WHY?
WHY?
It was the headline a sports magazine chose the moment basketball's emperor, Michael Jordan, announced his first retirement.
A single word that captured everything about a man walking away at the absolute peak of his powers. The questions poured in by the thousands, but Michael himself stayed silent, and the press filled the void with rumor after rumor. And so the emperor's retirement grew only more famous, until it became news every person on the planet knew.
My situation was a similar one.
Not that I was putting myself on the same plane as a global sports icon like Michael, of course. But the circumstances — thousands of people burning with the same question — were close enough.
The story of my attack on Russell had been on every tongue for a week straight. Because it was tangled up with the charity outreach we'd built our image on, it became an even bigger sensation than it might otherwise have been. Local papers and news programs actually reported the incident as fact. As if it were all real.
Why did Sin assault Russell? What was he so furious about? And by the way — didn't all of this expose GCW's public outreach as nothing but hypocrisy?
'The children weeping over Sin's betrayal. Did GCW use them all along, just for image?'
The attacks went that far. In plain terms, GCW had been handed a disaster we couldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.
A local station cut together a special on Russell and me, devoted a whole block of programming to tearing us apart. All that did, of course, was stoke people's curiosity even higher. We never once paid for advertising — but our critics were promoting us for free.
This was exactly what I'd counted on.
The image pro wrestling carried in the public eye was that of problem content — blood and sex smeared across every frame. But we had turned against that era and clawed back the classical message wrestling used to deliver.
The triumph of good. The importance of trust. The dignity of hard work and passion. We had tried to bring hope to people living through miserable realities.
And then my betrayal had smashed those values to pieces — or at least, that was how it looked. Falling prey to the hyena packs that live off tearing other people down was, if anything, only natural.
The media picked us apart, and the criticism rolled on while the line between reality and script stayed stubbornly blurred. The commentators relaying it sometimes couldn't tell the difference themselves.
It went something like this.
"Sin's betrayal was clearly a violation of his promise to Willie."
Sin's betrayal. That, beyond any question, was an act written into a script. But betraying Willie — that part lived in the real world.
The line had truly dissolved. A fictional problem had invaded reality. And because of that, the immersion only deepened. Through all that free advertising, we quietly prepared for our show.
Two thousand seats — completely sold out. With standing room, roughly twenty-two hundred people packed into the arena, and every last one of them was waiting for my answer.
Why did you attack Russell?
To answer that question, I'd dressed specially for the occasion. In a suit, no less.
Black. No tie, shirt hanging open, sunglasses on.
When my music hit, the crowd split into a thousand different reactions. Cheers and boos tangled together until my ears rang. I could feel the sheer, swollen mass of their emotion — every one of them singing along to my theme as if they'd been waiting for this exact moment all their lives.
"Go get 'em, kid."
"...Yes, sir."
Emotions locked down tight, I walked through the curtain with Baku's farewell at my back. The lights found me.
Boo and Yeah crashed together in the dark. Beyond it I could feel the presence of the crowd, and I stood in front of them all, silent, ignoring every reaction. My heart was pounding — but I held my character and kept walking.
A song woven from dubstep and hymn. For a moment, I thought of Skulrex, who'd made it for me. If he really did become the greatest in the business ten years from now, I wanted to be standing in this same spot to greet him when it happened.
So I climbed the ring steps, filling my head with thoughts like that. Speaking your piece in front of thousands of people — thousands who all denied you — takes courage. I chewed on that courage and made it mine.
Why I was out here. It was, of course, to tell everyone that what I'd done to Russell last week had been justified.
In the ring, microphone in hand, I took a moment to dust off my shoulders. Deliberately casual. Deliberately free of the raw-edged kid I'd been at my first show, the one I'd been alongside Russell.
The crowd waited in silence for me to open my mouth. A whistle here and there, but the arena was almost eerily quiet.
I'd been given ten minutes of ring segment. I spent the first five of them leaning against the ring post, doing nothing at all. In this business, that was taboo — the kind of dead air nobody ever dared leave. But the crowd couldn't look away from me, because it felt like something genuinely unfolding in front of them. I could picture the officials backstage, mouths hanging open, all of them thinking the same thing: is this even legal?
But I believed it would work. I knew this was the direction pro wrestling needed to go.
The boundary between reality and script. Standing right on that line, I slowly raised the microphone to my lips.
And I spoke — words meant for a completely different conversation than the one everyone had come for.
