Fuse carefully rinsed the long, white ceramic plate inside the back kitchen of the small sushi restaurant. The smell of fish permeated the small room with a sink, dishwasher and cookware.

South Memphis Sushi was a fine eatery, and they employed Fuse respectfully, but it wasn’t why he was here. That man, Parker Meloche, had implied that Fuse could win family honor.

But now that Fuse was in Memphis, Tennessee, things seemed different. The culture was far from traditional Japanese, and Fuse was re-thinking his entire decision.

Night after night, Fuse rode the bus from his small, sad apartment to this small, sad restaurant, and made his minimum wage. He couldn’t afford to contact his family, even if he wanted to. He marginally had time to attend the Golden Pro Wrestling Academy. He had committed his honor to GPW, but was it worth it?

But I disobeyed my mother he thought as they rinsed a small bowl of salad.

“Hello, hello!” said the familiar voice of Parker Meloche, who was standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the main lobby of the restaurant.

“Ah, Mr. Meloche,” greeted Fuse warmly. He was still a respectful young man at heart, no matter his recent misgivings.

“I know, I know, washing dishes isn’t what you imagined when you asked me to fly you here,” Parker said. “But I have good news.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” Fuse acknowledged in his broken English. He was so desperate; he needed any good news.

Mr. Parker Meloche was so handsome, so young, so successful, he couldn’t be wrong, right?

“You get to wrestle at our next event,” Parker informed. “Dr. Dean, local man, very weak. You outmaneuver him and win!”

It was just what Fuse was waiting to hear. He could be back in Japan making mediocre sushi, but now was his chance to show the world that he was beyond his father’s legacy.

Yes, he hadn’t been able to make a roll for a customer in the restaurant, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go on a roll in the ring.