The Way of a Fake
AFC was an impressive company.
Even more so after a man named Jaina White bought it.
They pumped their value sky-high overnight with aggressive marketing and became the greatest MMA promotion in the world.
Unlike boxing, a traditional sport with guaranteed popularity, AFC had been ruthlessly commercial from the moment of its birth.
They demanded drama from their fighters, and they were rabidly obsessed with finding athletes who had star power on top of raw skill.
Which was why they kept getting compared to pro wrestling from time to time.
Combat sports with a dash of showmanship mixed in.
But pro wrestling was a show, and AFC was MMA.
Jaina knew that perfectly well, which was exactly why he was always picking business-related fights with pro wrestling.
Notoriety never hurts.
So I never really thought of Jaina as a villain.
Until about five minutes ago, that is.
"Haha, my, my. I suppose being rivals explains all this jockeying between you two!"
Mrs. Hopkins looked like she was enjoying the whole situation even more than the guests were.
"Pro wrestling versus mixed martial arts! Who will come out on top tonight?!"
She stirred up rivalry out of thin air and steered the crowd's reactions this way and that.
I told you not to put us on the same level.
It was an insult to both of us.
Though most people here wouldn't know that.
As the crowd's cheers rolled on, I stood on the stage and turned to look at Jaina beside me.
He was watching Tiffany with a smirk that was half contempt, half dead serious.
The sudden provocation only wound the crowd up further, and Mrs. Hopkins was no exception. She turned to Jaina, who was grinning with obvious confidence, and asked:
"Jaina, why would you do something so ungentlemanly?"
"I was just watering the flowers."
You insane son of a bitch.
I bit back the curse and kept my expression neutral, just standing there.
But Jaina wasn't done. He kept prodding at us.
"By the way — does that fighter of yours not carry a handkerchief?"
The target was me.
And through me, Tiffany.
He fished a key out of his jacket and held it out to Tiffany.
"You're soaked through. That's the key to my room, so go shower yourself off."
"Oh my — oh my!"
The crowd actually cheered for him, delighted by how boldly he carried himself.
And in that moment, an excited Mrs. Hopkins rushed over to Tiffany.
"Tiffany, what will you do?"
"I'm already dry. What's there to do?"
Tiffany said it with perfect indifference, then unscrewed the water bottle in her hand.
And poured it over her own head.
The water washed down her elegant face, her half-loosened blonde hair swaying and spilling down her back. The crowd's roar dwarfed the one they'd given Jaina by an order of magnitude.
Tiffany had said it earlier, hadn't she?
[Good thing it's waterproof.]
Waterproof makeup. The precaution she'd taken just in case had, thanks to Jaina himself, found the perfect moment to shine.
Just as she'd promised, the water running down her face hadn't touched her makeup at all.
If her mascara had smeared, the picture would have fallen apart. Instead, Tiffany had returned the insult beautifully.
With Jaina standing there momentarily stunned, she flashed him a beaming smile.
"You couldn't get me wet if you tried. One look at you and I can tell you're working with something tiny."
She swept her hair back, then hurled the empty bottle.
It sailed through the air and clattered to the floor at Jaina's feet. He stared down at it for a long moment — then threw his head back and laughed heartily.
"Alright! That's the spirit you'd expect from a bunch of showmen! Let's do this!"
Before Mrs. Hopkins could even open her mouth, he had a small table brought out from the back and set it down between us.
On it sat a pair of boxing gloves.
"Punching arm wrestling!"
"Um, Jaina? If you're the one proposing it first—"
"Enough! Just run it, madam!"
Jaina cut off Mrs. Hopkins as she tried to interject, looking troubled.
And with that, one thing became certain.
This whole game had been Jaina's idea. I read it in the smug confidence plastered across his face.
"Then let me explain the rules."
Mrs. Hopkins, standing there looking a little sulky, turned to face the crowd.
"Punching arm wrestling! Just as it sounds — a game of arm wrestling where, at the same time, you're free to strike your opponent with your fists!"
Back in the spotlight, she held up the gloves and kept going.
"Now, bare fists between competitors would be dangerous, wouldn't they? So we'll be wearing these thick gloves for the match!"
The crowd cheered.
I laughed in sheer disbelief.
What kind of game even is this?
On the surface, the rules sounded fun. Think about it for two seconds, though, and the advantage tilted massively their way.
