The Main Event Can Wait
"Thank you for the offer, but I still think I'm far from ready for the main event."
"......?"
Greg Hart's body went rigid.
Beside him, Harley and Baku, who had been fidgeting anxiously, high-fived.
What on earth happened this morning?
He'd summoned me to the office first thing in the morning and then bluntly dropped a question like that on me. But even without thinking too hard, my answer was obviously going to be no.
"Why not? Under my guidance, you'd grow fast. You'd be an upper-midcard champion in no time, at the very least......"
"My dream is to become the World Champion."
I offered a reasonable-sounding explanation. The truth was there were plenty of reasons, but if I laid them all out right here, I'd almost certainly be treated like some kind of freak — how does this kid know the industry and the WWF so well?
"That's why I want to grow even more, make my name known across America, and then go up — not by riding on the coattails of Greg Hart's goodwill."
"You think that's possible?"
"I have to make it possible. Together with my comrades here."
"......I was thinking too small."
Greg smiled bitterly.
"You really are a fine competitor. Work hard, and you'll make it big without question."
"Thank you, Greg. When I make it to the main event, please teach me a step further."
"Right, right. ......Wait, no, I'm not going anywhere yet — I'll teach you plenty when we're cutting promos too."
Greg grinned.
"If you can learn from me, that is."
So he intended to use the same approach as last time. I nodded and turned to look back at Harley.
"Well then, I'll go get some exercise in until the promo shoot."
"Yeah, get out of here."
Harley answered with forced gruffness. But clearly something had happened between him and Greg, and he was unmistakably struggling to hide how excited he was.
Part of it is probably relief that he didn't lose a good wrestler.
Anyway.
What a morning this had turned out to be.
Leaving the office, I walked toward the training facility, organizing my thoughts. It was true — in that instant I'd been overjoyed, and the offer had tempted me for a moment. But I soon came to my senses.
Making it to the main event.
That was not my goal.
My goal was, above all else, to build a proper career in this industry and succeed as a professional wrestler. To do that, I myself had to possess both marketability and a proven track record. I still had a great deal left to show in GCW. The main event had to come after that.
My marketability, my skill, my charisma.
If I entered only after all of it had been proven, then I would be the one with the power to choose.
Which side to align myself with.
In the WWF main event scene, wrestlers splintered into cliques and waged vicious political warfare. Since everything was decided before the show even started, it was in a sense inevitable. And of those cliques, throwing in with the Canadian contingent that included Greg Hart was, frankly, not a wise choice.
Sorry to say it, but — they'd never had much pull in backstage politics. Even if it helped me right now, Greg would be retiring in two or three years, and after that my position would grow murky.
So turning this down was the obvious call.
He'd burned precious vacation days just to come see me, and for that I was grateful. But one thing, at least, I would keep as a great asset in my heart: the fact that a legendary professional wrestler had acknowledged me.
The Greg Hart effect was enormous.
As if to prove he really was a WWF superstar, the backstage promo featuring Greg had posted the highest viewership of the entire show.
A full 3.2 percent.
We had crossed the cursed wall.
With that, GCW had shattered its all-time viewership record.
But even hearing the news, I couldn't quite bring myself to feel good about it.
We should have cleared it on our own.
It felt as though the wall had only grown taller. From that moment on, the target in my head became anything above 3.2 percent.
The real problem was the following week.
The moment the ad aired announcing that Greg Hart himself would appear in the ring, every single ticket sold out — in five minutes. Even the 'standing room' seats, which they'd only put on sale as a just-in-case measure, sold out for the first time in GCW history.
Most people who saw this respected Greg, and were thrilled at the prospect of a spectacular show. My thinking was different.
This is dangerous.
Our script was proceeding exactly as written. Greg wedging himself into it so far was fine. But if that enormous presence swallowed us whole, we had a problem.
Going by last week's broadcast, the segment featuring Greg will again draw the highest rating this week.
Knowing that, what we had to do was simple: turn the viewers who'd spun their dials over to catch Greg into our fans.
The problem was the live audience.
Most of the crowd coming in this week will be Greg's fans.
For them, it was a golden opportunity — tickets far cheaper than main event prices, and a chance to see Greg up close. But the reason Greg was appearing in the ring this week was not merely to help promote the show.
As scripted, I would pick a fight with him, he would respond, and Russell would step in to intervene. The segment was meant to show that something unpleasant — something like a friendship — had sprung up between Russell and me. I would draw the cheers, and Greg would respond with a veteran's ease.
But if the audience were Greg's fans, I'd be drowned in boos without question.
That's not the direction we want.
If it went that way, every first-time viewer would write me off as the villain and tune in accordingly. It was a situation that could throw everything we'd built into disarray.
Well, what now?
But there had to be a way. A way to steer the story back on course while minimizing the boos I'd have to swallow.
"Absolutely not."
When I pitched my idea, Harley let out a long, long sigh. Greg looked equally flabbergasted.
It was a stretch, I supposed — me wrestling Greg. Fair enough; a man of Greg's stature working a venue this small would be a colossal loss on his part.
But Greg seemed to like my idea, because he asked:
"Why make a proposal like that?"
