Desire and Belief
The final result was decided at last.
The instant the three-count was made.
[Eyeeeeeeeeeeeeahhhhh!!]
The moment the ring bell tolled, the crowd rose from their seats and erupted into pandemonium. The championship had changed hands again, and the era had been passed on. Everyone who had witnessed the outcome of such a magnificent match felt a shiver run through them.
But I was sprawled flat on the mat, unable to move a muscle.
My entire body was drenched in sweat, and my breathing had blown far past its limit long ago.
Worse still, Greg, whom I was covering with my own body, was crying.
Thinking of his image, I decided to play the part of a man briefly worn out and collapse over him, shielding him from view.
"There, there……"
"Greg, how about saving the tears until we're backstage?"
"Thank you. Thank you, truly……"
The crowd's feverish reaction had brought even this man of iron to tears. I understood. His final match as an active wrestler had followed such a beautiful path to such a moving conclusion. It was, quite literally, the greatest glory a professional wrestler could ever feel.
Once Greg had collected himself a little, we rose to our feet together. As the winner's music — mine — blared through the arena, the referee brought over the Intercontinental belt and handed it to me. Then Greg raised my hand high into the air, acknowledging me as the victor.
[SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN!]
Amid the roaring chant of the crowd, I lifted the reclaimed Intercontinental Championship belt high overhead.
And then I caught the arm of Greg, who had been about to exit first.
"What's the rush to leave?"
"Sin……"
The crowd thundered with applause for Greg as well, who had fought with everything he had. And once more, overcome with emotion, he began to weep. Seeing him like that, the people in the arena seemed to realize it too — that this had been Greg Hart's final match as an active wrestler.
So I yielded the ceremony to him and made my exit first.
I was slinging the belt over my shoulder and heading back toward Gorilla Position when Greg Hart's music began to play.
KEEEEEEEEEEE-!
At the shriek of that razor-edged guitar riff, I turned around and smiled. Up in the ring, Greg was thanking the fans, and he looked like a man who had poured out absolutely everything he had.
[Thank you! Greg! Thank you! Greg! Thank you! Greg! Thank you! Greg! Thank you! Greg!]
The fans, in turn, expressed their gratitude to him. I took one last moment to engrave the sight into my memory — and just then, someone brushed past me and sprinted up into the ring.
John Michaels.
The moment he climbed onto the apron, the crowd's applause swelled even louder. I watched until the two men embraced, overcome with emotion, then made my way back to Gorilla Position.
As I stood there basking in a glow of satisfaction, applause came pouring in from behind me. The place was a madhouse.
"Sin! Great work out there!"
"That was incredible!"
"Absolutely phenomenal!"
From the staff, that is.
"……Thank you, kid."
"You really did something huge tonight."
"Do the same for me when I retire, huh?"
And from the wrestlers, that is.
Every single person involved had watched the match and come away deeply moved.
Bit of a squeeze in here.
Smiling at the thought, I elbowed my way through the throng and headed toward one particular man — the man who had been staring at the ring through his own monitor this whole time.
Bart Maxen.
"Boss."
"……What is it, Sin."
"Thank you."
I said it with genuine sincerity. Whatever else could be said, he was the one who had given the final approval for this match to happen at all. This was my own way of extending an olive branch. Bart might be a half-mad old coot, but in this industry he was a man with connections and influence worth keeping warm.
After a brief silence, he looked at my face with an utterly expressionless gaze.
"Stick around after we're done."
"I will."
I flashed him a smile.
Following our match, the main event kicked off: Shawn Cena versus JBL for the World Championship.
The match was decent enough, and it wrapped up on schedule with Cena capturing the World Heavyweight Title, exactly as planned. Thanks to JBL's absurdly long reign, the crowd unleashed an absolutely earth-shaking ovation for Cena.
And so the largest wrestling show in the world, Wrestle Imperium, came to an end.
After sending Cena and the rest of the boys off to the after-party, I climbed the stairs back up to the fourth floor. The facility crew was already clearing out the arena, and there stood Bart Maxen. From the darkness, he asked:
"How was the main event?"
"Decent enough."
