Hiro Shin-Mozas had been at his home in McIntosh, South Dakota for weeks. There had been no response from Blackjack after the Ethnic Enigma challenged him to a battle at Wrestlemania, but Hiro knew that certainly wouldn't be a silence which would last. He had spent his time recovering since losing to Bad Boy months prior, and was finally getting back to a place of strength -- though, some of the injuries he had been nursing would never truly heal. That was far from his mind, however. He'd been training at home, much like he had done for the months prior to his return to the ring. He would go through bump after bump in his personal ring -- each one easier to take than the last despite the ringing in his ears and the persistent queezy feeling he'd feel upon getting up. Hiro was anticipating that at any moment he'd receive a response of some kind from Blackjack -- and with a flight to Philadelphia tomorrow already booked, he was going to get that answer momentarily.

As Hiro was making his way to the front door of his home after a trip to his doctor's office the Monday before Wrestlemania, he noticed a package laid up against the door. He stopped in his tracks, recognizing it's rush packaging immediately -- it had no return name, no branding. It simply was addressed to him. He would eventually walk to the door and take hold of the package, sitting down on the front steps and leaving it on his lap. The breathing of the Cuban would labor for a bit but stabilize itself as his nerves steeled themselves and he slowly ripped away at the crudely taped top. He knew what was probably inside and proceeded with caution -- deciding ultimately to turn over the box and pour its contents out on the walkway before him. Packing peanuts be damned, the loud sound of metal hitting cement was a touch more prevelent. A now scuffed blade lay on the ground, Hiro picking it up by the handle and examining his name written across one side of it. His brow furrowed, and slowly he would turn it to the opposite side...and etched across the blade was yet another name: Blackjack. It looked as though Hiro had gotten the answer he had been looking for. He slammed the blade back down on the ground and started to walk around his house, his plans for the day changing.

His flight may leave tomorrow, but for today -- there's still a little training to do.