The first night I watched New Japan Pro-Wrestling, there was a moment when I found myself standing still inside the Tokyo Dome. It wasn’t about who won or lost, or the names of the moves. My heart stopped because that night was a night of retirement.
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A Time When I Drifted Away from Wrestling
There was a time when professional wrestling was a natural part of my life. I remember following it closely, and I remember the atmosphere of the venues.
But at some point, it quietly drifted away. Not because of a single incident, but because life changed. My daily rhythm shifted, my interests moved elsewhere, and the distance grew little by little. Before I realized it, several years had passed.
That is why January 4 — Ittenyon — was a special night. It was the first time I watched New Japan Pro-Wrestling, and at the same time, the night I found myself facing wrestling again after a long absence.
Why I Went to the Tokyo Dome That Night
I knew that Ittenyon would be a special night. It was clear that it marked a major moment in the history of New Japan Pro-Wrestling.
I also knew, in advance, that it would be a night of retirement. I understood whose retirement it was, and I understood—at least in words—how heavy that meaning should be.
But understanding something and facing it are very different things. Choosing to witness that moment in person, rather than through a screen, carried a weight I hadn’t fully anticipated.
Even so, I went to the Tokyo Dome that night. I didn’t want to watch it from a distance. I wanted to be there, breathing the same air, and receive that moment as it happened.
The Power of the Tokyo Dome as a Place
When I entered the Tokyo Dome, the event was already underway. Before thinking about which match to watch first, I could immediately tell that the night carried a special weight.
The energy in the venue had already taken shape. Yet what reached me before the noise was something calmer — a quiet heaviness settling over the space.
It was a kind of tension unique to a night when celebration and farewell move forward at the same time.
The Tokyo Dome is a place that does not shut you out, even if you arrive late. The years of history layered within it naturally draw you into the meaning of the night you have stepped into.
By the time I reached my seat, I already knew. No matter which match I started with, this night would never feel light. That truth was supported not by any single bout, but by the Tokyo Dome itself.
What It Meant to Truly “See” New Japan Pro-Wrestling for the First Time
That night was also the first time I faced New Japan Pro-Wrestling from the position of truly watching it.
When I took my seat and turned my eyes toward the ring, I felt that I was seeing something slightly different from the wrestling I thought I knew.
It wasn’t that I didn’t understand the rules. I knew how matches were structured, and I could follow the flow of the techniques. Even so, what stood out to me was not the names of the moves or the outcome of the match, but the way the wrestlers carried their bodies — and the way they stood.
There was EVIL, standing in the ring with the presence of a reigning champion.
And across from him was Wolf Aron, facing that presence with a composure that felt remarkable for a debut match.
I was drawn into the bout itself, yet at the same time, I had the sense that I was watching something beyond the match.
That was the moment I realized I was seeing New Japan Pro-Wrestling for the first time. It was different from the wrestling I had once followed, and different from the spectator experience I remembered.
In that ring, technique mattered less than the time each wrestler carried with them. Their history, their role, and the weight of the path that had brought them there were clearly visible.
It was in this moment that I understood the truth of the night. This was not just another event. It was a night where celebration and beginnings moved forward together — and where an unavoidable ending was already waiting ahead.
Why Retirement Felt Heavier Than I Had Imagined
I knew that retirement was approaching. I also knew, at least in my mind, how significant that moment was supposed to be.
But when the night finally arrived, the weight of the word “retirement” felt different from what I had imagined. There was too much time layered there for it to be received as a simple celebration.
As I watched the figure standing in the ring, what came through was not a sense of completion or achievement. What I felt instead was the long process that had led to that moment. The things that could not be done. The places that could not be reached. And the sheer weight of time spent continuing to stand, despite it all.
Retirement is an act of declaring an end.
At the same time, it is the moment when all the time one wished would never end is left behind, fully exposed.
That is why the night felt so heavy. Retirement was not just a break or a conclusion. It was an undeniable reminder of how much had been carried — and how much would inevitably be lost.
The Convincing Power of Being an Ace Until the Very End
What came through as he stood in the ring was not weakness. It was his determination to remain Hiroshi Tanahashi until the very last moment.
Throughout the match, and even during the ceremony, his presence felt natural and unchanged. He was not performing the role of a wrestler approaching retirement. He was simply standing there as the ace, exactly as he always had.
It was only after everything had ended that I became aware of the strain on his knee. As he stepped onto the final gondola, I noticed a brief hesitation — a slight limp that appeared for just a moment.
In that instant, something I had not seen before fell into place. He had carried himself through the entire night without letting anything break. That figure, that posture, had been held intact until the very end.
An ace is not defined by strength alone.
To stand there without changing, right up until the moment the role is finished — that, to me, was the convincing power of being an ace until the very end.
Why I Will Never Forget This Night
I have no regrets that the first night I watched New Japan Pro-Wrestling was a night of retirement.
It was not an easy night. Celebration and ending moved forward at the same time, and the weight of that reality was unmistakable. Still, I could not look away, because the figure standing in the ring never wavered until the very end.
Retirement is not something that is completed through a special performance. It is an act that reveals how the time accumulated up to that point finally comes to rest.
What I saw that night was not someone pushing beyond his limits, nor an image of sorrow. It was a familiar sight — standing in the ring as always, fulfilling his role as always, and then quietly stepping away.
That is why my heart stopped. Not because of a dramatic moment, but because nothing had changed. That unchanged presence stayed with me more strongly than anything else.
I never imagined that my first night watching New Japan Pro-Wrestling would end this way. Even so, I know that experiencing this night will remain with me as a memory I will never forget.
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