Tomás Ferreira vs. Luong Chun - Before the Fall

[BlackAkuma]

Match Type: Humiliation
Victory Conditions: Victory can only be obtained by making an opponent submit due to humiliation.

***

Luong Chun stepped out onto the ramp with her attendant, Lee, close behind, surveying the packed crowd with arms folded. As always, she held a pose befitting royalty. Head held high, arms folded, chest proudly stuck out, even as the crowd jeered and booed and made their displeasure known. She ignored it, like so much water off a duck’s back. They were all idiots and fools, slobbering perverts waiting for their daily fix of depravity.

And yet, despite her better impulses, Luong had missed them.

She absolutely hated admitting that, but she was never one to lie to herself, and the truth could not have been more obvious. Luong had taken a sabbatical from LAW for a few months, traveling back home to South Korea, hoping to get away from the grime of Tokyo and enjoy the fruits of her homeland. That had turned out to be a fool’s errand. The country became embroiled in political nonsense almost as soon as she arrived, complicating her daily life with news and nonsense. It had been nonstop chaos, and only recently had things settled down so she wasn’t having a constant headache.

Compared to that mess, pro wrestling seemed like a simple escape. As silly as the sport could be at times, it was uncomplicated and only asked her to do what she was best at: fight. As much as she dearly, truly, honestly loved her home, she was happy to be back. She needed the stress relief.

As luck would have it, management was in a good position to accommodate her, needing someone for a humiliation match, which fit right into her tastes and preferences. She was more than happy to oblige.

She made sure to keep her face placid as she descended the ramp so that her pleasant mood wouldn’t be given away, keeping her regal aura intact as her

reverberated around the arena. She stopped at the end, giving Lee a moment to dust off the steps, then promptly made her way inside, not even acknowledging the referee on her way to the corner.

Luong leaned against the corner and cast her eyes towards the curtain, waiting for her opponent. She knew little of him beyond his - Tomas - but the details hardly mattered. Tonight, he would be her toy.

Kneel.

[GoingBananas]

The roar of the Tokyo crowd was deafening, but Tomás had long since learned to tune such noise out. The cheers, the jeers, the chants, the catcalls and hollers—they were all irrelevant. All that mattered now was the battle ahead. He had been in LAW long enough to understand the game being played, long enough to recognize when management was setting him up for failure. And tonight? Tonight was no different.

His opponent, Luong Chun, was someone he had heard plenty about. The so-called “High Kick Empress” had a reputation for her ruthless humiliation tactics, a legacy built on reducing her opponents to pitiful wrecks. In some ways, she reminded him too much of Blair Dame, a name that still burned in his mind. Blair had dismantled him with ease, exposed his vulnerabilities, and left him with a loss on his record. However, facesit notwithstanding, it was among the matches where he could hold his head up high.

And now, LAW had thrown him into another match that played directly into his weaknesses. Another towering, flexible striker who thrived on grinding her opponents into submission—not through pain, but through sheer, unbearable disgrace.

He could already imagine the smirks from the higher-ups, their disdain for male competitors all too clear. LAW had never been kind to him, never given him a real shot at proving himself on even ground. It was always some uphill battle, some humiliating stipulation, some scenario designed to make him look weak. And yet, he was still here. They hadn’t broken him yet.

As his theme music blared through the arena, Tomás stepped through the curtain, his hazel eyes fixed straight ahead, his expression unreadable. The lights reflected off his white hair as he made his way down the ramp, his every step measured, his focus locked in. He had long since stopped expecting a warm welcome; the crowd was indifferent at best, hostile at worst. The humiliation match stipulation had already poisoned their perception—either he was a willing participant in LAW’s brand of spectacle, or he was the poor fool who had wandered into a lion’s den. Neither option sat well with him.

He should have been home. He should have been in Portugal with his brothers. With a sua família, living the life that was stolen from him. But court-ordered exile was a cruel mistress, and reality was unyielding. LAW was all he had left, whether he liked it or not.

He reached the ring and rolled inside, rising to his feet with a calm, practiced ease. Across from him, Luong Chun leaned against the turnbuckle, her blue eyes gleaming with amusement, her regal stance exuding the effortless confidence of a woman who already believed she had won. Tomás knew that look well. It was the same look Blair Dame had given him before she tore him apart. The same look LAW management had every time they placed him in matches like these. His jaw clenched. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

With a deep breath, Tomás raised his fists and shadowboxed into the corner. The match hadn’t even begun, and already, he could feel the weight of expectations pressing down on him. But if they wanted him broken, they would have to work for it. This time, he would not fall so easily.

