By some cosmic fluke or karmic hangover, Masami Odate was born in Kamakura, a city known for temples and peaceful shrines. So of course, she turned out to be a professional wrestler who could moonsault your soul out of your body, smile like a viper, and still look like a pop idol after 20 minutes of televised violence.
They call her The Genius of the Sky—but there’s nothing genius about risking your cervical spine for a few hundred bucks and the admiration of a crowd hopped up on nostalgia and nachos. Then again, Iyo Sky—née Io Shirai—isn’t chasing wisdom. She’s chasing gravity. And every time she launches herself off the top rope, she’s telling the world: “Newton can suck it.”
FROM SHRINES TO SHIN-KICKS
Before she was Iyo Sky in WWE, before she was Io Shirai in Stardom, she was just Masami Odate—half of the most dangerous sister act in Japan. Mio and Io. Think The Shining twins, but with dropkicks. Their early days in Team Makehen weren’t glamorous—tiny shows, cold rice balls, hard floors—but they got noticed because they didn’t wrestle like women. They wrestled like they wanted to murder you for your lunch money.
By 18, she was flipping through the air in front of packed houses and empty wallets, teaming with Kana (later known as Asuka) and forming Triple Tails—a stable that didn’t just break ceilings, it pissed on the floor above.
But nothing comes easy in puroresu. Especially not for a 5-foot-1 buzzsaw with a spine held together by stubbornness and pre-match adrenaline.
STARDOM’S ACE AND ITS STORM CLOUD
In Stardom, Io Shirai wasn’t just a wrestler. She was a revolution in knee-high boots. She held every title that mattered and then some. World of Stardom Champion? Twice. Wonder of Stardom Champion? Sure. High Speed? Artist? Goddesses? SWA? She collected belts like an unstable Amazon Prime account. She even led her own gang of killers: Queen’s Quest, where every member looked like they’d stab you over ring time.
She was Stardom’s Ace. The kind of talent you build a company around. But genius and stability rarely share a room.
In 2012, the sky came crashing down. Accused of drug smuggling after a trip to Mexico, Io became the poster girl for tabloid vultures. “Marijuana in a painting” was the charge—because nothing screams ‘drug mule’ like a Joshi wrestler carrying fan art.
She denied it. The charges were dropped. A fellow wrestler confessed to planting the drugs. Still, her name was tainted like a bloodstained mat. Most wrestlers would’ve quit. Io got better.
NXT, WWE, AND THE AMERICAN MACHINE
When she finally made it to WWE in 2018, it wasn’t with confetti and hugs. It was with whispering agents wondering if her neck would explode mid-match. They wanted her to smile. She scowled. They wanted her to play nice. She went full heel. When they asked for a moonsault, she gave them one off the top of a steel cage and then stared down the camera like a Final Boss with bangs.
In NXT, she was something else. A techno-leather demoness with eyeliner sharp enough to cut through corporate branding. She won the NXT Women’s Championship, tag belts, ladder matches, and respect the only way that matters: by surviving.
She bled charisma and took bumps like her organs were optional. Fans cheered her even when she tried to murder fan favorites with missile dropkicks and kendo sticks. That’s how good she was. You couldn’t hate her—even when she demanded it.
THE IYO ERA
Rebranded as IYO SKY on the main roster, she joined Bayley and Dakota Kai in Damage CTRL—a faction that looked like it was formed in a Hot Topic sponsored by Satan. They took over RAW, stole matches, smashed faces, and looked good doing it.
She won Money in the Bank, cashed it in on Bianca Belair, and won the WWE Women’s Championship. In that moment, she became the first Japanese wrestler—male or female—to become a Grand Slam Champion in both Japan and America. That’s not history. That’s witchcraft.
And yet, behind all the success, there was always the chaos. Her smile always hinted at something unhinged. Maybe it’s the years of being doubted. Maybe it’s the Mexican prisons, the neck surgeries, the betrayals. Maybe it’s just Iyo being Iyo—half storm, half spotlight.
GRAVITY’S FAVORITE VICTIM
Here’s what you need to know: Iyo Sky is a liar. She lies to gravity every match. She climbs the ropes with no regard for safety. Her moonsault isn’t graceful—it’s a threat. A cannonball in human form. And when she lands, whether it’s on you or the concrete, she gets up like it didn’t hurt—even though it always does.
Her opponents walk away limping. She walks away smirking. The fans scream, the announcers shout about momentum and legacies, and Iyo walks up the ramp like she just robbed a liquor store and dares the cops to catch her.
That’s what makes her great. Not just the talent. Not just the titles. It’s that chip on her shoulder—a jagged, radioactive rock she carries around like a badge of honor.
THE LEGACY THAT WON’T STAY PUT
She lost her title to Naomi in 2025—via Money in the Bank cash-in, because irony loves Iyo. But who cares? She’s already won everything. Twice. And she’ll probably win it again, with a smirk and a moonsault and a whispered, “Baka” into the wind.
You don’t need stats to understand Iyo Sky. You just need to watch her flip, watch her laugh, watch her destroy someone’s dreams and then get up like the apocalypse tastes sweet.
She’s not just the Genius of the Sky.
She’s its harbinger.