"Decent enough? I'd say it drew the best reaction of anything we ran tonight."
"If that's what the Chairman believes, then so it must be."
"……You should have stayed in the ring until the very end for the ceremony."
Bart offered his opinion, almost as an aside.
"Greg is a man on his way out. At the final moment, he should have taken the big loss."
"Come to think of it, you've never shown any mercy to people who are leaving, have you."
He was especially notorious for feeding poison to any wrestler who looked likely to jump to a rival promotion — booking them into humiliating scripts that shattered their image without mercy.
"And that's the right way of it."
"Is it, now."
"All the more when they refuse to re-sign and walk out anyway."
"Because it sets an example for the other wrestlers?"
"Exactly."
"That's the mindset of a exploitative corporate tyrant. And so that's why you're going all-in on pushing Sin as your golden goose from here on out, since I'll be making you money."
"That's right."
"But then what about the nerd in you? Your own creation just departed for a grand, triumphant ending."
"……"
"If you'd rather not answer, that's fine. Still, I like to think I sent Greg off with proper honors."
"Why would you do that?"
"Pardon?"
"It doesn't seem like something you'd do. Haven't you always done absolutely anything for success?"
Bart listed examples.
"You did the Kung-Fu bit, got slammed onto thumbtacks, became the eye candy for the women in the crowd."
"Well, that part did pay rather well."
"And then you started seeing my daughter."
"……"
"Am I wrong? I'm only saying I don't really know what your relationship is."
"Shouldn't a father take some interest when his daughter is dating someone?"
"Why would I need to?"
"Because she's your daughter?"
"Hmph. If that girl had been like Kane, things might actually have been simpler."
"Are you saying that because Tiffany's a woman? Honestly……"
"No. Quite the opposite."
Bart cut me off.
"He's my son, but Kane is utterly simple. Becoming a pro wrestler was the boy's one and only dream. He never managed it, of course."
"I heard you didn't manage it either, thanks to your own father's opposition."
"……Tiffany, on the other hand, is like me. She was born with ambition in her blood."
Bart ignored my jab entirely.
"That's why I can never bring myself to love her. That child will, one day without fail, come for my throat."
"Is that so."
"The fact that she could be swayed by you, too — that's her ambition at work. Come to think of it, that might be the greatest weapon you possess."
Bart's eyes gleamed. Like a wolf lying hidden in a snowfield.
"So fill it. That hunger of hers. But tell me — aren't you aware that the word 'ambition' is forged from two things combined?"
"Desire and belief."
"Exactly. But could you actually satisfy that girl's desire? Absolutely not. You're nothing but a simple-minded wrestler."
"……"
"I, on the other hand, am different. I can satisfy human desire. That is how I've built the legions of subordinates I command to this day."
"Hey, Boss."
I laughed, dumbfounded. The more I listened, the more it just kept coming. Humoring a delusional old man was quite entertaining, admittedly — but he was making a colossal misjudgment about my woman.
"Tiffany isn't working with me because of ambition."
"No?"
"No. Because of belief."
I smiled sweetly.
"If you build your followers through desire, Boss, then I'll build my comrades by filling their belief instead."
I know. I know exactly how viciously this cruel industry grinds people down and kills them. And that is why, right now, I understood: I have to reject Bart Maxen's way of doing things.
"You and I are natural enemies, then."
"Well, of course — if you pushed me to the top and satisfied my every desire, I might just come crawling to your side."
"That is out of the question."
Bart clicked his tongue.
"The moment your desire is satisfied, my own desire collapses. We were never candidates for a bargain in the first place."
"Is having an Asian Icon really such an impossible proposition?"
He doesn't even bother hiding it anymore. In the beginning, he'd at least dressed it up — "the fans won't accept it." Now he doesn't even bother with the pretense. And that's because I've spent all this time proving him wrong.
"Go on, then. Try your hardest and let's see."
In the end, Bart answered none of my questions and simply descended the stairs.
"Phew……"
Letting out a long sigh, I sank down into the arena seats. And still, I felt fantastic. Because tonight had made it perfectly clear what I had to do from here on out.
