Koyuki Sanada vs Sara Connor - Blood and Steel

Match Type: No DQ
Victory Conditions: Submission or KO.

As far as Yakuza dispute settlements went, this AFW arrangement was a little unorthodox.... but it definitely beat sitting down at a hostess club negotiating turf with a bunch of shitstains she very much wanted to crush under her heel.

With the Japanese organized crime act at its strongest, open turf wars between yakuza syndicates were no longer really a viable avenue to dispute supremacy. They drew too much attention, shed too much blood for the modern (read: cowardly) criminal's taste, and disrupted operations and commerce. In the pacified world of money, there was too much to lose. So instead of sucking it up like real Japanese and duking it in the war to end all wars, the local tokyo groups and syndicates turned to their other methods of half-arsed conflict resolution: negotiation, collaboration, quiet sabotage-

And occasionally, duels.

And so Koyuki Sanada found herself stepping up -as she always did when a fight presented itself- to a sanctioned match in this so-called AFW promotion. She had bookie responsibilities a few years back when she was working her way up the ladder, and she knew the promotion quite well: a decadent, sex-deranged hive of violence.

Which... Okay. She would work with that.

The arena did not matter. Whether in some backalley behind a hostess club or a grand ring, any business venture that she could solve with martial violence was a business venture worth working towards.

Ring Attire:

Koyuki was the first one in the warehouse where the ring was housed; no music, no audience, no referee, no real rules - just a whole bunch of cameras and two warriors (Or one warrior and her victim) duking it out until only one remained standing. Clad in a black leather overcoat and a matching pair of leather pants, she made her way towards the ring.

With no knowledge of who her opponent was.... only that her adversaries had hired a proxy because, apparently, they were too chickenshit to fight their own battles.

That warm buzz of anticipation pumping through her blood was double-edged; she could leave here with a good fight and be sated... or end this very, very disappointed.

Sliding under the ropes, Koyuki made her way to the far right end of the ring, and settled into her corner.

Life had been hard for Sara Conners in the past few months.

No, scratch that, hard wasn’t the right word. Annoying, irritating, a pain in the ass - those fit better.

Matches weren’t coming along as well as she’d hoped they would in the AFW. So far, she’d only had two in the public eye, one win and one loss, with the rest of her bouts being dark matches, low key affairs that didn't attract much in the way of attention. A serious problem, since one of her biggest goals was to get the attention of the AFW’s numerous factions and let them hire her on as muscle. They needed to see what she could do, but AFW’s management seemed disinterested in letting her do that, likely because she’d show no interest in their asinine hentai matches.

It was a problem she fully intended to rectify, in her own way, on her own timeframe. In the meantime, though, she had other avenues to follow up for a little cash.

In the past, she’d done some under the table work for certain less than legal organizations within Japan. She didn’t like to dabble too much in that world, mostly because it had a way of attracting the wrong sort of attention. But they were reliable and they paid well, so she never strayed so far from those circles that she couldn’t make her way back. That approach paid off now, when she put out feelers to see what they needed doing. Sure enough, her services found demand.

Sara didn’t know what this dispute was about, and she didn’t care. All she needed to know was who she was up against, and she got that answer soon enough, when she made her way through the door.

”Koiyuki-san.”

Now, this was a surprise. The woman waiting for her in the ring wasn’t unfamiliar - in fact, she’d come across her a fair few times before. A partner on some of her jobs, the two had aided each other in a professional capacity. While she couldn’t call her a friend - whatever that word meant - she’d come to respect her skills. Always on her side, though.

She paused, stared for a moment as her jaw shifted from side to side, then closed the door behind her and made her way in, gym bag slung over her shoulder. She was dressed in her casual clothes, jean skirt, white shirt, legging and thick brown boots, not wanting to travel across Tokyo in her wrestling attire.

”So, they picked you for this.” She sat the bag at ringside, opened it up, and kicked off her shoes. ”Figures. I’m betting they didn’t tell you who you were going up against, either.”

Not that it mattered, a job was a job. Some heads up would’ve been nice, though. Sara hated surprises.

Her opponent didn't keep her waiting very long.

Koyuki, as a matter of principle, detested Americans. They talked too loud, presumed without logic or context, acted without decorum, and they ate fried grease like pigs at a trough. They equated the complete absence of duty and obligation with freedom. They whined about everything, and thought that real change was about talking on the internet and loudly demanding it like some entitled housewife at a department store. They were an ugly people with an ugly culture.

And that was just the way they lived. The modern Japanese had forgotten, but they were the old enemy in a time when Japan should have claimed the South in full. They were the enemy of her grandfather and blood debts were not so easily forgotten.

