The Irony of the Script
And then, the next day.
I was in the office bright and early, reviewing footage of the previous night's match alongside GCW's top brass.
The knee that had connected with Sheena's face had been nothing more than a reaction on his part—he'd sold it by tumbling backward, exactly as the moment demanded.
But the man had misjudged his position. He hadn't noticed the ropes waiting behind him.
Sheena's body slammed into them.
The impact of a frame weighing over a hundred kilograms shook Russell's balance where he stood perched on the turnbuckle.
He slid sideways, his head cracking against the ropes, and lost consciousness in an instant. There was no way he could break his fall.
Everything after that was the scene I had already witnessed—Russell dropping to the floor without ever finding his angle, writhing in agony.
A fractured collarbone. And a concussion.
The collarbone meant a long layoff—a minimum of three months on the injured list. And a concussion was the kind of injury that could end a career outright.
I let out a long sigh.
It was an accident that should never have happened, and yet Russell's injury had handed us the missing piece of our script.
'How ironic.'
With that thought, I went back to monitoring the rest of the match.
[Oh no, Russell. He took a huge impact there—we can only hope he's okay.]
[The referee is calling the match. Medical staff are heading out to prepare to transport Russell.]
Russell was carried out, and what followed was the match I had changed on the fly.
Contrary to the original plan, I beat the two of them half to death. But even thrown into chaos with no warning, the announcers kept the broadcast running beautifully.
'True professionals, through and through.'
The two of them had been demoted from the main roster and shipped down here, sure—but they were veterans with careers longer than most men's lives.
[Oh my—Sin! He's applying the low blow!]
[The match ends by disqualification! Sin is disqualified, and the titles remain unchanged!]
[All the fury he's been made to swallow comes pouring out! Sin hits Sheena and Eddie with low blows and stomps them into the mat!]
Ruthless offense, followed by a chair shot.
The two announcers had one job: take the emotions we wanted to convey and put them into words the audience could feel instantly.
The only problem was that what the audience was watching was completely improvised.
And even so, it was flawless.
[There's the chair! Sin is laying into both of them with everything he's got!]
[I—I'm not sure that's going too far, even for him......?!]
[Ah! The referees trying to break it up can't even get close!]
[He's genuinely terrifying! He's like a chihuahua that's had its tail stepped on a hundred times! Haha!]
[If I were out there, I know I'd be shaking in my boots in front of that man!]
'Magnificent.'
Professionals among professionals, the pair of them. They'd read the situation on the fly and articulated, precisely, the emotion I wanted the audience to walk away with.
Thanks to them, every viewer of that show would be left wondering: why did Sin go so violently off the rails?
Which meant, without a doubt, they'd be tuning in next week to find out.
The show cut to a commercial break, and Baku pressed the pause button.
I turned to look at the executives, each wearing a different expression on their face. Intrigue, awkwardness, bewilderment—but beneath it all, unmistakable curiosity.
Everyone wanted to know: what on earth could have driven me to do such a thing?
Harley broke the silence.
"Alright, so."
"Yes."
"Can you explain to us what reason you had for pulling a stunt like that?"
He'd gotten a rough explanation yesterday, but apparently he wanted to walk through it with everyone present.
"It's the groundwork for a turn."
"Explain."
"Rumors about Wyatt's call-up are going to start leaking any day now."
No matter how hard you tried to bury them, rumors always spread. WWF headquarters was crawling with people who traded information to reporters for a price.
And the reporters would inflate those rumors into articles and turn a profit.
"This time, we're going to flip that on its head and turn it into our own script."
"Wyatt's call-up......?"
"Yes. Early in my career, I made Wyatt—right? And I lost to him. Then came the feud, but I only ever faced his underlings, the kind of men who were always a step below him."
At some point, 'Sin' had started to grow restless about it.
And then, out of nowhere, Wyatt was about to get called up. Leaving behind that bitter loss, still hanging over him like a stain.
"Then Russell got injured, and with his head already a mess, the frustration boiled over and he snapped. That's the story we tell."
