#pentico

“Esa es mi desdicha

Por haberme enamorado del pecado

Te ruego me disculpes

Por haber llegado a tal atrevimiento”

(That is my misfortune

for having fallen in love with sin

I beg you to excuse me

for having gone so far to do something bold)

Maldita Suerte - Banda Pequeños Musical

“¿Entonces tú y ese Cero Miedo ahora son amigos o que?” (So you and that ‘Cero Miedo’ are friends now or what?) L.A. Park, or as we call him in the Administration, Don Eliapar, practically cackled in my face when I explained to him my situation. Despite being my in-ring rival, we were good friends behind the masks and outside the ring. We both often trained together in the morning, just having normal conversations and enjoying one another’s company in the mostly barren gym. His relationship with Pentagon was a bit… rough, to put it simply. They had been at each other’s necks longer than I had with either of them, but I believe it was for reasons way beyond the ring. Being much larger than I was, Don pulled about 29 kilos with the cables, making the workout seem simpler than it truly was. My standard on cables was roughly 23 kilos, and that was just enough to get my arms burning. Standing by the frame of the equipment, nursing my water bottle, I was quick to shake my head in denial at his jab, scowling quietly as I cleared my throat from hastily swallowing.

“No, obviamente. Nomas que siento un poco… mal por él.” (No, obviously. It’s just that I felt… a bit sorry for him.) I shrugged in uncertainty, gaining a skeptical gaze and hum from my friend. Once he finished his reps, he set the cables down and sat on the bench near me, taking a sip from his own bottle before chuckling softly under his breath. His breathless sound of amusement prompted me to give him a lazy glare, slightly arching a brow as I waited for his next words, telling that he was prepared to really push my buttons by his signature pose of lifting an ankle to his knee and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sentiste mal por él, por tu rival. Y él viene a buscarte a ti en particular…” (You felt sorry for him, for your rival. And he came to you in particular…) A small pause allowed Don to let that horribly smug grin tug on his lips, raising a hand to roughly pat my arm in a faux act of friendliness. “Creo que nomas quería darte culo pa’ que lo dejes ganar el próximo fin de semana, carnal.” (I think he just wanted to please you enough for you to let him win next weekend, bro.) I immediately smacked his hand away as he went to cackling again, wheezing deep in his chest as he nearly fell off the bench in his own amusement. After pinching the bridge of my nose with an irritated, embarrassed sigh, I checked my phone to see the time was nearing seven, deciding that I was finished with my workout for the day.

After saying goodbye to my dear friend and going our own ways for the day, I left the gym and caught the elevator to go back up to my room, my gym bag thrown over my shoulder as I scanned through the schedule for the night’s wrestling event as the elevator began coming down. Looks like the first match will be Don against me, then a tag-team match with the Psycho Circus against Los Vipers for their belts, and Dragon Lee against-

“Ah, al fin te encontré. ¿No puedes contestar los mensajes o qué?” (Hey, I finally found you. Can’t answer texts or something?)

It would only be my luck that he’d wake up in a bad mood - or maybe that’s just how he was daily. He leaned back against the far back wall of the elevator, almost as if he was expecting me. He seemed like he had just gotten back from training or working out - definitely something active - as he wore sweatpants with a tee of his own mask and brand (imagine that.) Pulling my phone out of my pocket with a sigh of both slight fatigue and annoyance, I stepped into the elevator to stand some feet away from him, looking through my notifications to see that he had in fact texted my number numerous times. Looking back up at him with a bit of a perplexed expression, I stored my phone away and stuffed my hands into my pockets, setting my gym bag at my feet as I spoke with my eyes glued to the floor.

“Creo que el gimnasio tiene mal signo, y estuve ocupado. Si fuera una emergencia, podrías llamarme.” (I guess the gym had bad reception, and I was busy anyway. If it was an emergency, you could’ve called.)

Pentagon simply laughed under his breath, trying to muffle the sounds under his palm as his shoulders shook. I looked back up with an eyebrow arched, a little offended that he was laughing at me although I wasn’t sure for what reason. After getting over his little fit, he waved his hand at me dismissively, his voice a bit breathless as that wide, white-toothed grin stretched across his clean face. God, I hated that smile. It was too perfect.

“Ay, perdón, perdóname. Nomas que es chistoso como tienes una excusa para todo. Pero eso no es lo que yo tenía que contarte.” (Sorry, excuse me. It 's just funny how you have an excuse for everything. But that 's not what I needed to tell you.)

“Entonces, ¿qué es lo que tienes decirme? Si es tanto que me estabas chingado los mensajes.” (Then, what was it that you had to tell me? If it's so much that you were blowing up my messages.)

“No, es que.. Dragon Lee no puede luchar hoy por su lesión ayer. Fue más grave de lo que pensaron.” (No, it 's just.. Dragon Lee can’t wrestle tonight because of his injury yesterday. It's worse than what they thought.)

At last night’s wrestling event, Dragon Lee went against Laredo Kid for the Cruiserweight title. After Laredo had pinned Dragon Lee, it looked like Dragon Lee fell pretty nastily on his arm, having to be sidelined as precaution. As Penta told me, Dragon Lee was examined by doctors early this morning as he complained that his hand and wrist were giving him some problems, such as making training difficult and basic movements being a bit strained. After further research and diagnoses, it was determined that Dragon Lee had lightly fractured his wrist, having to be on the bench for the next several weeks for it to heal and for therapies. When things like that happen, the Booking and Creative manager, a retired luchador known by Konnan, is responsible for making arrangements and fulfilling the promises made to ongoing wrestlers so they can still wrestle as scheduled while their previously set opponent can not.