Champions of Georgia
Russell and I stood before a white backdrop, each of us hoisting our championship belt into the air. The photographer, who had been dictating our every move for the past several minutes, finally looked satisfied.
"Great! Taking the shot now!"
Click, click.
Flashes burst one after another, and I lifted my chin and grinned, brimming with confidence. We were having our official profile photos taken as tag team champions, and the shots were slated for the archives first — because recording history was an enormously important part of the business.
A belt passed down through dozens of reigns carried staggering symbolic weight. The oldest active title, the WWF World Championship, had been established back in the 1960s and lived on to this day. The GCW Tag Team Championship, too, boasted more than a decade of history.
Of course, the grand photo shoot wasn't for the record books alone. Connor, a newspaperman with a soft spot for pro wrestling, had promised to write a feature on Russell and me.
What a great connection to have made.
The local paper where he headed a desk was read by more than ninety percent of Georgia's citizens. In other words, a story in that paper meant serious publicity. So I was doing everything I could to put my character on full display.
I gripped the belt loose and lazy, as if it had been mine all along. Against Russell beside me, the contrast came naturally — and with it, the team's identity. This is how it's done.
Not that the moment meant nothing. It was the first belt I'd ever won in my life, and my heart was anything but calm. But this tag team title was, at most, one step along the way. I had no intention of being satisfied here — so treating the belt this lightly was no contradiction. Unlike the partner standing beside me.
We shot for a good long while, but Russell's pose hardly changed.
"That good, huh?"
"You're one to talk — you're loving it too."
"Well, it's decent, I guess."
At my light jab, his eyes sparkled and he broke into a grin.
"I'm just glad I get to be champion with a guy like you."
"……."
Whoa — my fist nearly flew on reflex. Goosebumps crawling over my whole body, I glared at Russell for a beat.
Men aren't supposed to say sappy things like that to each other. It makes you want to kill each other. ...Not that I didn't feel something similar toward Russell myself, in my own way. But between men there exists some complicated thing where the moment you speak that feeling aloud, you start to hate each other. Russell, though, was honest enough to say it out loud — so I figured I could meet him halfway. Just a little.
"I trust your skills too."
"Let's become champions who won't stain the names of those who held these belts before us."
"Nah. If anything, we should sully them. Don't you think?"
"……?"
"We tear down what's already there and raise our own palace on top of it."
"That's an interesting thing to say."
"It's better, Russell. Our generation sets the new standard."
"And who's going to prove that?"
"Money."
"……."
"No, really."
I flashed a grin. However you sliced it, the heart of this business was the show — a television program. So of course money was the only yardstick that mattered. And as for ideas on that front, I had more than I knew what to do with.
A few days later, mid-morning. The moment we stepped through the hospital doors, the people inside turned to look at us.
We were a conspicuous group. Me and Russell, plus Connor and a cameraman who'd come along for the article — and Russell and I had the tag team championship belts slung over our shoulders. So of course every eye in the room found us, everyone regardless of race stopping to take notice.
One young Black boy worked up his courage and cautiously approached.
"U-um, excuse me, are you……"
Russell and I, without either of us needing to go first, bent down to meet his eyes. The innocent gaze soon flooded with certainty. Smiling, I extended a hand to the boy.
"They call me Sin."
"Ah, I-I'm Timothy……"
"Nice to meet you. This here's Russell."
"Wow! Your match was really awesome!"
That was the trigger. People who'd recognized us began to gather, and the sheer number caught me off guard. What was it they said about feeling your popularity for real? Thanks to the combined effort we'd all poured into raising the ratings, we seemed to have the people of Georgia firmly in our grasp. Their reasons surely varied, but I could feel the affection from every one of them.
"Mister Sin!"
"Russell!"
"C-can I get an autograph?"
"You're so handsome!"
"Please marry each other!"
What was with that last one? Puzzled, I turned to find a girl in round glasses blushing as she looked at us.
Well, she's a fan, at least.
Smirking, I took the paper and pens people held out and signed away. Russell did the same. Connor, watching from behind, wore a look of utter bewilderment.
"That's some incredible popularity."
"People will surprise you. Honestly, I'm pretty shocked myself."
After all, in this life I'd spent most of my days inside the company's walls — I truly hadn't expected the crowd's reaction to reach this level.
And so Russell and I were swept up in a sea of people thick enough to make your head spin. Autographs, handshakes, even photos — we gave the best fan service we could manage.
And then I felt gazes on us.
"Ahem……"
I coughed awkwardly. It was the hospital nurses. They'd come out when the lobby suddenly grew loud, and they frowned at us with open displeasure. Fair enough — this was a hospital for treating patients, and a rowdy lobby was the last thing anyone wanted. The bigger problem was that we'd brought this on ourselves.
We were here to see Willie, a pediatric cancer patient, and his friends. The hospital had offered us a side entrance, but I'd waved it off, figuring who would possibly recognize us.
Then again — two hulking men walking in with championship belts over their shoulders? Of course everyone would recognize us.
But the reaction was far warmer than anything I'd vaguely imagined. This was a neighborhood home to a large Black community, and most of the people gathered around us were Black. Yet not a single one of them cared a whit about Russell's skin or mine. Somehow it felt like we were making good on our goal of climbing to the top, and my chest swelled with pride. That said, the nurses' murderous glares were still terrifying.
"Please sign mine too!"
"J-just one photo together……!"