[BlackAkuma]

Though she often looked upon her opponents with disdain, that was often for show - she didn’t want her opponents to get the idea that they were anything but an obstacle for her, trash to be stepped over. While that might have often been the case, even she wasn’t so supremely talented that she could pay her opponents no mind at all. When they came down that ramp, or she came to them, one of the most important patches of the match had already begun.

She tested. She analyzed. She planned. Worked to derive strategies before a single punch had been thrown. So, when Tomas’ music began, and the man himself made his way out, she was already locked on, and what she saw was…

”Interesting.”

Strong. Fit. He wasn’t a large man, but not short, either. He had the body of a fighter and didn’t seem shy about showing it off, which would be necessary given the match type. Dark-skinned, too, though she didn’t recognize the ethnicity. South American, perhaps?

More importantly, he seemed focused, oddly so. She was more used to the men in this division greeting her warmly, drawn in by her looks before she began to tear them apart. Tomas seemed to be under no such delusions - he came in and began shadowboxing, his fists slicing through the air with impressive shots that she did not wish to be on the receiving end of.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but she couldn't shake the sense that something was on his mind. There was a puzzle to be solved.

No need for a preamble. Luong stepped forward, making her way to the center of the ring with a hand on her hip, and stood there with one of her ankles slightly raised off the ground. A lax pose, a light smile, as she waited to see how he would start this off.

[GoingBananas]

Tomás was used to being watched. In LAW, eyes were always on him—hungry, calculating, waiting for that first moment of weakness. He had felt it every time he stepped into this cursed ring, every time management lined up another opponent eager to exploit his weaknesses, to take advantage of his situation.

But this? This wasn’t the same. Luong wasn’t looking at him with the same hunger as the others. There was no immediate cruelty in her gaze, no smirk that promised she knew something he didn’t. She wasn’t toying with him before the fight even began. No, this was different. She was studying him, scrutinizing him, analyzing his every move. And that, in itself, was dangerous.

Tomás had faced all kinds of fighters. He knew how to deal with arrogance, with overconfidence, with those who underestimated him from the start. Those were the ones he could catch by surprise, the ones who left openings too wrapped up in their own superiority to see what was coming. But Luong? She was watching, measuring him. Tomás could see it in her stance, in the way her sharp blue eyes moved over his form with a silent, calculating intensity. That meant she wasn’t going to make mistakes.

It didn’t change anything. He still had a job to do, still had a fight to win. But it did mean one thing: he had to be smart. He had seen men—men just like him—fall to her before. They let themselves be lulled by her beauty, intoxicated by her dangerous grace, and by the time they realized their mistake, it was already too late. They were too distracted, too flustered, too focused on her reputation rather than the very real danger she posed. But Tomás? He wasn’t going to make that mistake. Luong Chun was an opponent, nothing more. Not a seductress, not a dominator, not a queen perched atop her throne—just another fighter standing in his way.

Rolling his shoulders, Tomás stepped forward, his posture upright and strong, his feet moving with an easy, fluid rhythm. His usual confidence was there, but it wasn’t the casual swagger of someone about to take part in LAW’s usual humiliating spectacle. No. This was the stance of a fighter. His gaze met Luong’s directly, unwavering, as he came to a stop a few feet away from her, standing firm. His fists curled at his sides, a slow inhale filling his lungs as he locked into focus. Her stance was loose, casual, one foot slightly raised off the ground as if she hadn’t a single concern in the world. A lesser man might have taken that as an insult, as a sign of disrespect. Tomás knew better. He had spent years fighting in rings and on the streets; he knew when a fighter was relaxed, and when they were coiled to strike like a viper. He stepped forward, measured and deliberate, his hazel eyes locking onto hers with the same intensity she directed at him. He rolled his shoulders, keeping his frame loose but ready, feet shifting as he tested the weight of his stance.

“Tch. Let’s get this over with.”

