The Year of God
A few days later.
I was in the middle of training when Baku came looking for me with a troubled look on his face.
"Sin! Sin!"
"...I'm not your personal butler, you know."
"It's a disaster!"
"What on earth could be so bad?"
"The GCW Year Awards winner list has a big problem with it."
"That's it?"
I tilted my head.
The GCW Year Awards — in other words, a year-end ceremony honoring the wrestlers who'd made the biggest impact over the past twelve months. The kind of awards show you saw all the time in the entertainment industry. And this year, I fully expected to walk away with a whole stack of trophies.
Because I had been that good.
If not me, then who?
...That was how I'd felt, anyway. But hearing Baku out left me a little dumbfounded.
"We ran the fan vote, and every single ballot went to YOU!!"
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"Look at this!"
Baku thrust a piece of paper at me.
1. Male Wrestler of the Year.
2. Female Wrestler of the Year.
3. Champion of the Year.
4. Tag Team of the Year.
5. Feud of the Year.
6. Match of the Year.
7. Rookie of the Year.
"I wasn't aware I was eligible for Female Wrestler of the Year."
"Scratch number two and seven — you're the winner of everything else!"
"I see."
"Damn it all. I wonder if it's even right for one man to hoover up every award like this..."
Baku fell silent for a moment, then let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Ah, well. It's you, so it'll be fine. Nobody out there can argue with it."
"Shame Russell isn't here to share in it."
"He's got next year coming. He'll be fine. Might even put up better numbers than you did, who knows."
"I hope he does."
I smiled. Baku chuckled and headed back to his office. Feeling the sweat cool on my body, I decided this was a good place to call it a day.
Maybe I'll take a breather.
But the moment I stepped into the locker room with that thought, I walked into a strange scene.
There stood Adam — one of the veteran wrestlers and a longtime friend of mine — surrounded by the older boys, all of them draped in nothing but towels as they bore down on him.
At least put some pants on, gentlemen.
"Hey, hey! You happy? You happy?!"
"No, sir!"
Adam was military-tense.
"You won Rookie of the Year and you're NOT happy?!"
"No, sir! I am not happy!"
"Not happy?! GCW hands a piece of garbage like you Rookie of the Year and you're telling me that doesn't make you glad?!"
"I-I'm glad! I'm glad!"
"..."
They were really enjoying this.
Apparently because he'd gotten on my bad side at the very beginning, Adam had been on the receiving end of hazing ever since. The poor bastard.
I stood there watching for a moment, and before long the veterans turned to look at me. Then their faces lit up.
"Oh, done with your workout?"
"Yes, sir. Just came to shower."
"Sorry, get through."
Callista stepped aside for me.
Small in stature, but the hottest temper of any wrestler on the roster. Word around the locker room was that his Mexican-style dressing-downs had once made Adam wet his pants.
Adam stared at me with the eyes of a dying Mongolian hamster.
Well, the poor guy. Maybe I'll help him out a little.
"Did you hear the news?"
"Hm? What news?"
"They say I'm taking home all five of the awards this time."
"Oh, that. Well, of course you are. Look at the year you had. ...Unlike this piece of trash right here."
Uh oh.
"You think YOU deserved anything?"
"No, sir!"
"Hey, punk. Back in my day, we didn't get our Rookie of the Year until we were retiring. You know that?"
"Uh, um...!"
"What, sounds like a lie to you?"
"N-no! No, sir, not at all!"
The situation had gotten worse.
I slipped past Adam's tearful gaze and ducked into the showers.
Hang in there, Adam.
The GCW Year Awards aired on television in place of GCW's weekly show.
By tradition, the wrestlers each brought a partner as their date. After a brief moment of deliberation, I invited Ebony.
Once I moved up to the main roster, I wouldn't be seeing her anymore. I wanted one last real conversation before that happened.
When she picked up the phone, Ebony sounded flustered, hesitating before she finally managed an answer.
[...Do I need to wear a dress?]
"Yes. I imagine rentals are available too."
[In that case, I'll shamelessly be your date again.]
And so I attended the GCW Year Awards with Ebony on my arm.
A hotel in Atlanta. With the broadcast running live, I worked through the red carpet interviews in an unfamiliar, stiff tuxedo.
Kayfabe didn't need to be maintained here. But everyone seemed to be playing it up to a comfortable degree anyway, so I kept up my usual air of easy confidence.
"Sin, do you feel confident about sweeping the Year Awards tonight?"
"Of course. If not me, then who? This was the Year of God."
That was the tone of it, anyway.
Once the interviews wrapped up and I went inside, I found a grand ballroom lined with round tables. And then the ceremony began.
Each nominee was introduced with a highlight package, then the presenter couple would step forward to announce the winner.
They really went all out.
Seated at a table with Ebony, I watched the ceremony unfold. And for the record, I had prepared for it just like any ordinary awards show demands.
Match of the Year.
"Delighted that my match with Russell won. It was all thanks to me, really."
Tag Team of the Year.
"Thrilled that my tag team with Russell took it home. All credit to me, of course."
...That was the general flavor.
And the crowd roared with applause at my insolence.
Five trophies, all mine.
A new record.
In my past life, I never won a single one.
It felt like I was collecting them all in one massive lump sum.
The trophy itself was a gilded ring bell. Heavier than I'd expected, so I planned to pack it in a dedicated case for the trip home.
The moment the ceremony ended, the afterparty began. The broadcast cameras shut off, and everyone started drinking and cutting loose.
Ebony and I were no exception.
"It feels strange, somehow."
"What does?"
"Watching people who were beating each other up in the ring party together like old friends."
"I suppose it would."
