The Party at Snoop-Duck's Villa
After we'd more or less smoothed things over, we set off for Malibu straight away.
Sitting in the passenger seat, I replayed the scene from just moments ago in my head.
However you look at it, that was less "smoothing things over" and more "making a run for it."
It had simply felt like if we got caught, we'd never make it to the party on time.
I'd picked Tiffany back up—she had gotten out to greet her parents—and we'd sped off in the Lamborghini under the watching eyes of the neighborhood.
Somewhere along the way, we'd swapped seats, and I'd changed clothes.
The black suit had been given a casual twist with gold-thread embroidery, making it feel like something off a pop star's stage costume.
Every time the streetlights swept through the car, it glinted and shimmered, and I found it a little embarrassing.
"Isn't this a bit too flashy?"
"Considering who else is invited to this party, it's perfectly appropriate."
Tiffany herself was dressed in an equally lavish white gown, embroidered with black flowers that lent her an almost Eastern, exotic elegance.
"Most of the guests there are people from the music industry, I hear."
"And we're going to that?"
"Yes. Apparently the performance you put on at the last party left quite the impression. They were very insistent that you come."
"I'm not going to have to smash a bottle over someone's head again, am I?"
"Haha, of course not. Today is genuinely just a gathering of close friends, so nothing like that will happen."
"We're not close friends, though."
"That's the problem, isn't it."
Tiffany gave a sly smile.
"So why do you think they invited you?"
"......Hmm."
I had a pretty good idea.
As she'd mentioned, one of Snoop-Duck's cousins was a huge pro wrestling fan—a little kid who would one day become a wrestler herself.
I didn't think Snoop had invited me out of genuine fondness over that one night.
Most likely the kid said she wanted to see me, so he sent the invitation.
That much I could roughly figure out.
I'd just show up, make some small talk, sign an autograph or two, and be done with it.
But with no way to prove it, I decided to change the subject.
"More importantly—what we stand to gain by attending this party tonight, isn't that the real question?"
"Fair point. Connections like these are awfully hard to come by on our end. Might be worth getting to know a few of these people while we have the chance."
She wasn't wrong.
American high society was a kind of closed upper crust that you could only enter if you met one of two conditions.
You had money.
Or you were famous.
Or both.
The people who met those conditions largely came out of finance, entertainment, or sports—and even among them, there was a strong tendency to stick to their own circles except at major events.
Hip-hop was especially like that.
It was a culture born from the Black community, and its racial leanings felt far more pronounced than in other industries.
I wasn't Black, so I couldn't claim to understand it perfectly.
And I'm sure there were plenty of places where my understanding fell short.
Even Eazy-M, a legend of the hip-hop world, had his skills doubted for years simply because he was white.
'You really think you'd have reached that level with the same talent if you were Black?'
That was the kind of wall he'd faced.
Which meant that, in a way, my connection to these people through Snoop-Duck and his niece was an incredible stroke of luck.
"I'd like to propose a deal."
"To who—Snoop-Duck?"
"Yeah. I've got a movie coming out soon, remember?"
"Wait, hold on. Hold on."
Tiffany tilted her head.
"Bringing up business out of nowhere at a birthday party isn't exactly going to earn you a warm reception."
"True. But... it doesn't seem like they're inviting me purely as a guest, either."
If the reason he was calling me really was his niece.
Then I'd be in a position where I could make a legitimate request of Snoop-Duck.
"I mean, they're getting a top-tier talent like me and not paying a single dime. Am I wrong?"
"You've got some interesting scheme cooking right now, don't you?"
"How could you tell?"
"Your face gives it away. Tiger."
Tiffany, having tossed out the light joke, pressed down a little harder on the accelerator.
The Lamborghini tore through the darkness along the coastal road.
* * *
And when we arrived at the party venue—Snoop-Duck's villa—right on schedule.
I was surprised to find the atmosphere completely different from what I'd expected.
This was nothing like that last party, where everyone had been teetering on the edge of basic civility.
Low-rider cars decked out in extravagant detail lined the entrance in rows.
West Coast rappers with blunts hanging from their lips, each one with a pistol tucked into the back of his waistband as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
So this is the vibe.
I thought with a wry smile.
Snoop-Duck himself had come out of a street gang called the Crips.
Granted, most of them were successful rappers now who had no real need to flaunt such dangerous posturing.
The truth was, even that gangster image was nothing more than a packaged concept.
A rapper's life story was wrapped up in a narrative of rising rough and rugged from dangerous neighborhoods, unbowed by law enforcement they couldn't trust.
Of course, none of it was a lie, exactly.
It was just... arranged to be a little more attractive, with the dirty and dangerous parts mostly glossed over—that was what "packaging" meant.
Anyone who could genuinely pull a trigger on somebody wouldn't be here; they'd be in prison or in the ground.
So I stepped out of the car alongside Tiffany—who looked a touch more tense than usual—and walked toward Snoop-Duck.
He was dressed in a blue tracksuit, the signature color of the Crips, and the moment I approached, he thrust out his hand.
We clasped hands, bumped shoulders, and exchanged a casual greeting.
"Sin~. My man."
"Happy birthday, Snoop."
"Glad you could make it. There's plenty of everything, so enjoy yourself to the fullest."
"Yes, yes."
"And thank you for coming too, Tiffany."
"Thank you, Snoop. It's an honor to be at your party."
Tiffany extended the back of her hand, and Snoop bowed to press his lips to it.
"I still haven't forgotten that badass side of you, you know."
"Nothing prepared for tonight, I'm afraid."
"Course not. Tonight's going to be a very peaceful party. That's why we're collecting the guns over there."
I followed the direction Snoop pointed and saw security guards temporarily holding onto weapons confiscated from the guests.
