"Glad you could make it. Come in, sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

When the commissioner of the All-Japan Wrestling Alliance invites you into his office for a private meeting, it either means something very good, or very bad. With the way Mika's last few months had gone, she wasn't feeling optimistic.

The worst kept secret in the world, if it can even be considered a secret at all, is that professional wrestling is... well... fake. Though Mika hated that term. Anything else- staged, predetermined, choreographed- and she would freely admit it, but fake was a such a slap in the face to the strength, agility and overall athleticism wrestlers so often had, and Mika was no exception. Though she could have easily found herself complacent she kept to her training, and month by month, week by week, even day by day found herself stronger than ever.

However, since wrestling is all those attributes: staged, predetermined, choreographed... strength and skill means little toward the overall outcome. If the script said you lost, you lost. And Mika had done more than her share of losing; the title she had held for seventeen months slipping farther and farther away with each pinfall.

"Let me get right to the point, Mika. There's no way I could say that you haven't been an incredible asset to us. That publicity stunt you pulled a few years back, going around battling street fighters... that worked out better than anyone could've ever dreamed. It put us on the map. It put you on the map."

"Thank you, sir, but I don't-"

"But fans are fickle. They always have been and they always will be. Your cheers are getting weaker, merchandise sales have slipped... people are getting bored with the old, tired themes. What you need is a refresh, Mika. A character change. You understand?"

"But... this isn't a character! I don't go out there spouting fake nonsense, and I never will. This is the genuine article. I am Rainbow Mika!"

"Yes, you are, and you've been saying that for months now. Do you really wonder why you keep losing?"

"Sir... the fans still love me, if only they could-"

"Fans are easily captivated, and easily swayed, but only if they have something new, fresh, and exciting to spend their money on. And right now, that isn't you. But you're a great fighter, Mika, and that's why I'm giving you this opportunity. I wouldn't do this for just anyone, and I hope you understand that. It doesn't have to be major, just a change in personality, a change in attire, hairstyle... at the very least you can get rid of that mask-"

"No one sees me without the mask."

"I honestly don't see what the point of it is. It barely obscures any of your facial features. It's obvious what you look like underneath it."

"The mask is Mika!"

The commissioner sighed softly, hanging his head. Under his breath Mika could hear a faint whisper: "I tried."

"Hm?"

"I knew you were going to resist my suggestions. It pains me to say this, but if you're going to be this stubborn, I really have no other choice. Next month your contract will be up for negotiation. We will not be renewing it."

His words hit Mika like a punch to the gut, and unlike many in wrestling, one that wasn't pulled. "Sir! I-I..."

"The Board of Directors feels that the comparatively significant amount of money your contract grants you could be better served finding new prospects, perhaps ones that are receptive to change."

"But... if you give me a chance, I'm sure that-"

"I have been the accommodating one here, Mika. You haven't."

The month came and went, and Mika's matches became fewer and farther between, not that it made any difference in her win column. Finally, she was released, and all she could do was sit around her apartment, depressed and dejected. Fortunately, she had saved enough money to not have to worry about the rent, at least for a few months, but that only staved off the problem; it didn't solve anything.

Sure, there were plenty of other wrestling organizations around Japan that would gladly sign her. Maybe even some in America. However, would they force her to change herself just like AJWA tried? It was a possibility that didn't sit well with her. She had been nothing but herself for years; why fix a machine that wasn't broken?

Street fighters didn't have to worry about that, she mused, sipping a glass of juice as she lay on the couch. It didn't matter who you were or what you were like. People cheered you out of speed, strength, and skill; personality took a hard backseat. Applause and uproar at every punch, kick and toss...

That was it. The entire time, the solution was right in front of her.

Not to go around the world fighting street fighters again, but to become one herself. No more staged fights. No more pulled punches. No more staying pinned just because the script told her to. It was a brilliant plan. Finally, she would be able to show off her true strength.

However, as soon as the plan emerged, doubt crept back into her head. Street fighting was fun; she knew that firsthand. But it wasn't easy, and she knew that firsthand as well. There were a lot of great fighters out there, and for many of her matches she just barely scraped by. Perhaps with additional training...

At the thought of training, her mind immediately went to Zangief. If anyone could train her into becoming the toughest fighter in the world, it would be him. However... not only hadn't she heard from him in quite some time, but becoming his disciple would mean uprooting all the way to Russia. As much as Mika would love sparring with Zangief from morning until night, she loved Japan too much to simply abandon it if there were other options.

"But how else am I ever going to become the greatest street fighter in the world?" she wondered to herself.

"Do you want to become the greatest street fighter in the world?"

The excellent timing of the television stunned Mika, sitting up suddenly and knocking her juice to the ground.

"Are you a wuss? A total wimp? Do 98-pound weaklings kick sand in your face?"

This was hardly applicable to Mika, but her gaze stayed affixed upon the TV anyway as a pink-clad man appeared onscreen.

"I'm world-acclaimed street fighter Dan Hibiki, and I'm here to teach you the greatest style of martial arts in the world! My style! Saikyo! For a modest fee, I'll turn you from the laughingstock of the gym into a hard-hitting, rough-kicking, Gadouken-tossing force of nature! All thanks to me!"

Mika, as well as anyone well-versed in street fighting, knew about Dan Hibiki, and not necessarily for the reasons he'd like. She couldn't help but crack a smirk at the very idea of her learning Saikyo.

"Don't think you have the ability to be trained by a true innovator of unarmed combat? Not so! I'll take anyone, and I mean anyone, and teach them the fierce art of Saikyo! As long as you have the money, of course. I've got bills to pay too, you know. Just head down to the Saikyo dojo. Classes are starting soon and are most certainly going to fill up quick this time, so this is your one chance to find out what true strength is really all about. Saikyo style: the greatest in all of street fighting."

As the commercial ended, Mika's chuckle turned into a giggle and then a legitimate laugh. Dan Hibiki. Saikyo dojo. Ridiculous. But then, as she pondered her thoughts, the laugh suddenly ceased.

"I can't believe I'm seriously considering this."