If you ever walked into a wrestling match expecting poetry, you probably didn’t imagine it wearing a butcher’s apron and throwing lariats like tax bills. But Mochi Miyagi was poetry in motion — the gritty, sausage-fingered kind that gets scribbled on ramen shop napkins at 3 a.m. after a loss, and a few too many. She didn’t care about being pretty in the ring. She cared about being present — present with pain, grit, laughter, and enough fight to make a rhinoceros second guess itself.
Born of Ice Ribbon blood and baptized by glittery chaos, Miyagi’s debut came on December 25, 2010. That’s right, Christmas. While kids unwrapped toys, she unwrapped a forearm from Kazumi Shimouma and got introduced to the unforgiving love language of joshi puroresu. She lost — of course. But she showed up. She stayed. And over the next decade, she carved out a career like she carved through opponents — not always elegantly, but always deeply.
Miyagi was part workhorse, part wrecking ball, and part comic relief — the kind that made you laugh right before she hip-tossed someone through the ropes. Her partnership with Hamuko Hoshi as the “Lovely Butchers” wasn’t just a cute name. It was a mission statement. They didn’t flip, they flattened. And when they won the International Ribbon Tag Titles for the third time in 2018 by taking down Maya Yukihi and Risa Sera, the crowd didn’t just cheer — they roared, like blue-collar gods had just clocked in for overtime.
But Miyagi was more than Ice Ribbon’s joyful juggernaut. She was a journeyman in the finest sense of the word. She wasn’t afraid to pack up her boots and show up in Oz Academy, JWP, Marvelous, Seadlinnng — hell, even AJPW and BJW. Anywhere that needed a woman with a tank-like frame and a cannonball smile. She teamed with kids, legends, and guys twice her size. Most of the time, she lost. Sometimes she won. But she always made it worth it.
Her tag with Hiragi Kurumi as “Frank Sisters”? It felt like a fever dream sponsored by sukiyaki and violence. Together they beat the revered Dropkickers — Tsukasa Fujimoto and Tsukushi — in 2020, and did it at Yokohama Bunka Gym’s swan song show. Big venue. Big expectations. Big damn victory. Mochi didn’t just hold her own; she held the whole match like a wrestler grips a microphone: tightly and without apology.
Miyagi wasn’t fancy. Her style was like a sumo in a karaoke bar: loud, sweaty, awkward, and oddly captivating. She’d slap on a headlock and grind your spine like she was prepping mochi rice with a wooden mallet. And just when you thought she was done, she’d start busting out tag team hip attacks and corner avalanches like she was born inside a pachinko machine.
But don’t get it twisted. Beneath that lovable chaos was someone who had seen things — someone who stayed when others faded. Who fought for a place in a business that demands beauty and pain in equal measure. Miyagi brought the pain, and the beauty came when people finally looked past the glitter headband and saw the soul beneath.
Her feud-turned-friendship matches against Risa Sera were quiet classics in a loud room. Hard hitting, emotionally complex, like watching two former best friends turn every missed call into a dropkick. She challenged for the ICE Cross Infinity title more than once, including a notable 2017 bid, but never won it. Still, she never needed a singles belt to prove her worth. The crowd already knew. She was the kind of wrestler who made the belt seem like it wasn’t good enough for her.
In 2022, she took a hard left turn. After her Ice Ribbon contract ran out, she joined Prominence — a faction formed by fire and frustration. Alongside Suzu Suzuki, Risa Sera, and the others, she adopted a new name: Mochi Natsumi. The old name was soaked in history, but the new one had purpose. A phoenix with boots, reborn in smoke and vengeance.
Their debut in Stardom was like someone crashing a wedding and setting the cake on fire. Prominence came in loud, unbothered, and ready to tear Donna del Mondo apart. And Mochi? She looked like she was having the time of her life — fists flying, head down, steamrolling the polished Stardom elites like a truck with bad brakes and worse intentions.
Miyagi’s strength was never in the win-loss column. It was in the wear-and-tear ledger. She showed up, did the job, got back up, and did it again. She wrestled in empty arenas, festival tents, battle royals with 43 other people (and a guy in lingerie), and looked like she belonged every damn time. She once wrestled twice in one day, both times in 14-person over-the-top-rope chaos, and didn’t blink. She just adjusted her headband and jumped back in.
That’s what Mochi Miyagi is: a professional in a business that eats dreamers and pukes glitter. She never needed to be the ace. She just needed to be there. A body in the ring, a laugh in the locker room, a boot in your ribcage.
She’s still going, still freelancing, still making her rounds like a barfly with nothing left to lose and everything left to say.
And if you ever see her name on a card, do yourself a favor.
Buy the damn ticket. Bring a poncho.
Because when Mochi’s on the menu?
You’re gonna get butchered. With love.