If she was waiting to see how he’d start this off, then she wouldn’t have to wait long. He moved first. There was no grand gesture, no wasted motion—just a sudden, precise shift of his weight as he lunged forward, closing the distance in an instant. His left foot slid forward, planting firmly into the mat to ground himself, while his right knee snapped upward, his hip twisting with the motion. A vicious right knee strike—kradot khao, the leaping knee. Straight toward her ribs. It was fast. Sharp. Designed not just to test her reactions, but to force one out of her. And if she wasn’t ready, it would crash into her side with enough force to knock the wind out of her.

[BlackAkuma]

As annoying as she found the men in LAW to be, Luong wasn’t surprised by much of anything she’d seen so far. She knew going in that they would be a mostly pathetic lot, filled to the brim with perverts and punks, wastrels that weren’t worthy of sharing the ring with her - less so than most people, at least. She had resigned herself to this fate, and only came to expect so much. If she weren’t up against a slobbering dog of a man, she would take that as a good sign.

But right away, she could tell there was something different with Tomas, an odd quirk in his demeanor. It was simply his body, as admittedly impressive as that was. No, it was more in the way he carried himself, the sly way he sulked. It hadn't escaped her notice that he didn’t bother with a greeting, instead taking his place until it was time to begin—none of the pleasantries. No formalities. He had simply come to fight.

When he did step forward, he was already in a solid stance, one with no flaws that she could see. Luong received the distinct impression that this one knew what he was getting into with her - either he’d been tipped off or watched her matches directly. Perhaps he thought he had her number. Perhaps he thought he would be safe.

He would be wrong.

He would learn just how wrong in short order, too. While she expected him to bring the fight her way, she conceded that she didn’t foresee him doing so with such exacting speed. The bell had only rung when he struck, coming her way measured steps and a practiced stance, one she instantly recognized. A nak muay? It had been ages since she fought one of them, longer still since she took on one with any talent.

She held her ground as he approached and only moved when she was sure - absolutely - what his move would be. To his credit, there was just the smallest tell. Only the planting of his foot warned her that something big was coming her way, but that was enough for her to take a quick step back and avoid the knee destined for her ribs. The sort of hit she could not afford to take.

As usual, Luong’s superior stature was her greatest boon, allowing to not only avoid the attack but strike back at long-range. Her foot came up for a quick snap kick, targeting the ribs, aiming at the same spot he’d missed, while backpedaling in the same motion.

All the while, she kept her hands free and loose, not bothering with defense. Not yet.

[GoingBananas]

Tomás recognized the type. Luong wasn’t just skilled—she was calculating, waiting, studying. A fighter who thrived on control, who let her opponent dictate the pace, only to turn it against them in an instant. He’d fought strikers like her before, and he knew exactly what kind of danger they posed.

His knee had been measured, aimed with precision. But she had seen it. More than that, she had read him. A slight shift, a step back, and his strike met only empty air. Sharp. Experienced. It was a rare thing to have an opponent read a muay thai strike so well.

Yet even as he reset, she was already answering. The snap of her leg was quick, almost deceptively so, whipping toward his ribs with practiced grace. Tomás saw it, understood the timing, the spacing—she was using her height, her reach, maximizing the distance where he sought to close it. He couldn’t let her dictate that rhythm.

Instead of retreating, he absorbed the impact, rolling his body with the blow to lessen the sting. A sharp pain was present, but conditioning prepared Tomás for it. Muay Thai was not a discipline of evasion—it was one of endurance, of sharpening the body into something unbreakable. He exhaled sharply through his nose as his arm came down, his forearm pressing against the spot where her kick had landed. Not to coddle it, but to remind himself that it was there, that it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Luong had reach on him, that much was clear. That meant giving her space was a mistake. If he let her dictate the pace, she would dance around him all night, striking from angles he had no business allowing. No, he had to press. He had to get inside.

His response was immediate. As soon as her foot retracted, he lunged forward, leading with a sharp step. His left hand shot out, fingers curled slightly, not in a punch but in a feint. A lure. He wanted her to see it, to react, to make a choice—block, dodge, or counter. But the actual attack came from below.

Tomás dropped his weight low, coiling his body like a spring, and then unleashed a devastating inside leg kick aimed at the thigh of her standing leg. A Muay Thai classic. If he could land it cleanly, it would be the first step in breaking down her mobility, making those high kicks just a little harder to execute, a little slower to fire off. It wasn’t just about damage—it was about strategy, about forcing her into his range where he thrived.

