New World Rising

Rafa had heard Japan referred to as “The Land of the Rising Sun”, but he hadn’t seen a sunrise since his plane landed almost a month before. Instead, he had immersed himself in the Fukuoka nightlife. He visited clubs and bars in a vain attempt at occupying himself. Alcohol was a frequent contributor to the nights, something that Rafa had previously stayed away from. A month in Japan had taken its toll.

On this morning, Rafa watched his first sunrise. He was seated on a carpeted floor in a standard Japanese hotel room, gazing out of an open window several stories high in the Fukuoka skyline. A brilliant orange sun had just peaked over the mountains that separated Fukuoka from the Pacific Ocean.

A half-case worth of empty beer cans of beer circled him, a telling sign that it wasn’t an early morning for Rafa—but a late night.

In his current drunken stupor, he reflected on the decision that cost him his football career, and how he had been on a vicious downward spiral since. Of course, he had faced adversity as he fought to make the League, but that paled in comparison to the last year. He had been in the wrestling business for just three months, and already he was forced to uproot himself and move halfway around the world. His agent Marion Payette had spun it many ways, but Rafa refused to accept his role in Max Japan Pro.

Still, he had fought in the tag-matches with the most focus he could muster. He and AJ Knight were successful, which was a highlight. He and a variety of other people were not successful, which Rafa took with his lumps. Those wins and losses mattered little to Rafa. At this point, he simply wanted to fill his contract, dose out on Xanax for the flight back to the States, and never ever travel abroad again (for work or pleasure).

Two matches were left before Rafa would meet that sweet end, though, and to everyone’s surprise they weren’t ALL cobbled together tag matches. Well, one of them was. FDJ and Jack Tillman were teaming up to face Rafa and Justin Seville (of all people). Marion had reminded Rafa that he was one half of the Heritage Tag Team Champions, but also warned him that he was also notorious for stabbing his friends in the back. Marion insisted that both chemistry and caution were to be utilized during this match. Rafa shrugged, pretending he understood.

On the last day of the Attack of the Castle tour, Rafa will have his lone singles match in Japan. Kawada is his opponent, the man Rafa spiked on the mat and pinned in his first MJPW match. Despite a month of bullshit, a month of living with a language barrier, staying in a hotel and getting shitfaced—if he beat Kawada definitively for a second time, he would have that badge of honor for the rest of his career. This match would be what Rafa brought back with him to Lion’s Road. If he defeated Kawada, a month of hell in Japan would have be justified.

A knock on the door woke Rafa from his drunken thoughts. He took a sip of the warm beer in his hand, stood up, and stumbled to the door to open it. Marion entered the small room, his shoulders immediately descending as he looked around at his drunken client.

“You haven’t slept, have you?” Marion asked.

“I slept,” Rafa mumbled, unconvincingly.

Marion walked into the small room and noted the beer cans littering the floor and a completely untouched bed. Marion realized a few weeks ago that this trip to Japan was detrimental to his client’s health. Rafa, without question, was always a dedicated athlete first and foremost. He never needed any motivation to train or live a healthy lifestyle. Those character traits seem to have stayed in Florida though, because in Japan Rafa had unbound.

They both realized this with concern and agreed that they would never take an overseas gig for this length again. At this point Marion simply hoped that he could get Rafa through the next week without a complete breakdown.

“You probably don’t feel like training…” Marion asked as Rafa slumped down on the bed. After a moment of silence Rafa sat up.

“Yeah, let’s go to the gym.” He slurred with a sloppy grin.