AN: CENTURY!!
---
A collective gasp echoed through the room. James instinctively took a step back, pulling Flora along with him, who stood frozen in shock.
But Vince? He didn't budge an inch.
After two months of disciplined mornings at the gym, he felt a newfound strength coursing through him. Yet, as it turned out, he wouldn't even need to lift a finger.
The security guards stationed around the VIP area sprang into action with impressive speed and precision.
Two guards seized Yoichi by the shoulders, halting his wild momentum mid-air. Another guard wrapped his arms around Yoichi's waist, pinning his arms tightly to his sides. Yoichi thrashed about like a cornered animal, desperate to break free.
"LET ME GO! I'LL KILL HIM! I'LL—"
"Enough!"
Zach's voice sliced through the chaos like a shard of glass.
An eerie silence fell over the crowd. The ACW owner glared down at Yoichi, his disappointment palpable.
"This is my arena," Zach declared, his tone icy and authoritative. "You will conduct yourself like a professional. If you pull one more stunt that embarrasses ACW or this sport tonight... I will personally see you thrown out into the street."
Yoichi continued to breathe heavily for what felt like an eternity, his glare fixed on Vince through a sheen of sweat, before he finally managed to rein in his fury.
The guards gradually relaxed their grip but stayed close, their hands poised on their belts.
Yoichi's assistant let out a long, shaky breath of relief. But then, his expression shifted dramatically as his phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at the screen, and the color drained from his face.
"...Sir," the assistant whispered, his voice quaking.
Yoichi turned with irritation, smoothing out his wrinkled suit jacket. "What now? If it's those damn insurance agents again or the contractor asking for more cash... tell them they're not getting another dime!"
The assistant gulped, looking like he might pass out. "...It's your father."
In a heartbeat, everything shifted.
The anger melted away from Yoichi's face, replaced by a chilling, empty stare. He looked at the phone as if it were a ticking time bomb before slowly reaching out to grab it with hands that shook violently.
"...Father?" he managed to say, lifting the phone to his ear.
--
A few sections away from the VIP box, up in the regular seats, Tony and Justin were still celebrating, bouncing around with excitement.
"I told you!" Justin yelled over the noise of the departing crowd. "I told you IRW was gonna sweep!"
"No," Tony chuckled, nudging his friend. "Luke told us. You just repeated him."
Justin didn't care about the details. He pointed eagerly toward the far-off ring, where Andre stood tall next to Hogan Hornet and Victor Cross. "I don't care who said it! I want an Andre T-shirt. Right now."
Tony laughed, shaking his head. "They haven't even made one yet, dude."
"Well, they better start printing them tonight!"
Outside the Golden Arena, the celebration had spilled into the cool night air, causing a traffic jam in the streets of Dodge.
Hundreds of devoted IRW fans lingered outside, chanting the promotion's name in a thunderous rhythm instead of heading home to sleep.
At the heart of the chaos stood Harry Khan, the infamous leader of the IRW Ultras. Somehow, he had already managed to snag a cold beer and was celebrating like his local football team had just clinched the championship title.
Victor Cross pushed through the heavy double doors of the arena, with Grant Austin right by his side.
(PLEASE NOTE THAT AT THIS POINT, AUSTIN HAS HAIR ON HIS HEAD)
The young rookie looked completely taken aback. Sure, he expected to see fans, but he never imagined he'd walk into a full-blown movement.
As soon as Harry spotted them, his eyes lit up, and he let out a thunderous shout. "There they are! The boys!"
The Ultras erupted into a wild cheer.
Victor raised both arms in a dramatic fashion, soaking in the adoration. "I brought the rookie!" he called out, giving Austin a hearty slap on the back.
The fans surged forward, encircling Steve. One older supporter grabbed the young wrestler's hand, shaking it with enthusiasm. "Kid, you fought your heart out tonight. Serious grit."
Another fan gave him a light slap on the shoulder. "You've got a bright future ahead of you, Austin. Keep that attitude."
Steve felt his cheeks flush slightly under the streetlights. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not used to all the praise. "...Thanks. I just did my best out there."
Harry chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. "That's exactly why they love you, kid! No nonsense, just pure fight."
Victor had already accepted another open bottle from someone in the crowd. He took a long, satisfying gulp before casually glancing across the wide street.
A small, downcast group of NPJW supporters was quietly making their way away from the arena, their merchandise tucked away or hidden under jackets. Most kept their heads down, eyes glued to the pavement. They clearly wanted to avoid any trouble.
Victor's eyes sparkled with mischief as a wicked grin spread across his face. "Oh? Leaving already?"
Several IRW Ultras turned to follow his gaze, their grins mirroring his.
Victor cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted across the blacktop, "I thought Promotion Wars was supposed to be intense! What happened to all that fire?!"
The Ultras erupted in mocking laughter. One fan called out to the retreating group, "Maybe next year, boys! Head back to Tokyo!"
Another chimed in, "Don't forget to grab your participation trophies on your way out!"
Harry couldn't help but join in the fun. "You guys were all talk before tonight! What gives? Did reality hit too hard?!"
The NPJW supporters tried to brush off the taunts, quickening their pace along the sidewalk. But a few of the younger, more hot-headed NPJW fans came to a sudden halt.
One of them spun around, frustration etched on his face. "At least our champion beat yours in the main event! Keiji Mutoh is still a god!"
Victor wasted no time, pointing a finger at him with a grin that could cut glass. "And the scoreboard says three-one, buddy. Math doesn't lie!"
The IRW fans roared again, banging on metal guardrails and chanting loudly.
The young NPJW supporter clenched his fists and stepped off the curb. "You think you're funny, Cross?"
"I know I am," Victor shot back, taking a leisurely sip of his beer. "And I'm winning, too."
The argument quickly escalated, with supporters from both promotions stepping off their sidewalks and closing the gap in the middle of the street. Insults flew like bullets, and the tension was palpable.
Steve shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around at the aggressive stances. "...Maybe we should get out of here, Victor. This is getting a bit out of control."
Victor casually draped a heavy arm around Steve's shoulders, pulling him in closer. "Chill out, kid. Just soak it all in. This is what being popular is all about. You've got to defend the banner."
Harry's grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know what we should do next, Victor?"
Victor could already guess what was brewing in Harry's mind. He lifted his beer bottle high above his head. "Let's raid NPJW territory again! Time to take over their turf!"
The IRW Ultras erupted in cheers, their chant spreading like wildfire through the crowd.
On the other side, the remaining NPJW supporters looked furious, with several stepping forward to back up their friend. The tension in the air was thick, and it felt like things could erupt into a full-blown street brawl at any moment.
Luckily, a dozen arena security guards burst outside just in time to prevent any punches from being thrown. Clad in bright jackets, they quickly formed a solid barrier between the two groups.
"Step back! Everyone, back up right now!" the lead guard shouted, pushing his hands out in front of him. "If this turns physical, we're calling the cops, and people are going to jail! Disperse!"
The stern warning was enough to douse the immediate flames of conflict. Both groups hesitantly backed off, though sharp insults and rude gestures continued to fly across the divide of guards.
Steve let out a long, relieved sigh, his shoulders finally relaxing. "I've never seen fans like this in my life. It's like a soccer riot."
Harry laughed with pride, tossing his empty bottle into a nearby bin. "That's because these aren't just fans, Steve." He spread his arms wide, taking in the sea of chanting, flag-waving supporters that stretched down the block.
"We're Ultras. And we'll follow IRW straight to the damn moon."