And yet, even as he executed, he remained keenly aware. Luong was no amateur, no rookie to be overwhelmed by brute force alone. No, she was a tactician, a predator in her own right, and he was certain she had an answer waiting for him. The real question was whether she would take the bait—or if she had already set a trap of her own?

[BlackAkuma]

With many of her opponents, Luong had the advantage of foreknowledge - not of knowing them, mind you, but of them knowing her. She was fairly well-known in her home country, and that pedigree brought with it a certain amount of fear. Her foes knew what she could do and what her tactics were, and they often thought they could find ways to deal with her. They would come up with plans, which she would inevitably ruin, and then she would spend the match picking them apart while they failed to find a viable path. It was sadly, predictable.

Tomas, to his credit, didn’t seem to fall into that category. He had enough sense to realize what he was dealing with, but his approach was far more interesting than most.

She was honestly surprised when he took the blow, though she only showed her shock with a slight raise of the eyebrow. He could’ve avoided that blow easily enough - it was fast, yes, but he was at a good enough distance to dart back out of range in time. Instead, he absorbed the impact, and even seemed to roll with it, taking away some of the bite from her strike. Not a tactic she was accustomed to - most of her foes retreated under pressure.

Instead, Tomas moved in and moved fast, closing the distance as she backpedaled. A punch was coming her way, or at least what he wanted her to think was a punch. The fist was curled, but she knew bait when she saw it, and she wasn’t biting. It did beg the question of where the real thing was coming, however.

Ah. There.

He dropped low then exploded, coming up fast and fiery with a kick aimed at her best weapons, targeting her legs. Smart man, she’d give him credit, but that didn't mean the ploy would work. Her first move was to raise her leg and block the blow with her upper calf - far from pleasant, but an improvement over the alternative. Her next move was to create space, which she did by shooting that same leg out towards his chest, attempting to shove his chest away with a push kick to make space. Sorely needed space.

[GoingBananas]

He saw it—the flicker, subtle and swift. The faint lift of an eyebrow gave her away. Not much, but enough. She had expected him to play it safe, to slip back, to keep his distance like so many others before him. Most did. That was the smart play, wasn’t it? Give Luong her space, try to dissect her rhythm from afar and hope she makes a mistake first. That tactic had likely failed a hundred times before, and Tomás had no intention of making it a hundred and one. After all, Tomás had learned long ago that taking a hit could be more instructive than avoiding it. Especially against a striker like her.

The kick had landed, but he’d taken it on his terms—tightened core, shoulders rolled into the blow, body riding the impact as best he could. It wasn’t pretty, and it damn sure wasn’t painless, but it served a purpose. A little pain now for better positioning later. A trade he was more than willing to make. And now he was in range.

He feinted with his fist, a sharp jab that looked too polished not to be real, just enough to ask the question. She didn’t answer with panic—no wide eyes, no flinch—just the slight tightening of her stance as she dismissed the bait. She was good. Experienced. Unshakable. But Tomás hadn’t expected a cheap trick to work on her. That was just the lead-in.

He sank low in the next instant, his weight shifting over his front leg before springing upward, a rising shin strike cutting diagonally at her thigh. Not a knock-out blow—he wasn’t chasing the finish yet—but a calculated attack, aimed at one of her best weapons: her legs. Take away her foundation, and even the sharpest striker gets dulled.

But then he felt the block—her calf catching his shin in a bone-on-bone clash that stung enough to remind him who he was dealing with. And the moment wasn’t over. Not yet. She fired back immediately, a push kick coming like a piston to his chest. Controlled, forceful, efficient. His arm came across in a firm parry, his body twisting with the impact to redirect it instead of eating it square. He slid a half-step to the side, catching his balance quickly on the canvas beneath them, bare feet squeaking slightly under the adjustment. Her kick forced space—but not control. He let her create the distance. Let her think she was buying time.

And then he circled, careful, quiet. The rhythm of his footwork was smooth and deliberate. His breath was even, his ribs ached faintly, and the muscle in his thigh throbbed from the clash. But his eyes? Still locked on hers. No posturing. No grin. No bravado. Just breath. And then a shift.

Tomás dropped low again—not in retreat, but in preparation. One leg swept behind, his lead heel barely brushing the canvas. One arm raised loose and reactive, the other coiled tight at his chest, ready to explode. Still. Focused. Poised. Waiting. She moved like rhythm personified. Now it was time to break the beat.

