Rusty Quill Saga - 24 Hour Follow Up
Hi everyone! I appreciate all the new follows! Might actually get me posting more about stuff!
So, it's been about a day since I posted my response to the Rusty Quill article, and reading some of the tag comments I wanted to respond to a couple, again in the interests of helping those who aren't within the audio fiction community get a little context that you might not otherwise have had.
But I also wanted to put my cards on the table - why should you listen to me? Hi! My name is Lee Davis-Thalbourne, I'm Australian, and I'm one half of the Fiction Podcast Production team Passer Vulpes Productions. We're the creators of a number of fiction podcasts, including Love and Luck and Supernatural Sexuality with Dr. Seabrooke. I also have a reasonable resume of small VA roles with a lot of different podcast production teams, I have a history of theorycrafting around podcast production, and I'm currently engaged in some part-time independent research around fiction podcast production that, if people are interested, I might actually get around to finishing one day. Myself and my partner Erin were the founders of AusFicPodMakers, which was/is an informal group supporting audio fiction producers in Australia, and as part of that support, I currently curate a list of Australian Fiction Podcasts (which I encourage you to take a look at!). In terms of affiliations, PVP is not associated with any podcasting network (though a few have knocked on our door), and I'm not currently producing audio fiction right now - I have no projects on the boil, so to speak.
So, I think I can say, with some evidence, that I'm a part of the audio fiction production scene, that I care about audio fiction in general, that I might have some thoughts worth listening to about it, and that I'm a mostly disinterested party regarding this - I have no particular stake in Rusty Quill's fortunes one way or the other.
Tag Responses
Okay, so I wanted to quickly respond to a few of the tag comments that have popped up in response to yesterday's post, mainly because I feel like it's worth expanding on some of them:
#i also feel bad because i was always kinda wary on tma2#now it feels even more like a cash grab
Look - as a podcast producer, I can respect a cash grab. If you can grab that cash, I'm a strong believer in doing so, because making audio fiction without cash is kinda sucky. It's like any other big endeavour - when you get nothing out of it, it eats away at you. That's part of the reason why PVP isn't producing at the moment - We tried to scale up to multiple productions and it damn near killed us. We weren't really getting the income we needed to do more than just barely break even - we, as producers, weren't making a dime off of our podcasts, even with Patreon and crowdfunding. Rusty Quill is actually an extreme outlier regarding their ability to get cash from their audiences. How extreme? Well, before the TMA2 kickstarter, the most successful Audio Fiction crowdfunding campaign was Unseen, from the producers of Wolf 359, one of the seminal audio fiction shows of the modern audio fiction renaissance, and it hit a little over US$40,000. Which, just to note, was significantly higher than any other audio fiction crowdfund project before it - very few audio fiction crowdfund campaigns get more than around US$5,000-10,000.
So, sure, it's a cash grab. It might still be good anyway though! Don't disregard it just because they're making financially-dominated decisions.
#Adding onto this while the evidence isn't conclusive (because as many people have said it is conjecture and opinions and stuff)#and also the author's credibility is...in question
So, first things first, Newt Schottelkotte is an extremely credible journalist in the Audio Fiction space - they've broken a number of big stories, and written a lot in support of the audio fiction production scene. Wil Williams, who helped edit the piece, is also a highly respected critic and journalist within the space, while Tal Minear is a very prolific audio fiction producer of good repute. Personally, I have absolutely no concerns about their integrity or credibility - they've all done incredible work.
But it is worth noting that Audio fiction is kinda odd, in that journalists, critics and producers all pretty much come from the same group of people. The honest fact is that Audio Fiction, as a beat, has pretty much no prestige, there are (currently) no publications that are dedicated to audio fiction coverage, and the whole sector is mostly considered an afterthought to the real podcast industry. So, the few people who do create audio fiction meta-content, even if they begin as separated from the industry, don't stay separated for long - they will start making contacts with producers, they may start finding people offering cameo roles in shows, and eventually, they'll consider moving into podcast production. If your requirement for a "credible" voice within audio fiction journalism is one that has absolutely no connections with any actual production, I'm sorry but that ain't happening - the scene is too small, and people move between production and commentary so often, that "true independence" isn't a thing.
With that said, these journalists do a lot to make their affiliations visible up front, which is the other way to manage conflicts of interest within the scene - by declaring them. I'd be a lot more suspicious of a journalist that doesn't put their affiliations up front, honestly.
The Rusty Quill Response
So, I wrote yesterday that I wasn't expecting a response from Rusty Quill for a good three days - they are a group, it takes time to coordinate a response, I figured I could relax for a bit. However, Rusty Quill has already produced a response, and that alone says something - it says that a single person has dictated this response. Considering the record speed, I also doubt that it has been looked over by anyone else. Knowing these things, I find it very likely that this is Alex Newall's response specifically, speaking for Rusty Quill, rather than one that that the leadership at Rusty Quill has worked on together.
