Lance Dawson nearly collided with Vince as he rushed across the production floor, his breath coming in quick bursts, one hand pressed against his side. Vince, who had been crouched by the lighting console with a headset dangling off one ear, looked up and smirked.
"Take it easy," Vince said with a light tone. "You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep running like that."
Lance didn't crack a smile.
That alone made Vince sit up straighter.
"We've got a situation," Lance said, lowering his voice. His gaze darted to the far end of the arena, where technicians were still fiddling with cables and stagehands were testing the ramp lights.
Vince leaned in closer. "What kind of problem has you looking like you've seen a ghost?"
Lance let out a breath. "The NPJW folks are here."
The playful glint vanished from Vince's expression. His eyes sharpened, memories of pavement, fists, and sirens flashing through his mind.
"How many?" Vince asked, his tone serious.
"A few. Not a full-on invasion," Lance replied, then paused.
Vince picked up on it right away. "There's more."
Lance scratched the back of his neck. "Zen is here."
For a split second, Vince said nothing. Then his lips slowly curled into a smile that made Lance uncomfortable.
Zen.
The name alone sent a familiar ache through Vince's knuckles, still stiff beneath the cast. He could still remember the sound of bone meeting bone, the weight of the beating, the humiliation of it happening in public.
And now Zen had walked straight into IRW's house.
"They brought wrestlers?" Vince asked calmly.
"Yes," Lance said. "A few. They're spread out. Hoodies, caps. Trying not to draw attention."
"And their plan?"
"Probably to disrupt the show mid-match."
Vince leaned back, hands folding together. "Bold."
Lance studied his expression. "You're… smiling."
"I've been waiting for him to show his face again," Vince replied. "I just didn't think he'd be stupid enough to do it here."
Lance lowered his voice further. "No one else knows yet. I came straight to you."
Vince nodded approvingly. "Good. How did you find out?"
Lance hesitated again. "My source is… inside NPJW."
Vince blinked. "Inside?"
"That was my reaction too," Lance said quickly. "I thought it was bait. But then I remembered who we're dealing with. Yoichi isn't his father. If this were Meguru Isagi, I'd have shut this down immediately. But Yoichi?" Lance shook his head. "He doesn't think that far ahead."
Vince considered that. He'd only heard fragments about Yoichi Isagi, but everything so far painted the picture of arrogance without patience.
"Why would someone from NPJW tip us off?" Vince asked.
Lance sighed. "Victor once told me Yoichi plays favorites. Zen gets everything. Others get buried. NPJW contracts are… brutal. Almost binding. If someone wants out, they can't just walk."
Vince exhaled slowly. "So someone wants him to fail."
"Exactly."
Vince's gaze hardened. "Then tonight, we don't let Zen walk out unscathed."
Lance's eyebrows rose.
"Disperse our wrestlers," Vince continued. "Men's roster, except the ones booked. Hide them in the crowd. Aisles. Upper sections. If Zen moves, the first thing we do is cut off escape routes."
Lance's lips parted. Then he grinned.
"That's insane," he said softly. "And brilliant."
"Make it happen," Vince said.
Lance turned and hurried off, this time with purpose.
Vince remained where he was, watching the empty ring under the lights. His smile returned, slow and deliberate.
Tonight, IRW would deliver more than just ratings.
----
When the show went live, no one in the crowd suspected a thing.
Noah welcomed viewers with his usual enthusiasm, voice echoing through the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to IRW!"
The cheers were loud, eager. This crowd had grown used to surprises.
Noah paused, glancing down at the card in his hand. "Before we begin tonight, we have a major announcement."
A murmur rippled through the audience.
"IRW's future," Noah continued, letting the silence stretch, "is about to change."
Zen, hidden beneath a hoodie several rows up, leaned forward.
"Starting next week," Noah announced, "IRW will officially move its broadcast to Vox!"
The arena exploded.
Cheers thundered, people leaping to their feet. Vox was still a national name—bigger, flashier, more prestigious than RedTV.
Zen froze.
Vox?
That was NPJW's home.
A slow grin spread across his face. "So that's how you want to play it," he muttered.
The first match of the night began with Evelyn Sharma stepping into the ring opposite Torrie, a blonde newcomer with an energetic bounce and a bright smile that immediately won over the crowd.
The match was competitive, physical. Evelyn dominated early with sharper technique, but Torrie refused to stay down. The crowd warmed to her resilience.
Noah's voice rose. "Evelyn's looking to put this away!"
Evelyn lined Torrie up—
Then Maya Hart's music hit.
The reaction was immediate. Boos poured down as Maya jogged onto the ramp, smirking, waving mockingly.
Evelyn turned, stunned. "What is she doing here?"
Maya didn't enter the ring. She just smiled.
That was enough.
Torrie struck.
She kicked Evelyn in the midsection, grabbed her by the hair, and slammed her down. The crowd gasped. Torrie hit the ropes, rebounded, and delivered a running splash that shook the mat.
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
The bell rang.
The arena buzzed in disbelief.
Maya laughed softly and entered the ring. Torrie backed away cautiously, unsure, before slipping out and heading up the ramp, victory hollow but real.
Maya turned to Evelyn.
And attacked.
Boos erupted as Maya stomped down, ruthless, unforgiving.
Then—
Tracey Prince's music hit.
The reaction was volcanic.
Tracey emerged from the tunnel, blue jacket on her shoulders, eyes locked on the ring. Maya's expression shifted from amusement to shock.
Tracey walked with purpose, then broke into a run. She shrugged off the jacket mid-stride and slid into the ring, colliding with Maya in a flurry of strikes.
The crowd roared.
Tracey overpowered her, forcing Maya back, then heaved her over the top rope. Maya hit the floor hard, staring up in fury as Tracey stood tall, raising her arms to the crowd.
Maya retreated, jaw clenched, rage burning.