"I hear you all talking. Guess this settles it, then — my title shot is gone."
A low murmur rolled through the crowd. They'd come to hear me justify why I'd betrayed Russell, and instead I was talking about my shot at the GCW Championship.
"Because by rights, it should've been my turn. I was supposed to answer my GCW title match, stomp that lunatic Broken Wyatt flat, and wrap that golden belt around my waist."
The crowd stirred again, uneasy.
"But my little stunt — right up there with Judas himself, apparently — really got under everyone's skin. So I lost my title match. And your respect. Both in one go."
[Boooooooo…….]
A very small boo. The crowd simply couldn't process what I was saying. So I left them one last line.
"Then I'll show you. With actions."
I tossed the microphone and walked out. The people who'd wanted a clean, satisfying answer to my attack stood there dumbstruck, too stunned even to boo properly.
That was exactly what we were counting on.
Analyst A: I'm not even joking — this is the first time since Rockcold I've seen one man swing an entire show up and down like that.
Analyst B: Even after a segment that insane, the crowd stayed buried deep in the show. Every time Sin appeared afterward, the reaction was volcanic.
Analyst A: He tears through the locker room attacking every wrestler in his path, then comes out during the main event and lays the whole roster flat in the ring? They've built him up way too high.
Analyst B: And here's the thing — the crowd expects it, and they buy it. The entire show has been restructured around one question: when does Sin show up?
Analyst A: Anyway, Harley announced next week that he's firing Sin... damn it, now even that's something to look forward to.
Analyst B: Why fire him?
Analyst A: Because he's wrecked GCW's public image. Just look at what the media's screaming about right now.
Analyst B: Honestly, the most impressive part is that real news outlets are actually criticizing GCW. To think of elevating even that into the storyline.
Analyst A: So which is it — is Sin a heel or a face?
Analyst B: That... I genuinely don't know.
Analyst A: Why did he attack Russell, anyway?
Analyst B: No idea. Judging by all that Judas talk, he seems to freely admit he betrayed him.
Analyst A: Funny thing, though — even in that segment, he's a strangely religious character. The detail work is masterful.
Analyst B: His current role is ambiguous even now — hero or villain? A complex character you can't reduce to a single definition.
Analyst A: And that's exactly why the reactions run so hot. He feels like a real, living, breathing wrestler — not a mass-produced product stamped out by the company.
Analyst B: He's without question the standout performer in GCW right now. In-ring work is flawless, mic-work and acting are both elite — and on top of all that, he has charisma.
Analyst A: Like a young Rockcold, you mean? In a promotion like GCW, he's absolutely worthy of the comparison.
Analyst B: Come on. Whatever you say, Rockcold is the greatest in the history of this business. You don't throw that name around lightly.
Analyst A: The numbers say it for me.
Analyst B: Numbers?
Analyst A: GCW's weekly show pulled a 10.6% rating this week.
Analyst B: ...I'm sorry, what did you say?
It was a result nobody could believe.
This was a promotion that had once thrown a citywide celebration over breaking a three percent rating — and in a single year it had grown to this. And the man at the very center of it, Sin, might already have accomplished something greater than Rockcold himself.
Another week passed. GCW's weekly show opened today, as always, before a roaring full house.
As soon as the show began, Harley marched out flanked by a squad of security guards and laid out the situation for everyone.
"GCW has made its final decision regarding disciplinary action against Sin, for his unprovoked assaults on our roster."
[Boooooo……!]
The crowd showered him with boos. They were furious at GCW's heavy-handed attempt to slam a lid on the whole affair. Viewed this way, I could have taken the Rockcold position — the heroic face standing up to a tyrannical power.
But that was never the plan.
"We ask for your understanding. Countless of our wrestlers are living under real fear because of Sin's actions."
Harley gestured to the security men ringing the ring like an honor guard.
"Going forward, security will remain stationed around the ring until further notice, in anticipation of further attacks by Sin."
[Boooooooooooo!]
The boos swelled louder. Everyone poured out their contempt for the cowardly move. Harley tried to settle the crowd, and failed completely.
And I watched it all from hiding, in the very last row of the stands.
Every second of it, exactly as scripted.
I had come to the arena tonight to protest GCW's disciplinary ruling. I took the microphone in hand.
"Is that really the best you've got?"
My voice thundered through the arena, and the big screens flickered to my face. People turned, spotted me, and erupted.