That being said, merit was merit regardless of race or ethnicity, and the woman who just walked in had proven herself as a competent, reliable professional. By her last count with her jobs with them, she had a 88% rate of success with forceful 'matchfixing' when it came to troublesome competitors who refused to take the dive. it was a reasonable success margin, and she respected that.

More importantly, the American would make her work for the victory.

"Miss Conar." Koyuki replied in heavily accented english. She spoke in a tone and cadence that suggested she knew the language more than well enough... and absolutely hated it. Her eyes met Sara's and she tracked her as she made her way through the warehouse and up into the ring, like a cat fixated that was getting closer and closer and closer, resisting the urge to pounce too soon. The slight, irregular tap of her hand hand against the ropes was the only indication of her impatience to start the fight.

"Nobody pick me." Koyuki said, continuing to stare as Sara worked with her bag. The labyrinth hierarchy of a mega Yakuza conglomerate was sometimes a mess to sort out even to her. But to oversimplify it, she had only three superiors in Tokyo itself, and none in Shibuya. She was here because she chose to be here. Last time they met, Koyuki was still a bookie.

She risen a bit up the conglomerate since then.

"Be ready." Koyuki said, kicking off her heels and gingerly putting them outside the ring. She shrugged out of her overcoat, leaving most of her toned, battle trained body bare save for a bra. She rolled her shoulders, hints of a huge multi-headed eastern dragon on her back evident even from Sara's vantage point.

This was going to be fun.

To be honest, Sara couldn’t say she recalled Koiyouki’s personality all that well. Not that there was much to recall at all, with the two of them only knowing each other in a professional capacity, but even then, the fragments she could parse together about this woman were sparse. Neither of them were talkers, beyond what they needed to get the job done, not much for bragging or taunting. So, while she wouldn’t show it, a part of her was glad that this was the woman she found herself up against. Not only was a good fight guaranteed, the best way to display her talents, but she wouldn’t have to worry about any of the unnecessary trappings that came from most AFW bouts. None of the elaborate entrances, none of the eccentric costumes and ridiculous gimmicks. A simple fight, the way it was meant to be.

”I see.” She nodded, a quick sign of respect, acknowledging Koiyouki’s new place in the world. If the woman had advanced enough to put her own name forward in such instances, she was doing well for herself, and Sara couldn’t help but wonder what moves she’d made to climb that far, if it was all on pure merit or if she had worked her way through the system by, to put it politely, unsavory methods.

Questions. Questions she would answer herself, on her own time.

For now, she made her way to ringside, sat the gym bag down, and proceeded to change into her ring attire. She stripped all the way, not giving much thought to whether Koiyouki was watching or not, and promptly slid her gear on from there. Top, pants, shin guards, gloves. After taking a few moments to make sure they were tight and workable, she kicked the bag off far clear of the ring, then rolled in through the ropes, promptly popping to her feet. She rolled her shoulders, tested the rotation of her neck, stretched her arms, and checked the flexibility of her body overall, making sure everything was in working order, no lingering pains from past fights.

All good, it felt like. She’d have her full arsenal for Koiyuki. ”I’m ready.”

She brought her fists up and lowered into her fighting stance, keeping things tight to start. A subdued start. Her normal mode was to overwhelm from the outset and drag her foe down with extreme aggression, but that wouldn’t work with Koiyuki. Here, she needed a slower, methodical approach. Pick her shots. Koiyuki would no doubt be doing the same, looking for every opening to take advantage of.

Sara was terse, blunt, and straight to the point.

Just how Koyuki liked it in english. The white man's tongue was an eight-headed snake, with each head having 100 opinions, all of them wrong. Too many words meant the same thing. Too few of them were descriptive enough for her to be truly instinctive. Too many rules that she wondered how their children wrote entire essays in that cursed script. Sara had said maybe 20 words to her and that was all the white conversation she could stomach for the day.

She watched on, unblinking and without expression, as Sara retrieved her fight gear, stripped down to nothing, and put it all back on. Her interest was not sexual; the fight had already begun the moment she walked into the warehouse, and Koyuki had long started to shamelessly scrutinize her every expression, her every action, her ever little movement, searching for physical and mental weaknesses and vulnerabilities to exploit.... however unlikely. Sara was a professional. There would be no obvious ones.

But a real fight had a way of baring who you really were on the inside, and she was hawk-keen to watch out for the chink in everyone's armour.

Koyuki had one obvious advantage going into the fight: reach. She was just that slightly taller, her arms just that slightly longer, and depending on how she wanted to play it, that could serve her well deep into the fight.

