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It was dangerous to drink before a match. Even Kanemaru kept it to a limit, because he wanted to stay sharp and have all his plans in mind before he went out to fight. There was always time afterwards.
Douki thought about that sentiment as he went to get beers from the vending machine just a bit farther down from the Suzuki-gun room, which was isolated at the edge of the venue. Nobody would be strolling by to catch him in the act here.
Douki hummed as he went. He wasn’t feeling particularly responsible. There was no strategy to remember, only getting furious and cracking skulls. Who cared about the rules the office had about it.
He turned the corner and there was Naito leaning against the vending machine. Naito was sipping canned coffee, and that was where Douki’s observations ended. All he could think about was Naito’s parody of what it meant to be a rudo.
Naito couldn’t even keep the members of his shitty faction from being threatened by luchadors. Douki watched the comments, he had seen it all. Did his Takagi ever think of the irony of questioning a wrestler speaking Spanish when he brandished the language on his own t-shirts?
Naito ignored Douki’s glowering and continued to sip his coffee.
“Your owner keeps you on a pretty long leash, huh?" Naito said at last. He spoke slowly, enunciating every word.
"What was that?"
Naito's lips tightened, as if to suppress a laugh. "He should be more careful, you never know what will happen to little dogs that decide to play alone around here…”
“You’re the fucking dog, with that mop on your head,” Douki said instinctively. It didn’t even make sense, why wouldn’t he be able to walk near his own assigned room? “You’re forgetting this isn’t your territory, asshole.”
“Right, right... he’s just your.. boss, then? Has he sent you on an errand?” Naito put too much emphasis on the word boss. Maybe he was forgetting Douki was his own person.
“You’re such a creep. I’m just trying to get a beer.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Don’t play dumb, you’re blocking the machine,” said Douki, and he jerked forward, was about to punch Naito in the face, when something in the way Naito’s eyes widened stopped him. Naito wanted him to get hot, to start a fight, to… have Taichi come out and get involved. This wasn’t really about Douki, was it?
Douki wasn’t involving himself in their game.
He chose another tactic. “I heard what Takagi said, all that derogatory shit about Mexico… are you really gonna let that slide?”
Naito's eyes darted around and then he adjusted his hat like nothing had happened. “He gets riled up, he doesn’t mean it.”
“Really? He seemed pretty damn calm to me. And you’re supposed to be the faction dedicated to Mexico, was that all a joke?”
Naito straightened. “You know what I think?”
He stepped in close, and Douki couldn’t bring himself to be cowardly and duck away. If all Naito said was tranquilo, Douki was definitely going to punch him.
“I don’t take criticism from brats like you.” Naito kicked him in the gut. Douki slammed back into the vending machine, nausea rising in time with his excitement. His previous thoughts fell away under the thrill of violence. They scrabbled at each other, punching and pulling at each other’s hair. Douki managed to push Naito back onto the floor and his hat fell off. He could see it sitting sadly in his peripheral vision as he shook Naito, fingers around his throat .
“Maybe you should take fucking criticism!” Douki snarled in Spanish. “You’re so comfortable here you’ve forgotten your values! No, you weren't there long enough to pick any up, you're a liar and a hypocrite!”
Naito offered no defense. He probably didn’t understand that much Spanish.
“Do you even know what I’m saying, you rat? What’s wrong with you?”
Naturally, Naito ended up flipping Douki over and turning the tide of their fight so that Douki was the one dazed on the floor. His heel dug into Douki’s chest. It was hard not to feel disappointed looking up at Naito, face neutral and certainly not bleeding enough to prove Douki had made an impact.
“Do you even know Spanish?” Douki said, this time in Japanese. His voice came out in a wheeze.
“Of course,” said Naito. “Just not your dialect. I learned in Mexico City, I don’t know your villager outskirts accent.”
What complete and utter bullshit. Naito got up and paused there for a moment, as if he was waiting for something.
Then he shrugged. “But I don’t need to prove myself to you. Adios!”
Naito really was as bad as Douki had heard.
It took time to gather the will to get back up and buy the beers. They felt good gathered against his chest, wet and achingly cold in contrast to his bruised, sweaty skin.
Taichi didn't look up when he kicked open the door.
"Hey. Fucking Naito attacked me."
That got Taichi's attention. He looked Douki up and down, face blank. “You can still wrestle, right?”
“Yeah…” Douki put all the beers on the table and dropped down to the floor. "Asked if you were my boss and sending me on an errand. I think he was hoping you would come, or something."