I'm not going to go through the whole thing point by point - I don't have the time, and this post is already too long for most Tumblrites to consider going through it. But on a more general level, I find it interesting that the response contains not a single link, not a single pointer towards contrary evidence. Almost certainly this is due to the timeframe - were I in RQ's position, I would be going through our paperwork to find some boilerplate contracts to provide some counter-evidence to the article, or providing some financial details to show where the money is going, but finding, redacting, and publishing these things takes time. RQ has done none of this, and this isn't necessarily a point against them, but it does mean that Rusty Quill hasn't done much more than shout "Am not!" into the audience.
To talk about one specific point, I also find it interesting that, having been attacked on the subject of crew pay rates, they talk about how their cast have very good pay rates. This might be true, I don't have the resources to fact check that, and I hope it is - actors do deserve pay. But it is worth noting that actors are on a production for very little of the time - it's the editors, sound designers, musicians, transcribers, etc who put the most time on to a production. In general, you'd expect that the crew would be getting more money than the cast, because the crew is going to be putting in more time (although, fair's fair, the vast majority of audio fiction out there doesn't do this, because the only "crew" is the producer, who is usually financing the production out of their own pocket).
Questions?
So, I figure that if I'm putting myself out there, I might as well offer the opportunity for people to pick my brain. Have a question about Audio fiction production? Want to hear my explicit comments about something someone has said? My asks are open, I'll do my best to come back and answer any asks that come my way.
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All right, so long as we’re playing catch-up, let’s address exactly what I was doing over the weekend that cut into my activity, why I posted “finally” at 3AM Sunday morning for seemingly no reason, and why at that very same time I was kneeling on the living room floor in front of the television, a luchador mask pulled down over my face, a Los Ingobernables de Japon towel draped over my shoulders, stomach full of Pringles and candy, and tears of joy prickling at my eyes.
You see, something happened at that moment, something I’ve been waiting to see for two years, something that brought me the most genuine joy and relief from any story in an exceptionally long time.
Yes, this is going to be about wrestling. Deal with it.
But honestly, it was more than just my favorite wrestler winning the big one at the big show against the big rival. It was the culmination of a five year journey, a story with twists and turns, one about failure and redemption, starring the coolest anti-hero ever and that happened almost entirely by accident.
Let’s wind back the clocks a bit. I’ve been a fan of pro wrestling for pretty much about half my life now. I got into it at around seventeen when I saw the Undertaker on tv, remained a devoted fan for several years, and even when I stopped watching due to life circumstance I still kept up with what was happening through internet news and would pick up the occasional PVP DVD from Best Buy. And over time I became as equally fascinated with what was going on outside the ring as inside it, with how these seemingly normal men and women would craft intricate second identities that they would embody at almost all times in order to stage violent battles over extravagant prizes. Wrestling is basically live action anime, and has been my longest lasting passion.
But unfortunately, at that time wrestling was entering something of a dark age. The WWE crushing all of its competition had left it without any reason to really try, and the quality dropped. Sure, there was the occasional bright spot, the occasional revolutionary storyline or character that would make waves, like the Shield, CM Punk, the Broken Hardys, Daniel Bryan, etc. All well and good, but these bright spots were just that, and overall the landscape seemed bleak. And when I traveled to Florida for Wrestlemania to see the Undertaker’s grand finale, I sort of considered my own grand finale with the WWE, a way to close the book on that chapter of my life. I saw my idol, the man that got me into wrestling in the first place, reach the end of his story, and so I could move on.
And then something magical happened.
In early 2017, the wrestling world suddenly started clamoring. Apparently, a match in Japan had happened between two wrestlers I knew little about that was supposedly the greatest match of all time, a transcendent masterpiece that dwarfed all other contests. These two men were called Kenny Omega and Kazuchika Okada, and the match was at an event called Wrestlekingdom, for a promotion called New Japan Pro Wrestling.
Now, I knew what NJPW was, of course. I had read several wrestling autobiographies, and many of those wrestlers had done tours there. And I knew of the famous Bullet Club through several of its members coming to WWE and bringing that attitude with them. And of course Shinsuke Nakamure also going to WWE and Kota Ibushi working the Cruiserweight Classic tournament put NJPW in a spotlight. And yet, until that moment, I hadn’t actually really checked it out. I had checked out a couple matches here and there, but they weren’t really my thing, so that was that.
But I had to see this match. I had to see what all the fuss was about. So I hunted down a recording and watched now.
Now, my experience probably wasn’t the same as a dedicated fan watching it in full live. I was someone going in cold, watching it in chunks here and there over a couple days. But it was a damned good match. I could see why it was so highly praised. But it wasn’t enough to make me keep watching.