But enough armchair analysis, she thought, as Sara straightened up and readied for battle. Before the ”I'm ready.” finished leaving Sarah's lips, Koyuki had aready exploded from her corner in a sharp brisk walk, trying to eat up as much ground as she could. She had no intention of meeting Sara at the centre of the ring. Her arms swung up in a relaxed guard mid stride as she would lash out with a series of low kicks to Sarah's knees, feinted a step in for a clinch and, if Sarah took the bait, throw a straight, sharp jab to her face.

Both combatants clearly had very different ideas of what a slow and methodical to figuring out your opponent was; Sara favored patience, while Koyuki believed that the best way to see where your opponent excelled and failed was under constant, no holds barred pressure.

How was Koiyuki going to come at her? That was the biggest question in Sara’s mind before she kicked this fight off. In most times, she wanted to go into a fight with some foreknowledge of her opponent, but there was only so far she could get with that sort of thinking, here. Even if her opponent hadn’t been a surprise, it wasn’t as if any of Koiyuki’s previous fights would be available for public consumption.

So all she had to go off of was her behavior, basing her future actions off the woman’s demeanor. The two of them were alike in many respects, introduced themselves in a straightforward manner, so that led into the clear question: How would she start this match?

A quick, direct assault. An attempt to end the fight before it even truly began. Yeah, that was the play.

She was right, 100% Koiyuki came in with all the subtlety of a bullet and a large fraction of the speed, no hesitation in her approach. Sara took one step forward, but only one, in no rush to meet Koiyuki. Let her come. Let her strike.

Sara raised her leg as the low kicks came in, taking the first one on her thigh, and moving back to avoid the ones that came after, narrowly avoiding the blows. For an instant it looked as if Koiyuki was going for a clinch, and she moved forward on instant, preparing for it. No, only a trap, a feint, a trick to make her fall for that jab that was coming her way.

It was too late to dodge the blow, so Sara jerked to the side and knocked the blow aside with a backhand, screwing up its trajectory. That also allowed her to be in her best range, and she used the opportunity to strike back, throwing a jab of her at Koiyuki’s face with the same fist that had just deflected her own. She stepped in with a right cross, staying at her best distance, then leaped up and piled it on with a knee aimed at Koiyuki’s chest. A solid, straightforward, but heavy offense, an attempt to force her opponent back and take some ground.

Despite her former responsibilities as a bookie, Koyuki rarely went to the actual fights themselves. She wasn't some 70's matchmaker without access to a smartphone, and there was nothing she hated more than looking at other people fight, seeing them hoard all the blood and the sweat and the adrenaline for themselves while she looked on like a passive spectator. She saw the need to study opponents through tape if necessary, but actually enjoying it? No. That was the refuge of someone with much less to do with their lives.

Thus, she had only caught the tail end of one of Sara's matches once, and the only conclusion she had gleaned from it was that she could deliver a finish.

Which didn't tell her anything that she didn't already know.

So the question her initial assault was meant to ask was: who are you Sara Connor? And how do respond to pressure?

And the answer was remarkably well apparently.

Her first kick struck home, the rest hit air as she transitioned to her feint. Her jab missed its mark, while Sara's returning jab hit home. It seemed to annoy Koyuki more than it actually hurt her, and the unimpressed nonchalance on her face was answered with a cross that landed home once again. This one saw a bit more of a reaction as her as it elicited a growl. She barely seemed like she was trying to defend it, as if making a statement on her perceived duarability, on how difficult it was to hurt her was a priority over avoiding damage pileup in the early stages of the fight. And then came the knee, sharp and heavy and sending a stumbling back-

Or would have sent her stumbling back if she hadn't caught it with her hands as it struck her straight in the chest.

Resisting the urge to take a breath from the throbbing pain in her chest, she made eye contact with Sara with a vicious glint in her eye, swiftly pivoted her left arm such that Sara couldn't transition this into jumping spin kick, started to stretch out the held leg at an angle where Sara would be completely off balance-

And began to throw hard, brutal, rapidly thrown elbows into the back of Sara's captive knees, bypassing the kneecap and aiming straight for the kneepit, the shallow depression at the back where the knee was at its weakest.

The knee was, in Dr Koyuki's expert opinion after a long career of surgically bringing baseball bats to them, the most vulnerable joint in the body.

And she hoped Sara would be fully impressed by her real opening volley.

If successful, she would throw about 4 or 5 before pushing off Sara, letting gravity and her lack of balance drop her to the floor. Not missing a beat, she would follow Sara down all the way, aiming to drive a knee straight into her face as they crashed together onto the padded ring below.