Freddy Helberg was a fighter with a natural gift for striking.
Me? Sure, I trained hard, but obviously I couldn't touch him in that department. The only thing I might compete in was wrestling strength or raw power — and he'd already locked that avenue shut.
With punches.
What the hell do I do with this?
While I was still turning it over, Mrs. Hopkins held out a glove with a smile.
"Here you go."
"That's not what we agreed on."
"Wasn't it?"
Playing dumb, are we.
I laughed again.
And the fact that I kept laughing like this, dumbfounded, meant one thing: I was furious.
Mrs. Hopkins, who'd broken our agreement. Jaina White, who'd dumped champagne over Tiffany's head without a word of consultation and cracked a sexual joke on top of it.
Unbelievable.
As my brow started to furrow, Tiffany leaned in and whispered.
"How do you think it'll go?"
"I want to demolish him completely. Just trying to figure out how."
"You want to?"
"Of course I do."
"Then do it. Whatever mess you make, I'll clean it up."
What a thing to say.
"Then…"
Trusting the woman standing at my back, I stepped over to Mrs. Hopkins.
"Mrs. Hopkins, would you mind if I made a proposal?"
"Mm? What is it?"
"One match is no fun. How about we make it best of three?"
"Hmm… you think so?"
"Yes."
I flashed her my brightest smile.
Mrs. Hopkins cleared her throat and announced to the crowd that the match would be decided over three rounds.
That'll do.
With my preparations for a dramatic piece of theater complete, I took my seat. Freddy, already seated across the table from me, narrowed his eyes slightly.
"You're up to something."
"Am I?"
"…May I ask you one thing?"
"Go ahead."
"Have you trained in combat sports?"
"In my own way."
"You're a pro wrestler, though?"
"Sure. Just not to your level."
That was the crux of it.
My opponent was, after all, a professional fighter. However much our disciplines overlapped, on pure skill his side was simply the higher ground.
Which meant this punching arm wrestling was, without question, his game.
So — just like Jaina had done — I intended to drag the stage into the realm of the show, the thing I did best.
Freddy and I clasped hands and set our elbows on the table.
Mrs. Hopkins placed her hand over our clenched fists and declared the start.
"Ready…! Begin!"
I drove power into my arm.
I was just registering that my raw strength had the edge when his glove came flying in, and I caught it on my gloved forearm.
A dull, heavy thud.
"…!"
That hit like a freight train.
And it was blindingly fast on top of it.
As if to say this is what real fighting looks like, Freddy hammered away mercilessly at my gloved arm.
Weathering the blows, pouring strength into the lock, I gradually felt his arm — the one locked in the arm wrestle — being pushed back.
Oh, this bastard.
I read his play immediately.
My right hand was locked in the arm wrestle — which meant, in other words, it was the only thing guarding the right side of my face.
And Freddy was feigning a losing position in the lock, baiting me into lowering my guard on that side.
I grinned.
Fine. I'll take the hit here.
It was a good plan, honestly.
Anyone watching this would feel exactly what I felt: these rules favored AFC.
If I staged my show at precisely that moment, the crowd would tip over to my side.
And having conceded one rule that favored the AFC, I could then demand one rule of pro wrestling in return.
For that, I needed drama in the shape of a defeat.
And so, the moment Freddy's arm had been pushed halfway down—
CRACK!
A vicious punch swung in from the right and buried itself in my face.
The shock was ice-cold, and for an instant my consciousness went white. In that instant, I understood.
In that sliver of time — the 0.001 seconds my mind was out — Freddy had flipped my arm over.
No. He'd made me feel like he had.
As the crowd roared, Mrs. Hopkins made the call.
"Round one! Victory to the AFC!"
Blood trickled from my nose.
"…"
Freddy studied me for a moment, then rose from his seat.
Not bad at all.
Truly professional. He'd sensed something in that instant, I could tell.
Not that there was anything he could do about it now.
Jaina came up from behind and clapped Freddy on the shoulder with a hearty laugh.
"GAHAHA! That's it! Beautiful work, Freddy!"
"Boss, hold on a second—"
A flicker of unease crossed Freddy's face as he stood, and the two of them exchanged a few words.
I ignored them, turned, and walked over to Tiffany.
She was frowning, dabbing the blood from my nose with a handkerchief.
"Was that the plan?"
"It was."
