Chapter 13: Scottish Storm
The thunderous roar of the crowd hit Willow first, a physical wave rolling up the pulsating red-and-gold entrance ramp as her theme music – a screeching bagpipe riff over pounding drums – exploded across the neon-drenched arena. She paused at the top, silhouetted against the blinding lights, the blue and white tartan of her gear stark against the spectacle, the familiar scent of sweat, cheap cologne, and that ever-present undercurrent of raw tension filling her lungs. Then she moved, long strides eating up the ramp, slapping hands with the reaching fans, her fiery red hair a banner, her smile wide but tight around the edges, the steel in her blue eyes reflecting the flashing strobes.
She vaulted the top rope into the ring with practiced ease, landing lightly on the canvas, the impact vibrating up through her boots. Across the squared circle, Emi Shinakawa stood with Sakura and Aiko, a trio of predatory stillness amidst the noise; Emi’s silver Hime-cut hair gleamed like a blade under the lights, her big eyes wide with malicious amusement, while Sakura shifted nervously beside her, clutching the ropes, and Aiko stared with cold, calculating focus. Before Willow could even find her corner, Emi darted to the ringside announcer, snatched the microphone from his hand, and whirled back to center ring, the cord snaking behind her on the mat.
The arena noise dipped into a buzzing hush as Emi raised the mic, her black lips curling into a cruel smirk. She tapped it, the sharp feedback crackle making the crowd wince. "Willow Grey," she began, her voice dripping with faux sweetness laced with venom, the English heavily accented, broken yet perfectly clear in its intent. She swept a dismissive hand towards Willow's tartan gear. "Look... what we did to your special clothes before." A ripple of uneasy laughter and murmurs ran through the audience. Emi’s smirk widened. "Tonight, gaijin? We do worse to you. We will take your clothes and leave you in your underwear. Cause no one here deserves to see my body or Aiko and Sakura has been embarrassed enough, time for revenge"
Emi drew another breath, savoring the crowd’s uncomfortable murmurs, ready to twist the knife deeper. "Your ugly tartan," she sneered, pointing the mic like a weapon, "will be rags before—" Willow’s patience snapped. She lunged forward, a blur of fiery hair and tartan, and drove her boot hard into Emi’s backside. The impact sent Emi stumbling forward with a squawk, crashing headlong into Aiko and Sakura who went down in a tangle of limbs, silver hair and yelps. The sharp clang of the match-starting bell immediately shattered the stunned silence.