Match Type: Standard Victory Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, or Knockout
Years have passed since Yutani Oshima last set foot in a wrestling ring, but time has only sharpened her edge. The Shoguness isn’t just returning—she’s reclaiming. Clad in black, red, and gold, every inch of her radiates authority, from the Kamon on her kneepads to the cold fire in her eyes. As she admires her regal frame in the mirror, Yutani allows herself a posh smile, savoring the anticipation. The distant roar of the crowd grows louder, but it’s mere background noise. What matters is the ring, the battle ahead, and the opponent who dares stand in her way. “Daishouri…” she mutters, her smile fading into a cold, calculating expression.
The moment arrives. The lights dim, and a tense silence falls over the arena. Then, the first notes of "Golden Bloodline" thunder through the speakers, the titantron flickering to life, displaying the Oshima Dynasty crest—a symbol of power, legacy, and ruthlessness. Yutani Oshima
Entrance Theme - Golden Bloodline
The Japanese heavyweight steps into the light, her presence commanding and daunting. As she strides down the ramp, she turns her gaze toward the crowd, raising a hand to silence their mixed reactions. She stops halfway down, lifting a microphone to her lips. “LAW, do you know what it means to be forgotten? To have your name, your bloodline, buried by the sands of time? I do.” Her voice is low, steady, and cutting. “But tonight… the Oshima name is reborn. And every one of you will remember to fear our name.”
Lowering the microphone, she continues her march to the ring. Her daughters may still be in the shadows, honing their skills under her watchful eye, but soon enough, they will stand beside her. For now, Yutani carries the weight of the Oshima name alone, with pride and ruthless determination.
Reaching the ring, Yutani ascends the steps with regal grace, pausing on the apron to survey her kingdom. Two hooded figures rush to her side and part the ropes for her, as if recognizing the arrival of a true queen. Once she steps into the center of the ring, she allows herself a brief moment of satisfaction, her gaze sweeping across the arena while she makes her way to her corner and rests her back against the turnbuckles, her expression a mask of icy confidence.
She was staring into her phone. On there, a wikipedia page about her high-profile opponent. Then a dive through google images, then a scroll through YouTube thumbnails. An entire dynasty was unrolled in-front of her. All the hype for this supposed return. The playback reels of destruction and pure freaking awesomeness. History essays. And… She was meant to fight THAT?
She set her phone down against her thighs, then leaned over to hide inside her knees.
“Fuck… Fuck-fuck.” I can’t do this. We’re sick! Yeah. Bone spur in the foot from training really really… REALLY hard. She did do that, yes. That and more leading into this. Every day for two to three hours. A bone spur would be believable. Most of all, it would be sad, right? Think… Maybe, the company will give her a better… Not a green opponent exactly, but not someone who screamed SUPER MEGA DEATH WARRIOR OF GOLD AND COOL.
The phone rings. “Hm?”
She picks up. And on the other end, a man’s voice chimes in.
“Heyyyy.” “Dad? Isn’t it like… Four in the morning?” “Sure is. I got the TV on and everything.” “Oh. What you watching?” “First it was a tall woman named You…tah-nee Awsh..Ema. Never heard of her, but she seems scary. Who is she?” “She’s uhm… A serious vet. Been around a long while. Her family is… Very old. Like, Daimyo, back when that was still a thing.” “So like a gimmick? Just like you’re the samurai.” “I-uh… N-No, Dad. Not a gimmick. She’s real.” “Got it. Think you can beat that?” “Doubtful.” “Well, you trained this long to not take a swing… AND, sooo what? If you lose again, you can just come back home and wrestle the indies around here. I hear they got chickens running around.” “Real helpful.” Evelyn smiled, “Thanks, though.”
BANG BANG. The door, someone was calling. “Daishouri. You ready?”
“Gotta go.” “Remember the hardcam.”
The call ends. She stows her phone in the bag behind her, then gets up and heads for the ring.
What she entered with was simplistic.
played to a graphic of her name on the Titantron, then a little cartoony Daishouri that had her hair, the black scarf, a white robe and flashed a peace symbol over an eye, grinning. Daishouri strode out with a rock in her throat. Her legs were stiff as boards and her chest nearly exploded at the first greeting from the crowd. A few can see her anxiety. Claps and cheers that started soon faded into uncertainty.
