Queendom
The members of Revolution came down to the ring to a colossal wall of jeers.
For a moment, even the shorter-tenured Orton and Batista looked genuinely rattled.
[Boooooooooooooooooo!]
Hunter clutched a microphone, but the booing made it nearly impossible to begin.
Standing before him, I watched Hunter with the faintest smile on my lips.
What could I do? That was simply the will of the crowd.
And there was Hunter, smiling just as I was — while I could feel his gut smoldering in real time.
He had to be furious. Not only was a rookie barely a year into his career outselling him with the crowd, he'd been saddled with playing the foil on top of it. For the reigning main eventer of Burning Kong, it was a humiliation in its purest form.
Still, he wore composure like a mask, stroking his beard and playing it cool, as if this were all going exactly to plan.
Then, when things seemed to quiet down, he raised the mic again.
[Booooooooooooooooo!]
The boos swelled right back up.
"Pfft."
Oops. Wasn't supposed to laugh at that.
Hunter shot me a look that could kill.
Still, feeling a certain guilt(?) about it, I lifted my own microphone first.
Unlike with Hunter, the people fell quiet and listened intently to me.
"What's going on here?"
"...Couldn't just stand by and watch two idiots occupying my ring."
The boos came pouring down all over again.
To help Hunter out, I raised the mic once more. He and I began to work together — backstage we were adversaries, but work was work.
Hunter didn't refuse the help, either. He did his job the only way he knew how, punching out his lines without missing a beat.
"Idiots? Us?"
"That's right — two idiots. Kung-Fury and... you over there — did you change your ring name to Kung-Booker?"
"Did I?"
"...No, that's not it."
Booker was playing along beautifully.
"Either way, this sacred ring should only ever be graced by the most perfect wrestlers Burning Kong has to offer."
Hunter hoisted the championship belt.
Revolution began to move, circling us like wolves, and the assault began within seconds.
The crowd booed.
[Boooooooooooooo!]
Booker and I could do nothing but take the ambush helplessly.
Orton stomped away at me where I lay on the mat. I covered my head and absorbed his offense.
His kicks were strangely rough, and the moment I shot him a piercing glare, Orton backed off.
This bastard. Was I going to have to say something to him later?
The instant that thought crossed my mind, Hunter mounted me and started swinging punches.
Amid a beating that seemed laced with personal spite, I waited for my moment.
Their reign was ending. Right here. Right now.
And then, through the greatest wall of boos imaginable, music exploded across the arena.
Over pounding drums and bass, a female rapper rapped about a queen.
And just like that, this place became Tiffany McMahon's Queendom — right down to the title of her theme song.
[Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah!!!]
The crowd popped like nothing else.
Georgia. GCW. The heel commissioner — the villainous authority figure who, until recently, had tormented Russell Hart within an inch of his life. But the moment circumstance breathed new variation into that character, Tiffany drew an absolutely thunderous ovation.
The viewers watching at home would understand it loud and clear, too — and the commentators would be sure to pour seasoning all over it. The connection between Tiffany and me. The very thing the audience was aching to see.
Shaken by her return to Burning Kong, the members of Revolution scrambled to their feet.
Tiffany had history with Hunter as well. A few years back, the two of them had worked a romance storyline together and drawn plenty of heat as heels — which meant a certain tension now hung naturally in the air.
In this moment, for whom had Tiffany returned to Burning Kong?
When the assault stopped, Booker and I backed away from Revolution right on schedule. Revolution on one side of the ring. Us on the other. And into that charged silence, Tiffany McMahon climbed onto the apron. The crowd roared their approval.
[GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW!]
Chants, cheers, applause. And scattered among them were men whistling at Tiffany as she milked her bombshell act for all it was worth.
Mic in hand, she paid neither us nor Revolution the slightest attention and simply began her piece.
"It's good to be back."
A captivating smile. She was a natural-born heel, but she possessed another gift as well — the knack for ensnaring people with a smile this radiant.
