HWA Message Board: The Lion and The Dragon: Prelude

Dallas, Texas
1999

The locker room was dim and cramped, its walls worn and stained from years of sweat and effort. A young Butch Parker sat on a battered metal bench, lacing up his boots and trying to ignore the nerves coiled in his stomach.

After all, this wasn’t wasn’t just any match. This was the night he was trusted to be in the main event of the Worldwide Wrestling Coalition’s show; the biggest match he’d had since joining the company. For a young guy, fresh in the business at just twenty-one, he felt like he’d been handed the keys to a kingdom, even if it was one barely holding itself together. WWC had experienced its money troubles. Dallas native and company owner, Malice Maverick was like a throwback to the Vince McMahons, Jerry Jarretts and Jim Crockett, a byproduct of an era of professional wrestling long-forgotten. He had thrown millions of dollars in promises of lucrative contracts and huge matches to rival those of the more prominent organisations.

In the locker room, Butch was almost done taping his wrists when the door swung open, heavy boots thumping against the concrete floor. He looked up and froze as Malice Maverick strode in. Malice was a big man with a booming voice and a presence that filled any space he was in, whether it was the arena or a backroom like this. His shoulders were broad, thick with muscle, and he always had a cigar clamped between his teeth, even in places where smoking was banned, something Butch couldn’t help but admire.

Butch had heard a thousand stories about him, most of them wild, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if every single one had been true. But tonight, Malice was flanked by someone Butch had only ever seen on grainy VHS tapes from overseas.

Even in the low light of the locker room, Red Dragon was unmistakable. He was lean, with sharp, defined features and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through a person.

His movements were controlled and deliberate, as if every step, every breath, were practiced down to the finest detail. But it was his calm intensity that drew Butch’s attention the most, an aura unlike anything he’d felt before, even from Malice Maverick. This was the man who’d made a name in Japan, who’d fought in some of the most brutal matches on the planet, and here he was, standing in a tiny locker room in Texas.

(Malice): Butch!

Malice’s voice barked loudly, the Texan drawl rolling off his tongue like a crack of thunder. Butch jumped to his feet, every muscle stiffening as he tried to look both casual and respectful.

(Butch): Malice.

Butch nodded to his boss.

(Butch): What’s up?

Malice gestured to the man behind him with a thumb over his shoulder.

(Malice): This here’s your tag partner for tonight’s main event. He goes by Red Dragon, but…

Malice looked down at a scrap of paper in his hand, struggling over the syllables.

(Malice): Ken-jee, uh, Kir-eye-ya-ma? Close enough?

A flicker of amusement crossed Red Dragon’s face.

(Red Dragon): Kenji Kiriyama.

He extended a hand to Butch, his grip firm but calm.

(Red Dragon): But Matthew is fine. My mother was American.

Butch shook his hand, steady and solid, and gave a nod.

(Butch): I know who you are, man. I’ve seen your matches. Hell of a style. Not something you see around here.

Red Dragon gave a slight nod, his eyes studying Butch carefully.

(Red Dragon): It’s a different approach… I hope you’re ready.

Butch straightened, matching Dragon’s intensity, slightly taken aback by his statement.

(Butch): I’m always ready.

He tightened the tape around his wrists.

(Butch): But you’ve got some rep, you know? I’m up for the challenge.

Malice chuckled, clapping Butch on the shoulder with a force that, even for a guy standing six-foot-five and two-hundred-and-seventy pounds, nearly made him stumble.

(Malice): You’d better be. Got a lot riding on this one, kid. Eyes on tonight’s match, maybe even a scout or two. You’re in the ring with a legend. Don’t make me regret it. If this works out I’m onto a winner with these foreigners! Even got a young German guy comin’ in!

Butch gave a quick nod.

(Butch): Don’t worry about me, Malice. I’ll give them something worth watching.

Malice left, his steps echoing down the narrow hall, leaving Butch and Red Dragon alone. The room fell into a quiet, charged silence as Red Dragon began to warm up, every move deliberate and efficient. Butch watched him out of the corner of his eye, noting the precision in every stretch, every breath, it was like a discipline that went beyond technique. And though he could feel Red Dragon’s silent appraisal, he didn’t let himself fidget or rush. He went back to wrapping his wrists, rolling his shoulders loose, and letting the silence settle in until finally, he decided to break it.

(Butch): So, Matthew…

He glanced over at his mysterious tag team partner.

(Butch): You’ve been around a while. I’m guessing this main event thing’s just another night for you, huh?

Red Dragon paused in his stretching, his calm gaze meeting Butch’s.

(Red Dragon): Experience teaches you to manage nerves…but it doesn’t make them disappear. They keep you sharp, remind you what’s at stake. You feel them too, do you not?

(Butch): Yeah, I just try not to let them show.

Red Dragon nodded, an approving glint in his eyes.

(Red Dragon): Good. Nerves are part of the process. But there’s no room for fear in the ring. The crowd, your opponent, you honor them with your skill, your respect. And fear doesn’t belong with that.

Butch took that in, feeling the words sink in deeper than any casual advice he’d ever been given before. It was profound. Red Dragon was similar in age with him but he spoke with the wisdom of a man decades beyond him.