[BlackAkuma]

Luong loathed - truly loathed - giving her opponents credit, especially in a place like LAW, which was infested with men simply here to get a feel on women would otherwise be totally out of their league. She herself had been the target of such lewdness on a few occasions, even with her short stint in the company, finding herself inundated with requests for ‘foot pics’ by wretched wastrels. At first, she found it amusing, in the same way someone might derive a laugh from a dog rolling in the mud, but it had grown more pathetic with time. Now she found herself regularly having to block spam on her email - an email they shouldn’t have had access to in the first place, mind you, but that was neither here nor there.

This one was different. She might even say it was impressive, but she would save that accolade until further investigation.

Current results were impressive, however. While she could get her leg up in time to block the kick, she was harshly reminded that blocking a blow never took away all the impact - not that she, of all people, needed that lesson. The blow coursed through her calf and left a numbing sensation in its wake, and Luong had to force her jaw shut to keep a cry from ringing out. Even so, there was no hiding the grimace across her features or the flair of her nostrils.

It hurt enough that she put a little of that spite into her returning shot, making sure drive hard with her heel. He did well against the blow, diverting it with a well-timed parry, but it still accomplished the goal she was hoping for. He was back, away from her. In her range, not his own.

Back to circling now. Slow. Patient. Focused. His eyes never left hers for even a fleeting second, and the barest hint of a special crept its way across her lips. Tempting as it was to bait him forward with another kick, she resisted the urge and kept her place for now, curious to see how he would react. Anxious. High or low, high or low…

Low.

He came in fast with a sweep, his leg cutting through the air like a scythe. Luong took a deft step back to avoid it, but if he thought she was only going to retreat, he would be surprised when she immediately came back his way, leaping into the air, drawing her feet in, and attempting to stomp him into the canvas with both feet before he could scurry away.

[GoingBananas]

Tomás saw the grimace—just a flash, just a flicker—but it was there. She’d taken the hit, and though she absorbed it with grace and control, it had left a mark. The way her nostrils flared, the way her jaw clenched. It was confirmation, and not the kind of confirmation he needed to gloat over. No, he was beyond that. It told him she wasn’t untouchable.

Still, he respected how quickly she countered, not with rage or recklessness, but with purpose. The heel of her foot drove toward his chest like a hammer swung from the hip. The parry was just in time, barely redirecting her momentum off his center line. But it came with a cost—he felt the force of it in his shoulder as the two bodies met and diverged again. A parting that was necessary. She wanted him out of her space, back in her wheelhouse. He let her have it, for now.

Tomás circled. Silent. Steady. His eyes locked to hers, unwavering, the strain in his muscles giving way to control once more. He could feel her watching him—not just reacting, but assessing, testing. Luong wasn’t like the others. She was deliberate, and more than that, she had discipline in her bones. There was no twitch, no taunt, no easy bait. Just that subtle curve of her lips. That challenge.

So be it.

He chose low—slipping into a pivot, tightening his frame, and sweeping his leg across the mat in a clean arc. A scything motion meant less to damage and more to off-balance. He knew she had the length and timing to avoid it if she saw it coming—and she did. She was already gone, stepping lightly out of range with that elegance she wore, like armor.

But then she came back in fast.

The shadows of her leap cast a sudden urgency over him. Both feet drawn in tight, aiming straight down at his position like twin daggers from above. No wasted motion. No warning. If he stayed there, she would drive him into the canvas and make it hers. He couldn’t move back. Not fast enough. So instead, Tomás went with his instinct—forward and in.

He ducked low under her descending trajectory, shooting in past the falling legs with his body kept compact, shoulders turned sideways to minimize target space. It wasn’t a clean dive. He felt the gust of her momentum as it crashed down behind him, close enough that the edge of her heel grazed his hip as she landed. He rolled through, using his shoulder as a pivot point, and scrambled into a crouch a few feet away, spinning into a three-point stance as he regained his footing.

He didn’t spring up right away. Instead, he remained low, almost feral, chest rising and falling as he watched her with narrowed eyes—measuring her next move, weighing how close he had just come to being stomped into the mat.

The breath in his lungs wasn’t calm. Not anymore. She was fast. He’d have to be faster.