"Of course, it's not as if I've been resting all this time. I went off to university, and... yes, that's right. I was a College Girl."
[College Girl! College Girl! College Girl! College Girl!]
The crowd answered the innuendo-laden joke with a chant.
"And until just recently, I was busy 'educating' the talent over at GCW. I wanted to show a certain champion — one who got bold without a shred of fear — what the bitterness of power tastes like."
[GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW! GCW!]
This is absolutely massive.
The crowd had gone completely berserk.
"In the end, I failed. And that failure gave me plenty to think about. Until I came to a realization."
Tiffany McMahon let the suspense hang.
Where would her choice land? GCW? Her old flame?
Toying with the crowd's emotions, lifting them up and setting them down, playing her instincts to the hilt, Tiffany at last turned toward Revolution's Hunter.
"...It's been a while, Hunter."
And there was Hunter, beaming.
But the instant he moved to say something, she turned back to us.
"And it's good to see you, Sin."
[Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!]
The crowd roared for exactly the answer they'd been hoping for.
[Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!]
Closing in amid the ecstatic chant, Tiffany delivered the decisive blow.
"So then, first things first — let me tell you who's been playing games with your contract. It was you. Revolution."
"W-wait, we—"
"Spare me the innocent act. You tampered with that contract and bribed the executives to wave it through."
"..."
"But as long as I'm here, those games are over. I consulted with the lawyers long ago and had the illegal contract voided."
Tiffany turned to me.
"Are you going to just lie there?"
"...Like hell I am."
I tore off that idiotic headband and rose to my feet.
[Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!]
The crowd lost their minds.
Sensing the tide turning, Hunter and Flair faltered and bailed from the ring first.
I charged straight at Orton.
Unable — unwilling — to hold myself back, I unleashed a ruthless assault, and cheers came flooding into the ring.
Batista rushed in to cut me down, but Booker intercepted him.
As if wringing out every indignity I'd ever swallowed, I beat Orton to my heart's content — until the man was whimpering.
"Hey—hey...! Is this for real?!"
Of course, there was no real emotion in it. I'm a professional.
The reaction was explosive.
It was a fantastic segment, the likes of which Burning Kong hadn't seen in ages — an entire arena losing itself in the script and going absolutely wild.
Which is why, when I got backstage, Bart — for once in his life — sprang out of his seat. This was a man who almost never left his post while the show was on the air.
"That was magnificent!"
He shouted it, gripping the shoulders of a man soaked through with sweat.
"The crowd reaction was absolutely unreal! What kind of magic did you work?!"
"Everyone did their part. That's all it was."
"Hahaha! Ah, everyone was tremendous!"
"...No, they weren't. Boss."
Hunter answered, his face frozen stiff. Unusual for him — no doubt he stewed at being treated as a bit player in his own building.
But unable to let that feeling show in full, he withdrew deeper backstage with his teammates.
That left me, Booker, and Tiffany.
Catching the faintly expectant gleam in Tiffany's eyes, I threw her a small bone.
"Tiffany was excellent as well."
"Hmm? Ah, right. Yes, she certainly was. Tiffany. A splendid return."
"Thank you. It's lucky Burning Kong happened to be in Georgia."
"Hohohoho! Well, I never — that's the first time I've seen an Oriental get the red-carpet treatment around here!"
The air went a little stiff.
As Tiffany stole a glance at me, I answered with a smile.
"I shattered the stereotypes they'd been carrying around."
"Ohh? Is that so?"
"Yes — that's always been how I made my name. Hasn't even your hardened heart cracked a little, Boss?"
"Hahaha! Well, I can't say I'm not a little sorry to see Kung-Fury go."
"He can always come back now and then. It was a fun gimmick, after all."
The man didn't get jokes. The reaction had been to die for, so credit where it was due — but deep down, he simply didn't like it, I supposed.
Once our conversation with Bart wrapped up, we headed back to the locker room, where our waiting colleagues welcomed us with all the giddy energy of the crowd itself.
Simmons got there first, snickering as he clamped my head into a headlock.
