Do you know what sailors say when the sea goes silent, or my colors rise on the horizon?

I do.

This match—this Wrestle Heroes spectacle they dress up as opportunity—is nothing but a prize vessel already doomed. Lanterns lit. Decks crowded. Men congratulating themselves for courage they have not yet been tested for. You stand shoulder to shoulder, convincing one another that numbers mean safety.

That lie has drowned more men than storms.

When I took ships, every sailor believed he was the one who would hold the line. They gripped steel with shaking faith, swore their god favored them and promised their crew would not break. They mistook breath in their lungs for permanence.

Then my hull scraped theirs.

Then the sea chose.

This ring is no different. The ropes are your rails. The canvas is your deck. And every man here imagines himself a defender—standing between an invading force and something he believes is his. Gold. Legacy. A crown that shines only because it has not yet been claimed.

You are not competitors.

You are resistance.

And resistance is what fills the hold when the battle is over.

I have watched strong men turn feral when the first body vanished beneath the waves. I have heard alliances fracture under pressure that never once touched their skin. When the ship lists and the water rushes in, loyalty dies screaming. Only desperation remains.

I do not rush. I do not flail. I advance like the deep—inevitable, crushing, patient. One by one, you will realize that survival is not skill, and endurance is not victory. It is merely the order in which you are taken.

Some of you will fight me openly, hoping defiance earns mercy. It will not.

Some of you will hide in the chaos, waiting for exhaustion to make me mortal. It will not.

Because I am not here to outlast you.

I am here to claim you.

The final four they promise you? That is not triumph. That is simply who remains on deck when the rest have been dragged below—lungs burning, hands clawing at nothing, names forgotten before they ever hit the water.

I have been keelhauled by betrayal.

I have drowned with my eyes open.

I have felt the ocean peel flesh from bone and still refuse to let me die.

Do you truly believe a ring can hold me?

Championships are not won. They are plundered from wreckage. And when this match ends, what remains will not be heroes standing tall—but survivors staring over the rail, realizing the sea has taken everything else.

And it will come for them too.

Because no man escapes the deep.

No man outruns the tide.

And I am the tide.