The Wild Child | The Career Of Gen Hayabusa

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Chapter IV: The Great American Debut

The early morning light filtered through the high windows of the WWE Performance Center as Gen stepped onto the training floor. The scent of sweat and determination mingled with the hum of pre-dawn activity—a symphony for warriors preparing for battle. Today was not just another day; it was the day that would mark his first big match in the WWE.

As Gen laced up his boots, he caught sight of Shawn Spears already in the middle of his warm-up routine. There was a quiet intensity in Shawn’s eyes as he moved with practiced precision, each motion a study in athletic grace and power. Their eyes met, and without a word, a silent respect passed between them. Shawn nodded approvingly at Gen’s early arrival, his expression saying, “I see you’re serious.”

“Didn’t expect to see you here this early,” Shawn commented, rolling his shoulders as he moved toward Gen. “Most guys sleep in when they can. You must be amped up.”

Gen grinned. “It’s my first match. I couldn’t sleep if I tried.”

Shawn smirked. “That’s a good problem to have.”

Soon enough, they began their joint workout. Under the clang of weights and the rhythmic thud of their training, the air was charged with mutual respect and shared passion. Shawn was quick to comment on Gen's readiness.

“You’re hitting it hard, kid,” Shawn said between sets, his tone both encouraging and measured. “I can tell you’re not just here to make up the numbers. Today’s work speaks for tomorrow’s performance.”

Gen smirked as he wiped the sweat off his brow. “I’ve waited for this moment for too long to take it lightly.”

Shawn chuckled, adjusting the weights on his bar. “That’s the right attitude. You only get one first impression. Make it count.”

he workout itself was a blend of intensity and technical drills—a mix designed to test both body and mind. Gen pushed through each exercise with grit, aware that every drop of sweat was an investment in the match to come. As they moved from high-intensity interval drills to technique-focused grappling, Shawn shared snippets of wisdom gleaned from years of navigating the ever-evolving landscape of professional wrestling.

“Listen, Gen,” Shawn began as they paused for a breather, “wrestling in the WWE is a whole different arena compared to what you’re used to in NJPW. Here, the connection with the crowd is as important as the moves you pull off in the ring. It’s not just about the physical; it’s about reading the room, knowing when to push the narrative, and giving the fans what they want.”

Gen nodded, stretching out his arms. “Yeah, I get that. In Japan, the crowd respects the technique, the artistry and fighting spirit. They react when something big happens, but there’s a whole different rhythm to it. Here, it’s more… interactive.”

Shawn pointed at him. “Exactly. You could put on a five-star technical masterpiece, but if the crowd isn’t invested, it won’t matter. Whether they love you or hate you, they need to feel something.”

Gen exhaled deeply. “I just don’t want to get lost in the shuffle, you know?”

Shawn clapped a hand on Gen’s shoulder. “You won’t. You’ve got presence. And that’s half the battle.”

As they moved into a sequence of sparring drills, Shawn demonstrated small adjustments to Gen’s technique—ways to make his strikes look more impactful without sacrificing speed, ways to sell pain just right to make the audience buy into the match. “It’s theater,” he explained. “A violent, athletic, painful theater, but theater all the same.”

Gen nodded. He could feel himself learning in real-time, absorbing Shawn’s wisdom like a sponge.

After an intense session, the duo moved to the training center’s cafeteria, a space that buzzed with a quieter kind of energy—a shared camaraderie that came from collective pursuit of excellence. They sat down at a long table, plates of protein-packed breakfast spread out before them. The conversation naturally flowed from physical training to the mental game of performance.

“Are you ready for tonight, Gen?” Shawn asked, his tone mixing curiosity with genuine interest. “Your first match against Josh Briggs isn’t just a bout; it’s your debut in front of a whole new type of audience.”

Gen’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he replied, “I’m thrilled, but I won’t lie—I’m a bit anxious. Back in NJPW, the fans know their style, their language. WWE fans… they’re a different beast altogether. What if I don’t get the reaction I’m hoping for?”

Shawn leaned back, a thoughtful smile crossing his face. “Look, I haven’t worked in NJPW myself, so I can’t speak to that world. But here’s what I know—WWE fans are unpredictable. They might cheer you on, or they might boo you off the bat. The trick is not to force their reaction. As long as you’re in tune with the crowd, giving them what they want in the moment, you’re golden. The worst-case scenario is silence. And if that happens, it means there’s work to be done. But remember, whether it’s a roaring cheer or a resounding boo, each reaction fuels you.”

Gen listened intently, absorbing every word. It wasn’t just about physical prowess; it was about connection, storytelling, and understanding that every performance was a dialogue with the audience.

Gen nodded slowly. “I never thought about it like that. Back in NJPW, we followed a structure, but here… it’s like jazz. You improvise.”

Shawn snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Learn to feel the crowd, and you’ll never be lost.”

As Gen and Shawn wrapped up their breakfast together, the conversation took an unexpected turn. “I heard some chatter around the watercooler about your last promo,” Shawn said, a playful lilt in his voice. “Word is, it went a bit overboard—WWE is still a kid-friendly show. You might have dipped too deep into the rated 17+ threshold.”