"Boss…" Taichi pushed his hair up, hand half-covering his face. "He's always needy for attention. We shouldn't encourage him, but if he needs a warning to stay away, well…" A hint of a smile peeked through at that.
Yeah, Douki really didn't need to get involved in this. He could feel the urge to move emanating off of Taichi, and it didn't bode well for him.
“I’m just going to get some ice.”
“You do that.”
Taichi was gone when Douki came back with the ice. It was relaxing, huddled in his chair and blanketed in cold, and if the beer was a bit warm that only provided a nice contrast. Peace and quiet.
Douki hadn’t wanted to join Suzuki-gun. Even back when Desperado had decided to join, Douki had been skeptical underneath the excitement he performed for him. Yes, there was an undeniable appeal to the group. As Desperado had said, they were a powerful force, and as close to rudos as you could get in Japan. In Suzuki-gun, following your instincts was praised, and no craving was seen as too excessive. Wasn't that freedom what all wrestlers wanted, deep in their hearts?
But everyone knew what Minoru Suzuki was like. Putting your life under his authority carried a risk.
How do you find one of Suzuki’s cronies, the joke went. Well, they would be black, gold, and bruised all over. Black and gold was Suzuki's signature. Where the bruises came from, well… it was only a king’s right to use his subjects as he saw fit, for training, amusement, or otherwise. That was what you would say if you believed in kings, anyway. It sounded more to Douki like the entitlement of a boss holding his employees' lives over their heads.
Douki had pieced together a lot about them from Desperado’s accounts. Desperado’s boss kept watch over everything Desperado did and took whatever he pleased from him, and Desperado’s tag team partner Kanemaru was happy to lie to him about their plans and use his body as a casualty if he thought it would help them win, and KES genuinely thought juniors were swine, and Iizuka had been more a creature than a person, and Taka couldn’t care less what happened to him even as he wavered and faked sympathy, and Zack was oblivious to it all, and Taichi…
Desperado never really mentioned Taichi. Maybe Taichi was one of the better parts of Suzuki-gun to him, so he didn’t have much to say. That was what Douki had always assumed. He knew Taichi had been a bit rough with Desperado when he first joined, but it was for his own good. It had helped Desperado adjust to how life worked there, and they hung out all the time now.
Douki talked to Desperado more than he did Taichi at this point, so he would often ask Desperado how Taichi was doing. Good, Desperado would say. The silence afterwards stretched out like a cliff that Douki didn’t want to have to cross.
Sitting in the darkness of Suzuki's warehouse with Taichi, getting interviewed by New Japan, Douki was impaled on the rocks that lay beneath: “If Despe waits too long to return, Douki will eat his lunch!”
Taichi said it with relish.
In truth, Douki and Desperado used to share their lunch. They sat together against the curb passing wrappers, and then cigarettes, smoking away the pits of hunger still blooming in their stomachs.
Douki couldn’t believe there was any real tension between Desperado and Taichi. He didn’t even want to think those words. It felt wrong, sour on his tongue when he mouthed it: tension. He hated trying to process things. It was better to let harmful thoughts float away like vapor and be forgotten.
It was hard to forget this, though, maybe unforgivable to forget. Like the lingering stench of blood in clothes, ones you hadn’t cleaned since you broke someone in the fight where you wore them. If Desperado had been holding back and saying nothing about Taichi for Douki's sake… if Taichi really did have some sort of issue with Desperado…
Whatever. The rest of the interview went fine. Douki kicked pebbles down the sidewalk as he thought about what Taichi had said later that night. It was such a loaded statement. Yeah, like Desperado was that replaceable. Like Desperado was replaceable by his own disciple, one who hadn’t even come close to imitating him or his success. And “wait too long to return”, did Taichi really think Desperado was just twiddling his thumbs, that he wasn’t penned up and eager and having to be threatened so he didn’t strain himself training? It was bullshit, evident if you spent even a little time with him.
Douki wasn’t going to take anything more from Desperado, not if he could help it. Desperado had already given him so much. Fuck, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all if Desperado hadn’t stepped in and saved him from the consequences of messing with Kasai.
Douki had studied enough of Desperado's tape in the past few years to know Desperado was reckless even without a person to defend, so he didn't feel too terrible. He wasn’t enough of a bleeding heart coward to want to quit wrestling over it, like he had seen in some other guys. Not when Desperado had given him his blessing. Instead, Douki would carry Desperado's mask with him as he went through this tournament, so that no one would be able to forget him.
Maybe Douki could ask Taichi about it later and try to get a satisfactory answer. He probably wouldn't, though. And maybe Desperado would read their interview and bring it up with him. That was unlikely as well.
