Three Champions, One Ring
Burning Kong had begun.
Once all the backstage segment footage had played out, the first man to step into the ring was Russell Hart.
With the GCW Championship belt cinched around his waist, he climbed into the ring wearing a brilliant smile and worked the crowd for a reaction.
[Yeaahh!]
The audience obliged—moderately. Exactly as I'd expected.
If he'd drawn a huge pop right out of the gate, there would have been no room left to build the atmosphere for the segments that followed. That was precisely why we'd staged the scene of him ambushing the Taker. The crowd would feel a flicker of confusion at Russell's entrance.
Because the flow had been broken.
Following last week's Rkdawn, what the audience wanted was a satisfying dose of revenge from the Rkdawn roster. So when Russell appeared and got in the way of that, everyone's reaction was a little... conflicted. And there were those who simply resented him for attacking the Taker, a heavyweight who commanded genuine respect in this business.
Which was why we'd prepared Cena.
WORD LIFE.
The moment the shoulder-shaking rap music thundered through the arena, the crowd shot to their feet, hoisting their signs high.
[Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhh!!]
The reaction was far bigger this time. Almost surprising, honestly.
That much, huh?
Cena, the U.S. Championship slung over his shoulder, came out with that signature rascal's grin of his and milked the crowd for everything they had. He was a heel—the padlock and chain around his neck saw to that—and yet the fans roared for him anyway. He'd built his career feuding with wrestler after wrestler, and every loss had only made him bigger. The growth of the "rookie" was a good story, after all. Cena had always lost in ways that elevated his standing.
So when the two men stood face to face, the crowd threw their cheers behind Cena with just a little more force.
[Russell! Russell! Russell Hart!!]
[Cena.]
[What business does the GCW Champion have here? Attacking our leader, no less.]
[The Taker would have rested in peace. But I'm here, and—]
[Boooooooooooooooooo!!]
The insult to the Taker unleashed an absolutely thunderous wave of boos. It was nearly impossible to continue the mic-work. When Russell raised the microphone to his lips, the jeers only grew louder. Caught off guard, he glanced around at the crowd, and Cena went quiet too, briefly reading the room.
Back at Gorilla Position, the staff watching let out a collective sigh.
It happens all the time in pro wrestling. But when it drags on this long, you can't fit in everything you've planned for the broadcast. Normally you'd compensate by trimming segments or cutting a match short.
But that's no fun.
This, too, was exactly as I'd anticipated. That was why, before the show started, I'd called Cena and Russell aside and given them detailed instructions: if the crowd turned like this, Cena was to grab the mic first.
[You're saying the exact same thing I am!]
The arena went astonishingly quiet. Part of it was the sheer force behind Cena's voice.
[The Taker rested in peace? I tried to make him! But it couldn't be done. That man is the Deadman—you can't kill him, not ever.]
[Waaaaaaaaaaaagh!]
On the heels of the cheer, the crowd began chanting the Taker's name over and over.
[Rkdawn's the same! We don't stay down! We'll win Ring Survival and look down on the lot of you!]
[A fine story, Cena.]
Russell chuckled lightly.
[Honestly, part of me wants Rkdawn to win. Except for the match I'm in.]
[You're entering a match?]
[That's right. Which one, we haven't decided yet.]
At Russell's words, the arena began to churn with excitement. The GCW Champion had just declared his entry into Ring Survival, out of nowhere.
As if waiting for exactly that beat, the signal came down to me.
"Shin, now."
"Let's go."
I'd been itching for it. My music hit.
I slapped both cheeks lightly, grabbed the microphone, and strode straight out onto the entrance ramp. The crowd greeted me with a frenzy every bit as ferocious as the one they'd given Cena.
[Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaahhhhh!!]
[SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN!]
A ferocious chant rolled over me, timed to the dubstep beat. But I wasn't in great shape.
The Taker's assault, and Russell's finisher on top of it. I was in the worst condition of my life. Clutching my bandaged shoulder, I limped down the ramp—and then hoisted the championship belt high with everything I had.
"THIS is the champion of Burning Kong!!"
