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Years of world travel and he'd found home at last.
He appreciated the culture, stuffed himself with the food, awoke each day to a snowfall of cherry blossoms outside his window.
The quiet, the peaceful feeling, the respect given from the people, those things made him stay, something he couldn't explain enough to his cousin to make him understand.
'Cousin', not actually, though their ancestry did connect generations back.
Sheamus could live in the States, be constantly bothered for autographs, photos, have no privacy, overwork, never have fun and relax, have little if any say in his career, in his life but that was WWE and its rules.
Fergal shied from that prison called living, fought and fled from WWE and their courtship of him.
Japan was where he was meant to be, he had control of his life, his in ring battles, could visit his family more often than a few times a year.
He had freedom, inner peace and respectful fans.
And he itched for something more.
Good friends? Had plenty.
Excitement? Had that.
That one missing piece lingered in his thoughts, had his brain doing back flips.
So deep in thought, confused, walking with open dark green and white square patterned umbrella, sloshing through small puddles, pink and white blossoms joining the rain drops in a beautiful ballet dance, he didn't notice the black car behind him, tinted windows, men filling it in their black suits, sunglasses, plans.
He was snatched from the street as any person being kidnapped might, yelling and brawling in a panic.
They'd given him something to silence him, watery in the syringe, made him numb in the legs.
Rope around his waist holding him in the chair in this huge filthy broken down warehouse, smashed windows were its scars, dust, dirt, rats and insects were its only friends.
He heard them muttering, conversing in their little huddle. The word ' Devil' spoken many times.
He struggled in the chair, frown hurting his face. 'It's 'Devitt' not 'Devil' !'
More whispers, nodding, glancing his way. The drug in his system made him laugh hysterically. At least they hadn't called him 'Shirime', he thought, bellowed again, tipped over in the seat, laughed wildly in the dust.
'Akuma.' the tallest of the group smiled, nodded pleasantly, motioned towards the others to exit.
To escape before a small silver box was opened.
The dark charcoal smoke cloud burned his skin, made his eyes red and wet, choked him.
The coughing spasm was easy access.
Smoke shifted, startled him by flying into his mouth, down his throat.
Into his blood, into his soul.
It HURT, that damned sensation of change, he tore through the ropes, threw the chair aside, screamed in agony on the floor as his skin turned red and black.
More muscular body, stronger, fierce.
Demon face, his face, crimson skull mask, his eyes, darker and watchful, teeth of a shark, of a predator.
Devitt was no more, gone, dead.
He was Akuma, these people, HIS people had changed him, made him.
Made him more than a man.
Something else that Sheamus would never truly see.
Pink and white flutter through a broken window, cherry blossom, light as a feather, botanical butterfly in his hand.
He crunched his fist around it and walked outdoors, darkness in a place of light.
A new man.