The Tokyo Dome erupted in dazzling fireworks and pulsating music, illuminating the expansive yet sparsely filled arena, which was populated exclusively by essential workers and medical personnel, all safely grouped in work pods and dutifully wearing masks amid the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic. The crowd, though limited, radiated fierce enthusiasm, applauding and cheering in appreciation. Cameras swiftly shifted to ringside, where the dual commentary teams of Ultimate Wrestling and AAPW sat prepared to guide viewers through the night's explosive action.
Scott Slade: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Friday Night Clash! I’m Scott Slade, joined tonight by my longtime broadcasting partner, Chris Rodgers, and we’re joined at ringside by our counterparts from All Asia Pro Wrestling, Yushiro Fujimoto and Takeshi Suzuki. Despite the circumstances, the Tokyo Dome is alive with an energy that can only mean one thing—Ultimate Wrestling is ready to deliver another unforgettable night!
Chris Rodgers: Energy or not, Slade, the fallout from Ronin Rumble has left scars that won't heal anytime soon! Ultimate Wrestling and AAPW took their feud to new extremes, and tonight, I don't expect things to calm down. If anything, we're heading straight into the fire!
Yushiro Fujimoto: And AAPW stands ready to bring honor and skill back to the forefront, unlike the vulgar spectacle that Ultimate Wrestling has made of this sacred sport. The Tokyo Dome remembers the invasion not as a tragedy—but as a reckoning.
Takeshi Suzuki: That’s right, Yushiro. You western dogs thought you could run roughshod over Japanese wrestling, but the Ronin Rumble proved otherwise. And tonight, I expect another beautiful humiliation for Ultimate Wrestling’s so-called stars.
Scott Slade: Strong words, gentlemen. But let’s take a moment to reflect on what brought us here. Ronin Rumble Nights One and Two shook the very foundation of this company. Prior to Night One, Haruki Tanaka and his loyalists stormed Friday Night Clash, sending a clear message that AAPW wouldn’t kneel to anyone. We saw bravery, betrayal, and bloodshed.
Chris Rodgers: It was chaos, plain and simple. We saw heroes and villains both pushed beyond their limits.
Scott Slade: Drake Nygma—"The Sphinx"—entered the 60-Man Ronin Rumble at number one and did the unthinkable: he survived. He outlasted everyone, including your Syndicate’s Daichi Sasaki, and eliminated Sakura Ishikawa to win it all for Ultimate Wrestling.
Chris Rodgers: Two million dollars and a shot at the Undisputed Heavyweight Championship! Love him or hate him, Nygma proved he’s the most calculating mind in this industry. He’s not just a riddle—he’s the damn answer.
Yushiro Fujimoto: A hollow victory. The match itself was a disgrace to true competition. It was a circus act!
Takeshi Suzuki: While your twisted Sphinx played games, Saikō Sasori—the Scorpion King—did what no one else could. He made Chuluun Bold tap out! AAPW’s champion became the undisputed champion of both companies. You can dress that up however you want, but it’s a humiliation for Ultimate Wrestling.
Chris Rodgers: That was a damn fluke! Bold had been defending that belt nonstop for months and Sasori just slithered in with his Death Lock and—
Scott Slade: Enough, both of you! Whether you like it or not, history was made. Saikō Sasori is now the undisputed heavyweight champion of this entire sport, and Drake Nygma holds the golden ticket. The balance of power has shifted, and tonight, it could tilt even further.
Chris Rodgers: Or blow up in our faces.
Scott Slade: And that brings us to tonight’s opening contest. The first semi-final match in the Ultimate Wrestling Tag Team Tournament—The Royal Alliance, comprised of the brutal Tae-Hyun Lim and the honorable Sir Lionel Montbar, face off against the newly-formed New Valor Vanguard, Maki Nishimura and Takuma Sato.
Chris Rodgers: Maki was forced to make that call after losing her partner, Wolfie Ricky King, to Blovid-13. Tragic doesn’t even begin to describe it. But now she’s aligned herself with Sato—and that’s a gamble considering the amount of injuries and punishment Sato went through during the main event of night one against the Emperor Avengers.
Scott Slade: Sato doesn’t back down from a challenge. He was in worse shape last Sunday and he still was a force to be reckoned with during the Ronin Rumble.
Takeshi Suzuki: Yushiro and I are just looking forward to laughing these pathetic excuses for tag teams. Hahahahaha!
Chris Rodgers: The stage is set, folks. Let’s take you to the ring now as the Tag Team Tournament semi-finals begin—right here, right now, on Friday Night Clash!
