The Founding Ceremony, Part 2
An urgent package arrived at the evidence management division of the Orlando Police Department.
The recipient was Master Sergeant Johnny McClain.
“Johnny! An urgent document just came in for you?”
“For me? Who sent it?”
It was a thin envelope, so it definitely wasn’t explosives or physical evidence. Maybe crime-scene photos?
He signed for it from the FedEx courier and took the package.
Then he saw the sender: WWO.
WWO?
Was that the same WWO he knew? Why?
He pulled on latex gloves, checked under a UV light for any suspicious powder, and only then carefully opened the envelope.
Inside were a short note, two Rebellion tickets, and two NEXT tickets—every single one a VIP reserved seat.
I really enjoyed the lecture last time.
Consider this the tuition fee.
And from now on, watch NEXT.
— Casey Levesque
He had watched both TPA and WWO shows. For a moment he had even wondered whether that Casey was the same Casey he had met back then.
He hadn’t looked closely at her face because he had been focused on the matches, and the difference between her with makeup and without had been huge, so recognition had been hard.
“Hahaha! So it really was that college kid. Hahaha.”
Johnny laughed, already wondering who he should take with him.
The moment Casey parked and stepped out, the guys swarmed as if they had been waiting.
“Casey, just let me meet Charina once, okay?”
“Hey, any open spots left at the company? Think you could get me a job?”
“Casey! Dinner tonight? I know a great place.”
She had always been popular with the guys, but the second she revealed she was WWO royalty it had gotten ten times worse.
“Out of the way, you idiots!”
The one who shielded her was her best friend Julia.
Julia spread both arms and firmly blocked the path in front of Casey, and thanks to her they finally made it into the lecture hall.
“Haa… thanks, Julia.”
“I told you. Why did you have to come out like that…”
Casey had never planned to reveal anything before graduation, and she hadn’t planned to walk straight into WWO either.
She had intended to work somewhere else for two or three years first and only then join WWO. Everything had changed.
“I didn’t have a choice. Rebellion launching right now was the perfect chance.”
“Yeah, I get that. But aren’t you going to be even busier now? Will you even have time to show up at school?”
Casey shook her head.
“That’s why I came today. I probably won’t be able to make the rest of the classes, so I need to tell the professors.”
She had steadily taken summer and winter sessions, so even if she got nothing but C’s this semester she would still graduate without a problem.
“Haa… I should’ve ground out the seasonal terms harder. I’d be graduating too.”
“Take your time and come later. I’ll keep your seat open.”
“Tch. At best they’ll make me a secretary.”
“Nope. I’m making you my driver.”
“Hey!”
Casey pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it to Julia.
“What’s this?”
“Tickets for today’s show—the founding ceremony. Bring the others.”
“Oh! I wanted to go anyway…”
Julia grinned.
“No matches. You’ll only get to see faces.”
“That’s even better! Thanks.”
Julia, who had been complaining nonstop about why Alf hadn’t been drafted, was already gone.
“Hey there, next-generation star.”
“Good morning, sir.”
The one who had called me was Sandy Orton.
Until now he had always been surrounded by other male wrestlers, so I had never really had a proper conversation with him.
“I heard you always clock in first. Looks like it’s true.”
“Habit just dug itself in that deep.”
He smiled at my answer.
Even a smile looked a little sinister on him.
Every time he wore that expression he usually followed it with an RKO.
Don’t tell me he’s going to “test” me with an RKO too…
Whether he read my mind or not, he kept the same sly smile.
“Everywhere I go, all I hear is praise for you.”
“I think people are just being nice because the style is still new to them.”
“Miyu Sky and Asuna said the same thing, and now you. You Eastern folks really do have humility baked into your bones. That doesn’t work well in this business. Makes it easy for people to look down on you.”
“It’s not really that. I just haven’t accomplished anything yet.”
“What are you talking about? You already wore a men’s IC belt as your first title…”
We sat across from each other while we talked.
“You already got the warning from Mac, so I don’t need to lecture you about that part, right?”
“Yes. I can’t avoid it completely, but I’ll keep it to the absolute minimum.”
“Never skip the stretching and the basics. Ever.”
He was supposedly best friends with Jack Cena, and sure enough he talked just as much.
Only after Troy and Camus—who always arrived early with him—showed up did his advice-slash-rambling finally end.
“Rina! You ever think about using my RKO or the Elevated DDT?”
“I’m already using a similar stunner. And I decided to learn the Zigzag from Adolf.”
“Haa… that damn Zigzag (Reverse Bulldog)!”
The Zigzag was the counter to the RKO.
When the attacker went for the RKO, the victim peeled the arm free, grabbed the neck, and sat down—that kind of move.
You could even do it while holding an arm, and almost any technique could be turned into a counter with it.
“These days too many people are using stunners or RKO-style finishes.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Super kicks, Pedigrees, RKOs—everybody’s got one. Tch.”
John Michaels and the man once called Triple J—Paul Levesque—had already retired, so that helped a little.
But Sandy was still active, and juniors were using his finish constantly.
Its value as a true finisher had dropped a lot.
“Yes. That’s why I’m rebuilding my set around moves almost nobody else uses.”
“That might be the smart play. Good luck with it.”
“Thank you.”
:
:
With WWO executives, the mayor of Orlando, a congressman, and a whole lineup of legendary wrestlers in attendance, the Rebellion founding ceremony began.
