The restaurant was a whole new level of sophistication compared to what Mark was used to for business meetings.
Soft lighting bathed the room. The wooden interiors exuded warmth. Traditional décor adorned the walls, creating an atmosphere where conversations were hushed and everything—from the seating to the plates—felt luxurious without being ostentatious.
As he stepped inside, Mark adjusted his shirt, feeling the need to present himself well.
He had dressed for the occasion.
His gaze swept across the room.
And then he spotted him.
Yoichi.
Sitting back at a corner table, looking as if he owned the place.
Which, in a way, he probably did.
Next to him was his assistant—calm, composed, always observant.
Yoichi caught sight of Mark and offered a smile.
It wasn't exactly a warm one.
Mark made his way over.
"Mr. Rivera," Yoichi greeted smoothly.
"Mr. Isagi," Mark responded.
They exchanged a brief handshake before settling into their seats.
The assistant gestured with a polite smile. "Please, feel free to order."
Mark nodded and picked up the menu.
The offerings were all traditional—sushi, sashimi, and beautifully arranged combinations. He took his time reading through, not rushing into conversation.
Yoichi observed him, a hint of impatience in his demeanor.
Finally, Mark made his choice.
"I'll have the sushi and sashimi platter."
The assistant nodded and relayed the order.
Yoichi leaned back in his chair.
"The owner of this restaurant is a friend of my father."
Mark nodded once.
"Nice place."
He didn't say more.
Yoichi seemed a bit put off by the lack of enthusiasm.
There was a brief pause before the assistant leaned in toward Yoichi and whispered something.
Yoichi straightened up.
"Yes. Right."
He turned back to Mark.
"Let's get down to business."
Mark folded his hands on the table.
"That's why I'm here."
Yoichi didn't waste any time.
"IRW," he said, almost dismissively, "is an upstart. A disruption. It doesn't honor the traditions of wrestling."
Mark tilted his head slightly.
"NPJW isn't exactly traditional either," he replied calmly.
Yoichi's smile tightened.
For a moment, irritation flickered across his face, but he quickly masked it.
"No one wants to see wrestlers talking on microphones," Yoichi continued. "Wrestling is straightforward. Two men fight. One wins. That's all there is to it."
He leaned in a bit.
"This acting nonsense… it turns it into theatre."
Mark opened his mouth to respond—
But just then, the waiter arrived.
Food was placed neatly on the table.
Mark paused.
"Let's eat first," he suggested.
Yoichi's jaw tightened.
But the assistant placed a calming hand on his shoulder.
So they began to eat.
Mark took his time, savoring the flavors and appreciating the meal.
"It's good," he said sincerely.
Yoichi didn't reply.
He was waiting.
Finally, when the plates were cleared, Yoichi leaned forward again.
"Thirty thousand dollars per month."
Mark glanced up.
"Full creative control of both rosters."
His eyebrow lifted just a bit.
"You can do whatever you want," Yoichi went on. "I've got your back."
He leaned back, keeping a close eye on Mark.
"This is what you've earned."
Mark propped his elbow on the table, his fingers brushing against his chin.
"What's in it for you?"
Yoichi grinned.
"Easy."
He pointed at Mark.
"You're the reason IRW is thriving."
Mark stayed silent.
"Take what you've done there," Yoichi urged, "and bring it to NPJW."
A hush fell over the room.
Then—
Mark burst into laughter.
Yoichi's face turned serious.
"What's so funny?"
Mark leaned back, still grinning.
"You know, after IRW's success, I used to think people forgot about me," he admitted. "That the booker was just a name lost in the shuffle."
He locked eyes with Yoichi.
"But hearing you say that…"
He shook his head slightly.
"Looks like I was mistaken."
Yoichi's annoyance was clear now.
"So?" he snapped.
Mark's smile faded.
"I'll pass."
Yoichi's grip on the table tightened.
He was on the verge of losing it—
But his assistant quietly interjected.
"Sir. We're in public."
Yoichi let out a sharp breath, trying to keep his cool.
Mark stood up.
"Why would I leave a growing promotion," he said, "for one that's sinking?"
Yoichi narrowed his eyes.
"Your main arena just burned down," Mark added bluntly.
He stepped away from the table.
Then paused.
Turned back.
"For the meal," he said with a slight nod. "Thanks."
Yoichi didn't reply.
Mark took a step—
Then hesitated again.
Walked back.
Yoichi looked up, clearly irritated.
Mark leaned in a bit.
"Maybe you're onto something," he said.
Yoichi frowned.
"Maybe what you said about us… being actors… is true."
He straightened up.
"But the fights?"
His expression turned serious.
"The hits are real."
A moment passed.
"The effort is real."
Another pause.
"And the reward?"
He offered a faint smile.
"That's real too."
Then he turned and walked out.
Yoichi remained seated, feeling humiliated.
----
Later that day- Vince's IRW Office-
Vince was laughing.
Mark sat across from him, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You should've seen his face," Mark said. "Like a little red mouse about to pop."
Vince wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
"Man, I wish I could've been there."
Mark chuckled.
A brief silence followed.
Then Mark leaned back a bit.
"You know… I was tempted."
Vince's laughter faded.
"What do you mean?"
Mark shrugged casually.
"The money. The power. Everything that comes with it."
He looked directly at Vince.
"That's a booker's dream."
Vince stared at him, intrigued.
"Then why didn't you go for it?"
Mark smiled knowingly.
"Are you kidding me?"
He gestured around the room.
"I love what we're building here."
A pause hung in the air.
"I love IRW."
Vince let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Mark leaned in closer.
"I didn't want to join NPJW anyway," he added. "But I was curious about what he'd offer."
Vince nodded thoughtfully.
"He'll retaliate," Mark said, his tone turning serious.
Vince leaned back in his chair.
"He doesn't have the funds right now," he replied calmly. "Rebuilding the arena will take everything he has."
Mark shook his head slightly.
"Don't underestimate his father."
Vince smirked confidently.
"We'll handle it when the time comes."
Suddenly, the door swung open.
Victor Cortez stepped in, looking tense.
"Vince—"
He halted mid-sentence, noticing Mark, and did a double take.
"…Mark?"
Both Vince and Mark frowned in confusion.
"What's up?" Vince asked.
Victor ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered.
"There's a photo," he said.
"What photo?" Mark inquired.
Victor glanced between them.
"Media caught it."
A pause hung in the air.
"You. Sitting with Yoichi. Eating."
Silence followed.
Then Vince let out a chuckle.
Mark's face drained of color.
"That's not good," he muttered.
Victor shook his head in disbelief.
"You need to explain that to Harry Khan."
Mark swallowed hard.
"…He knows?"
Victor nodded slowly, a serious look on his face.
"He's furious."
Mark immediately turned to Vince.
"Tell him," he urged. "Tell him what happened."
Vince leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed.
"You went," he said, his tone calm, "You got photographed."
He shrugged slightly, as if it were no big deal.
"That's your mess."
Mark stared at him, incredulous.
"I didn't accept anything!"
Victor chimed in, "Harry's already looking for you."
Mark felt his throat tighten.
Vince sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"I'll release a statement," he said. "Nothing came out of the meeting. You're still with IRW."
Mark nodded quickly, relief washing over him.
"Good."
Vince met his gaze.
"But you still have to deal with Harry."
Mark froze, a chill running down his spine.
"…What?"
Vince smirked just a little.
"Good luck."
Mark gulped.