Gen let out a light-hearted laugh, the tension of the morning easing. “Yeah, I noticed in hindsight, I was just in the zone. I wasn’t trying to be too dark; just trying to push the envelope.”

Shawn’s eyes twinkled as he replied, “I get that. And it’s fine to push boundaries. Just remember: stay within the limits and keep honing your soap opera chops. This is the perfect place to find your voice and learn how to keep it engaging without crossing the line.”

Gen smirked. “So, no murder metaphors?”

Shawn snorted. “Let’s just say… tone it down a notch.”

With breakfast finished and minds buzzing with newfound insights, Gen felt a surge of determination. The blend of physical training and strategic conversation was unmistakable. Every piece of advice from Shawn was like a beacon, illuminating the path ahead. As the day progressed, Gen prepared meticulously for tonight’s show. Every drill, every piece of feedback, and every shared moment with Shawn had fortified his resolve. He was ready to step into the ring with Josh Briggs—not just as a wrestler from a different system, but as a performer ready to embrace the electrifying unpredictability of the WWE.

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The locker room was quiet—almost too quiet. Just hours away from NXT’s Great American Bash, Gen Hayabusa sat alone on the wooden bench, wrapping up his hands and feet with slow, deliberate motions. The air carried a hint of anticipation, a mixture of nerves and adrenaline swelling in his chest. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The culmination of years of hard work, training, and sacrifice. He exhaled sharply, shaking his hands loose before rubbing them together for warmth. He knew that soon, the roaring crowd would surround him, and the ring would become his proving ground.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, followed by the deep, unmistakable voice of Booker T. “Yo, Gen! You ready, dawg?”

Gen looked up and saw the five-time WCW Champion step into the room, his signature grin stretched across his face. Booker T, a man who had seen it all, exuded the kind of confidence Gen hoped to carry into his own career.

“Booker T,” Gen greeted, standing up and shaking the legend’s hand firmly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Man, I ain't never too busy to not come speak with the future of WWE,” Booker chuckled. “You got your first big match tonight, and I gotta say—I’m pumped to call it. You’ve been turnin’ heads since you got here, but now it’s time to see if you can really bring it when the lights shine brightest.”

Gen smirked. “That’s the plan.”

Booker took a step back and crossed his arms. “How you feelin’, kid? You good?”

Gen sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Excited. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous.”

Booker nodded, as if expecting that answer. “That’s normal. But listen here—don’t overthink it. Take the match one stage at a time. You new here, so you gotta introduce yourself properly. Show ‘em what you got, but don’t give ‘em everything. Don't go out there and burn yourself out in one night.”

Gen absorbed the advice, nodding slowly. “Right. Pace myself.”

“Exactly,” Booker said. “And remember, you got Josh Briggs in there with you. He’s a solid dude. He’s gonna take care of you and make sure you get your feet wet. Trust the process.”

Gen inhaled deeply, letting the words sink in. It was reassuring to hear that from someone who had been in the business for decades.

“But,” Booker added, his tone growing serious, “the main thing? Engage, engage, and engage with that crowd.”

Gen let out a small chuckle. “Yes, Shawn Spears drilled that into my head this morning.”

“Good,” Booker said with a nod. “That means you’re hearin’ it from all the right people. Think of engagement like your paycheck. Your work ain’t done till the fans are satisfied. Whether they cheer you or boo you, it don’t matter—long as they reciprocate, you dig?. What you did with Je’Von Evans? That was quick work. But you hot right now. Keep your foot on the gas and don’t let up.”

Gen grinned, feeling his confidence rise. “I got it. Thanks, Booker.”

“Anytime, kid,” Booker said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Now do your thing and put on a hell of a show for us.”

As Booker made his exit, another set of figures stepped into the room—Shawn Michaels and Matt Bloom. Their presence alone sent a wave of realization through Gen. This was real. This was happening.

“Gen,” Michaels greeted with a smile. “How are we feeling?”

“Focused,” Gen responded. “Just mentally preparing.”

“Good, because we’ve got some things to go over,” Bloom added, crossing his arms. “Let’s talk about your first match.”

Gen felt like he was caught in a whirlwind of words, strategies, and instructions. WWE’s way of building a match was different from what he was used to in NJPW. The way they structured moments, the way they made sure every beat resonated with the audience—it was an entirely new process to him. But he was a quick learner, absorbing each piece of information like a sponge. As the clock ticked on, the anticipation grew. Matches were being performed, the audience was growing louder with each segment. And finally, the fourth match of the night was up: Gen Hayabusa vs. Josh Briggs.

The time had come. Camera crews positioned themselves, capturing the behind-the-scenes moments as both competitors made their way to the gorilla position. Gen could hear the echoes of the crowd just beyond the curtain. His heart pounded in his chest, but his face remained calm, composed. Then—his entrance music hit. A deep breath. A final mental check. His personality flips the switch, and then he stepped through the curtain. His WWE career had officially begun...

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the debut

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the debut

djp73, There's a new sheriff in town

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Briggs got his, who's next?