L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

     For the broken brunette, violence and terror were inextricably linked. For most others, it would have been a fear of bodily harm that would have incited said terror—but for Kagami, such was a peripheral fear. Instead, it was the weight of past external expectations that used to send ice down her spine and threw her heart into overdrive. That same weight, however, impelled Kagami to face violence head-on and doggedly pursue victory in competition.
     Yet, there was no father here to demand that she win. Fear, however, tastes similarly regardless of the underlying impetus. Kagami's current exposure, the competitive context, and the tangibility of violence formed an adequate simulacrum of her past experiences. Eat or be eaten, triumph or perish—that was her current mindset. And, in a life where control had been perpetually wrested from her hands, this contextual violence was one of her only shreds of agency.
     Kagami vaguely noticed the splotches of red appearing on her target—yet, it was hardly a shock to her. Blood in the dojo was not unfamiliar to the broken brunette, allowing adrenaline and the mundaneness of the sight to preclude mercy. Ultimately, stopping the fight was the responsibility of the referee. Kagami's only duty was to win and ostensibly stay within the rules.
     The sensation of the pushing force on her torso did not register in Kagami's mind: capable opponents will often defend themselves, and this seemed like nothing more than Yo-Yo finally mounting a resistance. But, the sight of an unfamiliar arm bracing against Yo-Yo and the sound of an impassioned cry quickly disabused Kagami of this belief. Sheer momentum would carry the broken brunette to attempt to throw a final elbow strike. However, even the feral brunette could realize that the fight was over.
     Kagami's aggressive motions would cease, yet for a moment, her body would remain steadfast against the arm trying to force her away. An exhalation following an inward breath would release the tension, allowing the space between herself and her crimson-tinged work to widen. The broken brunette would rise on shaky legs and eke out a trembling step backwards, before collapsing in sequence. Her butt would hit the mat first, followed by her shoulders and head in sequence. Tears would flow from her clenched eyes as she lie heaving on the mat. Her breaths would be like gasps, like the agonized cries of oxygen-starved lungs.

”-Yolanda! Yolanda, can you hear-”

A distant voice. Yo-Yo was on a boat in the middle of the ocean, adrift, and someone was calling out to her from the shore. She couldn't quite make her - and she knew it was a woman - out, though. The waves were too strong, making too much noise, and the sound barely carried over them. There was no paddle, no motor, no way to steer. She was adrift, floating to nowhere.

”Help, we need help over-”

She was in the forest. Dusk, just before sundown, her favorite time of day. When it’s not quite night and not quite day, and all the little lightning bugs make their way out. There was stillness it that she always liked as a kid. She would go out there sometimes - typically when her mother took the tablet away and she didn’t have anything else to do - and just hang and walk with nature. But tonight, someone was crying in the distance, just on the edge of hearing. And why did she taste copper?

”Yolanda, listen I need you sit up, I need you-”

She was sleeping in her bed, it was raining outside. She must’ve been up all night, so hard that the thunder wasn’t bothering her. Only that wasn’t thunder, it was the sound of boots stomping around the ring. And that wasn’t rain, it was the crowd, erupting into a discordant cacophony.

”What-” Yo-Yo spat the blood clean out of her mouth. ”What is-”

She was on the floor now, looking up at the lights, as the medical team rushed around her. What was she even doing here? Did she have a match? She didn't remember coming out here in the first place, much less what happened to put her there. She tried to sit up, but it hurt. She tried to turn her head, but it hurt. The only that didn’t hurt was blinking, and closing her eyes was the last thing she wanted to do right now. She wanted to stay lucid, doing her best to hold her consciousness together, but that simple action was a Herculean task, and she was steadily failing once again.

Who was that naked woman? Who was…