The Lamborghini Murciélago
The Lamborghini Murciélago.
One of the most famous supercars in the world, and among them, the series most widely known to the public.
The name Murciélago came from the way its scissor doors swung upward, resembling a bat with its wings spread.
...Though, as it happens, "bat" is exactly what murciélago means in Spanish. It struck me as a wonderfully stylish but utterly impractical way to name a car.
*We just call ours a Bat.*
I stared blankly at the black supercar parked in front of me, thinking just that.
A Lamborghini-exclusive dealership in New York.
I had come here in the morning with Tiffany to pick up the Murciélago that had been prepared for me.
The logo of a golden bull etched into the body.
Sharp, aggressive, masculine lines.
A low, sleek chassis.
The satin black finish was effortlessly cool, and the red brake calipers visible behind the wheels made it all the more stunning.
*Absolutely gorgeous.*
I swallowed hard.
As I'd mentioned before, I used to drive quite a lot, and I genuinely loved it.
So the raw charm of this bull before me hit me at full force.
It felt like standing in front of the sexiest woman alive.
And right at that moment—
"Sin!"
A voice every bit as stunning as the car rang out.
Tiffany, coming through the parking lot entrance, flung something my way.
The key to the Murciélago.
The key fit snugly in my palm and unfolded like a switchblade.
"It's registered, so you can just drive it."
"...This is a bit much."
"You'll get used to it after a few days."
She flashed a smile and turned to the employee who had accompanied her out.
"Thank you for accommodating us."
"Not at all. It's our pleasure, especially since we had exactly the vehicle you needed in stock."
With that, Tiffany finished her greetings and walked around to the passenger side.
"What are you doing? Aren't you driving?"
"Thought I'd play chauffeur for once."
"Oh my, how gallant."
I opened the passenger door and let Tiffany climb in first.
Then I slid into the driver's seat and felt as if the car and I had become one.
*Beautiful.*
The grip fit my hand perfectly.
I swallowed, and slowly turned the ignition.
Vrrrrrrrooooom...
It genuinely sounded like rolling thunder.
Everything outside was cut off, and only the growl of the exhaust reached my ears.
It was a sensation on a completely different level.
"So? What do you think?"
"...I want to take a number."
If the Lamborghini I was sitting in had a phone, that is.
I cracked a joke with a wicked grin and slowly lifted my foot off the brake.
The employees lined up at the parking lot entrance waved us off.
And so Sin, Tiffany, and the Lambo pulled out of the indoor garage and began tearing through the streets of New York.
It didn't take me long to realize something.
*So this is why people sing about supercars.*
That this machine was far, far better than I'd imagined.
It was fantastic.
Powerful yet quiet, with a driving feel that was simply superb.
Every press of the accelerator sent a sound washing over my ears that made them tingle.
I fell head over heels in love, and kept cruising through downtown New York.
After a while, Tiffany spoke up, almost casually.
"Want to grab lunch?"
"Lunch?"
"Yes. We only had a light breakfast, so why don't we pick something up from a nearby Ten Guys?"
"...You eat that kind of stuff?"
"What, did you think I was some sheltered princess straight out of a fairy tale?"
Tiffany narrowed her eyes.
Ten Guys.
The most popular fast food chain in America, where every single item on the menu was fried in peanut oil.
"It's best to avoid it for your health, but as you can see, the menu at our house leans so heavily toward health food."
"Really? Yesterday's dinner was delicious, though."
"Compared to the average American diet, we're practically vegetarians."
She had a point.
Her carefully curated meals were meticulously calorie-counted, which was exactly why I'd been able to eat my fill every time.
"Shall we, then?"
"Let's do it."
Tiffany beamed.
We arrived at the nearest location and parked along the curb.
The moment I reached for the door to get out, Tiffany stopped me.
"Hold on, Sin."
"What is it?"
"Check your surroundings before you step out."
At her words, I glanced out the window and my eyes went wide.
The pedestrians passing by had stopped, staring at our car with fascination.
Not only that — the people inside the Ten Guys had frozen mid-burger, gawking at us.
"Oh..."
Was coming here in this car a mistake after all?
Unlike me, who froze up for a moment, Tiffany calmly began to explain.
"This is where supercars become both an advantage and a disadvantage."
"...An advantage?"
"Yes. You get to flaunt, don't you? And slap a camera on it and you've got instant vicarious thrills for millions of viewers."
She was right.
Reality shows capturing the extravagant lifestyles of celebrities were always guaranteed ratings gold.
"On the flip side, it draws attention you never asked for, and that can land you in exhausting situations."
"That's certainly true."
Having hundreds of eyes fixed on me was more than a little uncomfortable.
Had Tiffany chosen Ten Guys specifically so I'd get a taste of this firsthand?
"But high society always needs this kind of fame. The lavish mansions, the cars, the jewels, the money."
"...So they make themselves special in order to make money."
"Exactly. It's a kind of cycle. Remember what Wilton said? 'The most important thing is to be born an heiress.'"
"Paris Wilton?"
"Yes. The woman I met was far sharper than her public image suggests. That's precisely how she climbed to where she is."
Even the public's perception of her as a blonde airhead was part of the strategy.
"It's not so different from what we pro wrestlers do, then."
In the sense that a character and a storyline woven into reality become the product itself.
"Exactly. That's why someone like you will be great at it."
I was starting to get the picture.
Why Tiffany had brought me here. How I was expected to carry myself from now on.
*So she's saying I need to maintain kayfabe outside the ring now, too.*
This would be easy for us.
Playing a character in real life was bread and butter for a professional wrestler.
The sexy playboy.
Just as the socialites did, you built your fame by broadcasting that image to the masses.
Honestly, it was a convoluted way of saying: just manage your image sensibly.
