Debut Preparations, Part 2
You might be too big to pull off aerial moves, or too small to land power techniques.
But even a simple suplex has nearly ten variations, and a breaker splits into dozens depending on which body part you target and the posture you use.
Why not just use every single one?
Then you could never sync with your opponent.
Throw a move that was never agreed on beforehand? Or the receiver forgets—or never knew—what the initiator is about to do?
Instant botch.
And that can be every bit as dangerous as a deliberate shoot—maybe worse.
So what your signature moves are, what your finishers are—those choices really matter.
That doesn’t mean you only use those moves, of course. Basics or anything pre-agreed with your opponent can still come out even if they aren’t signatures.
In short, signatures and finishers are basically the framework that defines a wrestler’s entire style.
“Rina, you already got something in mind?”
Selma’s question got an immediate answer.
“Anyone under about eighty kilos gets the sit-down powerbomb, then a shooting star press for good measure.”
“Not the moonsault family? You’re good at those.”
“Too many people already do sentons.”
Selma caught on right away and nodded along.
“Miyu Sky and Charlotte Flair both hit top-rope moonsaults.”
“Yeah. Kaomina and Vianna Belair are in that ballpark too, even if the details differ.”
“Shit. I was thinking that direction myself.”
Selma clutched her head with both hands and groaned. So she’d been eyeing sentons too.
“How about a diving elbow drop instead? Like John Michaels. Way less wear on the body.”
Coming from the lucha libre side, Selma was still eager to load up on aerials. More airtime always meant higher injury odds.
“I’ll think about it. Gotta talk it over with Al anyway.”
“Okay.”
They might end up on mixed tags together, or even face each other man-versus-woman someday. Best to keep their move sets from overlapping as much as possible.
“Oh yeah—you said under eighty kilos. What about anyone heavier?”
“Eclipse. Diving corkscrew stunner plus the shooting star press.”
Emma Moon’s finisher—the one that never really got its due during her career—was called Eclipse, the lunar eclipse. She was still on Law, stuck around low-carder status, and would be gone from WWO by the end of next year at the latest.
Anyway, Eclipse was a DDT-family move: leap from the top rope, spin a full hundred-eighty degrees, catch the opponent’s neck, and sit down hard. People called it the most beautiful finisher around, but the difficulty was sky-high. Mistime the rotation or the neck grab and you botched it; go too slow and the whole thing lost its snap. These days, across the entire WWO roster—men and women—only Emma Moon still used it.
“Eclipse? You sure you can pull that off? You haven’t fully mastered it yet.”
“That’s why I’m only using it on anyone over eighty kilos. TPA barely has any women that heavy. Buys me plenty of practice time. Once I’m comfortable I’ll start hitting it on lighter opponents too.”
“Whoa. You nail that and it’ll make serious noise.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
Truth was, the shooting star press would make noise all by itself. Most women stuck to back-first senton variations partly because they looked flashy—and partly because they didn’t want to land on their chests. For some it was pure necessity: implants and silicone that could rupture. A woman with a chest like mine dropping chest-first? Instant natural certification.
Selma clearly hadn’t thought that far yet. She wasn’t exactly built that way.
“You already named them?”
“Yeah. K-Star Flash. K-Powerbomb. K-clipse.”
“Pfft—hahaha! What the hell is that?”
My naming sense left Selma laughing so hard she nearly toppled over.
“The whole world’s riding the K-wave right now. Might as well hitch a ride.”
“Damn. Can’t even argue with that. Commentators are gonna love how easy the names are.”
“Right?”
After that I ran through the signatures for her too. The atomic drop—hoisting the opponent from behind and driving them down onto their ass, the move people half-jokingly called the “ass-poker.” The Samoan drop: lift them onto the shoulders and fall backward. Head scissors whip. Lionsault: plant a foot on the bottom rope, spin a hundred-eighty, and crash chest-first. And for the submission, the Walls of Jericho—flip them face-down and crank both legs back to fold the spine.
“Why’d you pick the Walls of Jericho?”
“Nobody else uses it? Plus it’s great for getting jumped if someone runs in.”
“Huh. Now that you mention it, the lionsault and the atomic drop are both easy to reverse.”
A lionsault dies the second the receiver lifts a knee. An atomic drop gets shut down just by the opponent jamming your head at the start.
“Exactly. That’s part of it. One more thing—except for the shooting star press, every single one of these is safe for both the initiator and the receiver. I picked moves that won’t put anyone on the shelf.”