It was just a joke, Douki told himself. It was Taichi expressing that he thought Douki was tough and talented and that in some bizarre universe where replacing Desperado was necessary, Douki could handle it. Taichi believed in him, just like when he had taken a chance and allowed Douki to perform at his show. Just like when he had planted the seeds of Douki’s career, back when Douki was an unathletic teenager in a foreign country with no idea how to make his dream a reality.
And here Douki was, eagerly ushered into New Japan, the place that had barred him from the start. He hadn't always thought he would get here, or even wanted to, but here the opportunity was.
The whole experience of it was surreal. Douki had already known basically what New Japan would be like, but seeing it first hand was different. Almost everything was taken care of for the wrestlers here. When Douki had started out in Mexico, he was able to stay with some other Japanese wrestlers at first, and for a while he followed Taichi around through his gyms and hotel rooms, but soon he was on his own.
Douki watched the Young Lions work out in the ring before the shows. He lingered high in the cheap seats, observable enough to make them wary, but far enough away to ensure they carried on like usual. Wherever Douki went, he was aware of them, shuffling around the venue with supplies, chipper and fresh-faced as they came out of the tour bus, a few tables away from him with their sponsors at restaurants, cracking jokes and making faces without a care in the world. He made eye contact with any of them that dared to look at him and counted the seconds until they turned away.
It had probably never occurred to them to worry about becoming poor enough to cut meals and keep torn gear, or about their transportation falling through and causing them to miss the shows that were their livelihood. They slept through the night in complete safety, sweet dreams of stardom dancing in their heads. They were already seen as stars, weren’t they? Featured in magazines, in photo-shoots, receiving special signs in the crowds and fanart and autograph sessions… They were to set up to have a bright future. All it took was molding them until their personalities were smoothed away.
For a long time, Douki hadn’t let himself resent the Young Lion system. He knew that as soon as he let one thought through, another would be on its heels, and they would cascade down and flood into him to the point that he would be unable to smile at the New Japan wrestlers who visited him. Douki had to be careful in picking his targets, in picking who he was allowed to feel things about. Anything inappropriate meant a loss of support he couldn’t afford.
And now Douki was in New Japan, and everything was taken care of, no support from individuals necessary. They needed him.
It was this freedom that Douki appreciated. He was finally allowed to hate, and he had so much hate to give.
It delighted Taichi. “I always wondered why you had praise for even the likes of Yoshi-Hashi. You were just that hungry for scraps.”
Douki could only cringe when he looked back at how he had received some of the New Japan wrestlers. They had no respect for his choices, always assuming he would jump at the chance to "escape" and join them, and the ones who had already come through Mexico seemed to have forgotten everything important about it. One or two wrestlers would arrive periodically for a quick show or two to promote New Japan. Then they'd have refreshments at Douki’s place in exchange for a couple of photos and words of “wisdom” and “encouragement”, and if Douki was lucky some cash, and feel like they had made some great tribute to Mexico and done Douki a great service. Yeah fucking right.
None of these other wrestlers had brought him places like Taichi had. There they would be, sitting for tea with unpaid bills scattered around, the ceiling hanging over them near collapse from water stains, never once questioning how Douki had gotten in this situation. A few of them listened to him a little. Never for long, but still, those reassurances were enough to feed Douki for weeks, to make him feel believed in, stronger than anything. All of his misgivings were shoved under his pillow with his knife, to dwell on only in dreams, and that was that.
Where were Yoshi-Hashi and Milano now? Hating his guts and spitting at his choices, probably. They expected him to stay the straight-laced kid they knew, and here he was, exactly the person he had set out to be instead. A luchador. A rudo. A proud Japanese one, at that.
There was nothing like seeing himself in the mirror, or in photos, eyes on display, unapologetically Japanese while taking on a luchador’s mask. It reminded him of the way Desperado was unwilling to give up the Mexican part of him even as he assimilated into Japanese life. The idea that they were comparable warmed Douki like he was eating a bowl of Desperado's pozole.
Douki didn’t care if the others wrung their hands about how he acted. This was just business and they knew it. They would have to be surprised by what was coming.
“You like to call Desperado your brother,” Taichi said to Douki one night, while everyone else in the rental car was asleep. Something about the way the lights of the buildings around them rushed by, cyan and pink, made Douki feel like he was in an anime.
“Yes?” It wasn’t so much that Douki called Desperado his brother as much as… they were brothers. They had bled onto each others’ open wounds, and patched each other back up again, they might as well have been.
“So what are you going to call me?”
