Break The World
Right after the weekend house show wrapped, the WWF immediately launched a merchandise discount event.
Four t-shirts for forty dollars.
Four mugs for twenty-five.
It stays hot even when you fill it with coffee!
Beyond that: signed posters, children's tableware sets, shoes, underwear, socks.
Hats, hoodies, jumpers, and the special items each wrestler came out wearing.
And that wasn't all.
Bags, lunch boxes, bobblehead dolls, regular plush dolls, action figures, an arena playset for the action figures, video game discs.
Championship belts, and the side plates that attached to the belts, customized for each wrestler.
God, that's an obscene amount of stuff.
Every last bit of it went on sale. The company had essentially thrown open the doors of its warehouse and started shoveling everything out.
Exactly what I'd wanted.
Tiffany McMahon had been a huge help in making this happen.
She'd submitted the event proposal and casually nudged the company executives into waving it through.
And so the merchandise discount event ran for about two weeks.
After Burning Kong finished taping, I came to WWF headquarters in Stamford.
Because Tiffany and I had agreed to open the 'chocolate box' together.
The kind of box where you never know what's inside until you open it.
And when I arrived at her office, I was greeted by an unexpected sight.
The wide desk stretching all the way to the far end of the room was covered in merchandise.
I hadn't stepped inside yet — I was watching through the small window set into the door.
Tiffany, who had arrived first and was waiting, was an even better show.
"Whoosh, whoosh."
"......"
The children's WWF arena playset.
A toy for three-to-four-year-olds, with springs installed here and there so you could launch action figures across the ring.
And Tiffany, roughly twenty years past that age range, was playing with my figure and the Rockcold one.
For a moment I just stood there, dumbfounded, watching the scene in silence.
Her blonde hair was pulled back in a single tie, her makeup nearly nonexistent, and there was something oddly endearing about her pale white skin and round glasses.
Dressed in a black pantsuit, Tiffany was completely absorbed, making sound effects with her mouth as she played with the toys.
On her knees in front of the desk, no less.
Huh. That's... kind of interesting, actually.
A match between Rockcold and me. Who's gonna win?
A childish curiosity washed over me, and I started lurking in the hallway, secretly watching Tiffany's play session(?).
"Scuffle scuffle."
"......"
"Counter... the STUNNER~"
Okay, but it is kind of adorable.
Even as I thought that, I found myself wanting to join in.
I used to play with those things too, when I was a kid. With figures of John Michaels, the senior wrestler I respected most.
Though it turned out the figure was a cheap Chinese knockoff, and about three days in, the painted face started flaking off.
So I redrew the face with a magic marker, which only made it weirder, then begged my dad to buy me a new one — and got thrown off the second floor for my trouble.
"......"
Come to think of it, he never bought me the arena either, so I made one out of paper.
"One, two, three! Ding ding ding!"
Hey, Rockcold just won.
"Why do I keep losing?"
"KYAH?!"
I stepped inside, only slightly worked up, and Tiffany shrieked in fright.
"S-Sin?!"
A flash of embarrassment crossed her wide eyes. Then her face flushed crimson.
"Th-that is...!"
"Why am I losing, huh?"
"Well, you see! Uh, no, I was absolutely NOT having fun playing with this!"
"You looked completely hooked. How on earth did you counter the Stunner?"
"Eeek!!"
Tiffany swung a fist at me.
I blocked it lightly, grabbed her arm, spun her around, and pulled her gently back against my chest from behind.
"I asked why I keep losing."
"You— people are just—!"
"Childish, you mean?"
"Yes! There's nothing wrong with losing sometimes!"
"Less childish than someone completely immersed in a toy meant for three-year-olds."
"One of these days I swear I'm going to poison your drink!"
She'd been so embarrassed that tears were welling up in her eyes. I could see the red spreading all the way down to the back of her neck.
It was too cute. I tightened my grip around her a little, and Tiffany lifted up the Rockcold figure.
"No, there's actually a reason for it."
"What reason?"
"This toy has a thing where whoever wins ends up worse off."
"Huh?"
Come to think of it, the toy ring did look a little strange.
Something like a huge coffin stood beside the ring.
"This one never made it to market. It's called the 'Casket-Taker's Deadman Maker.'"
"And?"
"The winner goes into the coffin and... you press this button, wait a moment, and then it's decided."
Tiffany placed the Rockcold figure inside the coffin and pressed the button down hard.
With a cheap sound effect, green liquid began rising inside the coffin.
Mr. Rockcold's bald head slowly began to turn green.
"It's a toy where the concept is turning the figure into one of the undead."
"............"
"Getting to own a figure that's turned green — that's pretty cool, right?"
"No — how do you turn it back to the original color?"
"Sorry? You can't."
"Then how do you..."
"Once your figure turns green, you have to buy a new regular one, don't you? That was the whole business model."
"......Why does this thing even exist."
"That's not all, either."
Tiffany pulled the Rockcold figure back out and pressed lightly on its neck with two fingers.
The head popped right off and dropped to the floor.
I felt genuine terror.
"The concept is that it's become a zombie, so the figure is redesigned so the head can pop off like that."
"............"
"Do you understand now? Why I made you lose."
"You were selling this to children? Letting them play with it?"
"Absolutely not. It was my father's idea, but during testing, a kid who drank the green liquid — their skin started turning green, so..."
"Then why do YOU have it."
"Because that kid was me."
"......"
I felt like I'd just been inducted into one of the industry's darkest secrets.
"Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I saw a little green spot on your inner thigh the last time."
"That was the lighting."
