In the bright kaleidoscope of Japanese women’s wrestling, where idols throw dropkicks and smiles cover scar tissue, Rina Amikura walks the tightrope between cartoon and killer. At first glance, she’s cotton candy in boots—pink hair, sugary charm, cheekbones made for pop stages. But make no mistake: underneath that sparkle is a workhorse in war paint. And she’s been grinding through the underbelly of joshi wrestling since 2018, picking up wins, bruises, and lessons the hard way.
Born on January 20, 1995, Amikura didn’t burst onto the scene with Olympic credentials or flashy supernovas of hype. She started at Actwres girl’Z, a promotion more concerned with hybrid performance art than suplex statistics. On May 13, 2018, she lost her debut match to Kakeru Sekiguchi—a forgettable match on a forgettable card. But what wasn’t forgettable was her stubbornness. Some wrestlers try to look good when they lose. Rina Amikura tried to look like she belonged.
And then she just kept showing up.
That’s been her calling card from day one: resilience. Not dominance, not flash. Just consistency. In an industry built on spectacle, Rina chose to build her rep match by match, show by show, bleeding neon-colored sweat on mid-card slots and undercard battle royals.
She’s what happens when the spotlight keeps passing you over and you learn to make your own damn glow.
As a freelancer, she carved a jagged path through promotions like Pro Wrestling WAVE, Ice Ribbon, and Stardom, often playing the underdog, often playing the utility player, and more often than not—stealing the match without stealing the show. Her career is a patchwork quilt of clashes that didn’t make headlines but mattered.
In Pro Wrestling WAVE, she’s been a grinder—entering the Regina Challenge Battle Royal in 2022, going up against heavy hitters like Yuki Miyazaki, Ayame Sasamura, and Miyuki Takase. She didn’t win. But she made you watch. That’s the kind of victory that doesn’t fit on a belt.
She teamed with Miyazaki later that year in a failed bid for the WAVE Tag Title contendership. Again—no win. But if you were watching closely, you saw what mattered: Rina was getting better. Sharper. Smarter. Hungrier.
In Ice Ribbon, she reinvented herself under the alias “Amin”, becoming part of the glitterpunk trio KissMet Princeswith Misa Kagura and Nao Ishikawa. It wasn’t just a faction. It was her thesis statement: you can wear pink and still break ribs. She wrestled in high-speed trios, won chaotic multi-person tags, and pushed herself through tournaments.
She entered the ICE Cross Infinity Championship tournament in 2022, beating Sumika Yanagawa before falling to Saori Anou in the second round. Again—no trophy, but one more flag planted on a long road toward legitimacy.
That’s what Rina Amikura does: she doesn’t conquer. She accumulates.
She became a staple at cross-promoted events, like the CMLL Lady’s Ring, where she teamed with Maya Yukihi and Rina Yamashita in a no-touch rules bout. It was a loss—but those are the matches you grow from. The weird ones. The rough ones. The ones where even the veterans come out a little changed.
But if there was ever a turning point for Amikura, it came when she stepped into the orbit of Stardom.
Specifically, the New Blood brand.
At New Blood 2 on May 13, 2022, she and Yuko Sakurai beat Saya Iida and Momo Kohgo—two Stars members who carried the banner of babyface purity. That match marked something significant: Rina wasn’t just an indie worker anymore. She was now a piece of the machine.
That machine moved fast. Too fast, maybe.
In June 2022, she was pulled into the chaotic blender that was the Cosmic Angels vs. Color’s faction war. When Sakurai, Saki, and Hikari Shimizu lost, they were forced to join Tam Nakano’s Cosmic Angels faction as a sub-unit. Rina followed. Whether she agreed or not wasn’t the point. She was now part of the pageantry and politics of Stardom.
She joined matches alongside Unagi Sayaka, Mina Shirakawa, Waka Tsukiyama—and more importantly, began wrestling in front of thousands. Stardom taught her about pacing, about character, about performing for cameras instead of front rows. It refined her without bleaching her out.
She and Sakurai tagged up for a win at Stardom Mid Summer Champions, beating Stars’ Saya Iida and Hanan. Another notch. Another level. But her biggest test came in Triangle Derby I, Stardom’s three-woman tag league.
Her team: Lollipop—Rina, Yuko Sakurai, and Waka Tsukiyama. The kind of underdog trio the crowd loved to pity—and then fell in love with when they actually showed fight. They didn’t win. They barely placed. But that wasn’t the point.
The point was that Rina Amikura was still here. Still smiling. Still swinging.
That’s her secret weapon. She doesn’t break under pressure—she bounces. You slam her down and she comes back with more glitter and a louder laugh. She’s not in it for dominance. She’s in it because she can’t imagine being anywhere else.
Wrestling needs its monsters. Its champions. Its icons.
But it survives because of wrestlers like Rina Amikura.
The ones who fill cards, hold factions together, and make your favorite stars look better than they deserve to.
The ones who can go from Stardom’s LED screens to indie halls in Shinjuku with the same smile and the same stiff forearm.
The ones who wear candy colors but hit like consequences.
At 29, she’s still climbing. Still dreaming. Still working every corner of the ring and every corner of the industry. She’s the kind of wrestler who may never win Wrestle Kingdom… but will probably still be wrestling when half the card is gone.
Because Rina Amikura doesn’t burn out. She simmers.
And you’d be wise not to mistake sugar for softness.