[Yeeeeeaaaaahhhh!!]
I'd played the heel on Rkdawn, but I was still a babyface here. Most people would view us all as villains, but this place was different. The Burning Kong crowd would naturally root for their own roster.
"What the hell are you doing in MY ring right now? Get down here and show me some respect! You punks!!"
"Full of energy, aren't you."
"Honestly, I feel like dying. But with you two clowns showing up, I can't exactly let myself look weak, can I?"
As I climbed into the ring, Cena stepped forward, belt held aloft.
"Your Burning Kong is finished."
A video began to play.
I turned, puzzled, toward the massive screen set up above the entrance ramp.
[You see that, kid?]
Big Joe and Wyatt were snickering, mocking me. Beneath them lay the fallen bodies of the Burning Kong roster.
I raised my microphone.
"You think THAT'S the end of it?"
Right on cue, Greg Hart and Kane came charging in, going after Big Joe and Wyatt. The four of them traded furious blows as they spilled out beyond the cameras.
I turned back to Russell.
"Your uncle's looking sharp out there."
"Isn't he, though."
"Let's get to the point. What brings you here, exactly?"
We were three cowboys.
The U.S. Championship, with its plate shaped like the American flag. The GCW Championship, its logo emblazoned across the face. And last, the Intercontinental belt, its gleaming white leather its own kind of beauty.
A year ago, the three of us had been in GCW, wishing each other success. Now, here, we'd become enemies again.
Russell spoke with easy confidence.
"I told you already. I'm winning Ring Survival and going back to GCW."
"Since when is that a rule? There was nothing like that back when I was GCW Champion."
"It's an order from the Tiffany McMahon you're so fond of. She's been looking absolutely brilliant on the shows lately."
"......"
This son of a—
That had not been in the script. My expression stiffened slightly as I stared at Russell, while he and Cena snickered at my reaction. Both of them, unlike at the start, now looked completely at home in the ring.
I let out a sigh.
"By that logic, you shouldn't even be going for the world title, should you?"
"Well, you're right about that. But I'd like to hear from the people who've been watching us."
Russell turned to the crowd, playing the babyface, working them for a response.
"The three of us came up together in GCW. We met two years ago and worked together nonstop until we got called up here."
"So?"
"Which is exactly why I can't stop wondering. Of the three of us—right here, right now—who's the strongest?"
Russell looked at Cena.
"Is it Cena, the Doctor of Thuganomics?"
He turned to me.
"Or is it Shin, the man who keeps Burning Kong burning white-hot?"
And finally, raising his belt to the crowd, he roared:
"Or maybe—just maybe—it's ME, the GCW Champion!"
It was undeniably compelling. Three men who'd debuted together as rookies, each now carrying a championship belt, meeting in the ring to settle it. That was a story.
The crowd, having heard Russell's pitch, began voicing their answer with everything they had.
[YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!]
"Let's do it, then! At Ring Survival!"
[YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!]
"That's a pretty interesting idea."
Cena stepped forward, grinning, and glanced my way.
"But... I came here tonight for REVENGE!"
And with that, he attacked me out of nowhere.
A muscular Cena was a sight to behold even just charging in. He flung his belt aside and cracked me across the face, and I went sprawling backward, rolling across the canvas.
[Waaaaaaaaagghhh!!]
As the crowd howled its approval, Russell now blindsided Cena. He drove a boot into his gut, spun behind him with textbook precision, and went for a German—
—clamping his arms around Cena's waist from behind and hurling him clean over his head.
THWAAAM!
Russell rose to his feet, and for just a moment his eyes lingered on Cena.
I was waiting for exactly that opening. I drilled him with a Super Kick.
CRACK!
And so, each of us having eaten one signature move apiece, I hurled both fallen men out of the ring.
This was Burning Kong. Which meant that no matter how battered I was by the Rkdawn invaders, the last man standing had to be me.
After the show.
We decided not to leave the city and to spend the night right where we were—at Tiffany McMahon's suggestion.
So, with most of the wrestlers and spectators already gone, we had dinner and made our way to the touring bus.