By the time Daishouri stopped at the rampart, she felt smaller and smaller. Frozen in time. Do something, you stupid oaf
She closed her eyes, breathed out deep, then shouted, “Hup!” Before throwing up a high kick, letting the foot STOMP down, then spinning on her heel to come around, jump and execute a second heel kick to stomp the ground a second time, LOUDER, but in a pose that saw a narrow profile and a hand on the hilt of the fake sword she carried.
The crowd clapped, nodded and almost forgot her nerves as Daishouri made a stride down the remaining ramp. A hand stretched out to high-five. Daishouri fist-bumped it, released an internal and quiet fuck... Then went on to ringside. She bowed, then went up the steps, walking the apron and unfastening her sword belt.
She climbed the turnbuckle, put one foot on top then surveyed the crowd. The hardcam was below her, facing up, so Daishouri found it, pulled down the scarf to unveil her full-face, then raised a finger. Once again, looking out to everyone, she silently counted down her moments.
Are we ready? A one, a two… Three.
With a beaming grin, she started, “Daaaaaaish--” Then thrust her finger high into the air, popping up to balance on the top buckle. “--Ouriiiiiii!”
The crowd chimed in for the latter. Just a section. She crouched low, grabbed the top rope and then hopped off, spinning back around to face Yutani. The scarf was taken off, same with the sword and the belt, then handed off to the referee with a brief bow to thank them. Once she finally set focus on her opponent, she kindly regretted the referee walking away. God she's scary-- I’m going to dieeee hereeee--
“H-Hi… O-Oshima-san.” Then she bowed briefly. "It’s an honour. I’ll be the best opponent for you.” Idiot, you forgot ‘I hope’ -- Don’t assume you can just match her level. What if she takes that personally? Oh, I know--. “So you better be ready for me!” An outstretched upward finger-point, smile and a step forward marked her words.
Perhaps not the best decision, said her immediate subconscious.
Is this what had become of wrestling since Yutani's departure from the once noble sport? The austere woman stood tall in the ring, arms draped over the top ropes as Daishouri made her entrance. Her cold, unflinching gaze tracked the younger wrestler’s every move. A soft scoff escaped her lips as Daishouri performed high kicks and posed with that ridiculous prop sword. Yutani’s eyes narrowed, grip tightening on the ropes. The crowd’s cheers became meaningless noise. All that mattered now was the girl standing across from her—this... child playing samurai.
Daishouri’s meek greeting broke through Yutani’s brooding. The Shoguness’s lips curled into a slow sneer as the girl fumbled through her words, ending with a hollow show of bravado. She bowed and smiled—smiled—like this was some friendly spar.
“Is this what you offer me? A mockery?” Yutani’s voice was low, sharp as a blade. “You adorn a heritage you cannot possibly comprehend. My family’s legacy was forged in the fires of war, our enemies crushed beneath our feet. We did not posture—we ruled. Our name is written in history, not by show, but by blood.”
Her eyes bore into Daishouri’s, cold and merciless. “I am Yutani Oshima, Shoguness of the Oshima Dynasty, descended from samurai and rulers of empires. And you…” She glanced at Daishouri’s prop sword off to the side with thinly veiled contempt. “You are nothing but a pretender. An insult to your very name.”
Her tone grew quieter, more dangerous. “Daishouri—‘overwhelming victory’—a title unearned. You are not worthy of this fight, and you are certainly not worthy to stand in my ring.”
She stepped even closer, her mature bosom pushing back against the young wrestler's frame. “I’ll give you one chance. Walk away. Forfeit and allow me to seek worthy foes. Bow down to the Shoguness, and maybe you’ll leave with a shred of dignity.” Yutani’s lip curled into a sneer as she stepped back. “But if you stay—if you dare fight me—I will break you. I will demolish you without mercy, and all anyone will ever remember is how I humiliated you.”
She loomed over Daishouri, every word dripping with menace. The Shoguness had given her opponent a choice: flee or be crushed.