I decided to treat the crowd in front of me like an audience at a show.
I composed my expression, organized my emotions, and was about to step out of the car when—
"Off you go, then."
Tiffany waved her hand.
"Weren't you coming with me?"
"You rehearse on your own. And no, it's absolutely not because I don't want to get dragged into that crowd."
"...."
She wasn't wrong.
I nodded, opened the door, and stepped out.
An expectant "Oooh" rose up.
A few glances flicked toward me — I ignored them and kept moving.
These people were, for lack of a better word, like a wave that could crash down at any moment.
If my years in pro wrestling had taught me anything, it was that the best way to move through a crowd was without provoking it.
At the same time, without paying it any mind.
I was here to buy burgers, not to sign autographs.
The moment I showed one person any warmth, the whole crowd would come swarming — *me too! me too!*
And then I'd never get my burger.
"Excuse me, coming through."
I offered polite nods here and there as I wove through the crowd.
Most people parted to let me pass, but a few surged forward in their excitement.
Some of them were even wearing my T-shirt.
"Sin, can I get an autograph—!"
"Sorry, it's too crowded right now. Autographs will have to wait."
I deliberately pushed back a little against the affection these fans were throwing my way.
Even though the fact that they were calling my name worked in my favor.
The people who hadn't known who I was began talking among themselves.
"Sin? Who's that?"
"You don't know? He's a pro wrestler."
"Wow, he's huge. Great body, too."
"And he's actually gorgeous!"
I gave them one flash of a smile and stepped inside the restaurant.
Of course, the number of people gathered to see me just now was tiny.
Maybe half of what gathered at airports when I traveled as a wrestler?
But these people didn't know me, and they had zero interest in pro wrestling.
Which meant they'd go home and look me up — and that would be the spark that spread my name further and further.
All the more so at the party.
The crowds who gathered to glimpse celebrities at those events were enormous.
And plenty of them would be journalists who could actually help me out with their columns.
*So that's how it works.*
Just as I had in the ring, I guided the crowd's reactions with a few well-placed words as I made my way toward my goal.
"Excuse me — just a moment."
As warm and gentle as I could manage.
"Sin! I'm a huge fan!"
"Thank you."
Acknowledging the brave souls who shouted out, I placed my order.
While I waited, I stood with my shoulders squared and my posture immaculate — nothing about my stance to find fault with.
A few people asked for photos together; each time, I politely declined and sent them on their way.
But I didn't stop anyone from snapping pictures of me from a distance.
Before long, the woman at the counter called me up.
"S-sir! Your order's ready!"
"Sorry for causing such a commotion. Your burgers are just that good."
"N-no, not at all!"
The employee answered with her cheeks flushed pink.
I turned and slipped back out the same way I'd come in.
Back at the Lamborghini, I handed Tiffany the paper bag.
"How'd it go?"
"Eh, nothing to it."
"So did you nail the image? For how you'll act at the party?"
"Just be reasonably gentlemanly in front of people, right?"
"Hmm, you make it sound easy?"
"Who do you think you're talking to?"
I started the engine and shot her a grin as we pulled out of the Ten Guys lot.
"Playing a character who isn't me is practically my specialty."
"Hehe, I knew you'd be good at it. Ooh, two patties. Bold choice."
"That's just how Ten Guys is."
"Ahhmm—owww..."
"Chew it all the way before you talk."
I drove a little softer than usual for Tiffany's sake.
In any case, I'd learned something valuable.
Just how deeply the image I showed on media imprinted itself on the public.
They would watch my behavior and genuinely believe I was exactly the same person they saw on TV.
And the more consistently I appeared in media in the same fashion, the more indelible that image would become.
*So that's why people back in the day believed pro wrestling was real.*
It felt like a lesson learned.
Well, more precisely, it was less learning something new and more discovering a practical application for something I'd always known.
It was a sensation I never could have grasped in my previous life.
* * *
Time flew by.
Over the remaining two days, I finished the first recording session and memorized the complete guest list, wrapping up my preparations for the party.
The party started at eight in the evening.
Which meant it would run until the small hours of the next morning.
So Tiffany and I deliberately took an afternoon nap to build up our stamina.
By the time we woke, the suits we'd been fitted for three days earlier had arrived.
The color: blue-black.
I wondered if it wasn't a touch too flashy, but Tiffany — getting into her dress behind the curtain — shot me down.
"It's not a full-blown old-money gala. It's a party for a younger crowd — that color will look perfect on you."
"You think?"
"Yes. And with your build, that suit fits you so snugly it's practically painted on."
With that, she stepped out in a black dress.
A knee-length number with an elegant sheer detail — it suited her beautifully.
"Looks good on you."
"You too."
"Hm. I half expected you to be disappointed that my dress is black."
"Huh? It's pretty."
"...No, I mean, normally."
She narrowed her eyes, then strode right up to me.
"Couples are supposed to coordinate their colors when they go out together, aren't they?"
"They are."
"But in our case, we're business partners and sponsor, so... ugh, never mind! Talking about it is making it even more embarrassing!"
She let out a little whine and held out a small box.
"Then wear this instead!"
Wondering what it could be, I opened the box — and burst out laughing.
Inside lay a *blue* sapphire necklace.
Now, this was rather cute.
"Here, let me."
Tiffany turned her back to me.
Beneath her blonde hair swept up into a chignon, the nape of her slender neck had turned crimson.
"See? A blue necklace that matches my suit perfectly?"
"...Quiet."
That was all she said, so I fastened the necklace around her neck.
In return, she buckled onto my wrist the watch I'd given her as my first present.
With our preparations complete, we set out from the apartment.
*All right, then. Let's do this.*
A party among America's high society.
Not that I lacked confidence.