She wasn’t supposed to make it this far. Not with those high cheekbones, that ballet-school poise, or that ethereal elegance that once shimmered under the pastel lights of Cosmic Angels. Mai Sakurai, once brushed aside as window dressing for Stardom’s idol experiment, now leaves crushed opponents and broken storylines behind like shattered teacups.
No longer the dancer in sequins. Now, she’s the brawler with blood in her mouth and a championship belt slung low on her hip.
From Stage Left to Center Ring
Back in early 2020, when the world was folding under a virus and the wrestling world tried to remember how to breathe without a crowd, Mai Sakurai slipped between the ropes for the first time under Actwres girl’Z. It wasn’t memorable. She lost. Not just in the booking—she lost to expectation. She was polished, careful, forgettable.
But something in her eyes said the journey wasn’t about pageantry. It was about pain. The real kind—the kind that sobers you from fantasy.
By the summer of 2021, she entered Stardom’s circus—Cosmic Angels—with big hair and bigger promises. She was thrown into the Future of Stardom title scene almost as a sacrificial lamb. And she played her part—smiling, losing, bowing. But behind the curtains, she was watching. Calculating. Rehearsing not a dance, but a rebellion.
Cosmic Fracture
The first crack came on a humid November night at Kawasaki Super Wars. She stood across from Waka Tsukiyama in a match that read like a bureaucratic formality—until you realized the stakes: her seat in Cosmic Angels. She didn’t just beat Waka. She walked over her. And when the dust settled, the faction started to look like a theater troupe fumbling its third act.
By early 2022, the friction turned to fire. After losing a six-woman match to Donna Del Mondo on February 12, Sakurai did what so many in Stardom were too afraid to: she picked up her boots, turned her back on the sparkle-and-spin brigade, and walked across the aisle to the wolfpack.
“I want to fight, not dance,” she told the crowd that night. The fans didn’t cheer. They stared. Some in awe, others in confusion. But one thing was clear—Mai Sakurai wasn’t playing anymore.
The Donna Del Mondo Rebirth
In Donna Del Mondo, she bloomed—like a rusted iron flower. With Giulia and Thekla, she formed the Baribari Bombers—a trio that didn’t wear smiles, only smirks. They weren’t there to pop the crowd. They were there to pop jawlines.
In May 2023, the Bombers captured the Artist of Stardom titles, defeating REStart. The belts may as well have been machetes—the way the trio sliced through the division.
But the reign was brief. On January 3, 2024, they fell in the Triangle Derby finals to Abarenbo GE. Titles gone, momentum shot—but Sakurai didn’t flinch. Because by now, she had mastered the art of the fall. She didn’t need gold to prove she belonged. She was already hardened steel.
Marigold and the Main Stage
Then came the coup. Stardom’s tectonic plates shifted when Rossy Ogawa launched Dream Star Fighting Marigold. Sakurai jumped ship on day one. It wasn’t politics—it was war. She saw the writing on the wall and followed the man who believed in ferocity over choreography.
On May 20, 2024, she stepped into Marigold’s virgin ring. Her debut match ended in a draw, but it wasn’t a stalemate—it was a warning.
Two months later, she and Mirai clinched the inaugural Marigold Twin Star titles. They ruled for 174 days, until Dark Wolf Army snapped their streak. Another fall. Another lesson.
But then came January 3, 2025—First Dream. Mai Sakurai faced Miku Aono and took the United National Championship with a finish that silenced the Tokyo crowd. Not because they didn’t cheer—but because they were stunned.
Rouge and Rust
Wrestling purists may bristle at her. Too glam, too poised, too manufactured. But look closer and you’ll see the scars—on her elbows, on her record, on her pride. She’s not a showpiece. She’s a war machine that still wears rouge because you don’t have to be ugly to be unforgiving.
There’s something magnetic about her violence. It’s not wild like Giulia’s, or poetic like Syuri’s. Sakurai’s rage is measured. Controlled. She lands forearms like punctuation marks. There’s a rhythm to it—the rhythm of a woman who once performed for applause and now performs for respect.
More Than Survival
Most wrestlers come into the business trying to be legends. Mai Sakurai came in just trying to survive—and that’s what makes her dangerous. She’s not chasing legacy. She’s earning it, brick by bloody brick.
And now, with the Marigold United National title strapped to her name, she stands as proof that even the most doubted can become divine.
So here’s the final truth, told in the voice of ringside sweat and echoing footsteps: You can mock her past, but you can’t deny her present.
Mai Sakurai didn’t just switch sides.
She burned the stage behind her.