Team 3D Academy 4
From Monday onward, what we learned changed completely.
It started with the basics of applying and taking headlocks and shoulder tackles, then moved on to fundamental body slams, suplexes, and back body drops against a dummy that weighed around sixty kilograms.
“I get that Alf and Selma are good because they trained at a lucha libre dojo when they were kids. But Rina, what’s your deal? Why are you this good?”
“I watched YouTube and practiced a lot at home.”
“With what? Dummy dolls like these are hard to come by, right?”
That was true enough. The cheap ones got terrible reviews for bursting and falling apart after only a few uses. Anything actually durable was custom-ordered and took forever to arrive.
“I used a forty-kilo heavy sandbag.”
“Ha. Unbelievable.”
These basic techniques were all ones I had learned back when I was a man. And the variations were really just more of the same. Fall back while flipping and it was a suplex. Flip it fast and it became a snap suplex. Hold the opponent upside down for a beat before dumping them and it turned into a delayed vertical suplex—Silver Bug’s finishing move, the Jackhammer.
What I needed to learn were the modern techniques: submission holds in the armbar family, and the aerial moves of a high-flyer. Back then I had been too terrified of getting hurt to even jump off the top rope.
“Haa. All three of you have nothing left to teach when it comes to striking. Looks like we’ll have to drill selling instead.”
Donald had several mattresses laid out across the ring canvas, then immediately brought over a male trainee—a guy a little bigger than Alfred, around a hundred eighty-seven centimeters and maybe ninety kilos.
“James. Just work striking against Alf. Can you handle that?”
“Of course.”
Whether he was happy about only having to attack or just happy to be here, I couldn’t tell.
“Selma and Rina, you two take turns with each other.”
“Yes.”
“Nobody overdoes it. Give a clear signal every time you flip.”
A clear signal meant letting the receiver know to brace or prepare their breakfall—touching them with a finger while you held them, or whispering something soft. The first few times our timing was off and my back tingled or my head went a little fuzzy, but we locked it in quickly and kept the impact minimal. Then I kicked up and was on my feet again in one clean motion.
“What? You okay?”
“The mattresses help. I’m fine.”
“Haa! I spent months practicing selling.”
The siblings and I all got comfortable with selling right away. Donald had the mattresses pulled and told us to try it bare. Selma, Alfred, and I all adapted within two or three attempts. Donald clicked his tongue at the sight of us.
“Haa. At this rate the progress is way too fast…. Good work, everyone. For now, the three of you just rest while I’m gone—no practicing on your own. James, you’re free to head back.”
With those instructions, Donald disappeared into the office.
“Bibi. It’s me.”
“What’s going on at this hour? Did someone get hurt?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Then?”
“The Gonzalez siblings are one thing, but Rina’s technique acquisition is ridiculously fast.”
“Yeah? That’s good news. Have them work on selling, then.”
“They’re too good at selling too. Rina looks like she’s already put in years somewhere else. What do I do? Keep teaching? Push the curriculum? Bump them to the intermediate class?”
Hiding prior experience? That made no sense. The more experience you had, the better they treated you. Unless you’d caused some catastrophic accident at your last place, there was no reason to hide it. And if a girl with Rina’s looks had caused that kind of trouble, word would already have spread through this tiny industry.
“Ha. Me and The Bon have matches this week, so we need to practice. We can’t get there until the weekend.”
“I know.”
“Moving them to intermediate is out of the question. For today, just have them repeat. Film training footage of all three. I’ll call you again tonight.”
“Got it.”
That evening Bibi ordered dropkicks—moves that demanded real proficiency—for the morning session, and chain wrestling plus armbars for the afternoon. This was not the kind of progress you expected in only the second week.
The next morning, the moment I stepped into the women’s locker room I felt the hostility from the other female trainees. Jealousy and envy were mixed in, but there was something closer to hatred underneath. They glared and mouthed silent curses, yet none of them actually came at me. Maybe it was because they’d seen me hit four-fifty on the big three lifts during weight training, or maybe it was the special treatment Bibi and Donald gave the Gonzalez siblings and me.
I finally understood why Selma had called them idiots and said they weren’t worth the energy. If I’d been in their position, I would have tried to get close to us. That way we might end up training together later, pick up even one extra thing, maybe catch a coach’s eye.
The second Selma walked in, the others bolted out of the locker room.
“Something happen?”
“They just glared like they wanted to kill me.”
“Any cursing?”
“Didn’t even open their mouths.”
“See? Told you. Total idiots.”
From the morning the training was completely different from the day before.
“This morning we’re learning dropkicks. For lightweights like you it’s an essential, high-priority move—and if you mess it up you can seriously injure your opponent. So you master it perfectly.”