But then, as a listened to several wrestling journalists and commentators discuss the match, one made mention of its very slow start, pointing out that it had to start slow because it was following another fantastic and highly anticipated match that had gone on right before it. So my curiosity got the better of me, I looked up this other match for the Intercontinental Championship between a couple of guys called Tetsuya Naito and Hiroshi Tanahashi, and…oh…
That. That’s all it took. Tetsuya Naito’s entrance, right there. I had never seen anything that cool before in my life, from his fancy suit and skull mask combo, to his overall languid disdain for everything around him, to how the giant eye opens up on the screen behind him right as he removes his mask, to the way he tosses his championship belt around like he couldn’t care less. He was absolutely mesmerizing.
This match clicked with me in a way that the other didn’t, and it was all because of Naito. His trollish persona, his mindgames, his over bastard demeanor had me hooked, and I simply had to know more about the man!
Well, it really looks like I know how to pick them, because not only was Naito a fascinating character, he had an actual bonafide backstory, the sort that would make any anti-hero jealous. And rare for a wrestling character, it happened almost by accident in a manner that came incredibly close to sabotaging his entire career.
To explain why, we have to go over to the man he was facing that night. We have to explain Hiroshi Tanahashi.
Tanahashi. The Ace of the Universe. The Once in a Century Talent. The Savior of New Japan Wrestling. The man that took the company on his back and singlehandedly lifted it out of its darkest days.
Tanahashi’s persona has been described by many as being the Japanese John Cena. Certainly there are parallels, in that’s he’s portrayed as an ultra-wholesome do-gooder, the ultimate superhero, an incorruptible paragon of good that was always the top champion, was always in the main event spot, and almost always won.
However, that comparison also does Tanahashi a massive disservice, because while John Cena’s supposedly unbreakable goodness and winning streak made large swaths of fans turns against him, the crowd in Japan never stopped loving Tanahashi. That is in part because he came around when the company was in a bad place financially and creatively. Multiple bad business decisions had left it in a rut, and poor attempts to course correct had only made things worse. But Tanahashi was exactly the man they needed, someone who could take Japanese workrate and combine it with Western flashiness and pageantry to turn himself into a genuine must-see star, and unlike John Cena, whose wrestling skills never seemed to be equal to his billing until fairly late in his career, Tanahashi was an amazing wrestler from the get-go, one who had a knack for pulling the best performances out of his opponents and make them look like a million bucks, so that even when he won, they came out of it looking better for having battled against the Ace.
Tanahashi saved the company. He brought back the fans, filled the seats, and got people buzzing about NJPW again. Hell, he pretty much was the only thing keeping the company afloat until other stars, such as his arch-nemesis Shinsuke Nakamura, Prince Devitt and the aggressively Western Bullet Club, and others could come along to help shoulder the load. However, while having all those other stars was great, they could not fill Tanahashi’s role, and too many were being tempted away with big WWE contracts. Tanahashi wasn’t going to be around forever. Sooner or later, a new Ace needed to be created.
To this, the company decided to have not one, but two stars at the ready, one to fill the role of Ace, the ultimate good guy, and the other to be his rival, the ultimate bad guy. For this, they chose two of their most promising rookie, a pair of prodigies that had all the tools they needed to succeed. The one chosen to be the bad guy was one Kazuchika Okada, the Rainmaker.
And the man chosen to one day replace Hiroshi Tanahashi as the Ace of New Japan was Tetsuya Naito.
In Okada’s case, the plan worked perfectly. He spent some time in America, where he studied various tapes and characters and came up with the gimmick of the Rainmaker, an ultra-arrogant rich boy who draped himself with gold and acted as if he was owed the world. And it is with this gimmick, this character, that Okada was rocketed into an immediate rivalry with Tanahashi himself, where he then showed everyone that he could walk the walk and was, despite his youth and inexperience, one of the greatest wrestlers walking the earth. His and Tanahashi’s rivalry has become the stuff of legends, as the upstart newcomer battled against the aging veteran for the top prize in a series of matches that are simply breathtaking in their quality. When it came to Okada, his place was secured.
At the same time Okada was being built up as the man who deposed Tanahashi, Naito was being groomed to be the man to replace Tanahashi. He built up a following as a white-meat babyface nicknamed the Stardust Genius, an enthusiastic, high-flying underdog hero that the fans could get behind. He was even turned on by his tag-team partner to build sympathy. Over time, he rose through the ranks, gaining popularity and esteem, until finally the time came to pull the trigger.
Okada had already taken Tanahashi down and claimed the Heavyweight Championship for himself, so someone had to be the one to confront him at Wrestlekingdom. That someone was, of course, Naito, who won the prestigious G1 Climax tournament by besting Tanahashi himself and earning the right to challenge the champion at Wrestlekingdom, and he did so to rapturous applause. Everything was working out great.
And then, just when it seemed that Naito the Stardust Genius and Naito the actual person had finally achieved everything he had ever dreamed of, it all came crashing down.
As Tanahashi was being led to the back, Naito got on the mic to make his celebratory promo, in which he declared himself to be the Shuyaka, or top star, of New Japan.
This was a mistake.
You see, it was still in Japan, and Japanese culture still puts great stock in its elders, those who have established themselves as successful leaders, and there was no veteran wrestler as beloved as Tanahashi. So for Naito to brazen declare himself to be the Shuyaka right there when Tanahashi was still in the room was akin to a slap in the face.
