The Youngest Heiress of Malibu
Tiffany Maxen had first debuted in the world of professional wrestling as a teenager.
For the years that followed, she toured with the live event crew, appearing on shows in all sorts of capacities until she became something of an indispensable fixture.
It was, in truth, the peculiar nature of this industry.
Bart Maxen was the chairman of WWF in reality. On top of that, he played the role of the villainous chairman in the scripted storylines.
He got shattered by Rockcold, took beatings, and once even wet himself on live television.
And that was how he raised Icons. In a sense, he was the greatest jobber in WWF history.
He'd also recruit villains like Triple H into his own stable and groom them into stars.
People went wild for those scripts—stories lifted straight from reality, made even bigger.
Tiffany Maxen was no exception.
She first appeared as a naive heiress, and within a short time had betrayed her own father and transformed into a vicious, venomous villainess.
...She was incredible, wasn't she.
The ratings in those days were astronomical.
Just imagine it. A ruthless corporate tyrant getting his ass kicked by his own daughter, draped in vomit, humiliated in front of millions.
Could there be a more satisfying story than that?
WWF's royal family—the Maxen clan—knew it, and they kept showing up on television to entertain the masses.
And through it, they amassed a staggering fortune in the real world.
Bart made the list of the world's four hundred richest people in 2002, and kept soaring from there, eventually banking close to ten billion dollars.
Who wouldn't?
If I could make ten billion dollars, I'd do it too. Who cares about being humiliated on a TV show when you can sob all the way home in your Bentley?
A capitalist to the bone.
And the result of all that was this.
I tilted my head back and gave a bitter laugh as I gazed up at the mansion visible outside the car window. A sprawling estate spanning thousands of square meters—the Maxen mansion, located in Malibu, California.
It was my first time actually visiting.
It gave me a fresh sense of just how much money this man had made. Even Baku in the passenger seat wore a stunned expression.
"Say Bart goes crazy and decides to give me this mansion."
"...Yes?"
"I'd tear the whole thing down and build apartments on the lot. Enough housing for a hundred thousand people."
"That would be efficient, sure."
The current residents of this mansion numbered exactly four.
And every one of them spent most of their time somewhere else entirely.
It was an ironic arrangement.
We had come here today to meet Tiffany Maxen—with a laptop containing detailed schedules and every plan, all laid out.
Laptops from 2003 were heavy enough to kill a man.
When I pressed the doorbell, a servant answered from within, and we were admitted to the estate shortly after.
We drove on for quite a while longer before reaching a parking lot packed wall to wall with supercars. Ours was a junker by comparison.
There, a neatly dressed butler of advanced age came out to greet us.
Was this really America in 2003?
It felt like something out of the Victorian era.
"Welcome to you both."
Escorted inside, we found ourselves waiting for Tiffany in a drawing room with a distinctly modern feel.
"How would you like your beverages?"
"Coffee, please."
"Would vodka do?"
"We don't have any."
"Then beer."
"Since you are here to see the young lady, I shall have juice prepared."
Baku's opinion was dismissed out of hand.
He wore the face of a man who, confronted with this overwhelming display of household grandeur, would not survive without a drink in hand.
It was that kind of place.
Wealth—you could practically feel it radiating off the walls.
Bart Maxen was, without question, a man of enormous money. The most powerful figure in this entire industry.
And his daughter.
Tiffany Maxen appeared before us before long.
"Welcome, gentlemen."
Dressed in a sharp pantsuit, she shook our hands with a bright smile.
"Shin."
"Good to see you, Shin."
"Baku, ma'am."
"It's been a while, Baku. Still the same as ever, I see. Impressive muscles."
After the genteel greetings, she took her seat and soon gestured toward the championship belt I'd brought with me.
"You never let go of it, do you?"
"I'm the champion."
"A admirable pride."
I figured she'd react like this.
Tiffany, like her father, had a deep love for professional wrestling.
Naturally she'd be pleased by a display like that in her presence—it was promoting the show outside the ring, after all.
"Ah, first—here's the materials."
"Thank you, Baku."
Tiffany took the laptop, then set it aside without so much as glancing at the contents. Baku's face stiffened for a moment.
"...?"
"I'll read that later. To be honest, I wanted to talk a bit first."
Just as I expected.
I couldn't help but smile.
Tiffany Maxen's reason for summoning the two of us here was simple.
She believed GCW could become a useful card for her to play.
This was no age of absolute monarchy—and even back then, inheriting a throne required results.
She must have concluded that GCW could be grown into a brand of its own.
Our interests aligned.
We needed a powerful patron watching our backs, and Tiffany needed a means of proving her own abilities.
In my past life, she had returned to the business after finishing university, quietly stacking up solid results until the empire was handed to her.
And in an interview, she'd said this:
"University was hell. I always wanted to be working."
Which was exactly why I'd expected Tiffany to take an interest in us.
And I'd been right.
"Baku, how on earth did you do it?"
"Er—yes?"
"These results are staggering. You didn't even receive investment. How did you grow the show this much?"
"It was because of him."
Baku pointed at me.
Caught off guard by the sudden turn, his speech had turned oddly stiff.
"Shin?"
"Yes, this kid did everyth—"
"What exactly did he do, and how?"
"He, uh..."
"He?"
Poor guy. I can't watch this.
"Have you watched our show?"