"Kid! You little bastard, you!"
"Ah—ow. That hurts, Rock."
He was no Baku, but as the enforcer of backstage discipline, Simmons was also a legitimately dangerous man in a real fight.
"Booker, you were great."
"This kid did all of it. Damn it. Changes the segment order on the spot, then just improvises his way through the whole thing and somehow makes it all land."
Even Booker, who grumbled it out with a face full of weary exasperation, had my arm in a death grip.
And so for a while, I received a heaping dose of affection(?) from the veterans.
...Which was another difference from GCW. The men I'd grown close to here were as much as twenty years my senior, and they treated me like an absolute child.
Tiffany burst out laughing.
"Wow, look at him. Doesn't stand a chance."
"Missy, say what you want — this one's still not ready for yours truly, Simmons!"
"That's true. Rock, he's not dead yet. It's the first time I've ever seen that look on a man usually so unshakable."
"If you'd like, we can go another round?"
"Mm~ let's save it. You've still got a main event match to work tonight."
The headlock finally let go.
Someone patted the shoulder of the man who'd slumped right where he stood, strength spent. It was Simmons.
"Not a one of those boys out there could have done what you did. Honest to God, that hit the spot. Kid."
"Give Orton another one of your lessons — same as you did a few months back!"
"Yesss, sir..."
Coarse, the lot of them. But what could I do? Wrestlers of this era were all built that way.
Which is to say — this was the finest praise there was.
From there, the show carried on with the rest of the card, matches and rivalries rolling one after another. And woven between them, our pre-taped backstage segments aired, stoking the anticipation higher and higher.
Because in the main event, Booker and I were set to face Batista and Orton in a tag team match. This was the main story of the show.
Three hours — a finite window, yet one that feels plenty long to the audience. To hold them in front of their televisions for all of it, the main event had to be crafted with care. And the ratings coming in midway barely dipped at all — they climbed with every segment that aired.
The members of Revolution raged at Tiffany's defection even as they broadcast their resolve to win.
Then came the second segment: Tiffany's interview.
"Tiffany McMahon, welcome back. How have you been?"
"As I said, I threw myself into my studies and my business. GCW continues to grow, delivering one brilliant show after another."
"Growing a show seems to be something of a McMahon family tradition. Remarkable."
"Thank you, Terry. But the person who grew that show wasn't me. It was Sin."
"Sin — not Kung-Fury."
"Exactly. I came back to this Burning Kong to help him."
"So you'll be continuing to appear on Burning Kong going forward?"
"Of course. That boy has only just arrived in the majors, and he seems to need a little looking after."
"...Says who."
And then, out I came. The crowd's cheers thundered through the arena.
Jeans and a tank top. Returned to my original back-alley style, I swept a hand through my hair and let out a long breath.
"You look pretty good dressed like that, you know?"
"I've always looked like this. Hey, interviewer, pal — erase that kung-fu ninja you've been picturing in your head for the past six months."
"Y-yes, sir..."
"You seemed to have more fun with it than you let on?"
"Well, I am good at everything I do."
Having declared that to Tiffany with every ounce of confidence, I let out a light sigh.
"I got played, damn it. And hey — read things properly before you sign them, too."
"...You didn't read it properly?"
"I'd had quite a bit to drink back then."
"Haah. Drinking, of all things."
"Beer's basically protein. It's fine."
Riding a current of easy banter, the segment kept rolling on the rhythm of our back-and-forth.
It was landing better than I'd imagined. The brash rookie, and the reformed silver-spoon heiress who'd come to his aid — as a pairing, they were undeniably fresh and magnetic.
As the talk carried on, Booker joined in, and together we stood fully prepared to face Revolution.
The final words were simple.
"Everybody, watch closely. Up until tonight, the era of Revolution carried on."
I pressed my face right up against the camera lens.
"But that era's over. Why? Because I'm going to blow the world you know to pieces!"
My catchphrase.
Break The World.
At those words, the crowd unleashed a roar of colossal proportions.