The Devil Sensei
May 12, 2016 23:07:02 GMT -6
Spencer Adams, The Polar Phantasm, and 5 more like this
Post by Frank Patrick Venable on May 12, 2016 23:07:02 GMT -6
Night time in Akhihibara, Japan. The dirty arena slowly began to fill with people as the pro wrestling event they paid to see was soon to begin. These people came to see blood, death, gore. I was going to provide them with it. That was my job here in the Deadly Nippon Federation (DNF for short.) A federation that specializes in the brutal deathmatches you'd expect to come out of Japan. Some people would try to use the "it pays the bills" excuse. Why else would they want to put their bodies through shit like that? I didn't use that excuse. I just wanted to fuckin' hurt people.
My training had been brutal. The States had fucked me for all I was worth, sure, but this was some next level shit. I had had some success across a few different feds, won a world title or two along the way, and generally making myself known as a force to be reckoned with. My life was set, man. I coulda retired early, enjoyed the next few years of my life in peace. That was the plan. Don't ask me what made me change my mind, I don't wanna talk about it. If you really must, all you need to know was that I had done something really bad. Something I could never forgiven myself for. Everywhere I turned, every wrestling ring I saw, just served as a painful reminder of what I had done.
It was torturous.
And I wanted nothing more then to be punished.
I left the States a shell of the former World-caliber champion I used to be. Japan beckoned me, I was always a fan of the culture, what with the animes and the video games, but their wrestling also drew me. After a week of wandering and doing nothing, trying to pick up the language. I was then, that I met a man who changed my life. For the better? That's up for debate.
The bald, scarred man did not divulge with me his real name. He wanted me to refer to him only as "Akuma-sama." The Devil Sensei himself. The founder of the most infamous wrestling Dojo in Japan. He spoke workable English, and there were a handful of Americans in the Dojo with me. Perhaps maybe four. Everyone else there was a native. About a hundred in total. Akuma-sama told me upfront what I would expect in his Dojo. Pain beyond belief. Mental exhaustion. Subordination to the highest degree. His own words to me...
My training had been brutal. The States had fucked me for all I was worth, sure, but this was some next level shit. I had had some success across a few different feds, won a world title or two along the way, and generally making myself known as a force to be reckoned with. My life was set, man. I coulda retired early, enjoyed the next few years of my life in peace. That was the plan. Don't ask me what made me change my mind, I don't wanna talk about it. If you really must, all you need to know was that I had done something really bad. Something I could never forgiven myself for. Everywhere I turned, every wrestling ring I saw, just served as a painful reminder of what I had done.
It was torturous.
And I wanted nothing more then to be punished.
I left the States a shell of the former World-caliber champion I used to be. Japan beckoned me, I was always a fan of the culture, what with the animes and the video games, but their wrestling also drew me. After a week of wandering and doing nothing, trying to pick up the language. I was then, that I met a man who changed my life. For the better? That's up for debate.
The bald, scarred man did not divulge with me his real name. He wanted me to refer to him only as "Akuma-sama." The Devil Sensei himself. The founder of the most infamous wrestling Dojo in Japan. He spoke workable English, and there were a handful of Americans in the Dojo with me. Perhaps maybe four. Everyone else there was a native. About a hundred in total. Akuma-sama told me upfront what I would expect in his Dojo. Pain beyond belief. Mental exhaustion. Subordination to the highest degree. His own words to me...
Akuma-sama: You will only survive my training if you allow yourself to. If at any point you quit, trust me, I won't kill you. No no, by the time I'm done with you you'll wish you were dead.
Music to my ears.
I joined the Dojo without hesitation. Within the first week I was being forced to learn moves I had never heard of before. Dangerous moves, moves that were likely to harm me as much as my opponent. The teaching style really lent itself well to that reckless style used in places like ECW and FMW. So many drills, so many reps. Fitness was of the utmost importance here. You spent most of your waking hours exercising and doing menial chores. The food there was some of the worst I had ever eaten in my life. It basically amounted to glorified slop. Akuma-sama fed it to us for it's rich nutritional value, and if you kept at it, the nutrition would definitely show. That was it, exercise, eating, and sleep. Nothing else.
The days were long, and tiring. This is what I'd always imagine being in the army was like, only ten times worse. Akuma-sama was always one to yell at you if you fucked up, and people fucked up a lot. Fuck up a drill enough times and you'd be sent to the canes. I went there a few times, and got twenty red slashes across my back at a time for my troubles. Every time images of Sandman vs. Dreamer in the Cane match flashed before my eyes. I always considered screaming "thank you sir, may I have another?" at some point, but my insubordination would have probably been unappreciated.
One afternoon as I was in the middle of doing my drills, every muscle in my body sore, someone suddenly fell out of the formation. I only caught glimpses of what was happening, as we weren't allowed to look around when doing our drills, always told to focus on the task at hand. The man began to scream, clutching his chest as he fell to the ground. Some students charged with cleaning duties went to check on him, all the while Akuma-sama told us to stay focused on the task at hand. Later that night he announced the student in question had died from a heart attack. The English students and I believed it was caused from the stress of being in the Dojo, and while we felt sorry for him, we knew he was aware of the dangers when he signed up.