The Tokyo Dome dims once more, a wash of regal red bleeding across the stage as a deep horn blast echoes through the air like the prelude to war.
Miyu Kojima: Ladies and gentlemen, the following is a semi-final match in the Ultimate Wrestling Tag Team Tournament! Introducing first… at a combined weight of five hundred pounds… representing The Royal Alliance… ‘The Pyongyang Powerhouse’ Tae-Hyun Lim, and ‘The Knight of Crimson Valor’ Sir Lionel Montbar!
A cascade of crimson spotlights sliced through the rising fog as “The Duke of Death” by Wumpscut rumbled through the stadium. Sir Lionel Montbar emerged, his cape trailing behind him, chin lifted as if surveying a kingdom only he could see. He dropped to one knee at the top of the ramp, drew an imaginary longsword, and offered a dramatic salute to the unseen forces of his delusion before rising to his feet.
He began a slow descent toward the ring, his gait stiff with purpose. Behind him, the music distorted—horns giving way to the eerie swell of “Cantata to Comrade Kim Jong Il.” From the shadows stepped Tae-Hyun Lim, his body wrapped in a deep red trench coat lined with faded DPRK insignias. His eyes burned with silent hatred, his face unreadable. Each of his footfalls landed with the weight of history.
Chris Rodgers: There he is. Sir Lionel Montbar—the only knight I know who thinks medieval tax collection is a wrestling strategy.
Yushiro Fujimoto: Because what screams 'victory' like a man who thinks dragons are real?
Montbar reached the ring first and ascended the steps with ritualistic grace. He handed off his tabard to a nearby attendant as though offering an heirloom. Lim followed behind him, removing his coat revealing all of the half healed scars from the barbed wire rope hell in the cell 4 vs 4 match he was involved in against Sato, Valora, Dresden, and Lighitng Man. As he crumpled it into a ball he hurled it to the floor like the remnants of a forgotten war. He stepped through the ropes and into his corner with slow, deliberate motion, head bowed and fists clenched.
Suddenly, the arena lights cut to black.
A blast of red lightning snapped across the stage, followed by the thunderous opening riff of “Heartless Scat” by NINGEN ISU.
Miyu Kojima: And their opponents… at a combined weight of four hundred eighty-five pounds… ‘The Juggernaut Jewel of Japan’ Maki Nishimura… and ‘The Most Dangerous Man in Wrestling’ Takuma Sato… THE NEW VALOR VANGUARD!
The crowd roared as Maki Nishimura stormed onto the stage, her fists raised high, body rippling with power and determination. She stomped the steel ramp with such force that the floor seemed to vibrate beneath her. Her hair whipped behind her as she unleashed a guttural war cry, sending a shock of adrenaline through the masked audience.
Takuma Sato emerged beside her, his scared face covered with a mask, his ribs taped, his jaw tight. He moved slowly, methodically, as if measuring each step with the weight of pain and resolve. He paused at the top of the ramp and glanced toward Maki. She gave him a sharp nod, and he returned it, eyes narrowing as he looked toward the ring.
Scott Slade: There they are. Sato and Maki. No titles, no fanfare—just heart, fury, and grit. They’re walking wounded… but walking anyway.
Chris Rodgers: You could rebuild civilizations with less guts than these two have. I don't care what kind of knight or dictator they’re facing—this is a tag team forged in hellfire.
Takeshi Suzuki: Two sacrificial lambs. Dressed fancy for the slaughter if you ask me!
Together, Maki and Sato marched down the ramp. Maki reached out and slapped the hands of masked nurses and essential workers along the barricade, offering them nods of gratitude. Sato kept his eyes forward, ignoring the noise, locked in on Tae-Hyun Lim like a missile zeroing in on its target.
At the ringside, they slid into the ring simultaneously. Maki stood tall, pounded her fists together, and let out another battle cry that echoed through the Dome. Sato climbed the turnbuckle and raised one clenched fist to the rafters, his bruised frame a testament to his defiance.
From across the ring, Lim stepped forward. Sato stepped down to meet him. They locked eyes. The building fell into a tense hush.
Scott Slade: This isn’t just a match. This is a reckoning.
Chris Rodgers: Blood was spilled. Friends were lost. And now? Now we settle it the only way we know how—in the ring.
Yushiro Fujimoto: Let the fools fight. None of this will matter once Sasori ends your little empire.
[DING! DING! DING!]
The bell rang and with it, all restraint disappeared. Tae-Hyun Lim lunged forward first, his body a missile of brute muscle and fury, but Takuma Sato darted to the side with precision, evading the charge like smoke slipping through a closing fist. Lim turned to adjust, but Sato was already moving—driving a rapid-fire series of low roundhouse kicks into Lim’s thighs, each one smacking with a sharp, echoing crack that sent ripples of pain through the Pyongyang Powerhouse’s foundation.