W-Well… Regardless of whether ‘deserve’ mattered to whether or not she can or can not step into this ring was... Inconsequential.
Not when you’re standing apart from someone who, down to the very core of them, are a different and ascendent level of gifted. That instinct that she wasn't in-front of someone who went home, did things or progressed like anyone else, but in-fact, more capable and more ordained and more gifted than the bottom ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine percent. The universe just worked for her and her family for supposedly hundreds and hundreds of years. Her bloodline cracked the code long ago. And here she was, twenty-seven without a lick of success, making a stand against that.
Right. Yeah. Makes sense. She understood everything now and would like to pack her bags now. It was tempting to admit. I’m sorry to waste your time. Then leave. Easy as that. A verbal slap on the cheek isn’t the same as blowing your return. Saving the porcelain vase, if you will. But at the same time, her mouth was dry and she was beginning to sting in her eyes, even after blinking. Her knees were locked. Thighs sweaty. When she beat herself down like this, there was a bottom-floor sign that said 'Turn around' -- and she wanted to whine.
She broke stare, looked down, lower and lower, but growing in tension in her neck. She knew this was likely the wrong move, but her choices were a queued up assembly line, following what her gut felt was right. She bowed. “I’d… I still want to compete, please and thank you.” She blurted, sighed, then added, frowning, “It’s-uhm, very important to me, that I don’t leave this place. Whether you destroy me as promised -- or I make it out alright, I can’t leave. I need this opportunity. And if you're as powerful as you say, Yutani-san, then you're just what I need.”
She straightened her gaze, then her posture. And now that she started to peel the band-aid of committing to her likely demise, the tension started to ease. Her confidence bought a shovel to dig the grave, taking a battle-ready stance. “If you’ll let me. I'm ready to start.”
As Daishouri's trembling voice spilled out her determination, the faintest flicker of something unreadable passed through Yutani's dark eyes—a flicker quickly buried beneath the icy veneer of her regal composure. Her imposing frame stood a hair's breadth away from Daishouri, towering over her with the weight of generations carved in stone. Yutani’s shadow consumed the younger woman, a palpable reminder of the gulf that separated them—by blood, by legacy, by presence. For a moment, Yutani said nothing, her sharp gaze dragging over Daishouri from head to toe as if evaluating her worth. Then, a faint, contemptuous smirk ghosted across her lips. She tilted her head slightly, her voice dropping to a low, ominous purr.
“You bow, and yet your words defy me. Do you think resolve alone will carry you through this battle? You speak of needs, of desires, as if the ring bends to your will. Foolish.” Her gaze never wavered, boring into Daishouri’s with the crushing weight of judgment. “You say my strength is what you need?” she mused, her tone laced with mockery. “No, child. My strength is what you fear. It is what will grind you into dust beneath my heel. But if you seek ruin so desperately, far be it from me to deny you.”
Yutani stepped back, her movements sharp and deliberate, her hair billowing with the motion. She turned slightly to address the crowd, her voice rising, resonating with regal authority. “Bear witness to this girl’s folly! She clings to courage born of desperation, not conviction. A hollow fire, soon to be extinguished.” She turned her attention back to Daishouri, her expression hardening. “You have made your choice. You have invited my wrath. I shall not hold back, not for a single moment. This ring will be your proving ground—or your grave.”
Yutani raised her arms, her commanding presence consuming the arena as she took her place at the center of the ring. “Come, then,” she declared, her voice sharp, cutting through the air. “Show me if you are truly ready to stand against the Shoguness. But mark my words: I will not stop until you bow again—not in respect, but in defeat.”
She beckoned Daishouri forward with a single, sharp gesture, her piercing gaze daring her opponent to step into the storm. The crowd roared, but Yutani did not hear them. Her focus was singular, her presence unyielding. In this moment, there was no question who commanded this ring.
