I went to watch pro-wrestling and saw myself from four years ago #225

I watched professional wrestling for the first time in my life.

Toward the end of the match, the wrestler who had his mask ripped off said,

"I don't really know who I am anymore."

Then, the opposing wrestler grabbed his hand and said,

"Do your best."

At that moment, for some reason, my chest tightened.

June 3, 2026. The wrestling venue is Shinjuku FACE. Anything for the first time is half excitement and half anxiety. I felt restless on the way to the venue, wondering if there would be chants like in baseball, or feeling a bit awkward if all the spectators were men. Even though I've been to Shinjuku many times, I found myself pointlessly taking photos of the beautiful sunset sky and the crowds in Kabukicho.

I arrived near the venue and looked for the entrance. But I couldn't find it easily, so I wandered around. My behavior must have looked strange. In my left field of vision, I saw a security guard in a blue uniform. When I glanced over, our eyes locked.

Oh no.

I instinctively looked away. Even though I hadn't done anything wrong, for some reason, I couldn't move.

Am I, by any chance, about to be stopped for questioning?

The moment I thought that, the security guard did indeed call out to me.

"Are you looking for Shinjuku FACE?"

He was a kind-looking man with glasses. He was just kindly showing me the entrance.

The venue is on the 7th floor. I had my ticket torn at the entrance and bought a drink, as it was a one-drink system. My seat was reserved, and it was in the fourth row from the ring.

It's this close!? I was surprised.

Since I bought the ticket the day before, I thought I'd be much further back. Or rather, since I'm a beginner, I would have been fine further back. But I'm a little happy.

I sat in my seat feeling warm and fuzzy. Both people sitting next to me were female spectators. I was relieved to find there were quite a lot of female guests. The woman to my left had a fancy camera hanging around her neck, and the woman to my right was taking pictures of the ring through an acrylic stand of a wrestler. Everyone looks like they're having fun. I wanted to look like a pro-wrestling regular too, so I leaned back heavily into the folding chair, drank the green tea I bought at the entrance, and took a picture of the ring.

Pro-wrestling was much more of an entertainment than I had imagined. Several matches, each lasting about 10 to 20 minutes, were held. There was laughter, wrestlers in flashy costumes, and things that felt like an extension of high school boys' bad-natured pranks. It somehow reminded me of Yoshimoto Shinkigeki.

The audience was cheering and clapping to build excitement. The vibration when a large body hit the ring. The heavy 'thud' sound when flesh collided with flesh. And the spray of sweat that flew up when a chop landed on a chest. Everything I felt was fresh, and I leaned forward for every single moment.

And while watching, I kept ruminating on something a professional fighter once said.

'Pro-wrestling is like AV.'

It was exactly as they said. When they executed a move, it seemed like they were intentionally making a 'slap' sound, and they would deliberately verbalize what was happening, saying things like, 'My arm is being twisted!' They would express the sensations their bodies received by squeezing their eyes shut or, conversely, opening them wide. There were perfectly synchronized movements where one person would make it look like they were being beaten to make their opponent look good. Above all, it was the collision of body against body. Everything was the same as in AV. The only difference is that, unlike pro-wrestling, AV cannot be performed live.

I learned a lot from this that I want to use as a reference for my next shoot. If the kissing sounds in my future work are unusually loud, please assume it's because I watched pro-wrestling.

As the match progressed into the second half, the wrestlers seemed to show more of their experience. The atmosphere of the fight changed accordingly. There was more intensity than laughter. More story than entertainment. And beyond the flashiness, there was silence. During the moments when the venue went quiet, the audience's thoughts were surely moving, wondering, 'What will happen from here?' Then, every nerve was drawn into the ring, and tension mounted. At least, that was the case for me.

I felt that this space for the viewer to use their imagination is also important in AV. As a performer, it's scary when the set becomes quiet. This is especially true when filming sex scenes. That's why I tend to explain the act with words, increase the moaning, or speed up the progression of positions.

But watching pro-wrestling this time, I understood. Space is necessary. And it is also important to 'build up' that space. In pro-wrestling, that's the time spent grappling without moving. The time spent glaring at each other and slowly gauging the distance. In AV, that's the time spent savoring the shape of the partner while still inside. The time spent looking into each other's eyes, exploring the partner's body with your hands, and feeling where it feels just right, and so on.

In fact, the matches that left a lasting impression on me were the ones with silence and slow build-ups. And the audience doesn't think that time is boring at all.

I decided that for my next shoot, I would try to create more of that space.

This time, what left the biggest impression on me was the match between Shinya Aoki and the masked wrestler Viento Magrino.

After the winner was decided, Aoki ripped off Viento Magrino's mask and said, 'Everyone already knows (who you are).' And the person whose mask was removed began to speak.

'I am Keigo Nakamura—' He was choked out in a match against Aoki last April and subsequently went to Mexico. He couldn't adapt to the unfamiliar environment and language, and he stumbled in his first match.