Now, unlike WWE, New Japan does not script out their wrestlers’ promos. More often than not, they simply improvise, say what they want, so long as they hit the right points. So this little comment came directly from Naito. Perhaps it was a heat of the moment thing, something he just spouted off in the giddiness of having won the G1? Maybe it’s something he planned out in advance. Regardless, it doesn’t matter, because right at the moment that was supposed kick off his rise to the top, it instead was the beginning of the end for Naito.
Now that the main event spotlight was upon him, it was up to Naito to back his arrogant words up, and he outright bombed, and bombed spectacularly. Oh, he was still an excellent wrestler, but he just didn’t have what it took to be the next Tanahashi. He didn’t have Tanahashi’s irresistible charisma, Tanahashi’s godlike connection with the crowd, his knack for eliciting sympathy while under attack and making the place erupt with cheers when he made a comeback. Instead of making both himself and his opponent look good like the Ace should, Naito would look weak even in victory. Everything about Naito just seemed off, like he was trying to wear someone else’s clothes that were not made to fit him, and it was clear that he was completely out of his depth. And little by little, the crowd who once chanted his name began to turn on him.
Cheers dulled to polite applause, which weakened to apathy. Naito was dead in the water. Instead of riding a tidal wave of support and momentum into his clash with Okada, he was being greeting by silence, which is the worst response for a wrestler to get. Negative reactions were one thing; any wrestler worth their salt could work with getting booed when they ought to be getting cheered. It’s what turned the Rock into the blazing star he became, after all. But Naito was getting absolutely nothing at all. And things finally came to a head when he came out to a wall of silence to formally challenge Okada for the Heavyweight Title and once again called himself the Shuyaka.
And the audience laughed at him.
They laughed. They mocked him. Naito wasn’t a anything anymore. He wasn’t the hero, he wasn’t the valiant underdog, he wasn’t a rising star, he most certainly wasn’t the Shuyaka. He was a joke.
And New Japan noticed.
It bears repeating that this wasn’t supposed to happen. Wrestling is fixed and staged, yes, with storylines and rivalries being written out in advance backstage and the wrestlers themselves only feigning hostility and working together to make the matches as exciting as possible, but things don’t always go according to plan. The crowd was supposed to be cheering Naito. They were supposed to be chanting his name. Instead, the loudest reaction he was garnering was laughter. And with him already penciled in to face Okada for the Heavyweight Title in the main event of their biggest show of the year, New Japan was in trouble.
However, they had an out. The crowd might not care one bit about Naito vs. Okada, but they were intensely interested in the undercard battle for the Intercontinental Championship, which was to be between none other than Shinsuke Nakamura and, you guessed it, Hiroshi Tanahashi. The writing was on the wall. The crowd didn’t want this inferior new model. They already had a perfectly good Hiroshi Tanahashi, and would accept no substitutes.
For the first time ever, the company took a fan vote. Which match did they want to headline Wrestlekingdom? The battle for the top title by the two young up-and-comers, or the match for the lesser title by the established stars? By a factor of 70%-30%, people voted for Tanahashi vs. Nakamura, thoroughly rejecting Natio.
Now, I’ve seen video of the moment Naito was laughed at by the crowd. I’ve also seen clips of when the results were announced. And in both cases, Naito looked absolutely heartbroken, like he had a lump in his throat and was trying not to cry. And why shouldn’t he feel that way? This was his dream, the moment he had sweat and bled for years to achieve, the moment he had done everything that was asked of him in order to earn! It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t Tanahashi! It wasn’t his fault that they had told him to be something he was not! It wasn’t fair!
Fair or not, the decision was made. The Naito experiment had failed, and while it isn’t known if he was originally scheduled to win the title, he certainly couldn’t be allowed to hold it now. In quick succession, he lost the Tokyo Dome main event, the match itself, the undercard title he was already holding at the time, and slipped down the card. He was booked to lose most of his matches now, and the crowd continued to be absolutely merciless, turning from apathy to outright hostility. The man who had been rising to the top of the mountain was now little better than a jobber. Naito had lost.
And so, after little more than a year of enduring abuse and ridicule for something that really wasn’t his fault, Naito left the company and departed for Mexico in disgrace.
Naito’s first excursion to Mexico as a rookie wrestler years later had been rough, and he had been constantly bombarded by racist taunts from the crowd. This time, however, things were different. This time he had friends waiting for him, specifically a luchador named La Sombra, whom Naito had befriended a couple years earlier. And as it so happened, La Sombra knew exactly how Naito felt. He too had tried to play the wholesome good guy only to be flatly rejected by the crowd. He had tried to do the right thing only to have it thrown back in his face. And so he had decided that if he was going to get booed anyway, then he was going to do something to earn it.