As our training went on, more and more students began to disappear from the Dojo. Apparently more and more people just could not handle the strain of being ridiculed and tortured by Akuma-sama. One by one, my English buddies slowly began to go away. I could only hope their fade was a mildly painless one. Deep down I knew it wasn't, though.
Finally, a full year after signing up, I made it to the end. Akuma-sama gathered me and the five other graduates and held a small, understated ceremony in the Dojo. I was the only gaijin there. At the start of the ceremony, Akuma-sama gave a short little speech.
I joined the Dojo without hesitation. Within the first week I was being forced to learn moves I had never heard of before. Dangerous moves, moves that were likely to harm me as much as my opponent. The teaching style really lent itself well to that reckless style used in places like ECW and FMW. So many drills, so many reps. Fitness was of the utmost importance here. You spent most of your waking hours exercising and doing menial chores. The food there was some of the worst I had ever eaten in my life. It basically amounted to glorified slop. Akuma-sama fed it to us for it's rich nutritional value, and if you kept at it, the nutrition would definitely show. That was it, exercise, eating, and sleep. Nothing else.
The days were long, and tiring. This is what I'd always imagine being in the army was like, only ten times worse. Akuma-sama was always one to yell at you if you fucked up, and people fucked up a lot. Fuck up a drill enough times and you'd be sent to the canes. I went there a few times, and got twenty red slashes across my back at a time for my troubles. Every time images of Sandman vs. Dreamer in the Cane match flashed before my eyes. I always considered screaming "thank you sir, may I have another?" at some point, but my insubordination would have probably been unappreciated.
One afternoon as I was in the middle of doing my drills, every muscle in my body sore, someone suddenly fell out of the formation. I only caught glimpses of what was happening, as we weren't allowed to look around when doing our drills, always told to focus on the task at hand. The man began to scream, clutching his chest as he fell to the ground. Some students charged with cleaning duties went to check on him, all the while Akuma-sama told us to stay focused on the task at hand. Later that night he announced the student in question had died from a heart attack. The English students and I believed it was caused from the stress of being in the Dojo, and while we felt sorry for him, we knew he was aware of the dangers when he signed up.
As our training went on, more and more students began to disappear from the Dojo. Apparently more and more people just could not handle the strain of being ridiculed and tortured by Akuma-sama. One by one, my English buddies slowly began to go away. I could only hope their fade was a mildly painless one. Deep down I knew it wasn't, though.
Finally, a full year after signing up, I made it to the end. Akuma-sama gathered me and the five other graduates and held a small, understated ceremony in the Dojo. I was the only gaijin there. At the start of the ceremony, Akuma-sama gave a short little speech.
Akuma-sama: From this point forward, walk with pride. For only you select few will know the feeling of having survived my Dojo. I have no doubt you will walk out of here changed men. What you do with this change, I leave to you. Go now, my students. I have taught you all I can.
That's what led me to this shithole of an arena. I was in the back, getting ready for my match. My attire had stayed mostly the same from when I was stateside, red and black wrestling tights, standard wrestling boots and black wrist tape. Nothing too special, just enough to get me to stick out somewhat. I kept to myself, no one wanted to talk to anyone really. Everyone was dead focused on their matches tonight, myself included. The time for talk was done, now was the time for action.
Before I went out there though, something that hadn't happened in many years happened. My cellphone began to ring. A few wrestlers batted an eye, but most just went back to business afterwards. I didn't recognize the number on the caller ID. Curious to who could be calling me at this time, I answered.
Before I went out there though, something that hadn't happened in many years happened. My cellphone began to ring. A few wrestlers batted an eye, but most just went back to business afterwards. I didn't recognize the number on the caller ID. Curious to who could be calling me at this time, I answered.
FPV: Hello?
Male Voice: Hello, if this Frank Patrick Venable.
FPV: Yes, who is this? I'm in a bit of a hurry.
Male Voice: I work for Piedmont Atlanta Hospital. We admitted your father earlier today for a heart attack. I hate to be the one to break this to you Mr. Venable, but your father...well, he didn't make it.
I didn't respond. I hadn't spoken to my father in some time, it was always something I told myself I'd do at some point. "Give dad a call, see how he's doing." I had waited too long.
Male Voice: Mr. Venable, are you still there?
FPV: I am, I am.
Male Voice: I understand you're out of the country right now, if you want to come on over the funeral is being set for a few days from now.
FPV: I don't think that'll be possible. Thank you for the news though.
I hung up. The news was a shock for sure, but as I got up to make my way out to the ring, I knew I wouldn't be home any time soon.
I had a job to do.
I had to destroy a man in that ring.
By the time I got home, after my landlord asked me how my show went (after noticing the bits of lightube still on my body and the copious blood dried up on my face) I cleaned myself and fell asleep watching old episodes of One Piece on DVD.
I knew this lifestyle would have to end soon. And sooner rather then later, I'd finally have to come home.
I had a job to do.
I had to destroy a man in that ring.
By the time I got home, after my landlord asked me how my show went (after noticing the bits of lightube still on my body and the copious blood dried up on my face) I cleaned myself and fell asleep watching old episodes of One Piece on DVD.
I knew this lifestyle would have to end soon. And sooner rather then later, I'd finally have to come home.