Dropkick Lesson
“First get the jump feel. Just leap up, tuck the knees, and shoot the feet out. Landing is always both feet at the same time. If you can’t stick a two-foot landing, take the fall and go down instead. That’s how you protect your ankles. Simple, right?”
Alf and Selma, who’d trained in lucha libre, were flying. From a standing start they launched dropkicks at the head and chest of a dummy roughly a hundred eighty centimeters tall.
Bang
The impact cracked through the gym, yet the dummy only slid twenty or thirty centimeters and never went down. Even if that had hit a real face it would have been all noise and about as much force as a single slap.
Donald, who had never looked particularly impressed by my training before, now had his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. The wrestlers working on the other rings all stopped to stare at the two of them.
I had never heard either of their names in the two years of future I remembered. With skill like that, why hadn’t the siblings made it? WWO hadn’t signed talent this good? Both of them looked solid too. Sure, ring names and real names could differ, but sibling wrestlers were rare enough that I should have seen at least one match video. Had they debuted and just stayed stuck in TPA? Or had injuries forced them to quit? Both of them getting hurt at the same time? Even then, one of them should have debuted.
Then it was my turn. I jumped higher than Selma, roughly level with Alf, and fired the dropkick.
Baaang
Thud—clang, clang
The dummy sailed four or five meters, slammed into the ropes, and bounced back.
“Rina! You can’t just blast it! Soften the ankles at the end! Again!”
I tried again and again, but relaxing the ankles in midair was brutally hard. Donald, Selma, and Alf all piled on and worked with me for a long stretch before it improved even a little—from five meters of flight down to about three.
“Rina. You’re really going to have to drill this one. How do you have zero power control?”
“Sorry, Coach.”
After lunch the afternoon session began.
“Starting today we learn chain wrestling. Another essential for lightweights like you. The foundation is grab and release. Low injury risk, not that hard—just learn the feel and get comfortable.”
Donald first demonstrated against Alfred.
“See that? Rina, you go first against me.”
“Yes, Coach.”
I locked up with Donald face-to-face, then transitioned into a basic hammerlock by seizing and twisting the wrist. The moment I cranked it, Donald spun the opposite way, reversed the hold, and snared my arm. My body almost followed automatically into a sprawl, but I caught the timing, rolled out clean, and escaped.
“Good, good. That’s how you slip free naturally. Excellent. Alf, you’re next.”
Selma stood off to the side with her arms crossed, watching me.
“Hey, is this really your first time? How are you flowing out of it that smooth?”
“I just let my body go where Coach put the pressure, then rolled at the end.”
While we talked, Alf kept failing to escape and grunted with effort. He finally tapped out from the pain, and only then did the coach release him.
“Why are you this bad at it? Selma, you’re up.”
I thought it was just Alf, but Selma floundered too.
“You two—this is lucha libre basics. How can you not do this?”
Both of them just hung their heads under the scolding.
Normally I would have drilled with Selma, but she was struggling, so I repeated the sequence with Donald instead: wrist control, arm twist, roll out, transition into a headlock. It wasn’t simply learning moves—it was feeling how each link connected so the chain never broke. When the timing was even a fraction off it looked choppy; when the rhythm locked in, everything flowed like water.
“Have you done this before?”
“No. I just gave my body over to the force you applied, Coach.”
“Natural talent. How are you more lucha libre than those two?”
“Is there such a thing as a lucha libre wrestler who can’t dropkick?”
“You’ll get that with practice. Selma, your turn now.”
Selma and Alf never quite found the feel; they flailed until the session ended.
“You two watch Rina’s dropkicks. Rina, help them with the chain wrestling.”
“Yes.”
The training continued all week, but it wasn’t the kind of material you could master in a few days.
Friday, after finishing every session of the week, we headed to a burger place near the academy.
“Haa. Why can’t I just relax the power?”
“You can get away with that. What about us?”
“I’m dying of embarrassment.”
Because they’d started so young and trained at a neighborhood gym, both of them had learned flashy moves first and skipped the absolute fundamentals. That was why they’d never even been taught chain wrestling, the most basic of basics.
“Let’s eat fast and go home.”
Dozens of full-power standing jumps had left my thighs and calves on the edge of cramping. I just wanted to fill a hot bath and sink into it.
“Rina. You’re coming tomorrow, right?”
“Obviously.”
“What time?”
“After breakfast, around nine or ten?”
I wanted to go earlier, but I’d never worked my body this hard before and had no idea what shape I’d be in the next morning.
“Ugh. Fine.”
“We’ll get there around the same time.”
I wasn’t the only one desperate to get home. The two of them wolfed their food, and the moment we finished we waved and headed to our separate places.
There are technique explanations in the author’s note.