La Sombra had turned heel, rejecting the crowd like they had rejected him, and gathered a small group of like-minded individuals. Callings themselves Los Ingobernables, they embraced being outright bastards who did what they wanted, how they wanted, and wallowed in the crowd’s hatred. For poor Naito, the experience was life-changing. No longer hampered by New Japan’s restrictions, he was allowed to cut loose, unleashing his pent-up aggression out on his opponents and the crowd alike. He was finally allowed to be the bad guy, and it felt good.
As such, when he later returned to New Japan later that year, the Naito that the Japanese crowd was a very different person than the one they had rejected.
Gone was the excitable good boy who was happy to be there. Gone was the attempts to pander to the crowd and do the right thing. This new Naito was a lazy, dickish malcontent, one who straight up didn’t give a fuck. He regularly refused to do his part to win matches for whatever team he was assigned to, would regularly abandon his partners, lounge around when he was supposed to be wrestlers, and walk off during beat-downs, leaving his partners to the wolves. He showed disrespect to everyone and anyone, spitting in people’s faces, cheating whenever he felt like it, screwing with the referees and ring crew, and generally just being a really unpleasant person. The only thing that he seemed to care about at all was his Los Ingobernables hat and the group it symbolized, the only people in the world to ever accept him.
If the crowd disliked him before, then they outright hated him now, and before too long Naito was the most hated man in the company. And he just relished in their anger. Yeah, that’s right! I tried to be the good guy, and you rejected me! So now here’s the new me! Enjoy!
But it didn’t stop there. Naito might now be a lazy asshole, but he still had his ambition, and over time he started to gather disciples of his own, such as the psychotic Jet-Black Death Mask BUSHI, the self-proclaimed King of Darkness EVIL, and the silent and sinister Cold Skull SANADA, and later on the lovably deranged Ticking-Time Bomb Hiromu Takahashi and the deadly brawler known as the Dragon Shingo Takagi. Together, they formed the Japanese branch of Los Ingobernables, known as Los Ingobernables de Japon. And together, they cut a swatch across New Japan, using their uncanny coordination to overwhelm opponents with their numbers and pick them apart. What was more, in a company that revolved around faction warfare, this small group, easily the smallest of the New Japan factions, stood out. Others were alliances of convenience, or several individuals working together toward a common goal, or friends who occasionally had each other’s backs. But LIJ was a brotherhood, a family of outcast miscreants.
And then, something fascinating started to happen.
The tide began to turn on Naito, and the crowd began to appreciate El Ingobernable in a way they had never appreciated the Stardust Genius. In a culture built around conformity, seniority, and submission, there were many among the younger fans who also felt left behind by society, unappreciated by their employers, overlooked because of their youth. To them, Naito became something of a symbol, a man who had both company and society turn their backs on him, and who turned his back on them in turn. And unlike the manufacturedness of the Stardust Genius, this was something that felt real. The crowd’s rejection of Naito had been real, as was his betrayal by the company, so everything he did now felt completely honest, and they appreciated that about him. They empathized with him. They understood him. And what was more, for the first time ever, Naito was actually cool. His new detached contempt made him hotter than he had ever been. Instead of the plucky hero, he had turned into the edgy renegade, the man with a grudge and chip on his shoulder, and every reason to feel slighted.
The boos quieted, and in their place Naito began to hear what he had craved for so long. People were cheering for him. People were chanting his name. LIJ merchandise became New Japan’s hottest selling item, supplanting even merchandising titans that were the Bullet Club in some places. Because Naito had tapped into something that few other wrestlers other wrestlers had managed to reach. He had touched the zeitgeist of a generation and become something real. He had turned himself into a movement.
However, unlike other anti-heroes that had found themselves unexpectedly popular, Naito did not lose his teeth. Instead, he took all of that support and channeled it, feeding upon it and using it to drive himself further and further up the card. He embraced his new legions of fans while not caring one whit for anyone else. To his mind, if you were with Los Ingobernables, then you were cool. If not, then fuck you.
Now with his brothers at his side and his supporters at his back, Naito once again went after Okada, whose star had only risen higher in Naito’s absence. Okada had recently managed the impossible and defeated Tanahashi at Wrestlekingdom to claim the throne that was meant for Naito. Using his new talent for mind games to bewilder and stall Okada, and having his brothers swoop in with sneak attacks time and time again, Naito finally managed to get the better of Okada and claim the Heavyweight Title.
Which he then tossed away like a piece of trash.
See, it wasn’t about fulfilling his dream anymore. It wasn’t even about proving himself. It was about making a statement. It was about getting back at those who had left him in the dust. In Naito’s mind, he had already reforged himself into the biggest star in the company, and he did it on his own without the higher-uppers’ help. So why should he treat the title like it was a big deal? He was a bigger deal than it, and so long as he held it, he was going to treat the top prize of New Japan with as much disrespect as New Japan had shown him.