Taichi was too patient, willing to sit there in the passenger seat and look into Douki as he drove, keep him as pinned as an insect on a windshield wiper.
Putting a label on his relationship with Taichi before would have been difficult enough. He hadn’t been a young boy exactly, but he wasn’t Taichi’s equal either, so they couldn’t be friends.
Douki was older and self-sufficient now, but the bond that tied them wasn’t compassion, it was money. No matter how much he admired Taichi, that’s what it came down to, wasn’t it.
“Jefe,” Douki said at last.
“Say it again.” Taichi sounded almost feverish.
“Boss,” Douki said in Japanese. He suddenly realized how that sounded, what the Suzuki-gun members called their leader. Douki glanced at the backseat. Kanemaru and Taka’s eyes remained closed. Douki sighed in relief.
Through all of this, Douki still wasn’t in Suzuki-gun.
He had been a part of other teams before. As much as Taichi loved saying that Douki had always been a loner, that wasn't quite true. He usually didn't have an opportunity to be with anyone consistently, not for any meaningful amount of time. And when Douki was in a team, who knew what would be demanded of him, or what betrayal could be around the corner. Teammates had robbed Douki of his savings before, it was no petty risk.
Then there was the difficulty of connecting with people different from you. Even Taichi didn't understand the core of him, why he wanted to be a luchador. And if Taichi didn’t, then the rest of Suzuki-gun were probably mocking him behind his back.
Luckily, their ignorance meant that even if Douki had to keep his hackles up in the locker room, he could still text openly with Desperado. There was no way any of them understood more than five words of Spanish.
Yes, Douki knew Taichi didn’t speak much Spanish, even as derided others for not understanding Douki's. Well, that was some kind of support. It would be amusing to see what Douki could get away with saying without Taichi noticing. He would have to ask Desperado if he had ever tried that.
Taichi looked over Douki’s shoulder when he was texting sometimes.
“You don’t talk to Despe in Japanese?” asked Taichi.
“No. He’s happier being able to speak Spanish when he can, there’s not a lot of opportunities here.”
“Well, it’s Japan, what does he expect?” said Taka.
“It’s just nice to do.” Douki knew trying to explain would be pointless.
Then he wrote to Desperado: “Taichi is surprised we talk in Spanish, haha.”
“Is he giving you trouble for it?” replied Desperado.
Taichi looked slightly disapproving, but he hadn’t said anything else about it, so Douki told Desperado no.
Even as Taichi was learning Mexican wrestling on his excursion, he had always been open about preferring Japan. He had also been open about his belief that once Douki got a chance to wrestle there, which was apparently a certainty, Douki would prefer Japan too.
Back then, Douki asked Taichi why he was on such a long excursion to Mexico, if it wasn’t for the fun of it, and he wasn’t a Young Lion. Taichi told him it was because that was what New Japan wanted, and he didn’t have much say in the matter. It was clear some part of him was miserable here, for whatever reason, even as Douki felt like he was thriving more than he ever had before in his life. So Douki learned to hate New Japan early, for callously ripping Taichi away from what he loved. Taichi had been different then, insecure and reliant on others in a way that Douki could barely connect to the Taichi he now knew.
When Taichi had first started training him, Douki had been very naive.
“Why aren’t you teaching me your wrestling style?” said Douki after an hour of the same lock-up drills.
“That’s not how this works. You’re not remotely ready for that.”
Taichi poured water down his chest, then slicked back his hair with it.
“You need to learn the basics, and then develop your own style.”
Douki knew now that this was the correct approach, to a point. Taichi had been doing the best he could.
Later, while they were drunk, Taichi told him that the only reason he had learned any of his trainer Kawada’s style was from studying tape. Taichi didn’t get a bit of help from him. Kawada just beat him over and over, like that was supposed to teach you anything.
Taichi had never hit Douki, not the way Douki knew Taichi had been hit. He could identify the scars by now, physical and otherwise.
“I’ve evolved past the backwardness of those geezers,” Taichi explained when Douki questioned him, trying to turn it into something funny.
Given how common the practice still was, it had felt like a mercy that deserved loyalty.
Desperado taught Douki how to do splits very soon after they met. They did lunges in tandem to make it fun, and Desperado helped hold Douki's legs back for his stretches. With Desperado's help, it was easy to contort himself into the correct forms, until it felt like he was relaxing his body into a position it was meant for.
“Now you’ll have something to do at parties to impress the girls,” said Desperado, after praising Douki for getting a split correct without help.
“The girls? Is that really who we’re doing this for? What happened to wrestling?”