"Excuse me? No, I haven't, but—"
"You should watch it yourself and form your own judgment. If you only listen to what we tell you, your judgment will be clouded."
"...That is certainly fair. Then let me try a different question. Shin."
Tiffany's expression turned serious.
"Why did you refuse the call-up?"
"GCW judged that the Wyatt Family should go up first, rather than me."
"Hunter didn't say anything like that."
"..."
"I heard you declined an offer to reserve you a place in the stable."
"You could see it that way."
"Why?"
"Because I still have unfinished business."
"Your feud with Russell Hart?"
"There are things I want to say, too."
"Such as...?"
"...Watch the show and you'll find out."
"Isn't that rather rude?"
Tiffany gave a bitter laugh.
She had a point.
She was asking out of pure curiosity, and all I kept repeating was 'watch the show.'
But the rude one here was her.
We'd come to discuss business, and she hadn't even familiarized herself with the basics.
I wanted an equal partnership. I had no intention of playing teacher, explaining every little thing step by step.
In other words, I was getting irritated.
I'd come here thinking we might have a constructive conversation—and she was asking questions like a TV interview host?
She really is still a college student.
"If you want yes-men, we can be yes-men. But I suspect that's not what you want, ma'am?"
"...Perhaps not?"
"If it is, then you'll never get what you actually want."
"What exactly do you think I want, that you're being this bold?"
"This company, isn't it?"
Tiffany fell silent for a moment at my words.
But soon, she smiled.
"You're quick to read a room."
"Otherwise there'd be no reason for you to stand behind us, would there?"
She didn't want to remain merely a princess—she wanted to ascend to the throne.
And for that, she needed gladiators willing to fight on the front lines for her sake.
"But frankly, calling us out here like this is a huge waste of your time."
"...?"
"You're a university student, and it's your break. Come out, see it in person, watch the show for yourself—then we'd have something to talk about, wouldn't we?"
Tiffany pressed her lips shut.
Undeterred, I pressed on.
For the record, Baku had been half checked out for a while now, unable to endure my outrageous statements.
Tiffany seemed to feel the same way, showing a faint flicker of displeasure.
"I didn't realize you were the type to draw a gun in the middle of a negotiation table."
"Were you planning to sit at a negotiation table without knowing what you were negotiating about?"
"Well, you're not wrong."
But she wasn't cornered—not even close.
"So what would you have me do?"
"Watch our reactions first."
"And what results will GCW be able to deliver, if you're the one making the request?"
"Yes. We'll prove it."
"Interesting. Then I suppose I'll have to help make sure nothing stands in your way."
"Sounds good to me."
She thinks fast.
"Heh. And here I thought you said you wouldn't be my yes-man."
Smiling, Tiffany extended her hand—the gesture of a woman who liked what she saw.
We shook hands once more.
On the flight home.
Baku, who had been in a daze ever since witnessing my conversation with Tiffany, finally came back to himself once the plane lifted off.
He stared at me with an expression of pure disbelief and spoke.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"
"Excuse me?"
"Who the hell talks to Tiffany Maxen like that?!"
"I just did."
"Bart is going to kill you."
"If Tiffany complains, sure."
"That man absolutely dotes on his daughter. Of course he will."
"...No, Baku. He won't."
He really doesn't understand Bart.
"That man doesn't cherish his daughter—he cherishes the name Maxen."
"Huh. Now that you put it that way..."
"If he truly loved his daughter, would he book her in a 'spoiled brat' storyline? Let her take wrestling moves on camera?"
"How the hell do you know all this?"
"Hm..."
"You've never even met Bart."
"Harley told me."
"Ah, right. Harley's been ready to adopt you outright lately."
"My parents are still alive."
"You'd just have two fathers."
"If you're going to make pointless jokes, at least keep them within socially acceptable bounds."
When I narrowed my eyes, Baku snickered and ordered a vodka.
"So. What actually happened back there?"
"What do you mean?"
"With 'the young lady.' I gave up listening halfway through."
"Nothing much. She spouted a bunch of useless nonsense, so I told her to watch our show first, then we'd talk."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why not just explain it to her instead of—"
"Because a future partner who acts that clueless is exhausting to work with."
At the very least, I wanted her to understand the things I said.
Or failing that, to simply back us unconditionally and stay out of the way.
But as far as I knew, Tiffany was not that kind of person.
She was a Maxen, after all.
She carried the blood of Bart—the revolutionary, the devil of the wrestling industry—and she would one day helm the company as its next chairman.
In other words, keeping each other at arm's length, cooperating where convenient, suited her just fine.
But I left all of that out and told Baku only Tiffany's intentions.
"The young lady... wants GCW to what?"
"Yes. She has her own reasons for needing it, so she'll probably go along with it."
Baku looked flabbergasted.
He seemed unable to believe that I'd made the same calculation he hadn't even begun to reach.
It was understandable.
As far as Baku knew, I was a talented indie wrestler. That was it—that was the whole of me.
But instead of pressing me with questions, he simply said this:
"Nobody preps like you do and still makes it to the main event. Nobody."
"Didn't I tell you? The main event scene is a jungle."
I was simply preparing with utter thoroughness to survive in that world of kill-or-be-killed.
My past life had taught me the lesson in my bones: half-hearted preparation would not keep you alive in the main event.
And to deliver the professional wrestling I truly wanted, I needed to operate that much more precisely.