Naito’s time as top champion was ultimately a short one, but that didn’t slow him down. He instead then focused on gaining the Intercontinental Championship instead, which he did. However, this time wasn’t coldly disrespectful to the title, he was outright malicious and abusive! He wouldn’t just toss it around like it didn’t matter, he would actively try to destroy it, by kicking it around, throwing it against the steel steps and ring posts, spitting on it, leaving it behind in the ring, and at one time trying to use it to pay for snacks at a convenience store. It was that title that had robbed him of his coveted Tokyo Dome main event, and now he was going to get his revenge.
And the more vile and abusive Naito was toward NJPW’s treasured prizes, the more people loved him. The Ungovernable Army was growing by leap and bounds, and soon Naito was being cheered when going against Tanahashi. The message was clear. Naito had absolutely been the right choice to place at the forefront of the company, but not as an artificial Tanahashi clone, but as himself. He had tapped into something real, and it was carrying him forward on a wave of momentum.
But Natio wasn’t done. He had rebuilt himself as a star when the company couldn’t. He had founded a movement of the mistreated and disenfranchised, one that embraced him as their standard-bearer. He had even held the top title, albeit for only a short time. He had claims victories over both Okada and Tanahashi. But though he had gotten his revenge, he hadn’t taken back what had been denied him.
He had to main event Wrestlekingdom.
He had to win back the Heavyweight Title in the main event of Wrestlekingdom.
He had to prove that he really was the Shuyaka. The crowd now believed in him. Now it was time for those whose shadows he stood in to understand as well.
See, despite all of his contempt and disrespect, despite having shed the Stardust Genius, despite for all of his tranquilo disinterest, deep down inside Naito still cared. That driven young wrestler with stars in his eyes desperately wishing to ascend to the top of the company that he dearly loved was still there. The wound of rejection still gaped open, and he desperately needed to prove to himself that he was worthy of being the Shuyaka.
After finally losing the Intercontinental Championship (to Hiroshi Tanahashi no less), Naito powered through the grueling G1 Climax, winning his block and again progressing to the finals. But waiting for him was none other than Bullet Club leader Kenny Omega, the man who had won that same tournament the previous year and was gaining a reputation as possibly the best wrestler in the world.
What followed was a spectacular battle between two alpha anti-heroes, each of them heading immensely popular villainous factions and vying for the same prize. Naito and Omega gave each other everything they had, taking greater and greater risks and nearly ending their own careers several times. And at one point, Naito seemed to have finally gained the upper hand and laid Kenny out. The crowd roared in delight, certain that their hero was going to win the big one.
And then Naito made a mistake.
Overcome by the prospect of victory and giddy with emotion, he did not go for the cover or set up his finishing maneuver, the Destino. Instead, he turned and pointed at the top turnbuckle, signaling for the Stardust Press, the finishing move of the long-abandoned Stardust Genius persona. He believed that by winning with that move, he would prove that he had always been worthy, that even as the Stardust Genius he had still been deserving of being the top star.
The crowd roared with anticipation. They too understood what move meant to him. They knew his story very well.
Unfortunately, Kenny managed to roll out of the way, causing Naito to come crashing down.
It was almost the end then, but Naito managed to rally and finally put Kenny Omega down with a pair of Destinos, once again winning the G1 Climax, and this time as the beloved star he was almost meant to be. And with the G1 trophy in hand and his fellow Ingobernables all around him, he got on the mic and once again proclaimed himself to be the Shuyaka, and this time there was no objections whatsoever. Everyone agreed with him.
That ought to have been the catalyst to his ascension to the top. Finally, the Wrestlekingdom main event was his, and he had done it on his own! Tickets to Wrestlekingdom were selling better than ever, everyone wanting to see the Ungovernable One finally achieved his Destino. And on that, fans flocked to the Tokyo Dome and tuned in to the stream from around the world, all of them with one thought. This had to be it, right? Naito had to win the big one. It was his time!
Unfortunately, reality can often be a cruel mistress.
Despite all he had achieved, this was Naito’s first Wrestlekingdom main event, and in his excitement he forgot the tranquilo attitude that had brought him his success. Whereas Okada had main-evented not only multiple Wrestlekingdoms at that point, he had become perhaps the greatest champion of all time, striking down every challenger and sending them hurtling back into the abyss. To him, it was just another title defense. As wrestling’s self-proclaimed Final Boss, no one had been able to touch him, not Tanahashi, not Kenny Omega, no one.
Not even Naito.
Naito again began playing to the crowd, pulling out moves he hadn’t used in a long time, including two more attempts at the Stardust Press, but none of them succeeded. Okada had his eye on the prize, and he took advantage of Naito’s lack of focus to turn his pandering back against him, rallying and taking him down. One, two, three.
When that pinfall was counted and Okada declared the winner, fans all over the world felt the air get sucked out of their lungs. What had happened? Why had Naito lost? This was supposed to be it, his big moment! How could he fail.
Then, as Naito left the ring in defeat, Okada got on the mic and called him out, mockingly asking him how it felt to main event the Tokyo Dome, and suggesting that if he liked it, he could try again. In answer, Naito gave a nonchalant smirk, but inside his heart was breaking. He had finally gotten everyone to rally behind he, and he had let them down.