This memory particularly stuck out in Douki's mind, because it was only the day after he had caught Desperado watching gay porn. He had quickly become tired of pretending nothing had happened and dealing with Desperado's awkward evasions. If they could be open about this part of themselves, too, they would only be better brothers.
Desperado laughed silently, a huff, and shoved him harder into the split. “Don’t mess with me, you little punk.”
“I’m not! It’s an honest question!”
Neither of them knew what their identities were supposed to be. Maybe that similar confusion had been part of what caused them to gravitate together so quickly. None of it mattered by the end of that day, because at least Douki now had a trick he could use to set himself apart and get bookings and feed himself. And that was worth celebrating.
Before Douki’s second or third tournament match, while they were all lazing around the venue, ignoring their tasks, Taichi came up behind Douki. He caged his arms around Douki’s waist, like they were a couple, or he was a man holding his prize, his breath hot against Douki's ear. Douki didn’t know whether he was supposed to scramble out and tell Taichi off, like some test of his toughness, or whether he was supposed to tolerate it and show he could follow what Taichi wanted, so his body locked up and did nothing.
Taichi pushed Douki’s lip up, baring his teeth. “Smile.”
Then Kanemaru was in front of them with his phone camera flashing.
“What the fuck!” yelled Douki, covering his face with his hands.
“Relax, it’s for our group chat!” The pressure of Taichi’s fingers loosened around his waist, but Douki could feel Taichi snickering into his neck. So having pictures of Douki maskless in his gear floating around was just a fucking joke to them.
“I don’t understand why my face needs to be uncovered for you to take a photo,” said Douki, in as even a tone as he could manage.
“And I don’t understand why you wear a mask at all, it looks so stuffy!” exclaimed Taichi.
Douki rolled his eyes. He had already told them that he wouldn't be wearing the mask if it was uncomfortable a million times.
The explanation that Taichi and Kanemaru eventually shared wasn’t satisfying. They were trying to imitate some comedy television show that Douki had never heard of, and they didn’t think that Douki would have gone along with it if they had asked first, and the joke apparently came out much funnier if it was a candid shot. They showed him the photo, and… it was somewhat funny, if you ignored the context it was taken in. So Douki smiled warily, told them to keep it private or he would kill them, and moved on.
Something about the way Taichi touched Douki now, whenever they were on camera or in the ring, was so strange. All the patting, the hugs, the way Taichi came around Douki like he was trying to absorb him… Douki wasn’t sure what to think of it, so he never outwardly reacted.
Taichi hadn't touched him this much back in Mexico. Back then a single pat on the head was a reward in and of itself. But Douki didn't need that kind of affirmation anymore, so it almost felt wrong to be drowning in it, especially from someone who had been so sparing in his touch before.
"Douki’s mine," Taichi seemed to be saying, whenever he grabbed Douki in front of the camera. But who was that message for? Maybe this was just Taichi’s way of showing that he was proud of Douki, that Douki had finally grown into a person deserving of great praise. Or maybe it was positive reinforcement meant to guide Douki in the direction Taichi desired him to go. It was awfully possessive, though, almost as if he thought Douki was his pet. Maybe this was what truly belonging felt like, and Douki didn't have the experience to recognize that.
None of that meant Douki wasn't given independence. Taichi didn't give him complicated orders on how to wrestle. That was up to Douki's discretion. And when it came time to return from his matches, Taichi didn't smother him with pity and carry him out of the ring, like some would probably have predicted. Douki left in his own power, went through comments alone, and got his own belongings together before they left, just about every time.
It showed that Taichi knew Douki could do this on his own now. Taka and Taichi hadn't thought he was ready to be a part of their show, never mind fight Jun Kasai, and yet here he was going through a month-long New Japan tournament.
Douki had grown. He wasn't the same kid who had slept on Taichi's floor and carried his luggage around. But Douki was still being paid by Taichi and ordered by Taichi and even taught things by Taichi. Some part of him couldn't shake the knowledge that he was a dependent on Taichi, unable to stay here without his support. Douki was undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with on his own, a knife tearing through the weak. But every knife needs a hand.
Suzuki-gun expected Douki to be grown-up outside the ring, too. Soon after he met them, Douki discovered that Suzuki-gun drank a lot. Even more than they chose to display on social media, which was already a shocking amount.
Piles of highball cans at the hotel at night, okay, fine. Going out to a bar in the morning and ordering a table full of different things, just for the pleasure of it… and then having drink after drink handed to him, packaged with insistence that he follow their lead and be properly grateful... green and purple mixing together in his vision, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight… sitting on someone’s lap and being fed more...