It had truly been a magnificent day. The greatest opponent, the greatest venue, the greatest reaction of any match I'd ever wrestled. A great deal of what I'd regretted watching from the sidelines in my past life as Kung-Fury had been dramatically improved.
Greg had reconciled with his old nemesis Michaels and resolved to retire without a single regret. The events along the way had been woven into a beautiful script that drew an outpouring of love from countless people.
And now I would carry the era of Greg and John forward on my shoulders.
I suppose that will be my path from here on, too.
I wanted to help the wrestlers who would meet an unhappy future — through their own choices, or through Bart's schemes. Naturally, I'd be the one winning. And so I would carry their legacy as I climbed ever higher.
Bart Maxen, who manipulates people by feeding their desires. And Sin, who believes in people's convictions and walks alongside them. A head-to-head clash.
So that's how it's been decided.
It was a conclusion that could only be reached because we stood on different ground. And from my standpoint, it suited me fine. In the end, this industry would fail to endure Bart Maxen's tyranny and collapse. The heat and passion of tonight would become something no one could ever taste again.
Before that happens, somehow……
I had to change the ecosystem of an industry left to rot after Sin's retirement.
Just as I was settling on that conclusion, someone emerged from the darkness.
Tiffany McMahon.
"……Is it all over?"
I frowned. Her expression as she approached was anything but pleasant.
"You heard?"
"Some of it. ……No, actually, quite a lot."
Tiffany sighed, sat down beside me, and leaned against my shoulder.
"Greg is injured, they say."
"Where?"
"A badly sprained ankle, apparently. So his retirement ceremony, which was scheduled for tomorrow, will probably be pushed to next week."
"He did push himself awfully hard out there."
"Either way, it means he gets a little rest in the meantime, so it's a blessing. I know perfectly well how hard you've been running yourself into the ground lately."
"Funny, nobody else seemed to notice."
"I noticed."
Tiffany took my hand. Then, just as she always did whenever trouble flared up with her father, she put a cigarette between her lips and lit it. Smoke curled upward. The faint scent of lemon.
"I never thought my father would see me that way. No matter what, I thought I was still his daughter."
"……I see."
"And so, honestly, I don't think I'll feel a shred of guilt about the thing that's been in motion lately."
"What thing?"
"How about this — if what I did behind your back looks lovely in your eyes, shall we take a vacation this week?"
"You're always beautiful."
"……You're getting cheesy, you know that?"
Tiffany poked me in the cheek. Then her eyes went serious once more, dead serious, as she continued.
"I made some investments. It looks like we're going to need a rather enormous sum of money."
Tiffany smiled like the sun itself.
"Wouldn't you say, Sin?"
"……Are you saying we should go for it?"
"Yes. We need money. And a great deal of it."
"Not just money, though."
"Of course — we need the name to match. So…… from here on out, let's start moving in earnest."
"Not a bad idea."
The truth was, I'd been sensing the same thing myself, dimly, for some time now. We needed power. The power to achieve our goals.
"It won't be easy, mind you. A simultaneous play for Hollywood and Wall Street."
"I can keep wrestling, though, right?"
"Welp~ of course you can."
Tiffany whispered it playfully, then added one more line.
"Because when you're wrestling, you're the most magnificent man in the whole world."
"…………God, you're cheesy."
I burst out laughing. Well then — a truly splendid way to close out Wrestle Imperium, all things considered……
And at that very moment, I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket.
Wondering what on earth it could be, I picked up — and at the frantic urgency in Orton's voice on the other end, my eyes went wide.
[B-Big trouble, Sin!]
"Aren't you supposed to be at the after-party right now? What is it?"
[So, see, I was purely, genuinely curious, so I may have poured a little vodka into the zero colas that you and Russell were drinking.]
"……"
This is bad.
[And, well, these two got plastered, stripped totally naked, smeared whipped cream over their… critical areas, and just climbed up onto the stage.]
Wow.
Are these two complete lunatics?
[Help me! Sin! You're the only one who can stop this madness!]
"You're the one who gave them the booze!"
[AAAH! They're coming at me! NoOOO—!]
The line went dead.
…This isn't going to spiral into some kind of zombie apocalypse with whipped-cream zombies on the rampage, is it?