A New Look for a New Era
It was, in every sense of the word, a sensational response.
It took me right back to the day Sin first betrayed Russell in GCW.
The shock itself was admittedly a shade weaker than back then, when the whole story had been built up over such a long runway — but in terms of sheer impact, it hit far harder. This came immediately after Greg Hart's retirement, and on the main show of the biggest night of the year, no less.
So much harder, in fact, that people were already speaking up to complain about it.
What kind of nonsense is that?
Our putting a story over at Greg's retirement ceremony was degenerate?
...Unfortunately, I couldn't deny that Bart Maxen did enjoy that particular style of storytelling. But we weren't him.
Now, yes — there was an unwritten rule that at major events like a retirement ceremony, you paid tribute to the honoree and kept the scripted drama to a minimum. What we had done was our own kind of tribute to Greg's career, delivered by tearing the old convention to pieces.
And people were dismissing it as degenerate for no other reason than that Russell's turn was provocative. What a joke.
But hey — I understood. I really did.
A story has to be good, after all.
I chuckled to myself. The truth was, a development like this after Wrestle Imperium was exactly what gave fans a reason to keep watching WWF.
In that sense, Russell had seized a golden opportunity. I'd watched his feud with Orton falter and wondered where it would go — then a single unexpected idea had laid a cornerstone under the whole thing.
The real question is whether Russell can pull off a convincing heel performance.
When I voiced that concern, Tiffany offered up an answer.
"Russell's a bit of an odd fit for it, don't you think?"
"What do you mean?"
"He's... how do I put it. Very serious. Honestly, he doesn't bend much. Similar to Greg, but a little different?"
"Where'd you get that impression?"
"From working with him. Unlike you, we're not the type to pull a killer idea out of thin air, so we went through a lot of meetings."
It sounded like Russell had a habit of pushing things through without compromising with anyone.
"It wasn't out of ego, mind you. The man was an undefeated champion in GCW, after all."
Tiffany filled me in on details I'd never been privy to.
"He was obsessed with putting on a perfect show. He brought you up constantly whenever he was trying to convince us."
"...Really."
"Yes. He kept saying he wanted to build a show on the same level as the ones you used to create."
"Well, Russell's show as champion ended up doing better numbers than mine, didn't it?"
"That show was yours. It only worked because you'd already built Russell up as your heel and handed the stage to him."
"...Fair point."
"Anyway, it did result in a pretty good show."
A serious Russell, huh. Somehow, that tracked.
"Thanks. That helps."
"Oh, and Russell seems to think he's a pretty funny character himself, so you might want to, uh, manage expectations there......"
"No way."
Between Russell's idea of comedy and a sloth doing pop-and-lock, I'd take the sloth. I was mid-thought when Tiffany steered us into the real topic at hand.
"You remember what I mentioned before?"
"The investments?"
"Yes. I met with some experts I know and asked for their advice."
"How'd it go?"
"MS and Guzzle are definitely worth betting on for the future. The rest of them, they said drop like a bad habit."
"That's a bit harsh."
"...And that's the filtered version, by the way."
"What was the unfiltered version?"
"'Planning on flushing your money straight down the toilet?'"
"Hahaha. Do we really look that hopeless?"
I gave a bitter laugh. To be fair, the companies that had drawn the experts' scorn did have their questionable corners at this point in time.
Acple and Amagon. Against the glowing marks given to MS and Guzzle, the consensus was that those two simply had no visible future.
"They actually recommended companies like Motorora or Nogia instead."
"We're playing the long game here. Give it five years and every one of those assessments will be turned on its head."
"...You're that confident?"
"If I wasn't, I wouldn't have said a word."
I smiled, slow and easy.
2007. Acple is about to reinvent the phone.
The A-Phone. In other words — the birth of a device so revolutionary it would change the very texture of human life, a gadget so jaw-dropping people would be talking about it with their mouths hanging open for decades.
The beginning of the smartphone — known in some corners as the "apple-phone" thanks to its unmistakable logo.
Of course, Tiffany had no way of knowing any of that, so her hesitation was only natural.
"I'll look into it a little more."
"What's your plan?"
"Hmm, I was thinking of setting up a dinner with their people. Get to know them face to face."
"Their people? Oh — the CEO?"
"Yes."
"......"
I'd said it half as a joke, and her matter-of-fact confidence knocked the wind right out of me.
Ah, right. This woman absolutely would.
While Tiffany made her preparations, I started turning over the new look I'd be bringing to the ring.
The catalyst was an offhand remark from John Michaels.
You're not a back-alley kid anymore — you're the future of WWF.
And if that was true, there was no reason to keep wearing the same style of ring gear I always had. That was his argument, anyway.
I felt a flicker of genuine interest stir in me. Truth be told, I'd been chewing on a similar thought lately myself.
So we arrived in the next city a little earlier than usual, planning to get advice from both Greg and John. John especially, as the wrestler I respected most, would surely leave his mark on whatever I came up with.
Then Russell had to butt in too, insisting he wanted to watch the whole process.
"Plus, I've been feeling like I need a change myself."
"You too?"
"Yeah. If I'm going to get past my uncle, I'll need to show a different side. Still just an idea at this point, though."
"I always thought the 'gay costume' suited you wonderfully."
"I'm not gay."
"......"
Yeah. Sorry about that.
With an awkward laugh, I stepped into the meeting room inside the arena.
And nostalgia washed over me.
So this is what it felt like.
The atmosphere was exactly the same as the first time I'd put together my ring gear back in GCW.
Racks upon racks of clothing, packed to bursting with every kind of wrestling gear imaginable, sorted by type.
And there were John and Greg, deep in conversation.
"Back in my tryout days, there was this complete lunatic who wrestled bare-assed in suspenders. Turn it into a gimmick — if a match went sideways, he'd just start whipping guys with the suspenders."
"There were some real oddballs in this business."
Two old-timers steeped in reminiscence. As I drew near, Michaels turned to me first, grinning.
"There he is. The successor."
At those words, I asked the question that had been gnawing at me for a while now.
"That thing you said back then — was it true?"
"What, the comeback?"
"Yes. You must have been training for it behind the scenes. I was hoping to work with you too, senpai, just like......"
Unlike Greg, Michaels had rested long enough that he could easily have returned as an active competitor. When I said it with real regret in my voice, he snorted, gave my shoulder a light slap.
"It was because of you, kid."
"Me......?"
"Yeah. I looked at that match and felt it — our era ends here. So I scratched the comeback. Clean off the board."
Michaels smiled, a little wistfully.
"Besides, I've got no confidence I could draw a bigger reaction going up against you."
"No, sir, if it's you, then surely......"
"Enough, enough. And there's another kid at the house now — three, total. A wrestler's life where you never see your family? Not for me."
"Three?"
"Congratulations, John."
"That's the news, haha! This kid's going to drag the company to even greater heights, which means the wrestling school business should be booming for years to come, right?"
"Looks that way. I heard the Hart Dungeon's taken in quite a few new trainees too."
"So that's the deal — you go blow the ratings sky-high and make sure this old man never worries about putting food on the table again. Got it, Sin?"
"......I'll do my best."
If that was the conclusion John Michaels had reached, I wasn't in any position to talk him out of it.
The weight on my shoulders grew heavier still.
But I chose to feel it as pride, and accepted it.
Two men who had defined an entire era had just entrusted the future to me.
Feeling a touch sheepish about it, I gestured toward Russell standing behind me.
"Along with this guy here."
"Russell?"
"Yes. His acting's solid, and the booking was brilliant, wasn't it?"
"Ah, that thing. Genuinely unsettling, I'll tell you. A Hart family wrestler as a heel."
"It's not unprecedented."
"No, but even in his heel days, Greg senpai was positioned like an 'enemy of America' — the overseas crowds absolutely loved him for it."