It was overwhelming. Douki couldn't afford to drink like this before, so he had never built the habit. He ended up woozy on the bus and in the car again and again, sick and too out of it to catch any of the path to the next hotel, which he normally tried to take note of for safety. And yet, the camaraderie of those moments of drinking had begun to make it worth it to him.
This faction and its lifestyle were entirely new to Douki, so maybe it wasn't a surprise that he had lost so many points. When he was on his own there was much less for him to worry about, even if he got lonely.
And the matches Douki had in New Japan were radically different from the style he was accustomed to. In the scenes where he hung out in Mexico, a guy was more likely to run up to him with a box cutter than a wrestling cutter. They would be sloppy, wrist easily twisted away, and yet their fighting was infinitely more dangerous than the wannabe superhero flips people like Ospreay pulled out. A win was perfectly within Douki’s grasp there, even if he didn’t get it done every single time.
Douki liked to keep lists of enemies wherever he went. There were so many people to include in New Japan, so many fake and insulting and disgusting people he needed to cross out. Once Douki starting losing to them, the impetus to accomplish something at their expense only got stronger. He was tougher than them. They should have stayed down even without his best shot, and yet they hadn’t. Douki wanted to stick around long enough to kill them, to retire them for good.
No, he hadn’t been trying his hardest to win. That wasn't the point of Douki being here. Douki's purpose was primarily to cause enough destruction to make New Japan regret rejecting him, and secondarily to make sure Desperado remained present in everyone’s minds. The more he thought about strategy, or even the more effort he put into kicking out and dodging, the less fun he had and the more pain he felt. None of what happened here mattered long-term, so it was better for Douki to preserve himself.
Taichi was impassive, or perhaps amused, whenever Douki's losses were brought up. It was as if Taichi was gazing at kicked down sand castles. He stopped helping after the first couple of losses, and only returning when Douki’s match happened to be against a guy he personally hated. It was fine, though, Douki didn’t need his help.
Douki had assumed that he would win more than he did, even without care and strategy, but he hadn't. His natural skill clearly wasn't enough.
Acid rose in Douki’s throat at that thought. Had all that he had built in Mexico been for nothing, if he couldn't even measure up to these idiots? Douki had the winning record of a Young Lion. People were probably seeing him as one now, like he was still just Taichi's student, when really he was better than them. Fuck, what was the point of any of this? Wasn't he supposed to be a luchador?
Douki shut those thoughts down, bought some expensive cigarettes with his New Japan money and smoked them away. They wouldn't get him anywhere.
Douki didn't end up injuring anyone enough that they missed the rest of the tournament. But he tried, so he got paid. Good enough, Douki told himself again and again.
He made the mistake of saying this, that it was most important that he got paid, in front of Minoru Suzuki. It was just after Suzuki had returned from England. Suzuki stared him straight in the eye, like a predator seizing upon a noise that might be its prey. Douki would have shivered, but he was too startled to move.
Suzuki broke out into a grin that was nearly audible in its intensity. "Now this? This is the attitude I want to hear. Someone go out and buy him another drink, right now. What a good soldier.”
Taichi was too absorbed in his mobile game to register the command, so Kanemaru got a drink for Douki. For once, it was very welcome. What on earth was happening, that Suzuki was using him as a positive example? Douki downed his whiskey while Suzuki was pounding him on the back in praise.
Soon Suzuki began calling Douki his “monster”, with more fondness than was warranted given how little they knew each other. He directed Douki around as if Douki had always been one of his followers. It quickly became awkward to avoid calling him the Boss when everyone else was doing it, so Douki started using the title for him too. Even though Suzuki wasn't really his boss.
Part of Douki was annoyed, and told himself he was only following Suzuki because it would be obvious if he didn’t and put him in danger. Another part of him felt like a cat contentedly rubbing against Suzuki’s leg, disturbed by how much he loved the feeling of belonging to someone so great, and yet unable to stop doing it or care how others might be seeing him.
Minoru Suzuki was holding Douki’s steel pipe and nodding approvingly, saying it was a resourceful and fearsome weapon. Minoru Suzuki was choosing him as a sparring partner. Minoru Suzuki was knocking Douki out one second into their fight, destroying any illusions he had about being close to as good as Desperado yet.
“Welcome to the faction!” said the large American, Archer, in adequate Japanese. Douki didn’t even correct him, and not out of fear this time. Because Best of the Super Juniors was ending, and Douki was still here. Maybe not for much longer, but they were speaking about the present. For now Douki was, for all intents and purposes, in Suzuki-gun.
What had happened to him? It was best not to worry too much over it.