The strikes kept coming—sharp, surgical. Sato unleashed a spinning back kick to the midsection that staggered Lim just long enough to allow him to pivot, bounce off the ropes, and spring back with a rolling koppu kick that clipped Lim across the side of the head. Lim reeled but did not fall. The beast refused to drop.
Sato rushed in again—but this time, Lim caught him. The moment Sato leapt into a flying forearm smash, Lim grabbed him mid-air like a child snatching a bird from the sky and drove him into the canvas with a thunderous uranage. The mat buckled. The sound shook the Dome.
Scott Slade: Sato started hot with that barrage of martial arts strikes—he’s trying to wear down Lim’s legs early, maybe even neutralize that base of power. But the second Lim got his hands on him? It was like gravity tripled.
Chris Rodgers: That’s what makes Lim so damn dangerous. You can outpace him for fifteen seconds, and then he just decides to end you in one move.
Yushiro Fujimoto: Your golden boy got caught. Fast feet don’t mean much when your bones shatter on contact.
Takeshi Suzuki: He’s lucky Lim didn’t break him in half. Yet.
Lim pulled Sato up like a sack of rice, gripping his arm and wrist. He yanked him into a brutal short-arm lariat that twisted Sato mid-air and sent him thudding back-first into the mat. Without hesitation, Lim stomped hard on Sato’s taped ribs with the heel of his boot—not once, but three measured times.
Sato twisted on the mat, grimacing beneath the mask, clutching his side. Lim dragged him upright again, one arm around his waist, the other around his thigh—and hurled him overhead with a belly-to-belly overhead suplex, sending Sato crashing dangerously close to his own corner.
Maki reached out for a tag, her eyes wide, fists clenching the turnbuckle. But Sato didn’t crawl. He didn’t roll. He sat up slowly, defiant, breath ragged, fists still clenched.
Chris Rodgers: That’s what I’m talking about! The kid’s got no quit in him. He’s too stupid or too proud to stay down.
Scott Slade: He’s holding himself together with grit and gauze, and he’s still daring Lim to come at him again. That’s not strategy—that’s heart. And sometimes, the heart is enough.
Yushiro Fujimoto: No. It isn’t.
Lim charged again, but Sato used the ropes to pull himself upright. At the last moment, he ducked under Lim’s charging arm and pivoted behind him. With one desperate heave, he wrapped Lim in a rear waistlock and attempted a German suplex—but Lim didn’t budge.
Instead, Lim threw a savage back elbow that caught Sato on the side of the skull. Sato staggered back, dazed—but in that split second, he slapped Maki’s outstretched hand.
Takeshi Suzuki: Oh no.
Chris Rodgers: Oh yes!
Maki exploded into the ring like a tsunami with fists. She met Lim chest-to-chest and didn’t back down an inch. The crowd roared as the two collided, exchanging a rapid series of knife-edge chops, each strike echoing like gunshots. Maki’s power came with rhythm—palm thrust to the chest, sumo-style slap to the neck, another chop across the pectoral—and for the first time, Lim staggered backward.
He tried to shove her off, but she planted her feet and whipped him into the ropes. On the rebound, she caught him clean with a running hip attack, knocking the breath out of him. Lim dropped to one knee. The crowd came alive.
Scott Slade: She’s got Lim reeling! Maki Nishimura is defying gravity, logic, and legacy all at once! The Juggernaut Jewel just moved a mountain!
Chris Rodgers: And she’s not done—look at her go back to the sumo base, she’s setting up for something big!
Maki hit the ropes and came charging back, looking for her Earthquake Slam—but as she extended her arm, Lim exploded upward with a sudden exploder suplex, using Maki’s momentum against her. She slammed into the mat with a sickening impact.
Both wrestlers lay sprawled on the canvas, breathing hard. Lim crawled toward Montbar. Maki crawled toward Sato. The crowd pulsed, the Dome alive with rhythm and anticipation.
Scott Slade: We’re barely minutes into this, and it already feels like a war.
Chris Rodgers: Two titans crawling for reinforcements. This isn’t just a tournament match—this is survival.
The crowd began to chant: MA-KI! SA-TO! MA-KI! SA-TO!
Lim reached the outstretched hand of Sir Lionel Montbar, and the knight of crimson valor stepped into the ring with a burst of noble urgency. Across the mat, Maki slapped Sato’s hand, and the masked warrior vaulted over the ropes, bruised but burning with fresh resolve.