"You're going to take another one?"
"Not this time."
I smiled, slow and wide.
I'd given them one round. Now it was time to shatter this opponent completely.
First order of business: steal the spotlight back from that rotten old bat.
"Mrs. Hopkins."
"Yes? What is it?"
"If it's all right, might I say a few words to the audience?"
"Hmm. For what reason, exactly?"
"I'd like to raise the temperature in this room a little. Trust a pro wrestler with that. It's our specialty."
Mrs. Hopkins hesitated — then handed me the microphone.
I raked my hair back wild and stepped forward.
"Damn. An AFC fighter's punch is no joke. Don't you think these rules are a little one-sided in their favor?"
The crowd laughed at me.
And I laughed right along with them before aiming my provocation straight at Jaina.
"Hey, baldy! Isn't this a little cheap of you? Punching arm wrestling — a rule we don't even have on our side."
Then I tossed the microphone.
Just like a wrestling ring segment. Jaina caught it cleanly and lifted it to his mouth.
"Cheap? How so? Between two fighters— oh, wait. My mistake. Your side's all fake, isn't it?"
"Fake, sure. So here's my thought: let's add one rule from our side and keep this match going."
"Rigging it as you go?"
The crowd laughed again.
But I wasn't the least bit rattled by their jeers.
"That's right. You added a rule of MMA to arm wrestling, so I'm adding a rule of pro wrestling."
"What rule?"
"Look forward to it. Unlike real fighters like you, who only play inside the 'rules,' there's one thing only a tough fake like us can do."
"HAHAHA! Fine, fine! Go right ahead — add whatever you like!"
Jaina roared with confidence.
Freddy, standing behind him, watched with more than a little unease in his eyes.
Unfortunately for them — unlike Tiffany and my team — those two couldn't coordinate to save their lives.
I knew it, and I smiled as I stripped off my gloves and stepped forward.
I raised the microphone to my mouth and shouted toward Snoop-Duck, who'd been watching our contest from the side of the stage.
"Hey, Snoopy!"
He looked over at me.
"Throw me that champagne!"
Times like these, you play big.
A two-million-dollar bottle of champagne, no less.
Catching the dark bottle, I began working the crowd of hundreds like an orchestra.
"This little beauty is worth two million dollars! And word is, there are diamonds inside the bottle!"
People leaned in, intrigued.
"But I need one more. Snoopy, toss me another, would you? Whoa whoa whoa — almost dropped it."
I deliberately fumbled the catch at the last instant, letting it dangle, and milked every reaction I could out of them.
Jaina looked baffled.
"What are you planning to do with that?"
"The fake's way."
I hoisted the bottle high — and brought it crashing down onto the table.
CRASH!!
A shrill ring split the air.
Shards scattered — a splinter stung my cheek — and I felt the air around the stage go deathly cold.
And in that moment, everyone understood.
They understood exactly what I'd meant by the fake's way.
But the thing was—
This is the kind of thing that happens in real life.
The table was now covered in broken glass and diamonds.
Jaina's jaw hung open and nothing came out. Freddy's face had gone rigid.
And Mrs. Hopkins simply could not process what she was seeing.
"Ah… aah…"
She swayed on her feet, dizzy, and security guards had to catch her and lead her away.
"And the pest is gone."
I dropped back into my seat and planted my elbow on the table.
Microphone in hand, still talking to the crowd the whole time.
Crrrk… crrrk…
I could feel glass biting into my flesh.
Blood spread across the tabletop, and I glared at Jaina and Freddy, both frozen where they stood, unable to move a muscle.
"What are you waiting for? If your luck's good, you might end up with a diamond lodged in your arm."
"Ggh… what kind of madness IS this?!"
"It's the aesthetic of our sport. If it scares you, feel free to die over there."
At my words, a murmur began to thread through the crowd.
Of course there were pro wrestling fans among the people in this room too.
And from that first chant, the crowd's reaction tipped over completely.
Everyone was screaming my name at the top of their lungs while Jaina and Freddy stood there, unable to move an inch.
"What did I tell you?"
Tiffany came up behind me and slid gracefully onto my arm.
"You'll never get me wet."
"Grrgh…!"
Jaina ground his teeth.
But even so, he wasn't unhinged enough to throw his own fighter back into this. He was a real one, after all — a man who could only play inside a perfectly regulated rulebook.