Cena's eyes went wide.
"Whoa..."
"Make yourselves at home."
"Much obliged to Miss Tiffany."
With that, Russell went to the fridge and pulled out a vitamin drink.
"Wait—Miss McMahon?!"
"Yeah. It's like that now."
At this point, hiding anything from these two seemed like a lost cause. I sighed, took a swig of my cherry-flavored drink, and sat down.
Then I ran through the night in my head.
"Everyone was great tonight."
"How long has it been since the three of us faced off in a ring, Russell?"
"A year, give or take?"
"Cena's changed his whole character, and Russell's come here as a challenger-turned-great-GCW-Champion."
"I—I've got a belt too."
Cena held up his championship. Out of the ring, the man was innocent to the point that you'd almost think he was a different person entirely.
Russell smiled.
"A very good thing, that. All of us have carved out our place in our respective brands."
"So, Russell—when exactly are you coming up here?"
"Probably next year?"
"At the King's Rumble?"
"Perhaps?"
Russell tilted his head, noncommittal. Fair enough—as GCW's top guy, even deciding whether he should be called up at all wouldn't be a simple matter.
"Either way—let's put on a hell of a match."
"With you two? No worries at all!"
After Cena's outburst, we all had a good laugh and clinked our drinks together in a casual toast. After that, we just made small talk while waiting for Tiffany to arrive. Mostly, the questions came my way—Cena and Russell were clearly dying to know what was going on between Tiffany and me.
The custom in this business was that nobody pried into things like that. But the two of them seemed intent on digging deeper, apparently delighted to see me—the one who always ran the show—flustered for once.
"We're just getting to know each other, that's all."
"C'mon. It doesn't seem one-sided to me. The woman just gifted you a bus this nice."
"Well..."
I glanced away, casual as I could manage.
"The really amazing one is her."
"Whoa, that's syrupy."
"You're insane, you know that?"
"You little punks..."
I grumbled, cheeks going red. I'd only said what was true.
For all its size, the WWF's treatment of its wrestlers was among the worst in the industry. But the Tiffany of now—different from the woman I'd known in my past life—seemed to dream of reforming exactly that.
Her giving me the bus wasn't merely an expression of affection, either. There was a test tucked inside it, I figured. Buying me a bus so she could send her father a message, subtle as a brick: I can handle the talent properly, and if we're going to work them, we'd better give them real time to rest.
So regardless of whether Cena and Russell chose to razz me about it, I thought Tiffany was a remarkable woman. The woman I knew now, unlike Bart, wasn't in this for herself—she genuinely cared about the future of this industry.
"You should give her a kiss later."
"Ah, that's way too grade-school, man."
The words had barely left my mouth with a snort of laughter when Tiffany walked in. Still in her suit, she let down her tied-back hair as her eyes found mine.
"We've literally swapped tongues before, and you're shy about a kiss?"
"Hey, that was business—"
"Tiffany~!"
"Oh, Cena. Russell. You stayed just like I asked. Thank you."
Tiffany came in and dropped down onto the seat beside me. Then, leaning into me as if all the exhaustion of the night had caught up at once, she spoke.
"It went well."
"What did?"
"The ratings. Out of everything on tonight's Burning Kong, the segment with the three of you pulled the highest instantaneous numbers."
At that, the three of us looked at each other and toasted all over again.
Tiffany kept going.
"I'm going to use this to talk to Father tomorrow. I want Shin and Cena to appear on GCW for one day."
"Hmm...?"
"They need to help us out too. Our champion showed up and five point one million viewers turned in to watch."
It was, admittedly, a colossal number. Burning Kong's usual audience hovered somewhere between four and a half and four point eight million.
"The fresh image of the three of you did the work. Which means we need to keep building up our rookies. So the logical next step is—"
"We push GCW harder?"
"Exactly. Now, I'm having a drink, so all three of you are required at tomorrow's meeting."
Tiffany rose from her seat, came back with a beer, and sat down again. And so the four of us celebrated the night's success straight through until late.
Tiffany, for her part, got tipsy fast.