Someday, You'll Be My Fan Too
"It's exactly the same."
"Sorry?"
"The results on the screen match the opinions we collected through the ARS line over three hours."
"...Remarkable."
"Isn't it?"
Was he sincerely accepting what I said? I'd always believed the outcome was the natural result of the booking. In this script, Orton had been painted as a genuinely unlikable man—a sacrifice made for the ratings. Which meant the credit for this episode's success rightfully belonged to him. He had played the pathetic, grudge-holding, slimy man with astonishing brilliance. Especially when he taunted the Divas—his lines and delivery were so convincing I couldn't help thinking, that's exactly the kind of guy he is.
A magnificent piece of trash.
So this result was only to be expected. My looks were attractive regardless of race, and the people had simply accepted that fact.
But Bart couldn't bring himself to acknowledge it. He was being stubborn—though knowing him, he never would have admitted it even without the stubbornness.
Still a ways to go, then.
The moment I thought that, the phone in my pocket buzzed. Keeping eye contact with Bart, I answered it slowly.
A familiar voice came through.
[Is now a good time to talk?]
"I was actually in the middle of a one-on-one with the Chairman."
[Even better. I was planning to bring this up with Father anyway.]
"...?"
[Put me on speaker.]
I did as she asked. As I set the phone on the table, Bart tilted his head.
"Who is it?"
"It's Tiffany."
"Tiffany...?"
Perhaps his puzzlement came from the fact that I called her "Tiffany" instead of "the young miss." In any case, with Tiffany now joining us, the three-way call began.
[Hello?]
"Yes, Tiffany. What is this about?"
[It's been a while, Father.]
"Skip to the point."
[I want to book Sin.]
"What are you talking about?"
[You know People magazine, don't you?]
"Yes."
[Every year they pick their 'Sexiest Men Alive.' Fifteen of them. ...You do know that, right?]
"I don't."
"..."
[...]
A quintessentially hardcore-nerd remark, as expected of a man whose heart belonged solely to pro wrestling. If the rumors were true, this was the same man who'd never even heard of Prey Face, the gangster film that had shattered box office records.
People was one of the most famous magazines in America, covering men and women alike. It thrived on celebrity gossip, and it was so widely read that you'd find a copy sitting out wherever you went.
And I'm going to be in it?
For a moment, I was puzzled. Granted, my sudden appearance on Maxin Women had caused my fame in America to spike overnight.
"Tiffany, what is this about?"
"...?"
Bart looked at me strangely. I ignored him.
[I have a friend who's a journalist. She says if we push you properly, you could land a respectable spot on this year's list.]
"And?"
[The Sexiest Men ranking in People is compiled from a combination of public voting and journalist input.]
Tiffany began laying out her thinking with relentless momentum.
[And in America, there are parties happening every single night. Plenty of journalists attend them. If you work the room at those events, I think it could really pay off.]
A smile crept across my face before I knew it.
[The goal is simple—for the entirety of 2005, you keep selling the sex appeal you already have, and we land you a strong result on the Sexy Guys list.]
"That's a brilliant idea."
If Tiffany was backing me, I had every confidence I could deliver. And since this had nothing to do with company business, Bart's permission wasn't technically required. Not to mention, considering how Hell Saw would perform when it hit theaters this year, making the list was practically assured.
"Hold it, hold it, hold it."
Bart cut us off. He slammed his fist down on the desk, shouting loud enough to rattle the walls.
"Don't you dare trade inside jokes in front of me! Did either of you think I would approve of this?!"
For a moment, anger flared in my chest.
Bart glared straight at me, his voice sharp enough to shatter the phone through sheer volume alone.
"What good does it do a professional wrestler to land on some magazine list?! Tomorrow's script isn't even finalized yet, and you—!!"
[Father, think long-term. This is ultimately the right path for the company.]
"Tiffany Maria Maxen!"
Bart's fury erupted, invoking even his daughter's middle name.