"Hm-m-m......"
"My vision is Sin reigning as an invincible monster champion, waiting for Russell to come back."
"Russell......?"
"Yes. The last opponent I put over cleanly before I move up—the man who gets the final push from me—will be Russell."
"As a face."
"Yes. As an Icon, to be exact."
An Icon.
At the weight of that word, every pair of eyes in the room went wide. From the looks on their faces, they thought the idea was far too grandiose to be real.
But I believed it was entirely within reach.
"This isn't just a simple good-versus-evil story. It's the story that puts a final period at the end of the sentence that is Russell and me."
"Hm-m-m......"
Sin and Russell had grated against each other from their earliest debut days. Then they'd fought a common enemy side by side and became a team.
But ambition burned in Sin's chest. He had always wanted to prove that he was the best.
"So while I'm wrestling with all this, Russell gets injured—and I cast him aside."
"Why cast him aside?"
"Because to Sin, Russell represents the fragile part of himself he can't stand to look at."
"Let me be frank with you."
Harley's expression grew grave.
"Willie is involved. There's going to be public backlash. People will say we pulled a hypocritical stunt—that we used a sick kid."
"The ratings will go up, though."
"Sin......"
"Of course, that's not the only reason I'm proposing this script."
"Then what is it?"
"I want to use this script to bring our three-way story to its proper end. It's a page in all of our careers."
"You, Russell, and......"
"Willie."
I nodded.
Willie's existence had been woven into both of our careers. Which meant we couldn't simply gloss over him.
That would be contrived.
It would be a disservice to Willie himself.
"If that's your resolve, then I'll trust you."
Harley nodded and turned to the rest of the room, as if arriving at his conclusion.
"The real work is figuring out how to present all this with polish. The staging, in other words."
"If Sin explains it in a ring segment, we could land it with real impact, don't you think? If we go that route, how should the script proceed from there?"
"First thing next week, we show him committing the betrayal—plain and simple."
"But, uh, Russell's in the hospital right now, so."
"Then we need to get a surgery date locked in as soon as possible if he's going to make next week's segment."
One team leader after another started voicing their opinions, and the quiet office erupted into a buzz of activity in seconds.
I watched it all with a smile. It was proof that my script had landed—proof that people liked it.
A good script, by its nature, had to make people imagine. Had to make them hope.
The Wyatt Family, called up to the big leagues.
Sin, simmering with ambition.
Russell, laid low by injury.
Those threads wove together, and Sin's explosion igniting was the inevitable result.
Having heard the situation and outcome I laid out, everyone in the room began spinning their own visions of what came next.
A healthy sign.
'Looks like I won't need to brace myself for disciplinary action after all.'
Baku and Harley were both wearing pleased expressions too.
All that remained now was to check on Russell's condition.
'Just how shocking a way will Sin's heel turn play out?'
Having thrown out that hook, I hopped straight in my car and drove to the hospital.
A large general hospital in Atlanta.
A different one from where Willie was staying. Having made arrangements in advance, I was able to follow the nurses' guidance straight to Russell's room.
"E-excuse me, Mr. Sin. Sorry, but could I ask for an autograph?"
"Of course."
Unlike last time, it ended with me signing for a handful of nurses and nothing more.
"It's such a shame about Russell's injury. I'll be praying for a speedy recovery."
"I love watching your friendship, you two."
"Thank you."
......So this is what being popular feels like.
Of course, the moment I betrayed Russell, every last one of them would turn on me.
To the point where the line between script and reality would start to blur. Sensing that future, I gave a wry smile.
Stepping into the hospital room, I was greeted by a stale, stuffy smell—and the sight of the two of them.
Russell sitting up in bed, and Sheena planted right in front of him.
I sighed.
"......Open a window or something."
"Oh, you're here."
"Yeah, I'm here, buddy. Sheena, what are you doing here? Baku was looking for you earlier."
"I'm eating and sleeping here from now on."
"......Until when?"