(Red Dragon): Tonight, you will understand it better. Not through words, but through action, resilience. That’s where respect is earned. For yourself, and for the match.

Red Dragon rose to his feet, adjusting his gear, his expression remaining and unreadable. Butch tried to match him, rolling his shoulders back. They stood in silence for a moment, the two men prepared to face the upcoming match. Red Dragon then turned and observed Butch for a moment, tilting his head slightly.

(Red Dragon): I meant to ask… your accent. Where’s that from?

Butch grinned knowingly, tightening the last wrap around his wrist.

(Butch): Scottish. Guess it sticks out a bit around here. Even to a Japanese ear.

Red Dragon’s lips quirked upward in a subtle smile.

(Red Dragon): A bit. I cannot imagine the transition from Scotland to Texas was easy.

Butch shrugged.

(Butch): Not as bad as you’d think. Ironically Texas folk are a bit more… open.

(Red Dragon): How so?

Butch chuckled.

(Butch): Let’s just say I don’t get too much trouble or attitude around here.

(Red Dragon): That must make it easier for your family, I imagine.

(Butch): They’re back home. Just my sister and me… and my nephew.

Red Dragon raised an eyebrow, an invitation for Butch to continue if he wanted to.

(Butch): His name is Sean. Eighteen months old, a wee handful so he is, but he’s a good kid.

There was an evident fondness creeping into Butch’s tone as he spoke.

(Butch): It’s a bit of a long story. His dad… my big brother… he um… died overseas. Military.

Butch paused, his voice softening.

(Butch): So I took Sean in. Sorry… that was unnecessarily personal, you didn’t ask and we’ve just met, we’re about to go out and wrestle and here I am spilling my guts.

Red Dragon’s face softened, and he nodded, an understanding flickering in his azure blue eyes.

(Red Dragon): No, I understand. That’s a big responsibility. Sounds like he’s lucky to have you… I have a daughter, actually. Not much older than your nephew. She’s two. Maybe a bit shy of that. I also lost my wife too, so, like you and Sean, it is just me and her. Although she’s back home being looked after.

He paused, the admission quiet, as if it were something he rarely shared. Butch looked over at him, surprised. He hadn’t expected a man known for his stoic, nearly impenetrable demeanor, to open up about something as personal as family.

(Butch): I’m sorry for your loss, Matthew. But you’ve got yourself a little one, eh? That’s good to hear. She got a name?

Red Dragon hesitated, clearly unaccustomed to this kind of conversation but feeling a sense of trust with the Scottish stranger he’d been paired with.

(Red Dragon): Azami…Her name is Azami.

Butch nodded approvingly, leaning back against the lockers.

(Butch): That’s a good name. Bet she’s got you wrapped around her finger already.

A small, reluctant smile crossed Red Dragon’s face, and he gave a slight nod.

(Red Dragon): Perhaps. She doesn’t know much about her father’s line of work yet, though. Maybe that’s for the best, at least for now.

Butch chuckled, catching the sentiment in Red Dragon’s voice.

(Butch): Yeah, can’t say I’d want Sean hanging around these locker rooms just yet either. But one day… I mean, maybe they’ll grow up with this business around ‘em, yeah? If they’re anything like us, they’ll find their way here eventually. Maybe we can introduce them one day.

Red Dragon’s gaze drifted, his expression contemplative.

(Red Dragon): Perhaps. But there’s a part of me that hopes they find another path… something that won’t take the toll we know it does.

Butch nodded, his own gaze growing thoughtful.

(Butch): Yeah, I get that.

After a beat, Butch’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint.

(Butch): But if Sean starts locking me in submission holds before he’s five, I’ll know it was in his blood all along.

Red Dragon too managed a chuckle.

(Red Dragon): If Azami does, I’ll know the same.

They both lapsed into a comfortable silence, the air between them significantly lighter than when they were first introduced. Suddenly a familiar booming voice disrupted the silence along with a hurried, repeating clap.

(Malice): Parker! Dragon! You’re up! Come on! I ain’t payin you boys by the hour! Move it like molasses!

The two exchanged an already knowing glance at each other followed by synchronised shrugs.

(Butch): Well, guess it’s time… you ready, Red Dragon?

(Red Dragon): I will let you know when the final bell rings.

Red Dragon stooped down and grabbed an intimidating-looking Japanese-style dragon mask from his bag and began to pull it over his head.

(Butch): Please don’t tell me you’re planning on wrestling with that thing on?

Red Dragon’s voice was slightly muffled as he maneuvered the mask over his head.

(Red Dragon): No, just for the entrance. Why? Is it too much? Do Americans not like this sort of thing?

(Butch): No, it’s not that… it’s just… you know what, it’s fine, let’s do this…

As Butch coaxed Red Dragon to follow him from the locker room, the latter shrugged.

(Red Dragon): What? It’s too much, isn’t it?

(Butch): Just hurry up, before Malice fires us both before our entrance music even hits…

Red Dragon muttered to himself as he jogged to catch up with Butch.

(Red Dragon): I told Shinsuke the mask was too much…

The scene faded to black as the Lion and the Dragon prepared to go into battle for the first time. Little did they know it wouldn’t be the last.