And then Douki met Zack. Douki was more wary of him than anyone else in Suzuki-gun.
"Despy talks about you a lot. Even did when I visited him," said Zack.
Douki hadn’t known others were visiting Desperado already. He felt a pang of jealousy. At least someone Desperado cared about was taking time out of their day for him.
"All good things?" said Douki. Oops, he probably sounded too sarcastic.
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
Douki decided to ignore that. “Desperado’s said plenty about you as well.”
He paused, taking in what seemed to be anxiety on Zack's face. Zack probably didn't want to leave a bad impression if they were going to be teaming together, right? He already had a reputation for being sadistic and ruthless going against him, but then, so did Douki.
According to Desperado, Zack had treated him better than the rest of the faction since the moment he joined. Desperado had felt even more listened to tagging with him during the G1 than he did starting out as Kanemaru's partner. The praise got a bit excessive, considering Zack never noticed the way Desperado was pushed down by the same people he buddied up with. And no matter what Desperado said, how nice could Zack be when he was Suzuki's favorite?
It seemed like Zack's specialness was just what Desperado wanted to believe. It was an understandable temptation, to want to pretend that a handsome man especially liked you and treated you like an equal without being forced to. It sounded so depressing when Douki thought of it like that.
"Do you really hate Halloween?" Douki asked Zack.
"I hate the meaningless commercialized virus that infects stores. And if you mean LIJ, yes, I fucking hate them, too."
"You have good taste."
Zack snickered. "What you said about Bushi… I think you absolutely have the right idea. He is nothing but a hipster."
It turned out that Zack remembered Desperado’s favorite foods and anime, and several childhood memories of his that Douki had also been told. There was a fierceness of missing Desperado that came through in how Zack talked. Even when he was ranting about something else, he mentioned that he wished Desperado was here so he could hear him cleverly insult whatever Zack was criticizing. Zack could break Desperado’s heart, but at least that wasn’t something he wanted. Douki decided he was probably more good for Desperado than bad.
They all tagged together on the day of the Super Juniors final. It was Taichi that had a championship match coming up, so his song set over the crowd instead of Suzuki's or the team's music.
It was funny to observe how much louder Zack got when he had an audience, heckling everyone and making large, cocky gestures as he walked. It was funnier still, watching Ishii's boiling anger when Taichi threw the NEVER belt at his feet.
Douki decided at the start to go after Liger's disgusting mask, a symbol of the entire wretched system. It was only after Douki had already yanked up the mouth hole that he realized this was the Boss's chosen opponent. The Boss might not want his territory infringed upon, might want to keep the honor of taking Liger's mask for himself.
A wave of dread rose in Douki. He looked behind him. There was Suzuki on the apron. But instead of stopping Douki, Suzuki nodded to him, and even held Liger back when Liger struggled too violently under his assault. This was freedom.
All around him, the pure wreckage of Suzuki-gun raged on. Bodies littered the ringside area, like half-dead flies shivering against each other. Douki could get used to this.
Douki was left alone in the middle of the ring and rolled up for three. Taichi didn’t try to save Douki from being pinned, even after Douki had held the referee for him. It was just a pointless group match, after all.
Afterwards, Douki stumbled to the back on his own. No one consoled him or even seemed to notice he was there, too absorbed in their own feuds. Douki wasn't upset, not when the adrenaline of fighting with them remained in his blood. This was the opposite of what had happened to Desperado, he thought. Douki hadn’t been yelled at or launched into the railing for losing. Maybe Suzuki-gun had gotten better.
Suzuki grabbed Douki before he reached the press area and told him they were commenting together. Douki remembered all the tapes he had seen where Suzuki threw people into equipment or shoved them into toilets in the press area and began to panic. He had been praised so much by Suzuki so far, but it was probably all over now that he had been presumptuous enough to take on Liger. It would probably end worse for Douki if he tried to run, so he let Suzuki lead him along, the pounding of his heart reverberating through his body. Douki wondered if Suzuki could feel it when he pulled Douki’s wrist.
Then Suzuki started to speak, and the flood Douki’s fears crescendoed into euphoria. Douki listened as Suzuki told the world that Douki was who he had been waiting for. That Douki was going to destroy absolutely everything. Who was Douki to argue with that?
Douki decided to stay on for the next New Japan tour. He would begin his revenge on everyone who had beaten him, on everyone who had even looked at him the wrong way. It felt good to have such a concrete purpose, one that he believed in, even if this wasn’t his home.