I stepped into the stands and started down the stairs. The crowd reacted wildly around me; I ignored every bit of it.
"Every single day, men fight to win belts, to climb to the top of this business — and you're telling me they need security guards to protect them? Does anyone here actually hear how that sounds?"
"Go back to your seat and be quiet, Sin. Before this gets any worse for you."
"Whoa, whoa. Easy there, Harley. I'm a paying customer, aren't I? I bought a ticket with good, honest money and walked in the front door. ...And it's got to be here somewhere."
I started rummaging through my pockets.
"Here — check this out."
Gum, mouthwash, a watch chain, poker cards, a hip flask, chewing tobacco, a rubber duck, a toy slingshot, and so on. I pulled out every ridiculous item I had and handed them off one by one to the woman in the next seat, who shrieked with delight.
Connecting with the crowd — that was a face's move, through and through. Riding the warmth of the reaction, I finally held up my last item: the cheapest ticket GCW sold.
"There it is. Found it."
"Sin......"
"Beautiful ticket, isn't it? Perfect for pressing into a scrapbook. It sparkles, and look — perfectly rectangular. You couldn't get more rectangular if you tried."
I bragged over the ticket in the most over-the-top tone I could manage. A little PR, in the hopes of moving a few more units.
"But here's my question. If you run the show like this — how many of these customers do you think come back next week?"
By then I'd reached the ringside, and I draped my arm over the barricade.
"What do you think, Harley?"
"You're not worth answering."
"Then maybe quit standing up there spouting hot air into a microphone."
I vaulted the barricade.
The crowd roared. The security guards closing in on me went down one after another under my microphone in a matter of seconds, and I rolled into the ring.
"You want to stop what I'm doing? Book the GCW Championship match. Now."
"No."
"What, are you scared of me becoming champion? You hired a guy like me — you should have been ready for exactly this."
"An honorless piece of trash like you doesn't deserve it!"
I grabbed Harley by the chin.
"I have no honor, huh? Funny — the ones without honor are you people."
The crowd, holding its breath through every word of our exchange, gasped in shock.
"What, because I committed that 'horrible betrayal' against Russell? No. That was the right thing to do."
"You — you son of a——!"
"Why? Because if I hadn't, that golden belt would never have become mine. Nobody ever recognized what I really was — everyone judged me by the surface, the same way all of you do."
I said it with a smile.
My hands were shaking.
"So I beat the hell out of that bastard. I can't afford to get hung up on the small stuff — and if I'm going after that belt, I need to draw a hell of a lot more attention first."
This was my story. Before the regression, and after it.
Things had gone well for me. But they'd gone well precisely because I had brought genuine innovation to this industry. Which meant it came down to something simple:
If you don't get a second chance at life, an Asian man can never become a promotion's Icon.
"That's why what I did was justified. It's consistent, Harley. I'm prepared to do anything to get where I'm going."
Even if it meant selling out children with cancer. I'd steeled myself for that much long ago.
Reality and script had fused. I felt like a man standing in the ring naked, every truth of me exposed to ten thousand eyes.
What followed was the booing.
[Boooooooooooooooo!!!]
Exactly as planned.
All week long, I had labored to show that Sin was no ordinary villain. I'd performed a face's deeds, behaved like a man with some deep, unspoken wound. People had let themselves hope — maybe he hadn't really betrayed Russell after all.
But sadly, he had.
I betrayed Russell, and I used Willie, all for one reason: to climb. And so the fans who'd fallen head over heels into the story felt the knife turn and drowned me in boos.
[Boooooooooooooooooooo!]
A rain of jeers came down from every corner of the arena.
In the script, I had discarded Russell for success. In reality, I had brushed aside a promise to a dying child for it. The fans had come to genuinely hate me — a man willing to get his hands as dirty as it took to reach the top.
Standing in the middle of that hate, I felt just how colossal my character had become to these people. Any ordinary heel would have beaten Russell down, shown up the next week, and told the crowd the guy was a stupid piece of trash — the most digestible version of a betrayal there is.
But the fans knew me. And it was only because they knew me that this technique could work.
And it had detonated perfectly.
"What — did you expect me to cry about it? Too bad. I'm going to be GCW Champion."
And then, buried somewhere inside the torrent of boos, I caught a handful of small voices cheering for me.
People like me. The underdogs who never got their chance.
At the very least, they were on my side.