“It was 1959, my little Saga, and I was just a young girl living in San Francisco,” said Eva Lemalu, the elderly American-Samoan woman laying in the hospital bed. “I met Afa through some friends.”

Saga held his grandmother’s hands, knowing this may be her final moments. The beeps of the hospital equipment echoed in ambience around them. The lights had been darkened to make the room less harsh on the old woman’s eyes.

“Afa was sweet, but focused,” she continued. “Before he left to enlist as the Naval Sea Cadets, we dated. Oh, we dated…”

Saga’s matagofie smiled to herself as she reminisced of her young love life.

“After he had left, you’re your tinamatua Seepa came into this world,” said Eva as her voice trailed off.

Suddenly alarms began to sound all around Saga. The hospital equipment and monitors flashed lights while doctors and nurses rushed in. The scene was chaotic for a moment before all the equipment became silent.

The main doctor turned to Saga and the rest of the family in the hospital room and made an empathetic frown. They all knew that the time had come.

Matagofie Eva had finally passed.

Saga exerted himself as he lifted the heavy bar in the San Diego gym while his typically strong Samoan muscles flexed.

He was of a proud people; a people known for their incredible strength.

And, according to his belief, he was of a proud family; a family who had produced dozens of talented professional wrestlers. The only problem was that the Anoa’I clan had refused to respond to his outreach.

Of course they would, Saga knew. They wouldn’t dare tarnish the legacy of elder Amituana’I with the tale of a bastard child from long ago.

But it appeared all his training had paid off.

A company named Golden Pro Wrestling had recently offered him an opportunity.

Not only an opportunity to wrestler, but also an opportunity to raise his name and get on the radar of the Anoa’I family. Perhaps even to gain their recognition.

It was his mission.