Douki invited Desperado to join their group outings whenever the tour got close to his apartment. Desperado kept begging off. Now that he had healed more, he was even more jittery to get in the ring, and even less interested in hearing about the things he was missing. It hurt Douki to see, and he thought Desperado deserved a distraction.
“Zack said he hopes you’ll come.”
Desperado smiled when Douki said that, and it seemed like he was about to agree this time, but-- "I'm not pathetic enough that hearing Zack asked after me is enough to get me to go."
"Look, don't come if you're feeling too badly, but.. loving someone isn't pathetic, you know."
“Don’t say that." Desperado laughed, his full-throated, toothy laugh, and Douki felt frozen to the sofa. “Love. He’s just my teammate, Douki. Don’t be a child.”
It took a while for Douki to find the words he wanted to say. “You know he asks how I’m doing almost every day? He checks up on me like we’re already friends, or family. And I haven’t even shown I particularly like him. Why might that be?”
“He’s too soft for Suzuki-gun?”
“We’re brothers, and he likes you.”
“You’re trying to cheer me up, and it’s misguided and not even working. So you should stop.”
“He’s a thoughtless asshole who spilled ketchup over the Boss’s shirt this morning and got away with it, and yet he finds the time to consider my feelings about the company’s hierarchies.”
“That’s within his interests. He likes going on about those types of things.”
Douki didn’t want to argue with Desperado for all of the short time they had together before Douki had to leave again, so he changed the subject.
The office didn’t need Douki for the G1 tour, with the Boss out and willing to serve as a tag partner for their faction’s entrants. So Douki went back to his indies in Mexico.
It wasn't like he had stayed in Japan for all of the past couple of months, but it was still startling the longer he was Mexico how accustomed he had become to the level of care New Japan provided. He didn't like the confusion of figuring everything out himself, and never had, even though he loved the wrestling itself.
It wasn't as if he couldn't face other luchadors in New Japan, no matter how horrible and deserving of punishment they were. And if he split his time between his home and New Japan, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he became a fixture in the company. Maybe Douki would be improving things there, by fixing so many of their wrestlers. If it paid his bills, then maybe he could do something for himself, for once, and enjoy being in the same company as his brother.
When Desperado’s return was confirmed, and Desperado asked Douki if he would be there for it, Douki threw aside his doubts and immediately said yes. Desperado needed the support, needed to have at least one person that he knew would be cheering him on, though he would never say it.
All the time Douki spent wrestling without him blended together after that, an endless fever of hoping for time to go faster, of being anxious for the day to come when Desperado would be fully alive again. When it was almost time, Desperado asked Douki to pick up a package for him. Any last shreds of guilt Douki had for causing the match where Desperado was injured vanished when he opened it. Inside was a variation of Desperado's usual mask, but stylized on the side with a broken jaw.
It was almost scary, the way Desperado talked now. He had always accepted pain, but even more now he was seeking it out, bathing himself in the most dangerous aspects of training, with this unshakable urge to go further that Douki could only hope to approach. Kasai had clearly touched some deeper part of Desperado, and the more Desperado saw the light of his return, the more that part seemed to emerge.
Finally, the night came. King of Pro-Wrestling. While Taichi was busy planning the next stage of his attack on Naito, and Archer was looking for punching bags to psych himself up for his title match, and the Boss was on the phone with Zack figuring out his travel misfortunes, Douki slipped out of the dressing room. He had seen Desperado win on the monitor and he needed to be there to congratulate him. As soon as Desperado came through of the curtain he went up to Desperado and hugged him.
"You looked great out there. I'm so happy you're wrestling again," Douki said against him.
Desperado hugged back much quicker than he usually did. Maybe the rush of his victory had made him fearless about appearing soft. "I did look pretty good, huh?"
Douki pulled away. He was in his new gear now, which he had hidden from Desperado until this moment. Within it was a message: I've chosen to stay with you. I'm as Suzuki-gun as you now.
"You've switched to Taichi's colors."
Douki shook his head. "Suzuki-gun's colors. Your colors."
Desperado looked so electric, covered in blood and sweat, the purest evidence he was active again. Something in the way he carried himself was stronger, too.
"It's a shame Zack can't see you like this," Douki said after a beat.
Desperado tilted his head in a way that Douki knew meant he was smirking. "He will."
Desperado slung his arm around Douki's shoulder. He wasn’t leaning his weight on Douki for support, just lightly resting there, telling everyone around them that Douki was with him.
"Let’s head back. I wouldn't want the Boss getting on your case for being late," said Desperado. So they set off together.
Douki felt a burst of pride, that he was walking down the halls like this with Desperado. He was truly content for the first time in a long while.