"Isn't it obvious? If I'm out there with you, Greg, I'm getting booed."
"Hmm......"
"And that's bad news. This is our big chance to pull in brand-new viewers, and if my character gets branded a heel at the single most important moment, that's a definite loss."
"That much is true."
Harley nodded.
"But no match. That's an order from upstairs. They approved the segment and the promos only — they told us to take it easy on the wrestling."
"Yeah, I figured as much."
"Hold on, Harley. Even just some light striking back and forth wouldn't hurt, would it?"
"Greg......"
"No, seriously. Segments breaking down into scuffles happen all the time. And if I win, it won't do any real damage to anyone's image."
"And from my side, as long as I can hold onto my identity as a babyface, I'm happy."
"Look here, kid."
Harley's brow furrowed.
"What exactly are you planning? If Greg wrestles you, the crowd will rain down even bigger boos on you."
"Then what if we flip those boos into cheers at the end? I think that could work."
"How?"
"Russell joins in."
"Russell?"
"Yes. Two young punks throw themselves at a big guy and get swatted away. But the big guy acknowledges the both of them. That's a pretty good visual, don't you think?"
"That big guy is his uncle. You want him to beat up his uncle with no script?"
"Then we write the script."
At my words, Greg's face broke into a smile. I'd gained an ally. Feeling my position strengthen, I pressed on at the sighing Harley.
"The show opens, and Greg's promo airs right away. Since last week ended so bitterly, he advises Russell to stop keeping company with that godless delinquent."
"Russell says yes at first, but the way his uncle talks rubs him the wrong way — because Russell's already been tainted by the delinquent."
"That's our Russell for you. Kid goes off to college and comes back with his hair dyed like Dennis Rodman."
"So he worries his uncle sick over it. But that's all just growing pains — something everybody goes through. The crowd will relate."
"......I haven't said a single word, and I have no idea how this conversation keeps moving forward without me."
"That's only natural, Harley."
"Because it's a great story."
Greg and I, in perfect accord, looked at each other and grinned.
The show's direction was revised.
Russell agreed that it was the better way, the overall flow of the show was rewritten, and we shot the promo. Impressed by the brisk efficiency, Greg looked at me and said:
"Something's changed around here."
"Oh?"
"Yeah — Harley. That man was never the type to up and change plans on a whim like this."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Kid, what did you do?"
"......Is this my fault, now?"
"What else would it be? The GCW I saw last year was nothing like this. You must have done something."
"Well, show people a vision and they work hard. That's just how it goes."
"Ho. I'll remember that one. Even Russell's face has grown noticeably more mature. The world truly is a strange place."
Well, of course. It's the same thing.
Russell, too, had apparently decided that rather than chase after his uncle's shadow, he would surpass him in his own way. In the end, it all came down to vision. People move when the task before them is clear, and when they can expect what their efforts will bring. That was the lever I'd used to win people over all this time — a technique I'd learned working as a producer.
And now they all trust me without my having to say a word.
That which had become so natural to us was, it seemed, a source of genuine wonder in Greg's eyes.
At any rate.
Preparations for the show proceeded steadily, and we managed to wrap up everything without falling behind schedule.
Then came the day of the GCW weekly show.
Just before the show began, several of the wrestlers gathered in the locker room. I took my seat there alongside Russell. And just as the opening segment began playing on the monitoring TV, Greg Hart walked in — and the startled wrestlers shot to their feet.
"Ah, everyone, relax."
The atmosphere was like a visit from the president. Greg, sensing it too, said nothing more and sat down beside us.
The opening wound to its close with the GCW logo, the screen went black for an instant — and then swelled to reveal Greg.
The roar that erupted from the arena immediately afterward was nearly an all-time record.
......So this is Greg Hart.
He stood there with a grave expression, then turned to the side. The camera followed, revealing Russell in the middle of loosening up.
Sadly, the cheers that followed were barely a whisper compared to what came before.
"Russell. How's the body holding up?"
"Fine, Uncle Greg."
"Good. Last week, that idiot Sin caused one hell of a mess."
"He did — but come on, him ramming the Wyatt Family with the cart was hilarious."
"......You thought that was funny?"
"It was satisfying as hell."
That brief exchange sketched out last week's events for the audience.
"You'd best stop keeping company with that man."
"Sir?"
"He has no honor as a wrestler. No faith, either. Whatever you may do, never forget that you are a member of the Hart Family, Russell."
"Yes, yes sir."
"Which is why you should keep your distance from him. That's your uncle's advice."
"......"
Russell fell silent.
"Understood?"
"I understand."
Only when I pressed the question did he finally answer.
A simple segment. But the story came through.
Greg Hart exited the frame, and the camera panned sideways to find Russell standing there with a troubled face.
And what came rolling down from the stands was a faint chorus of boos.
"Hm."
"Hoo."
Greg and I both frowned.
Apparently the crowd that had come today carried a deep, deep devotion to Greg. The enemy's strength was greater than we'd imagined.
But a professional wrestler is supposed to turn even this kind of reaction into fuel.
......This might actually be fun.
Feeling my heart begin to pound, I waited for my cue to walk out.