"Until Russell's better."
"......"
He'd easily been able to get out of the way of that accident, and Sheena seemed to be carrying an enormous weight of guilt over his own mistake.
Watching a hulking mass of muscle—a pure-hearted young man at that—moping around looking this pathetic was starting to get uncomfortable.
Russell gave a dry laugh.
"It's fine, Sheena. The hospital bills are covered—my family's had insurance for ages."
"But you still need someone around to empty your piss jug, don't you?"
"Of all the analogies you could have picked......"
Pressing my knuckles briefly to my forehead, I set down the can I'd brought beside Russell's bed.
"Found it on the way over."
"......Beans?"
"They were out of the fruit ones."
My own brand of humor.
Apparently his spirits were holding up better than expected—Russell chuckled and looked me over.
"Sorry, man. Because of me, the whole script got tangled up for nothing."
"It was an unfortunate accident."
Beside him, Sheena muttered in a small voice, 'It's my fault.'
Later, when I leave, I'm going to have to rope that kid up and drag him out of here with me.
With that thought, I sat down in front of Russell and crossed my legs.
"Did you catch the show?"
"Yeah, watched all the way up to you getting badass with the chair."
Beside him, Sheena murmured in a small voice, 'That really hurt.'
"......So you caught the setup for the turn, huh?"
"Yeah, that was the idea."
"Figured as much."
"You could tell?"
"Enough of it. You're not the type to pull something like that half-cocked."
"So you trusted me."
"I did."
We looked at each other and laughed.
I trusted Russell too, in my own way.
And that trust proved well placed.
This man was, without question, extraordinarily gifted. He'd read the entire trajectory of what came next from a single night's actions.
In my past life, Russell had gone up to WWF's main roster and then quietly left the industry without accomplishing much of anything.
But the talent was real. His chemistry with me was excellent, and his relationships with the people around him were just as good.
If it hadn't been for Triple H's backstabbing politics, he would have succeeded Greg Hart and become a superstar.
No—he would have. Beyond any doubt.
Russell's character had developed in a genuinely positive direction alongside me. It suited the 'family-friendly era' perfectly.
Given the right script, he might well have stood at the head of a new generation alongside Sheena.
But before any of that could happen, there was work that absolutely had to be done first.
Building up his market value—so that he'd have leverage to stand against Triple H.
'Set that in place, and down the line it'll be Sheena, me, and Russell—the three of us carrying the era together.'
It was also my means of fighting back against men like Triple H: recruiting the future stars to my side before anyone else could sink their claws in.
Partly for strategy, yes.
But also because I genuinely believed Russell was a good friend—and for that reason alone, I was prepared to put him over when the time came.
"Russell, listen carefully."
"Sounds like I've got a role to play."
"Of course you do. You and I are GCW's greatest couple, after all. To bring this script to its conclusion, we need each other—absolutely, and no way around it."
"......"
"Ah, sorry. Even I just got chills."
"Don't......"
We sat there, mutually disgusted with ourselves, for a moment.
Anyway.
"After your surgery, you come back for one ring segment. Just one. Then get back to rehab as fast as you possibly can."
"So you're the one betraying me, then?"
Sheena mumbled something beside us—'......Friends shouldn't betray each other'—but I ignored him and pressed on.
"That's right. And while I wait for you to come back, I'll be reigning as the invincible GCW Champion."
"I'm going to get buried under a mountain of hate, aren't I."
"And that's exactly why—people will be waiting for you. Waiting for the day Russell Hart takes my head and takes the championship."
"Don't betray that expectation. Pack on more bulk, sharpen your acting. Show the world a Russell Hart who's evolved."
"......Understood."
"And one last thing."
I put a hand on Sheena's shoulder, where he sat hunched and pitiful.
He, too, like the rest of us, had a new goal sitting just ahead of him.
"That night—the three of us drink to each of our goals, one final toast."
"Alcohol?"
"No. Water, obviously."
Drinking alcohol meant losing muscle gains, after all.