"There's plenty of your fans in there, so you won't be bored."
"Is that so?"
"Yep. We like a man who built something with his own two hands."
Meaningful words, those.
It sounded like a roundabout way of telling me someone at the party would be approaching me as a fan.
Hearing that, I just smiled without answering, and escorted Tiffany toward the entrance of the villa.
It wasn't as large as the Maxen estate, but it was plenty big, and the pool sitting right beside the building was striking.
Carrying no weapons ourselves, we passed through security and stepped inside the villa.
And our jaws dropped.
Tiffany's too.
"That's a real tiger, isn't it?"
"......I'd say so."
The place was a two-story loft with an interior finished in luxurious wood.
It was the kind of scenery that made you think, if Santa Claus ever committed embezzlement, this is the log cabin he'd live in.
The tiger-skin rug spread across the floor led the way—every piece of furniture, every decoration, looked astronomically expensive.
The spread of food and liquor on display was enough to make your head spin.
Most striking of all was the tower of Dom Pérignon, that absurdly pricey champagne, stacked as tall as the Empire State Building.
But this was hardly an environment where we could stand around admiring it.
The rappers scattered throughout the room were all staring at us with incredulous expressions.
They murmured among themselves—and their voices carried all the way over to us.
The attitude made it clear they had no intention of hiding their wariness.
"What the hell is that?"
"Why'd an Asian dude come here?"
"And he's got a woman with him, no less."
When our eyes met, they only glared harder, as if daring us to do something about it.
Feeling that hostility, Tiffany was actually more upset than I was.
"Have they never seen a person before?"
"Well, I suppose it's their first time seeing someone like me invited to a party."
"......Didn't Snoop just say there'd be plenty of your fans in there?"
"And you believed him?"
I snorted quietly and started moving toward a quiet corner, unbothered by the less-than-friendly air.
But at that exact moment, as if to thaw the frozen atmosphere, a small figure came darting out between the rappers.
Seeing her, I thought this kid might be just the thing to break the ice.
And she was.
"Si—Sin—!!"
Standing in front of me, face flushed crimson with excitement, was a teenage girl.
Long black hair, light brown skin, and an adorable face.
With both Tiffany and all the rappers watching her expectantly, the girl finally burst out at the top of her lungs.
"WRESTLER SIN!!!"
Now, what to do here.
Everyone was struggling to hide their bewilderment at this sudden turn of events.
The girl standing before me was Snoop-Duck's relative—and the person he cherished more than anyone else in the world.
Because of that, even Snoop's rapper friends, who were like brothers to him, doted on her like their own niece.
And the fact that this girl was my fan? That was a hell of a weapon.
Mercius Barnado.
Mercy for short.
Her WWF ring name would be Sasha Zinx.
A member of the Four Riders, the wrestler who would one day bring revolution to the industry.
Maybe I should play up knowing her a little here.
That seemed like it would be more effective.
I needed to protect this girl's dream—while at the same time getting what I wanted out of tonight.
And I also wanted to make it very clear to these intimidating rappers exactly who I was.
"Mercy. Right?"
"Ah—aaaah, how do you know my name?!"
"Of course I know it. I've heard a lot about you."
Thanks to my past life's memories, that is.
Well, even if Snoop found out, I could just play it off as rambling while drunk.
I extended my hand.
I shook hands with Mercy, who looked positively transported with joy, and continued on in the gentlest tone I could manage.
Just as Tiffany had said, I was building an image.
"I hear you're a fan of mine."
"Yes! Honestly, Sin is my second favor— ah, no, I'm sorry! I don't know why I said that...! But you're my favorite male wrestler!"
"Haha, it's fine. Who's number one, then?"
"Rikita! Rikita!"
Figured as much.
It was well known that girls of this era grew up dreaming of female wrestlers like Rikita and Trish.
"Want me to give you a call later?"
"R-Really?!"
"Of course."
Saying that, I shot a glance back at Tiffany.
The truth was, astonishingly, I didn't have the great lady Rikita's phone number.
......No, it's just that there'd never been any occasion to work with her.
Catching my signal, Tiffany nodded in understanding.
And just like that, Mercy's entrance had secured me a presence in this party in a single stroke.
"I suppose I'll have to work hard enough to become Mercy's favorite, ahead of even Rikita."
"Y-You like Rikita just as much!"
"Well, that's good to hear."
And honestly speaking, I was genuinely happy that a junior who hadn't spared me a shred of attention in my past life had become a fan.
After that, Mercy glued herself to my side and showed no intention of leaving.
She recognized Tiffany too, of course, and they exchanged greetings.
"I'm Tiffany Maxen."
"Ah, yes......"
But after a brief handshake, she simply plastered herself back against my side.
Tiffany, sensing something, smiled—but I, failing to grasp the situation, tilted my head.
Tiffany is a superstar in our industry too. Isn't that a good thing?
"It seems the young lady doesn't like you merely as a fan."
"......No way."
"I could feel it just now."
Tiffany giggled.
While I was puzzling over that, the surrounding rappers slowly began to stir.
Every time one of them summoned a subordinate to whisper a command—apparently asking who I was—the temperature of the villa dropped precipitously.
But each time, Mercy would brilliantly strike up conversation with me again, defusing the mood.
"Um, um, later......"
"Hm?"
"Could you—could you watch me in the ring?"
"The ring?"
"Yes! We have a ring at our house!"
"You want to become a wrestler?"
"I-If I can!"
"Sure. We'll go take a look later."
And so it went.
I ignored the wary rappers and simply stood there, chatting with Mercy.
Before long, Snoop-Duck came in through the back door and made his appearance up on the second floor.
"Alriiight~. Looks like everybody's here."
And so the party began.