Over the next two years, Naito would try and fail to regain the same momentum that had led him to the Tokyo Dome, only to see obstacle after obstacle. He would get eliminated from the New Japan Cup twice. He would score high on the next two G1’s, only to choke in his last matches, failing to gain enough points to qualify for the finals. And, as if to mock him, his fate seemed entwined with the Intercontinental Championship.
Despite his disinterest in it, the title seemed to keep finding its way back to him, and he would find himself battling the likes of the sadistic Minoru Suzuki, the brash foreigner Christ Jericho, and his supremely talented “frenemy” Kota Ibushi for the title. Though he would lose it every now again, circumstance would bring him once again in contention with whoever he lost it to, and the title would once again be his.
As this happened, he found himself reconsidering how he felt about the belt. Certainly it had been the source of his downfall years later, and he had made his hatred for it clear. But over time he began to reconsider. Perhaps he had been looking at it all wrong. Perhaps the title would be the key to his redemption.
As 2019 rolled by and NJPW began its march toward the next Wrestlekingdom, Naito saw his opportunity. As Japan was to be hosting the Olympics next year, Wrestlekingdom was going to be expanded into a two-night event in celebration. And as his worthy arch-rival Kota Ibushi ended up winning the G1 Climax that year, he was set to main event one of the nights.
But what of the other?
Showing a rare instance of like-mindedness, Naito and Ibushi proposed an idea. As Naito was the current Intercontinental Champion, and Ibushi was gunning for the Heavyweight Championship the first night, should they both come out with gold around their waists, why not face each other in the main event of the second night in a winner-take-all match to decide the first ever double champion? If Naito could accomplish that, then he would finally achieve something that none of his peers had been able to do. Not Okada, not Omega, not even Tanahashi. He was going to be the first.
Enter Jay White.
In the years since their G1 encounter, Kenny Omega had since departed both the Bullet Club and New Japan to see his fortunes elsewhere. And in his absence, the Bullet Club had come under the control of the sinister and dangerous Switchblade Jay White. Under the Switchblade’s rule, the Bullet Club had returned fully to its villainous roots, becomes a despised and despicable faction that ran down all in their path. And once he heard of the Double-Gold Dash tournament, Jay White saw an opportunity for himself to insert himself into contention, to not only be the first double champion himself, but also deny the prize to the man who needed it the most.
Using the fact that he had defeated Naito in the G1 Climax, Jay White targeted Naito and his Intercontinental Championship, claiming that he was going to take the title and insert himself into the Double Gold Dash in Naito’s place. And Naito, who had supposedly written the book on mind games and opportunistic sneak attacks, suddenly found himself under attack by a mind more wicked and devious than his own. Jay White stalked and harassed Naito for months, the two trying to one-up one another and psyche each other out. But at the end, it would be Jay White that would come out ahead, wielding the Bullet Club as a weapon to take Naito down and steal his title away, leaving him with nothing.
For Naito, it seemed like the end of the road. He had lost his ticket to the Double Gold Dash, which had been his idea to begin with! He had lost the title, lost his spot, and also seemed to lose his spirit, becoming languid and dead inside. And with that weakness seeping in, the sharks came out for blood.
One of Naito’s long-time rivals, Taichi from the nefarious Suzuki-Gun faction, came after Naito. He had also beaten the Ungovernable One during the G1 Climax and had been hoping to challenge him for his title as well. But with it now in Jay White’s hands, that opportunity was gone, and he was going to take it out on Naito. He began to come after him like Jay White had, only this time Naito seemed to muster barely any will to fight back. What was the point?
But when the two finally had their singles match, Naito finally snapped. He struck back, firing up and finally defeating Taichi. And with his fire back, he decided to go after what he had lost. After Jay White still needed to defend his title on night one. Who better to challenge for it than him?
Naito had managed to wriggle his way back into the Double Gold Dash, but he still had a long and difficult road ahead of him. After all, with Jay White going in with the Intercontinental Championship, Okada with the Heavyweight Championship, and Ibushi with the G1 Climax contract, Naito was the only participant entering the tournament with nothing. It was do or die for him. The others could bounce back, but if he failed, then he would never recover.
First order of business was Jay White, who was as crafty and malicious as ever. Furious that Naito had managed to get back into the tournament, he attacked viciously, but wisely, breaking down Naito’s body and spirit with a series of brutal and calculated attacks and taunts, all the while with his Bullet Club allies waiting on the outskirts. Naito, however, was not going to fall this time. He couldn’t afford to. And it was time to show this upstart punk who the real Alpha Asshole was around here.
Naito rallied, countering Jay’s moves and foreseeing and countering the Bullet’s Club’s offenses as well. And with the Switchblade staggered, he managed to get the upper hand and take him down with a Destino, winning both the match and the wretched Intercontinental Championship as well.
One down, one to go.