That was very true. Every time she came out before and now, there was an itch, an inkling and feeling that this would be the end of her career. They'd get tired of her struggling development even when being booked against every asshole was just 'an opportunity'. The crowds could turn away any day. Her support home could always be extinguished after seeing what she goes through for people and sport. Every time a self-made crucible. She hadn't experienced someone laying it out for her so vividly. Her own thoughts in plain day, in a stern voice like sensei. Yutani Oshima was real in every possible way. It was... Almost too real. A movie like. Sure, there wasn't a shogunate anymore, but the wrestling world could make anyone the strongest, most confident and most grand version of ourselves. She believed it.
As far as Daishouri was concerned. She was fighting a ruler.
"I understand." Said Daishouri. Even so, there wasn't room for error or slip. No hesitations. She needed to get the sweat off her hands if she was going to bend her for the tap-out. Or un-stiffen her arms so they had the strength to lift her leg for a three count. Any and every aspect needed to be locked down and swung like a tidal wave.
Just think it through. Think it slow. She's giving us the initiative. We have our mission.
She just needed to figure out how to start. First taking a deep breath through her nose, going tall and giving a firm final nod. "I won't let you down, Oshima-sama. Now lets wrestle!" Then with a modicum of bravado, she went forward, approaching in a wide angle with her hands raised, attempting to circle. If she could just get Oshima-sama to follow suit, widen her stance, then it would leave the inside of her leg open. But only when she saw the angle did she shuffle in quickly into reach, leaning back to avoid any quick grab and swinging her leg to target the Shoguness's inside knee! "Hup!"
Yutani’s cold, regal demeanor remained intact as Daishouri spoke her words of determination. Yet, the faintest twitch of her lips betrayed the barest hint of disdain—a mere ripple on the surface of her unshakable composure. “You grasp at courage, girl, yet it slips through your fingers like water,” she intoned, her voice measured, austere. “Very well. Come, then. Show me the weight of your resolve—if it even exists.”
As Daishouri began to circle, Yutani mirrored her movements, her steps deliberate, purposeful. She was a prowling tiger—watchful, controlled, exuding an air of dominance that clung to the space around her. The ring became a chessboard, and Yutani moved with the confidence of one who had played this game many times before. Her arms were loose but poised, her every step silent but commanding. Her sharp eyes followed Daishouri’s movements, scanning for intent, for error, for weakness.
Then it came—Daishouri’s shuffle forward, her quick strike aimed at Yutani’s inner knee. The Shoguness’s eyes narrowed, but she allowed the attack to land. The sharp, snapping impact stung, forcing her leg to buckle slightly, a temporary crack in her imperial foundation. Yet the faint wince that flickered across her face was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had appeared. “A bold attempt,” she murmured as the kick lashed out, “but an ill-fated one.”
With the precision of a seasoned tactician, Yutani retaliated immediately. Her leg snapped back to its stance, and in the same fluid motion, Yutani struck, planting her heel firmly into the canvas and surging forward like a thunderous tide. Her arm swept up, aiming to crash against Daishouri’s sternum in a sudden, devastating palm strike, her fingers splayed wide to maximize the force of impact.
The moment Daishouri hit solid muscle, her shin felt like it was cracking off a thick street-pole. Is her leg freaking iron?! Thought Daishouri, who’s face started to twist at the lips, holding stoic as she peered up, feeling herself shrink in the moments Yutani pulled back. Control your emotions, then with a clear head, strike. Any cue and sign will be used against you, so don’t let them see you break. If only I could be at that good as—
“!!!” A six-footer just charged her like they belonged in Lightweight, with nothing in their form that looked to be an opening. She knew the best thing was just to get out of the damn way, but by the time she decided to roll right, left, backwards or under, Yutani’s palm was already half an inch through caving in her sternum. “PUGHH!!” And sending her careening back.
The force was swift and violent. She felt breathless before even gasping. Her upper-half snapped towards the mat in a motion like she was a ruler being thwacked against a desk. Her eyes went wide, then her arms crossed over her sternum. The first breath she took was raspy, desperate. She took a second, and that wasn’t any easier. For at least the first few seconds, she was breathing through a straw. So she kicked, held herself and was soon asked by the referee. “Are you hurt? Daishouri, CAN you continue?”
And without a second thought, she replied, “Y-yes!” Through a strained, out-of-breath tone, but enough for the referee to step back and let the upcoming slaughter continue.