And then Nakamura said,

'I lost track of who I was.'

Even now that I've returned to Japan, I still don't really know. I'm afraid of myself, he said.

The moment I heard those words, I gasped. This was a wrestler whose name I hadn't even known until a moment ago. Yet, I knew the feeling behind those words.

Even though it was Nakamura who was speaking on the ring, for some reason, I felt as if I had said it myself.

Aoki took the microphone and asked, 'What are you going to do?' Nakamura put his mask back on and looked at Aoki. Aoki grabbed his left hand with his right hand and said,

'Do your best.'

Repeating those words over and over, I wrapped my right arm around Nakamura-san's neck and hugged him. The venue erupted in applause. More than the hug between the two of them, I was watching Aoki-san's profile. His gaze was directed outside the ring. What was he looking at? What was he thinking? For some reason, that bothered me strangely.

The brief silence while the two of them were embracing. It stirred my imagination immensely, and my heart was terribly restless. Why was I so emotionally drawn in? The pro-wrestling match ended without me finding the answer.

9:00 PM, on the way home. I passed through Kabukicho, heading toward Shinjuku Station. As always, it was filled with lights, noise, and crowds of people, as if a festival were taking place. The green light at the crosswalk began to blink. Usually, I would have jogged across, but that day, I walked slowly. I didn't want to go home yet. I wanted to stay in this noisy city, which felt like a continuation of the venue, for a little longer.

I wondered, looking up at the red light, why I was so moved by the fight between Aoki-san and Viento Magrino. Was it because it was my first time watching pro-wrestling? But I felt it was definitely more than that. In the end, even when I got home, I still hadn't found the answer.

However, the next morning, when I woke up, the answer just drifted down to me.

That was me four years ago.

It was before I became an AV actress. It was the day of my first gravure shoot. After the shoot, I was taken to Tokyo Station by the location bus. At the time, I lived in Osaka and was still working as a company employee. I would take the Shinkansen from Tokyo Station back to Osaka. Tomorrow, I would go to work as usual. Of course, with a face that wasn't Kanna Fuji. As if nothing had happened.

When I got off the bus, the photographer, Koki Nishida, who had taken my gravure photos, squeezed my hand and said this:

Good luck.

At that moment, I think I smiled and said, "Thank you very much." But in reality, I was feeling so, so lonely, to the point of wanting to cry.

Nishida-san's hand in front of me was letting go. The time I could be Kanna Fuji was over. The dream would end, and reality would return. But I was about to make a major turn in my life. A massive gamble. I was going to debut in AV. I hadn't consulted anyone; I had decided everything all by myself. And now that I had done the gravure shoot, there was no turning back.

Don't let go of my hand.

Don't leave me alone.

Someone, stop me.

There was a part of me that was thinking that. But I was ignoring that emotion even to myself. An AV debut certainly carries risks. What if my company finds out? What if my parents find out? What happens after I stop selling? It was scary to even imagine. Then why was I going to such lengths to enter this world? Honestly, I didn't really understand myself anymore. Moving forward is hell, and retreating is hell. So, I'll just move forward. That's all. Without being able to organize my reasons. Just by sheer momentum.

I was already scared of myself.

About three years after that gravure shoot, Nishida-san told me about that time:

When I was shooting, I always felt a great sense of discomfort that Kanna-chan was in front of the camera. I wondered why she was there, what reason she had. I still don't know the reason. Did she want to destroy something, or did she want to obtain something? I believe she must have had a significant reason for being there. That's why I wanted her to get her money's worth by releasing the gravure. That's what I thought. I hoped this shoot could be some kind of strength for her. I hoped she could get a little closer to what she was aiming for. I wanted her to take something with her when she left.

That 'Good luck' on that day wasn't something to encourage me, but a prayer from Nishida-san.

And I think I felt the same thing in Aoki-san's "good luck."

It wasn't encouragement. It wasn't cheering, either. It was something quieter. A power that believes in the other person's journey. Knowing full well that they will fall, get lost, and suffer along the way.

Go anyway.

I feel like that's what those words were.

Four years ago, I was sent off in the same way.

By Koki Nishida. And by the many people who set up that gravure shoot. I thought I had set sail alone, but that's surely not the case. I was just riding on a ship built by many people. Thanks to them, Kanna Fuji is still able to exist like this today.

There are many things you only notice when you look at them from a bird's-eye view. Looking back after time has passed, or looking at things from a bird's-eye view by projecting yourself onto someone else.

The "good luck" I saw in the ring that day was directed at Viento Magrino. But I took it as words for myself. Four years later.

That's why I think my heart tightened so much. I'm glad this match was the first pro-wrestling match I ever watched in my life.

Postscript.

While writing this article, I remembered a lot about four years ago. My first-ever gravure shoot, taken by Koki Nishida. I was just desperate at the time, but looking at it now, I feel like the face of my younger self is clearly captured there.

Please take a look if you are interested.