Sato and Montbar circled one another like old rivals, each radiating a different brand of intensity—Sato with tightly coiled focus, Montbar with wide-eyed, messianic grandeur. Montbar struck first, lunging forward with a shoulder block, but Sato ducked under and countered with a slick arm drag takedown, rolling through and popping to his feet. Montbar spun to his knees, eyes gleaming, and charged again—this time catching Sato in a snap suplex that planted him dead center in the ring. But Sato absorbed the blow, rolled onto his stomach, and used his elbows to push himself back upright.
Scott Slade: Both men reading each other like open scrolls—this is rapid-fire, no wasted motion. It’s Montbar’s brute efficiency versus Sato’s reactive instinct.
Chris Rodgers: You’ve got to wonder how much more Sato can take, though. Montbar’s a knight in body and lunatic in mind—he’ll break his bones if it means claiming victory in the name of some make-believe kingdom.
Takeshi Suzuki: Better a delusional knight than a gasping dojo reject in a Halloween mask.
Montbar pressed his advantage, grabbing Sato by the wrist and whipping him into the turnbuckle with knightly force. Sato slammed back-first into the corner, only to be met with a charging diving headbutt from Montbar that connected square with his sternum. The impact folded Sato forward, and Montbar capitalized immediately, grabbing him into a front facelock and planting him with a high-angle hangman’s neckbreaker.
Montbar floated into a cover, hooking the leg.
ONE! T— Sato kicked out, shoving Montbar off with the last ounce of strength in his ribs. Montbar didn’t show frustration—he grinned. He sat Sato up and locked in a camel clutch, wrenching back with both arms under the chin, barking some archaic battle hymn as if summoning strength from another century. Sato’s mask twisted from the torque, his fingers scratching at the canvas.
Yushiro Fujimoto: Look at Montbar. He’s dragging Sato through a medieval torture rack of his creation. This is artistry!
Scott Slade: Artistry? That’s a glorified rest hold with pageantry! Sato’s not giving up—he’s digging deep.
Sato managed to inch his knee forward, then another, shifting his base. With a loud growl, he twisted his body to the side and rolled through, breaking the hold and flipping Montbar over his shoulder. The crowd popped. Sato collapsed, chest heaving. He began to crawl again, toward Maki. Montbar scrambled after him, grabbing the ankle—but Sato rolled, spun on his back, and launched Montbar off with a desperation upkick to the face. That gave him just enough room to dive—tagging in Maki!
Scott Slade: The Juggernaut Jewel is back in!
Chris Rodgers: And the knight might just lose his head!
Maki roared into the ring like a tempest. Montbar barely made it to his feet before she caught him with a running clothesline that flipped him inside out. As he stumbled up, she lifted him effortlessly into the air and dropped him with a thunderous Olympic slam that made the canvas quake. The crowd roared as Maki powered to her feet, pointing directly at Tae-Hyun Lim, who stood fuming in the corner, his fists shaking on the ropes.
Scott Slade: Maki Nishimura is throwing royalty around like garbage! That power! That fire!
Takeshi Suzuki: Tag out, Lionel! Tag out before she eats your soul!
Montbar staggered toward his corner, arms outstretched, but Maki didn’t let him get far. She grabbed him by the hair, spun him around, and battered his chest with a brutal series of sumo-style open palm strikes, driving him back into the ropes. The audience, though masked, bellowed in unison with each slap.
She whipped him across the ring, caught him on the rebound, and hoisted him up for a sitout jawbreaker—the Juggernaut Jawbreaker—but Montbar flailed wildly, slipping free and falling to his knees. He threw a wild European uppercut, clipping Maki in the chin and sending her back a step.
Yushiro Fujimoto: He lives! The knight survives another charge!
Chris Rodgers: Barely. She nearly decapitated him. He’s not surviving—he’s delaying.
Montbar crawled toward Lim, who reached out, fingers stretching, and tagged him in. Tae-Hyun Lim stormed into the ring like a bomb with legs. Maki charged him at full speed, and the two titans collided mid-ring like crashing continents. The impact of Maki and Lim’s collision echoed through the Tokyo Dome like thunder. Neither woman nor monster budged at first—then Maki stepped back, roared, and unleashed a stiff forearm smash that rocked Lim’s jaw.
Lim answered with a clubbing lariat, but Maki ducked it, rebounded off the ropes, and came back with a leaping shoulder tackle that sent the Pyongyang Powerhouse stumbling. She tried again—this time going for a flying clothesline—but Lim caught her mid-air, twisted, and delivered a sudden spinebuster so hard it bounced Maki off the mat like a skipped stone.
Scott Slade: