The Legend Walks In
Two days later — the show.
The match between Russell and Sina ended with an intrusion by the Wyatt Family.
The fans who had come to cheer Russell showered the ring with boos, but the three members of the Wyatt Family couldn't have cared less, beating Russell down with reckless abandon.
Wearing my sunglasses, I watched things gradually ripen on the monitoring TV.
The moment of crisis.
The time for a hero to appear.
"Sin, get ready to go out."
"Yes, sir. Ready when you are."
After coordinating with the staff, I slapped my own cheeks a couple of times to snap myself awake.
My job out there was simple.
Save Russell, clear the ring, then make my exit separately when the ad break came.
And if the crowd cheered me along the way, I'd walk out without acknowledging it.
Good.
The instant I'd drilled it into my head, the climax of my entrance music thundered through the arena.
The crowd erupted in cheers at the sudden appearance. Shoving aside the curtain, I charged out and sprinted full tilt toward the ring.
Startled, the Wyatt Family stopped their beatdown and turned to look at me.
[SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN!]
The people chanted my name over and over.
In this moment, no one on earth could stop me. Amid the thunderous ovation, I cleared the ring with ease.
Sina and Eddie went down with a single punch each. I mounted Eddie and rained fists down on him without mercy.
But as I did, Wyatt crept up behind me and smashed the championship belt into the back of my head. The impact sent me rolling sideways to the mat.
[Booooooooooooooooo!]
Boos rained down from every corner of the arena.
Just as Wyatt hoisted the belt above his head with a grin, Russell — shaken back to his senses — rose and attacked him.
[Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaah!]
The crowd roared back to life.
Russell and I began working together, tearing through our enemies side by side.
The fans who had watched our earlier 'friendship promo' cheered as they saw the relationship between the two of us steadily improve.
The first show since my return from vacation.
I performed my role so flawlessly that the week off might as well have never happened.
No — if anything, the rest had left me feeling so light I was practically flying around the ring.
A dropkick thrown with more energy than usual sent Sina crashing to the mat.
And so, after a ferocious brawl, I drove the Wyatt Family out, climbed the ropes, and roared from the top turnbuckle.
[SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN!]
Another perfect show.
And so the show set its course once more toward the big goal three months away.
My comedy promos with Russell kept shattering viewership records week after week.
Our scripted relationship had thawed to a reasonable degree, and unlike before, we no longer threw punches the moment our eyes met.
A little influence from the fans who came to the shows, and a little more from the relationship improvement program we ran with Miss Shelby.
And so, over the following weeks, the audience watched the delicate progress of the precarious truce between Russell and me.
About a month later.
After wrapping a promo shoot for an upcoming broadcast, I was trading farewells with the staff on set.
"Great work today, everyone."
"Ah, Sin! You were great too."
It had been good comedy.
The gradual merging of two very different people was always a reliable storyline. And Miss Shelby was performing far better than even I had expected.
In fact, the male viewers had warmed to her even more since then. Naive yet refreshingly sharp-edged, Miss Shelby served as the perfect supporting player in our promos, helping us complete the program.
The actress playing that role was 'Rebecca Watson' — a trainee who had started with us and was still training alongside our class.
"Levy, great work out there."
"Ah, you looked great, Sin."
She'd said she came from theater, hadn't she?
Either way, this British beauty was a standout talent in the women's division — one the higher-ups already had their eye on.
Her acting was beyond reproach, and on top of that, she had the ambition to make it big in this industry on her own terms.
The problem is, she never got to fulfill that ambition.
Smiling wryly, I watched her back for a moment as she said her goodbyes to the staff.
An injury. A career-ending one, at that — the kind that steals a wrestler's life in the ring.
Rebecca had climbed to the WWF main roster at remarkable speed, but the truth was, her execution of moves was still awfully rough.
Mid-match, she botched a bump, broke her neck, and couldn't continue her career. She retired far too soon.
After retiring, she went back to England and became an actress, if I remember right.
That was as far as my knowledge went.
Later, when the chance came, I'd have to teach Rebecca the finer points myself.
It was a heartbreaking thing — a fellow dreamer, erased by nothing more than an injury.
I was mulling that over when a staffer beside me spoke up.
"Uh, Sin? Harley's asking for you."
"Harley is?"
"Yes. He wants you in his office. He called Russell in too."
"Russell, huh…"
That guy had vanished the moment the shoot wrapped — something must have been up.
"I'll go look for him, then."
"Alright, I'll head over now."
What could this be about?
Ordinary business always went through Baku. Puzzled, I made my way over.
When I arrived at the office—
"Harley, it's Sin."
I knocked lightly and stepped inside, only to discover that Russell had beaten me there.
So that's where he disappeared to.
He'd come straight here, had he?
Glancing around the room with a frown, I quickly noticed something: besides the office regulars, there was someone I'd never seen before.
"There he is. Kid."
No — wait. What on earth was I supposed to call this?
I'd seen him plenty of times.
On TV, granted.
"Say hello. This is Greg Hart, currently on the active WWF roster."
"……Uh……"
For a moment, no words would come.
Why is he here? That was the question that hit me first, and it collided head-on with the thought that I should introduce myself, causing my brain to short-circuit.
But I quickly recovered, flashed a bright smile, and extended a hand toward Greg.
"A pleasure, Mr. Hart. I'm Sin, a wrestler with GCW."
"I know who you are."
Greg Hart answered curtly. He looked exactly like my ring gear personified.
Round sunglasses, a leather jacket over a shirt and jeans.
"The biggest troublemaker in this company, aren't you."
"It's an honor to be remembered by a great wrestler."
"A guy like you? I can't afford to ignore you."
Greg pulled off his sunglasses, looked me dead in the eye, and grinned.
"After all, that 'gay costume' of yours spread all the way up to the main roster and gave me no end of grief for weeks."
"Th-that was… I'm sorry."
"If you were sorry, you wouldn't be a heel."
Greg clasped my hand in his.
"Take good care of our nephew."
"If anything, I'm the one learning from him."
"Puhahaha! Will you look at this guy — you sure you're a heel? You've got a real talent for it!"
Beaming, Greg turned to look at Russell, then Harley, then Baku, each in turn — clearly signaling his approval of me.
Truly a professional.
Even after a rookie like me had trash-talked his signature look as 'gay,' he brushed it off with total grace.
It was an open-mindedness you didn't often find in this industry, where seniority ruled with an iron fist.
Watching him with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and bewilderment, Harley finally spoke.
"So, Greg. You burn a whole vacation to fly out here — what's the occasion?"
"Not just any vacation — a whole month of it. As far as the script goes, I'm written off TV with an injury."
"The front office is going to have something to say about that."
"What can they do? I'm already in the twilight of my career. I've got nothing left to lose."
With a faint smile, Greg placed a hand on my shoulder.
"I saw something interesting. The moment I finished one big feud, I hauled myself over here as fast as I could."
"Sin?"
"That's right. Don't you think working with this kid might be fun?"
"Excuse me?"
"What?"
"……?"
Everyone wore the same dumbfounded expression.
But Greg, as if it were nothing at all, kept pouring out his idea.
"Russell's been drifting down a bad path lately, so his old-fogey of an uncle shows up to give him some advice. Trouble is, Sin takes issue with that."
"……And then?"
"Well, skipping the middle parts — if I end up acknowledging the two of you, doesn't that make for a much better story?"
"Have you told the front office?"
"Nope."
"And your standing there?"
"Don't care."
"The company will care."
"Don't you care."
"……"
"Look, it doesn't violate my contract or anything. I'm voluntarily burning my vacation to work more — they'll wave it right through if I give them proper notice."
"Hmm…"
"What's your take, Sin?"
"I think it's great."
"Whoa whoa, you little—!"
"For the box office, you need big names like this. That's just how shows work."
"See? He gets it."
"Still, you can't just bulldoze ahead like this. Where's the process?"
"Eh, is it really going to be a problem?"
I tilted my head.
"The injury angle works fine with a simple bandage on the forehead. And if all we need is to notify the front office and get their sign-off, I'd say it sounds pretty solid."
"……What do we do, Harley?"
"Don't look at me."
"Then let's defer to the wrestler's own opinion. Russell?"
"Wh-who, me?"
"Yes, you. What do you think?"
"……It does sound like it'd be fun."
Russell smiled, easy and warm.
Settled, then.
Well, what do you know — an unexpected cake had just rolled right into my lap.
Greg Hart.
1975 — trained in the legendary 'Hart Dungeon' of Calgary, Canada, and debuted in Japanese pro wrestling before making his way across the ocean.
From there he advanced smoothly into the greatest company on earth, the WWF — a pure technician.
A Main Eventer who carried the company on his back, rock solid, from the late eighties through the mid-nineties. That was Greg Hart.
The same era as John Michaels.
But when Michaels retired after a catastrophic back injury, Greg ascended to the very summit of his generation.
Though he never quite managed to make his own era a blockbuster one, he, too, was called one of the Icons.
Simply put, the company was in such turmoil inside and out during his run that his talent never got the spotlight it deserved.
He possessed ability that would never have taken second place to any other Icon.
Looking at it that way, ascending to Icon status seemed like a matter of luck as much as anything.
And yet, funny how things work out.
I watched Sina standing in the ring alongside Greg Hart, lost in thought.
Even watching him now, Sina didn't look particularly talented.
In fact, when Greg walked him through a few moves, he could barely keep up at all.
"You need to work on your flexibility."
"S-sorry, sir."
And yet this man would one day become a great Icon — one who towered above Greg Hart, the superstar standing here offering him advice right now.
You truly never can tell how people turn out.
I smiled wryly.
Which brought me back to the question: why exactly were these two standing face to face in the ring right now?
The reason was simple.
"Everyone following me? Distribute your strength at precisely the right moment and there's nothing wasted. Keep thinking about timing — always!"
""Yes, sir!""
This was a masterclass from Greg Hart — a technician who combined genius with a lifetime's worth of experience.
Unlike Baku's sessions, the trainees hung on Greg's every word, desperate not to miss a single instant.
It was a truly staggering opportunity.
In terms of pure wrestling ability, that old man has to rank among the greatest of all time.
Ring psychology, move execution, pacing of strength and weakness, even the skill of protecting your opponent from harm — in every respect, he was flawless.
"For example, let's think about the back body drop. Simple, easy, and a beautiful move that draws the eye."
Despite having just burned a precious month of vacation, Greg was devoting himself here to developing the next generation.
He sent Sina running off the ropes and executed the back body drop.
He bent at the waist, caught the head of Sina charging at him like a raging bull, threaded his arms through, and hoisted him skyward with all his strength.
Airborne, Sina spun his body a full rotation and landed in a textbook bump.
Thud!
"There, just like that. Now — where do you think I applied my strength?"
One by one, the trainees gave their answers. For some reason, with Greg standing before them, everyone had turned into newborn calves all over again, and I found the whole thing endlessly amusing.
Then, after listening to the various responses, Greg soon turned and looked at me.
"Sin, what do you think?"
Every eye in the room snapped to me at once, and I paused for a beat.
Most of the trainees had said it was when lifting the opponent's back. They were wrong.
"It's when you throw them out, isn't it?"
"Exactly that."
The truth was, if you went all-out every single second, you'd gas out in no time. That's why mastering the ebb and flow of intensity mattered so much.
In the case of the back body drop, you snapped the opponent's back up at the very last moment — making their landing easier, their bump cleaner.
Hearing my answer, Greg regarded me with unmistakable interest.
"Care to come up here for a moment?"
And with that, the offer came.
So it's come to this after all.
Straining to hide my flicker of nerves, I climbed into the ring.
This was Greg Hart, a living legend of in-ring performance — I was genuinely curious how he'd judge my ability.
Good thing I warmed up in advance.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped slowly into the center of the ring.