Unfortunately for him, a complication had emerged. In the main event of that night, his friendly rival Kota Ibushi took on the nearly godlike Kazuchika Okada. Now, Ibushi might be one of the most skilled and resolute wrestlers in the world, but this was Okada, and Wrestlekingdom was his domain. He was called the Final Boss for a reason, and before everyone, he took Ibushi’s best shots in a long and absolutely brilliant match before felling the Golden Star and retaining the championship.
This was a problem. See, Naito had beaten Ibushi before, and of the two of them he was the only one who had ever main-evented Wrestlekingdom. If it was Ibushi he was facing, then he would have the advantage. But not against Okada. Twice already he had tried to best Okada at Wrestlekingdom only to come up short, and the only recent victory he had over the Rainmaker was due to Los Ingobernables’ help. But in this, he had to do it himself. He had to defeat the man chosen to be his arch-rival on his own.
The second night arrived, and Naito came to the ring battered and weary. This was it. This was his final and most important chance. It was a true clash of titans, between the two biggest stars in the company, hand-picked years ago to be the ones to carry New Japan into it’s future. In this, Okada had succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, while Naito had choked and choked hard, and had to reinvent himself completely in order to finally become the star he was meant to be.
The two were complete opposites, Okada being the shining champion on top of the world, while Naito was the edgy renegade with a chip on his shoulder. Okada’s success and accolades were at a level that Naito would never be able to touch, while Naito had the love and support from the fans that Okada could never hope to equal. The two were equally jealous of one-another. Why should Okada be treated like the face of the company when it was Naito that had the crowd support, Naito that was selling the tickets, Naito that was moving all the merchandise? And why should Naito be in the main event when it was Okada who had succeeded, Okada who had risen higher and higher against Tanahashi when Naito had crashed and burned, Okada who had helmed the company and taken it to its greatest heights when Naito had left? It was like Rameses vs. Moses, a tale of two brothers.
This was going to be Naito’s greatest challenge yet.
The match started off slow, the two working their way through familiar moves, almost seeming nervous to make a mistake. Then the pace started to pick up. Naito started to feel himself and took greater and greater chances, but for everything he tried, Okada had an answer. After all, this was Okada’s world, and Naito was out of his element.
The two continued to fight, bringing the crowd to a rage. They traded finishers but each managing to kick out, neither willing to stay down. The damage was piling up, and Naito’s bruises were being felt. Ten minutes went by. Fifteen. Twenty-five. Thirty.
Now things were at their most dangerous. The few times Okada had been defeated, it was usually done within the first twenty minutes. Long matches were his specialty, and the longer it went, the more the odds favored him. Naito hit him with everything he had, move after move, counter after counter.
And then it happened. He laid Okada out, and looked to the ropes. The crowd rose to their feet in anticipation while the commentary team begged him not to do it. He couldn’t be trying for it again, could he? It had failed every time, and the last time he had faced Okada, it had cost him the match.
Not this time though.
This time there was no hesitation, no second thoughts. Naito leapt to the top rope and took flight, finally, finally, finally hitting Okada with the Stardust Press, just like he had been supposed to all those years ago.
But this was Final Boss Okada, and not even the Stardust Press could keep him down.
Another quick flurry followed. Okada try to fell Naito with a Rainmaker Lariat, but Naito ducked, and nailed him with a huge buster. It was time. He got the groggy champion to his feet, wrung his arm around, took a running start, and leapt.
Okada had countered the Destino so many times, grabbing him partway and bringing him crashing down again. Not this time though. Naito’s feet went up and up, completing a full revolution and brining Okada crashing down again. Naito then hooked the legs as the referee counted, all the world counting with him.
One!
Two!
Three!
Naito had done it. He had finally defeated Okada in the main event at Wrestlekingdom. He had claimed both the Heavyweight and Intercontinental Championships at the same time, both the title that had been denied him and the title that had denied him. And he did it as the most beloved wrestler in all of New Japan Pro Wrestling.
And as Okada was led away, Naito got onto the mic, reminded him of his words two years prior about main-eventing Wrestlekingdom again, and suggested that they should do it again in the future. And rather than be angry, Okada simply smiled, and raised his fist in acknowledgement that his little brother had finally done it.
Naito’s story certainly has not stopped there. The fact that KENTA of the Bullet Club saw fit to attack him during his victory speech tells us that Naito’s problems are far from over, and there is still Jay White waiting in the wings. But though the story goes on, nothing will ever be able to take that moment away from him, the moment when he became the first double champion, when he was able to slay the demons that had haunted him ever since his days as the Stardust Genius, when he finally ascended to the top, not as the Stardust Genius, not even really as the Ungovernable One, but as Tetsuya Naito, the Shuyaka.
And as someone whose love of pro wrestling had been reignited largely in part thanks to him, who had been following him for the last couple years as a loyal Ingobernable, who had experienced a rare moment of starstruck when I finally got to meet him, I will continue to follow every step of the way.
Tranquilo.
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