"Hehe. Well, fair point — you and Russell fought like you genuinely despised each other. It startled me."
"That's the only way it's convincing."
"It's remarkable, honestly. You take those moves for real, don't you? If it were me, I'd be too scared to ever wrestle."
Ebony laughed, apparently convinced.
"You trust the person you're in there with."
"Still, doesn't it hurt?"
"It does. You just endure it."
"...May I ask you one thing?"
"Ask away."
"Why do you do this work?"
"Because of moments like this one."
"Moments like this...?"
"The moment when a story I made up drives people absolutely insane."
Ebony took a sip of her sparkling wine at that. Then, quite suddenly, she made a confession.
"To tell the truth, when you first betrayed Russell, I cursed you out. Badly."
"What kind of..."
Ebony had sworn. And the words had been vicious.
"But then it occurred to me — 'This is all just a script, so why am I this angry?' Do you suppose it's because the script bled into reality?"
Ebony was choosing her words with care. Facing her, I opened my eyes fully and gave her my answer.
"Willie."
"...I'm sorry?"
"That's why I betrayed Russell."
"Why?"
"Because letting a story bend around one little boy's words — abandoning the story I had to tell — would have been the real hypocrisy."
He was sick. He was dying. So what.
When someone dies, people tend to treat their memory with more reverence than they ever showed the living. But they get the method wrong, more often than not. They deify the person outright, grow afraid to speak of them honestly.
And then, little by little, they forget.
Ebony had done exactly that.
And I hated it. Was it because in my past life, I had died without so much as being remembered — just erased, and forgotten?
That was why I considered this my duty to Willie. Rather than let myself be swayed by a kid I'd known for only the briefest moment, I would tell him an even better story.
"So we fought. Well, men fight and grow, don't they?"
"And yet you fought and swore at each other like you meant every word of it."
"Because I love Russell. The deeper the love, the deeper the hatred it can carry."
Ebony giggled at that. Something in her face had loosened — a look of quiet relief.
The ballroom was packed with people, and yet everyone around me felt like a stranger. Ebony took a deep breath, then looked straight at me.
"...Do you think Willie saw it?"
"Our story? Of course he did."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Even God is a fan of mine. Heaven must have a TV set by now."
I flashed a grin. And at that, Ebony burst into a great, pealing laugh.
Then she stepped in close, tugged my tie toward her, and pressed her lips to my cheek.
"Thank you, Champion. You really are a wonderful man."
"Don't mention it."
Throwing out the quip with a wink, I clinked my champagne glass against hers.
It was a truly magnificent final night.
And so I left GCW behind.
With nowhere to keep the ring bell I'd won as a trophy, I'd shipped it home for the time being. Not long after, the phone rang. It was my mother.
[Good grief, Junho! Why has it been so long since you called your mother!]
"H-hey, Mom."
[I don't know what you sent home, but it's wonderful! We're getting great use out of it!]
"...You're not using it to bash skulls when you kill people, are you?"
[No, no! It's a big record-looking thing — makes a perfect lid-stone!]
"A lid... what?"
[Your mother just finished making this year's kimchi!]
Whoa! Kimchi!
"So it's the most luxurious kimchi-pot weight in the world."
Though I'd appreciate it if you bragged about your son a little more, seeing as he's making something of himself out here...
[Oh, and I watched your match too!]
"You— you did?!"
[Mm-hm! The whole neighborhood gathered to watch! The kids loved you! Oh, you know Ms. Youngsook's daughter, Misook — my friend whose kid just started college? She bawled her eyes out watching you and that... Russie? You two going at it!]
"...Russell, Mom."
I fumbled the reply for a second, and then I felt the tears prickling at my eyes.
In my past life, I'd never once managed to show my parents their son wrestling a real match.
[Oh, and next door's Youngjin got suspended from school again for breaking Thomas's leg!]
"..."
[Why can't YOU break a leg like that? Don't tell me you're throwing matches on purpose. My son doesn't do match-fixing, does he?]
If I broke a leg, there'd be real trouble, Mom.
She still believed professional wrestling was one hundred percent real.
I wrapped up the call with a wry smile, and not long after, another call came in — this one from Tiffany McMahon.
We'd only exchanged a few words at the party, but she was already preparing to get seriously involved in my business.
[Are you busy right now?]
"On the road."
I was on the highway, heading out to link up with the Burning Kong advance team that had already arrived in Washington, D.C.
[My father has returned to the scene. I've put in a word for you, but I honestly can't predict how he'll react.]
"...Well, I can take a rough guess."
[Can you?]
"Either way, the important thing is showing the chairman what I can do in the ring."
[Confident as ever.]
"Hardly. I expect it'll be an uphill climb. To this day, the WWF has barely ever had an Asian wrestler on the roster at all, you know?"
[That's true. But you have something you've already proven, don't you? If you play your cards right, it should go well.]
"First I need to adapt to the show, I suppose. I'll do my best."
[Don't worry. I've talked firmly to the people over there. Oh — but that reminds me. Didn't you have a friend up on the main show?]
"You mean Sheena?"
[Ah, yes. Sheena. Have you heard anything from her lately?]
"She's gone quiet since her call-up. What's going on?"
[Word is her reputation over there is in absolutely miserable shape. They say she's one step away from being cut.]
".........Hold on a second."
I hung up and eased off the gas. Then I dialed a different number.
A moment later, someone picked up on the other end.
[Whoa, Sin?!]
"Hey, it's me. How've you been lately?"
[Great! I've been doing great!]
She can't act to save her life.
No — maybe she just can't lie.
Either way, something really had happened to Sheena. It seemed the rumor was true.