The situation wasn't improving one bit. Finally, one nurse who couldn't stand the sight of it any longer strode over, heels clicking with purpose. She was a brown-skinned woman — large, bright eyes, sharply defined features, her long hair swept up and pinned back in a single ponytail.
Mixed heritage?
I was mid-thought — a rather rude one — when she barked:
"Everyone, please step aside!"
At her words, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. With a sigh, the nurse soon stood before us.
"My name is Ebony Sue."
"……I'm Sin."
"It's loud here, so let's move somewhere quieter and talk."
Just as we were floundering, we were rescued(?) by the nurse's magnificent entrance. We left the disappointed fans behind and boarded the elevator up to the pediatric oncology ward. Even then, Ebony's gaze stayed sharp. I smirked and offered my thanks first.
"Thank you for helping us back there."
"……You two are the wrestlers who were scheduled to visit today, correct?"
"Yes. These two are Mister Connor, who's helping with the shoot today, and——"
"I've already heard the details. No need to explain."
Ebony cut in coldly.
"First, let me go over the precautions. The children's immune systems are weak, so we'll have you disinfect before going in. I also heard you brought something for the kids?"
"Ah, well. Some snacks, and a few of our T-shirts."
"……That would be a lovely gift for the children. If it's safe, that is."
Ebony's eyes narrowed to slits.
She's completely on guard.
I could understand. To her, a group arriving with reporters in tow probably looked exactly like politicians on the campaign trail. But strictly speaking, she had it wrong. Unlike those opportunists, we were here because the children had asked us to come. That was proven the moment we stepped off the elevator.
"……?"
Ebony's eyes went wide. The pediatric oncology ward, sealed off from the outside world — and beyond the glass partition dividing the space, boys and girls were pressed right up against it in a row. Bright, eager little eyes, every one of them.
"They're all our fans."
"Yes, well……"
"And a wrestler answers his crowd."
With that, I stepped out of the elevator and deliberately spread my arms wide, playing it up big. The kids pounded on the glass with their hands, overjoyed as if they'd met a superhero straight out of a cartoon. Russell stepped out after me and raised a hand to them, and the children in the ward gave such an ecstatic welcome that even the nurses waiting for us were briefly dumbstruck.
Russell grinned, looking mighty pleased with himself.
"Not bad at all."
The children all looked perfectly ordinary. The only difference was the knitted yarn cap every single one of them wore.
Pediatric cancer, she said.
Chemotherapy's poison made the hair fall out. I'd seen it myself, back when my mother was ill. No matter how much I wished otherwise, my heart stung for a moment. Fighting disease at an age when they should have been running wild, wrapped in their parents' love — it was heartbreaking. Still, I was truly glad that, in some small way, we could bring these kids a little joy.
Under the nurses' guidance, our group disinfected ourselves thoroughly. Then we stepped inside. Roughly ten children had gathered in what looked like a playroom.
"Th-they really came……"
"Is it really Sin and Russell?"
"They're so taaall."
The little ones, none of them looking older than ten, whispered and giggled as they stared at us. They'd been beside themselves with excitement behind the glass, but face to face, shyness had taken over again. It was Russell who defused the moment before it could turn awkward.
"……Want to touch it?"
Stepping forward, he held out the championship belt. The hesitant children crept closer and laid their hands on it. The ice melted naturally.
"Is this real gold?"
"Are you and Sin not fighting anymore?"
"How do you get so big?"
Russell answered the children's innocent questions with a smile while the photographer began snapping away. Standing quietly behind it all, I glanced over at Ebony, who had followed us in.
"Which one is Willie?"
"The boy over there."
Ebony pointed to the little Black boy who was just then shaking hands with Russell. His cheeks were flushed pink with delight. I walked closer, and when Willie looked up at me, he flinched ever so slightly.
"M-Mister Sin!"
Was he scared of me? Couldn't blame him. To a kid, my character probably looked a little rough around the edges. So, to set Willie and his friends at ease, I sat down beside Russell and slung an arm casually around his shoulder.
"Want to hear how moved this big guy was when your letter came?"
"Wow! Really?!"
"Sure did. He even cried."
"……Hey, Sin."
Russell's face went red. But across from us, Willie's face was pure, uncontainable joy.
As it turned out, our duo was a particular hit with the little ones. A simple, easy-to-read friendship storyline had lit a fire in their hearts — and on top of that, we'd built an image of standing up to terrifying villains like the Wyatt Family.
"Those T-shirts are selling like hotcakes! You two are robbing those damn kids of their damn snot-nosed pocket money! It's genius! KHAHAHAHA!"
……Baku had a foul mouth. But that was business for you. GCW had answered the audience's reaction by releasing our new tag team T-shirts, and Russell and I — the beloved babyface tag team champions — were booked for smooth sailing for the foreseeable future. GCW knew our team was drawing popularity, and they'd guarantee us a long championship run.
And of course, with a past life's worth of experience behind me, I knew exactly what to do with a situation like this.
The night of GCW's weekly show. To celebrate our coronation as tag team champions, I walked out to the ring, took the microphone, and thrust my belt into the air, shouting:
"I'm the champion of Georgia! And that means I'm the best in the world!"
In short, I was fanning the flames of hometown pride. It was the simplest — and best — way to answer the crowd's support. The arena began chanting Georgia's name.
In that moment, the two of us were the champions representing Georgia.