Tiffany spun around, eyes narrowed, and seized my nose in a death grip.
"I found the sample in the company warehouse and ran a little test for the first time in ages. I was NOT playing with it."
"Y-yes, ma'am."
"Oh, right — I should throw your figure in there too and turn it green."
"NO!!!"
I held the laughing Tiffany back, and for a while I laughed myself breathless in the chaos.
Before long, we put the toys away and turned to the products spread across the desk.
"What is all this?"
"I gathered up the items that sold well through the recent 'bundle sales.'"
"Did we really need to do it this way?"
"A few employees got caught playing the Galborg game at their desks, you see."
"What a tyrannical boss."
"People are supposed to work at the office. Playing games on the clock is not acceptable."
With that, Tiffany walked me through the items one by one.
Sales had been strong enough that we now had plenty of solid data.
"Our prediction was right, for one. Maybe thanks to the weekend show's momentum, your, Cena's, Russell's, and Orton's t-shirts were very often purchased together."
"What about the rest?"
"Yes, so the company will be producing more related merchandise for the time being. These here are the samples."
Tiffany showed me the sample products she'd set aside in one corner.
I picked up one of them — a tiny pair of children's briefs.
What made a truly unforgettable impression was the image of Cena's face printed on the seat.
"......Shawn Cena underwear?"
"Apparently they're selling well with the kids."
"Don't tell me they're making mine too?"
"If there's anyone out there who wants to wear underwear with your face printed on the butt, then yes."
"And if some kid happens to have an accident in their pants..."
"I don't even want to imagine it."
"A brown—"
"St-stop!"
Tiffany shrieked.
The way she shook her head, clearly begging me to stop, was a sight to behold.
"......Anyway, the point stands. This proves that both the company and the fans see you, Cena, Russell, and Orton as the rookies who'll carry the future."
"I told you so."
"Can I ask you one thing?"
"What is it?"
"Don't tell me you had all of this in mind when you arranged the Final Four? People are calling you an absolute madman, you know."
"Well, who's to say."
To be perfectly honest, I hadn't planned it down to that level of detail.
All I'd done was book the best possible card based on my past-life memories and the information available now, then watch the results.
And then I'd rolled those results forward, compounding them into what we had now.
"Honestly, being around you is nothing but one surprise after another."
"It's hardly that impressive."
"No, it really is. Things we say are impossible — you keep turning them into reality."
Having said her piece, Tiffany picked up a small box.
"And this... is the item that suits you best right now."
A box containing a side plate.
I took it and opened it carefully, checking the contents.
On WWF's main-event championship belts, side plates engraved with the holder's name, logo, and catchphrase were mounted on both sides.
The merchandise version was a replica of those plates.
The originals were made of steel with gold-plated lettering, but replicas were typically cast in zinc alloy.
Still, to the eye they were virtually identical — a keepsake commemorating the wrestler's championship reign.
I opened the box.
SIN.
Break The World.
A round plate, lettering engraved in gold against a black field.
If I ever reached the top and won the World Championship, I'd swap this authentic piece onto the real belt and carry it with me.
As I stared at the plate, imagining that future, Tiffany stepped close and took my hand.
"Touched?"
"A little."
She understood, of course she did.
Wrestlers with dreams, the ones like me, could be deeply moved by a single symbolic object like this.
The way an office worker treasures their first business card. The way a newly promoted manager stares at the new title on their own nameplate.
Even just looking at the side plate bearing my own name stirred something indescribable in me.
"Then make it real. Because it's a thing that rightfully belongs in your hands."
"......Yeah."
"I want to see it too, more than anything. You standing there as World Champion."
Tiffany rose ever so slightly onto her tiptoes.
We shared a quiet moment of affection.
Maybe because she was someone walking toward the same dream I was, we fit together even better than I'd first imagined.
Contrary to what I'd assumed, Tiffany was a pure soul at heart — and she matched me remarkably well.
"Want to wrestle a bit when we're done?"
"H-here?"
"With that toy over there."
"......Oh. And here I thought—"
What were you imagining, you idiot.
Smirking, I picked up my figure from the desk.
The eyes looked like they'd been drawn a bit too small, but I decided to let it slide.
Cutting production costs meant some corners were bound to get cut.
"They say that one's selling like crazy, by the way. Apparently it's hard to even get your hands on."
"Yeah?"
"Mm-hm. There's even talk of releasing the next series with a costume change for you."
"A costume change?"
"Yes, yes. You're not a 'back-alley delinquent' anymore, remember? You're a WWF Superstar now. I think it's a pretty good idea."
"......A costume change, huh."
I fell into thought for a moment.
It was, admittedly, a good proposal. My current gear didn't exactly read as a professional wrestler's.
If I switched to wrestling trunks, there'd be real advantages.
I could produce multiple designs and keep showing the audience something fresh, match after match.
And then release a new action figure for every set of trunks, slap an 'XX Edition' label on it, and sell it.
For some reason, the image of Baku screaming 'You're the King of Capitalism! Goddammit!' flashed through my mind.
But I couldn't just change my ring gear on a whim over that alone — there was a lot that had to come first.
A solid script, and the right timing.
And a rivalry to hang it all on.
Right now, the company had me slated for a program with Greg Hart.
A feud born from Greg picking a fight with me, using my murky elimination at the King's Rumble as his pretext.
Originally, it was meant to be Greg's final rivalry, ending with his retirement at this coming Wrestle Imperium.
But a few days ago, Greg had told me he intended to keep wrestling.
Which meant history had just taken a sharp turn away from my past life.