his bicep, he clenched his teeth. With his free hand, he was desperately reaching out for the bottom rope.
The arm was twisted back even more by Yamza. "You didn’t have to come back!" Yamza yelled, his english wasn’t the best.
Ray Jr closed his eyes. The pain was actual, it was familiar. It meant that he was still alive. It meant that he was where he was supposed to be.
He planted firmly his feet on the mat. With a pure core strength move, he rolled his body forward to change the point of Yamza’s weight. He managed to get up onto one knee, pulling Yamza up with him. A huge adrenaline rush washed over Ray Jr, he spun Yamza around and then slammed him down with a killer tilt-a-whirl backbreaker.
Yamza screamed, releasing the arm and clutching his spine.
The two men were lying on the canvas.
Ray Jr had his gaze fixed on Yamza, and was slowly making his way up using the ring ropes. He pushed himself to his feet and shook out his arm, which was throbbing. His tights were tainted with sweat.
Ray Jr charged. Yamza got up quickly and attempted to use Ray’s momentum to back-body-drop him over the top rope and unto the floor, but Ray Jr managed to catch himself outside on the ring apron instead of falling out of the ring. Yamza spun around and was puzzled. Ray Jr grabbed the top rope, jumped into the air and spring-boarded into the ring, connecting with Yamza on the jaw with a flying European uppercut.
Yamza went down like a ton of bricks.
[Commentator 1: What a phenomenal sequence! The sheer athleticism on display is breathtaking!]
[Commentator 2: That’s definitely not from his father! Lee Ray was one of the greatest but he certainly wasn’t much of a high-flyer.]
[Commentator 1: I completely agree... except from his finishing move.]
Yamza was groggy. He turned toward the ropes, trying to get away from the masked phenom. He was able to get up and stand in the corner, stocking his arms on the turnbuckle pads.
Ray Jr took a running start toward the other corner. He raced back across the ring and threw himself into the air, pounding a powerful running knee into Yamza’s face.
He collapsed on the mat, head first. He wasn’t moving. He was left sprayed out in the middle of the squared circle.
This was the time. Exactly the situation that required a finish.
He would have backed up against the corner a year ago. He would have been aiming at the back of the neck.
He still had it in his arsenal, but that move, was now his alternate finisher. Today was the day to take to the sky. Today was a day to celebrate the memory that was woven into the mask that he wore.
Ray Jr made his way slowly to the closest corner. He stepped to the bottom rope.
He walked onto the second rope.
He got up and stuck both feet on the top turnbuckle.
[Commentator 1: Look where he’s going! To the skies!]
[Commentator 2: The air is getting mighty thin up there, I can tell you.]
Ray Jr was on the top rope, standing tall. He stood, his gold boots hovering slightly above the turnbuckle pad. He was gazing at Yamza, who was no longer moving below him. He raised his gaze to the intense, bright lights that were suspended from the rafters of the arena.
His father wasn’t much of a master of the air but he did this move from time to time.
Ray Jr let out one last, deep breath. He bent his knees.
He leaped.
He pushed his body forward, rising amazingly high. He stretched his arms and legs out, at the point completely parallel to the mat and flying at the highest. He hunched his shoulders and bent his knees and elbows against his body, in mid-air, crunching his whole core.
He straightened up and caught his balance in time at the very last moment.
Five Star Frog Splash!