"That was only because his opponents couldn't get over as faces, wasn't it?"
"......That opponent would be me......"
Michaels's face went gray.
The moment he realized his slip, he started to panic — and Greg smoothed it over.
"Anyway. Brilliant booking."
He turned to Russell.
"You too, Russell. Coming up with an idea like that — I can't treat you like a kid anymore."
"It's all thanks to Sin. He taught me how to squeeze ideas out of nothing."
"Him again."
"Yes. Honestly, I've learned as much from him as from my uncle."
Russell's hand came to rest on my shoulder.
"So — I'm thinking I'll change up my ring gear too, while I'm at it."
"You as well?"
"Yes. I've become the heel who betrayed his family's creed, so I want to treat that old attire as exactly what it is — a relic."
"Not bad."
Convinced, Greg held out a thick stack of files that had been piled high on the desk.
"I gathered some samples here."
Russell and I paged through them, not sure what "samples" meant at first.
It didn't take long to figure out.
Oh, this kind of sample.
Put simply, they were profile photos the wrestlers had shot — but each entry organized the performer's gimmick and standing, with a casual annotation alongside explaining the reasoning behind the outfit.
One example, for instance:
'Rockcold Stevie Steen.'
The icon of an entire era, he'd been the mouthpiece of the blue-collar class. A Texas man, born and bred. An old injury in his left knee. His offense leaned heavily on knee-drop variations, which is why he'd settled on this gear:
Wrestling boots. Knee pads. Extra bracing over the left knee. Unadorned black trunks. Black tape at the wrists. And when he walked to the ring, that signature black vest emblazoned with the burning skull — understated, yet unmistakably Steen.
As for the vest, they'd printed several versions bearing the same slogans that appeared on his merch shirts.
Steen 3:16.
S.O.B. (Son of a B-tch).
Hell Yeah.
That kind of thing.
"Did you put this together yourself, senpai?"
"No. Bart did."
"......Sorry, what?"
"Bart Maxen. The man built this collection out of pure fandom. There's even talent from the sixties in here."
"Unbelievable."
"What, does it sit wrong with you?"
"No, it's just — I'm wondering how a man with that much passion started developing such bizarre stubbornness."
"He's dying, that's why."
"......Excuse me?"
"Anyway. Let's settle on a silhouette first."
Greg smoothly took the reins again, spreading the files out across the desk.
"Base silhouette's going to be trunks, obviously. Easiest thing in the world to move in."
"......"
"No, wait. No. Trunks are a problem."
Michaels shook his head.
"Most of the active roster wears trunks, actually. Booker-Lee, JBL, Triple H, Orton, Batista, Flair — all of them in trunks."
"Orton wore long tights early in his career, though,"
Russell chimed in.
"Doesn't the shape of the gear ultimately not matter that much?"
"No. It matters."
Greg's eyes gleamed.
"Wrestle in trunks and the sweat doesn't pool."
"......"
"......"
"That's a seriously important consideration. And just as important — it prevents any, ahem, splitting incidents before they ever happen."
"Is... is that so."
It really was.
Down the road there'd be a wrestler named AG Styles who made long pants his signature ring gear. And then one night —
During a pay-per-view match, he spread his legs a little too hard and the seat split clean open. His backside was broadcast to the entire world.
Absolute catastrophe.
So Greg had a point. Denim in particular had a way of catching and binding no matter how flexible the fabric was supposed to be.
"Beyond that, you're looking at half tights or full-length tights. Guys with skinnier legs tend to go that route."
"Senpai, I wore full-length."
"So did I, aside from the different top. I figured my thigh muscles were a little on the thin side."
And the two of them drifted off into nostalgia again.
I mulled it over for a moment — and then, without much difficulty, made up my mind.
"I'll go with this one."
I held up the file I'd been leafing through and showed it to everyone in the room.
All of them knew the wrestler on that page intimately. Every set of eyes went wide.