Just because the two of them had similar approaches to a match, didn’t mean they were clones. There was only so much Sara could surmise from a surface reading of Koiyuki, and those differences were nothing to be ignored - if anything, they were reason to focus, something she needed to look out for. Right away, she was seeing a potentially big difference in the way they approached problems - first and foremost, Koiyuki was aggressive even by Sara’s standards.

Both of the blows she threw landed, finding a temporary home on her foe’s face, but neither of them had the strength to even knock her back. That wasn’t her own failing, there had been nothing wrong in her technique, not lacking for impact. No, it was a matter of her opponent being a tougher, doubtier opponent than just about anyone she had faced before. She would keep coming, regardless of anything Sara threw her way, until she was put down.

That was fine. She could work with that. It gave her ideas, though they needed some time in the oven before she put them into practice. For now, though, she had a more pressing problem.

Sara grunted, an irritated noise, as Koiyuoki seized her leg, pulled it in tight, trapped her close. She tried to pull away, but it was too late for that, far too late to the avoiding the barrage of fracturing elbows that came down into her knee, drilling away her bone. She cried out from the first one, a mix of pain and shock, then gritted her teeth as the others came raining down. The Android threw out a couple of wild punches at Koiyuki’s head, but they were lacking in force, nothing that would make her opponent back off or save her from what happened next.

Gravity had its way and down Sara went, tumbling onto her back with a busted leg and Koiyuki coming for blood. She’d only just begun to sit up when she was disabused of that idea by a knee to the face, rocking her skull, but she held onto her senses when it hit and was rewarded for the effort. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of the same leg that had struck her face and kept it close against her chest. At the same time, she twisted hard and tried to roll over, wanting to get on top of Koiyuki with the leg under her control.

Huh, that was disappointing; the knee smash to Sara's pasty caucasian face lacked the sick crunch that was the tell-tale sign of a broken nose. She didn't even manage to draw blood.... and Koyuki took that quite personally. Sara was clearly hardier than a lot of the adversaries she faced over the years, weathering blows that would have put down a lesser combatant, and she intended to make that face her personal pet project for the duration of this match. Even the toughest walls wore thin with time, and Koyuki had all night to bring her best ramming equipment against this particularly stubborn wall that was Sara Connor.

Who unfortunately seemed to have other ideas.

As she brought her knee up to slam it right down into Sara's face all over again, her leg was seized, pressed down to Sara's chest, and she felt herself violently spinning as Sara twisted them around in one swift, flowing motion. Koyuki's small gasp was tinged with both surprise... and clear annoyance. She was no slouch on the ground but the stand-up was where she felt fresh warriors shined. What a shame to go down this early when they hadn't even exhausted all their options up top.

Okay then, Sara, have it your way.

Koyuki smashed into the mat back first, the impact sending a thudding pulse through her whole body. Sara was comfortably on top of her, arms around her left leg, head above and over her toned navel. They were both beginnings to sweat. She could feel the light sheen coating her stomach and the droplets beading down her bead arms. She could feel the wetness of hair from her scalp to her ponytail and she could feel the way their sweat mingled at the points Sarah's arms grasped her leg, and she wondered how much sweat could she beat out of Sara by the time she was done with her.

An arm whipped out, snagged Sarah by the hair, and... an elbow of the kind of magnitude she wanted to deliver was awkward in her current position, so she settled for a truly vicious cross straight into her face.

Let Sarah have her leg. She'll see whether American wrestling could keep up with whatever she was going to do to her face.

While Koyuki’s blow to the head wasn’t enough to break anything, that wasn’t to say it had no effect whatsoever beneath the hood. It was a strong, cracking blow, the kind that made her vision blurry, and she was still feeling some of the effects from it moment’s later. She strongly suspected that there would be a lump forming on her forehead later.

But that was the way it had to be. This game they played was all about give and take, absorbing punishment and giving back. Blood would be on this canvas before long, and some of it would be her own. She could accept that. So long as she was the last one standing, nothing else mattered.

Right now, the position was in her favor. Sara was confident of her skills up top and below, but she was growing more into a grounded fighter with her time in the AFW. Strikers were a dime a dozen in the league, but submission specialists were a rarer bread, so defaulting to that gave her a clear advantage more often than not. Would she be able to say the same about Koyuki? Time to find out.

She was in a good position, but she was going to pay for it. The price turned out to be a stiff right cross to her face. More head trauma. This one landed square on Sara’s eye, jerked her hard to the side, and forced her to fall back, letting go of Koyuki’s thigh in the process…

...only for her to snag the woman’s ankle as she flopped back, capturing it under her arm. She brought her legs up, wrapped them together just above Koyuki’s knee, and attempted to trap her foe in an Ankle Lock.