This is the critical moment.
I understood Bart's heart. He was afraid—afraid of my name swelling to a size he could no longer control. As I'd said, he was the king ruling this kingdom, and for the most part, he had always produced the outcomes he desired.
But a few era-defining revolutions had cracked that power wide open.
Captain Logan.
Rockcold Stevie Steen.
Having weathered two revolutions by 2005, Bart had grown more conservative. Because he'd been forced to bend his own stubbornness by the very men who built his golden ages. Captain Logan had dragged the company's darkest secrets into the light, and Rockcold had torn the entire drama apart and rebuilt it from scratch.
Just as Hunter had said, ever since the Rockcold era Bart had deliberately suppressed the birth of Icons—he wanted no part of living through that again.
It was simple, really. Because whenever Bart crafted characters to his own taste, they bombed with uncanny precision.
Right or wrong—it wasn't a question of either. Bart simply cherished this kingdom. Everyone in it, in his mind, was a cast member of the drama he had made, and he wanted them all—himself included—trapped happily inside that world together.
Which was why the current situation disgusted him. Someone had just raised a tree branch like a blade against his kingdom. It must have felt as though Tiffany and I were plotting to slip free of Bart's grip by an entirely different route.
Of course, that was a misunderstanding. I had no intention of seizing the industry or walking away from it. I only wanted everyone to produce good results. So I held my tongue. Whatever happened, I had to walk this road alongside the old man in front of me to the very end.
Though I'll admit, part of me also wanted to win this particular race.
It's the dream I only recently admitted to myself, after all.
So, having mastered my emotions, I spoke clearly and evenly.
"Do you remember Kung-Fury?"
"...I remember it."
"That was a joint production between me and your daughter. It drew decent popularity, too. I believe we can keep working together in exactly that fashion."
"Ridiculous."
"I intend to devote myself to this company until the very end. Trust us—me and Tiffany—and give us this chance."
"How could I possibly trust y—"
[Ugh, damn it. Father. Just trust me. I know what I'm doing.]
"One must never trust a person one meets for business!"
[Actually, we're seeing each other. In a very non-business sense.]
Tiffany declared it with full force. The color drained from Bart's face.
"Wh—what on earth—"
[Sin would never betray the company. Don't worry. You're nerdier than he is anyway, Father.]
"..."
Bart, who had at some point leapt to his feet, collapsed back into his chair. He looked up at me with the face of a man in profound shock.
"A Maxen... with you?"
"...With Maria."
I corrected him with the middle name. This old man—even now, he was more upset by the thought of me dating a woman bearing the Maxen name than by his own daughter dating me.
"Boss, trust me."
[Father. I'm asking you too. This really will be an enormous opportunity.]
"......Damn it all."
He let out a long sigh and spun his chair away.
"Fine. You may go."
"Bart."
[Promise me you won't cut Sin's push. Until you do, we're not leaving.]
Tiffany's hand landed on my shoulder. For a moment I thought, how steadying can one sentence be. I g quietly at Bart's back. But something told me this was the moment I had to refuse that help. Right now, I had to be the one brokering the space between Tiffany and Bart.
"...Tiffany, I'll call you back in a bit."
[Sorry?]
I hung up. Bart turned to look at me, bewildered.
A slight slackening in the tension that had been stretched taut as a wire about to snap.
I spoke.
"When I was young, John Michaels was my favorite wrestler."
"What...?"
"And yours, Chairman?"
"...Do you honestly expect me to say it—the man who employed every one of them?"
"You were around before all that, weren't you?"
"What would you know."
"Then test me."
"...Hunter Kowalski."
"The man who trained Triple H."
"Lou Tesz."
"Lou Tesz the Iron Man? Everyone knows him."
"And does that prove your love for pro wrestling?"
"Quite the opposite. It proves my hatred."
"...?"
"They say a love you can't have turns to hatred. That's what pro wrestling was for me."