The shooting star press was the exception: a two-seventy rotation into a splash that put both people at real risk. Almost no women in WWO used it, and barely any men either.
“You thought all that through when you chose them? That’s impressive.”
“Figured it couldn’t hurt.”
“Doesn’t the impact feel a little light?”
“I’m draping seventy kilos across my shoulders and slamming them. And the other finishers are flashy enough.”
The sit-down powerbomb looked violent but was actually the safest powerbomb of the bunch. Because the initiator sat as they drove the receiver into the mat, the hips absorbed a good chunk of the force. Far safer than a standing powerbomb.
“The coaches are gonna flip when they see your skill layout.”
“Hope so.”
A little later I told Devon and Donald I’d locked in my signatures and finishers. Even without me spelling it out, they immediately saw I’d built everything around maximum safety for the receiver.
“A little old-school, but it’s a polished setup nobody’s really using these days.”
“Devon, I don’t hate it.”
“Lionsault. You know that one’s rough on the person hitting it, right?”
“Yes. You can slip if you miss the bottom rope, and if they dodge and you land standing the knees take a beating. I know.”
“If you know, switch it out. Even Chris stopped using it much later on.”
“I’m putting extra cushion in the insoles, and I’m way lighter than Jericho. Knees should be fine.”
“Hmm. Possible, I guess. You’re only fifty kilos. Being a move nobody else hits will give it impact… but we’re parking this one for now.”
Huh? I hadn’t expected Devon to put a hold on it.
“And why’s the submission the Walls of Jericho? Eclipse, lionsault—did you deliberately go hunting for moves nobody uses?”
“Well… Jericho was pretty cool.”
“Goddamn Chris.”
These days he had a gut and didn’t look like much, but through his mid-to-late thirties he’d been a sharp-looking guy.
“You said Jane Kim’s your role model, right?”
“Coach McCarthy, I love Jane Kim, but there’s nothing in her move set worth using now.”
She’d been called a technician ahead of her time, but the gap between then and now was night and day. Her finisher had become the kind of move every dog and cat on the roster used—zero uniqueness left.
“Add a stunner.”
“What?”
“You’ve already got Eclipse as a finisher, so slotting a stunner into the signatures is fine. And you said you want to be a tweener like Iron Cold, right? Then you need the stunner.”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
“And K-clipse is a no-go. Emma Moon’s still active, so it’ll cause problems. Change the name.”
“Even though we’re in different promotions?”
“What happens if Emma drops down to NEXT? Then you two end up on a PPV together—what then?”
Ah. Fair point.
After a short huddle, Eclipse became Dark Fall—the idea of dropping someone into darkness.
That locked my signatures as atomic drop, Samoan drop, stunner, head scissors whip, and lionsault. Submission stayed the Walls of Jericho. Finishers: Dark Fall, shooting star press, and sit-down powerbomb.
“You putting a K on every finisher name?”
“Yes. Dark Fall, K-Star Press, K-Powerbomb. But the submission becomes Walls of Charina.”
“Planning to debut under your real name?”
“Yes. Charina means empress in Russian. Feels fine to use.”
“Nice. Real name already carries good meaning—just running with it works. And it’ll travel clean if you ever switch promotions.”
Debut under a ring name and that name belongs to the company forever. If I debuted in TPA as “Cats Girl,” I could never use “Cats Girl” again in WWO, EAW, Japan—anywhere. Even an Icon like Berserker Dagan had to become Hollywood Dagan when he went to CWC.
“That’s enough for you, Rina. Good work. Until Selma locks hers in, keep taking her moves.”
“Yes, sir.”
For the next few days I helped Selma build her own set. With my combination in mind, she also leaned hard into low-injury options.
In the end Selma settled on enzuigiri, Russian leg sweep, dropkick, Angle Slam, and head scissors whip for signatures. Figure-four leglock for the submission. Springboard cutter and diving elbow drop for finishers. Skill setup complete.
“Selma, solid work. Low injury risk and just the right amount of flash.”
“Thank you.”
“But this layout isn’t really lucha libre.”
“I’m not tying myself to lucha libre. And even if I don’t, Al’s already covering that style.”
“True enough. Women doing full lucha libre always jack the injury odds higher. Smart call.”
“Thank you.”
Because the moves were more universal, they sailed through approval far easier.
“You’ll have to show this to the TPA people later, so the two of you put together a ten-minute match and run it for us.”
“Understood.”
“Yes, sir.”
The day we leave this academy keeps getting closer.
Not much time left now.
Three weeks at the absolute most.