It had always been that way. Especially in my past life. And even now, it hadn't been erased.
"I want to become an Icon."
"I already told you—"
"Yes, I heard it from Hunter. That since the Rockcold era, you have no intention of creating any more Icons."
I stepped closer to Bart.
"But I will become one. Regardless of your will, Chairman, someday I will open a new era."
"In other words, you are not the 'The Guy' I have in mind."
"I suppose not. I'm not a character that came out of your head. I'm a nobody kid who was buried somewhere in America until I turned up here."
"...You're not wrong."
"Kowalski, Lou Tesz—every one of them started from exactly that place."
Bart's eyes went wide.
"And just as they did, someday you'll be my fan too, Chairman."
"..."
At my words, Bart was silent for a beat—and then, as if he'd been waiting for it, he burst into enormous laughter.
"Pfft—PUWAHAHAHAHAHA!!"
He was laughing far too hard. I watched him for a moment, thinking as much, but he didn't spare my feelings even slightly. The booming laughter of a man in his sixties echoed through the quiet office.
"M-me, your fan? I've never even told that damned Casket-Taker I'm his fan!"
Years later, in an interview with a magazine reporter, Bart would in fact name the Taker as his favorite wrestler. But that wasn't the eye of a fan looking at a performer—he'd cited loyalty, consistency, and dedication as his reasons.
I knew it well. For a man overseeing every one of these performers, enjoying pro wrestling was an almost impossible task. That was why Bart had tried to enjoy it from the creator's side instead.
The same reason as mine.
A man who loved pro wrestling too much to enjoy it anymore—until the love curdled into hatred.
How sad.
Was that why he kept committing the destruction of his own scripts, even knowing his rusty ideas were what killed them? I found myself quietly studying the old man standing before me, lost in thought.
He was impossible to pin down in a single word. Hunter, admittedly, was a man with plenty of tangled depths himself, but he didn't hold a candle to Bart Maxen.
"You truly believe you can do it?"
"Is there anything I can't do?"
"Let me be clear. I'm an old fossil—I can't look at other races the way I look at everyone else."
"Then I'll smash the prejudice that's lodged in those eyes of yours."
"That's impossible right now."
"Yes, which is exactly why I'd like you to believe in me a little more going forward—hence all the bluffing. Just putting on a show for your benefit."
"...Sin."
"Yes, Bart."
"I am a businessman. Even in moments like this, when my emotions are being moved, I am a man who never says yes lightly."
"So you like me, then."
"Which is why, before I change my mood again—you had better prepare a proposal that I absolutely cannot refuse."
"You've seen The Godfather, I take it."
"What's that supposed to be?"
"..."
He really was a strange man. Suppressing a dry laugh, I wrapped up my farewells roughly and headed for the office door, dialing Tiffany's number on the way—I needed to give her the results. The line began to ring.
"Ah, right. One more thing."
Bart called me back.
"Yes?"
[Hello?]
My answer and Tiffany picking up the phone came at almost the same instant.
"Overriding my stubbornness by devouring my daughter—bold choice, I'll give you that."
"..."
[Sin? Huh? Hello?]
I hung up. This was not a conversation he deserved to hear.
"Because of that, no matter what you accomplish from here on, you'll carry the tag of the man who devoured my daughter to get what he wanted."
Is this guy actually someone's father?
"...Let me correct a few things."
Feeling my head begin to spin, I glared at Bart.
"Devoured? No. A tag? Couldn't care less. And you? Go screw yourself."
Bart grinned wide. And in that instant, I realized I'd walked into a net. Every bit of it—the whole provocation—had been bait to make me answer exactly this one question.
"Then why are you seeing her?"
"...Because we're looking in the same direction."
I fired off the answer like a man deflecting a jab and strode straight out of the room. From beyond the closing door came the sound of hearty, booming laughter.
Damn that man.
That presence at my back made him feel like the one human being I would never, ever be able to handle on my own terms.