“Youngest first.”
At the assistant PD’s words, Selma jabbed me in the side.
“You heard that, right, Rina?”
“You’re a rookie too.”
“Nope. You’re first.”
Whether we bickered or not, the assistant PD taped up the order of events and the entrance sequence and left.
Just like Selma said, I was first through the curtain.
Second was a male wrestler from NEXT, then Selma.
Better to go first than be a clumsy second or third.
Walk the ramp, give a short greeting, step down from the ring, and sit in the chairs that had been spaced a little wider than usual—that was the entire job for the talent.
The second my theme hit, the crowd stirred.
“Go ahead.”
“Yes.”
Following the staffer’s cue, I stepped onto the stage.
Spot Call!
If the person behind me had been Selma I might have felt a little guilty, but it was a male wrestler, and by the time Selma’s music hit three full minutes would already have passed.
Male wrestler? My half-price ticket?
Today’s dress code for the talent was suits.
Not wrestling gear—clean two-piece formalwear for the entrances.
The roar and the flash barrage poured down.
Was this why singers said they could never quit music?
I was starting to understand.
Dopamine was flooding my system nonstop.
I was completely addicted to this kind of attention.
Sandy Orton came out last to a massive ovation, and the talent entrances were finished.
The person who took the microphone was Casey.
“Shall I guess the two things you’re all most curious about?”
—What!—
“Two things, right? First: where the first show starts!”
She paused just long enough to savor the crowd’s reaction.
“Second: how we crown the champions. Am I wrong?”
—Yes!—
“Let’s start with the schedule. December and January are the quiet months with no special PLEs.
So Rebellion is heading west.
Seven weeks, seven cities.”
“We open next week in Vancouver, then Seattle, Portland, Sacramento, San Francisco, and the final city is the hometown of our newest addition, Nadia Jackson.”
Someone with a big voice in the crowd shouted “San Diego!”
“That’s right! You there—one point for the fan.
We finish the tour in San Diego.”
The reaction was lukewarm at best.
Leaving Orlando already felt bad; the fact that Orlando itself wasn’t even on the list made it worse.
Casey had clearly prepared lines for exactly this mood.
“I know you’re disappointed. I completely understand.
But from now on, NEXT will protect this place.
Unlike the past, the roster moves a lot—anyone can go up, anyone can come down.
Even that smug-looking Troy McIntyre over there!”
Troy uncrossed his legs and shot to his feet in mock outrage.
He looked ready to storm the ring right then; a few wrestlers nearby grabbed him and a short scuffle broke out.
“Haa… already a mess at the founding ceremony.
That’s why I brought someone who can keep all of you in line for real.
It was incredibly hard to get him here.”
“Rina, you know who it is?”
“No idea. I honestly don’t know anything anymore.”
“You hide so much stuff I can’t even trust you.”
“Selma, I’m serious. I don’t know.”
“Hmm. There’s definitely one person who’s going to be happiest when this wrestler walks out.”
A hard guitar riff and pounding drums hit.
At the sound, a few of the long-time veterans—Sandy Orton, Camus, Nadia Jackson—stood up with looks of pure disbelief.
Judging by their faces, they really hadn’t known.
The second the vocal came in, I recognized it too.
I rose from my chair and stared at the stage.
Vianna, Troy, and the others finally figured it out as well; parts of the crowd started catching on.
“Introducing… after seven years… Chris Jacob!”
Only then did Jacob appear on the stage.
He wasn’t the same shape as before, still a little heavy, but nothing like the pig-bellied version from a few months ago.
He had clearly dropped some weight and put work into his body.
He walked the ramp in a sharp suit, wearing an awkward little smile.
He didn’t head straight into the ring. Instead he scanned the group of wrestlers.
When he saw Troy glaring at him, he drew a thumb across his own throat.
Troy bristled.
He looked at Camus and waggled a finger side to side like “not you.”
Finally he glanced at Sandy, pressed a hand to his forehead as if the sight gave him a headache, shook his head, and stepped into the ring.
“Still the same. This great Chris Jacob is still the same… and that Sandy is still here too…
And who the hell is that guy? Acting like he owns the place?”
Jacob pointed straight at Troy.
“That’s Troy McIntyre.”
“What? That muscle-headed idiot is him?
Wow. Never thought he’d still be wrestling.”
This time Troy shoved past the other wrestlers and stormed into the ring.
The second he tried to spear Jacob, Jacob sidestepped, hooked the ankle with a drop-toe-hold, and dumped him.
In a flash he was on Troy’s back, locking in a crossface.
“Aaaargh!”
Troy tapped immediately, but Jacob didn’t release.
Only after Casey stepped in did he finally break the hold.
Even free, Troy clutched his lower back in pain.
“Hmph. Still just a strong idiot. Casey! Book my return match against that guy.
He’s nowhere near good enough for the great Chris Jacob, but when someone charges you, you answer.”
“I can’t do that!”
“What?”
Jacob stepped right up into Casey’s space.
“Are you about to hit me? And I’m still nineteen, you know!”
Casey fired back hard; Jacob just shrugged.
“Ha! Can’t exactly beat up a teenager!”
“Instead, after the championship tournament I’ll give you one match with Troy.
Doesn’t matter who the champion is… how’s that?”
“Feels like a loss for the future champion, but fine.”
Jacob nodded. Troy, finally upright again, nodded too.
“Hmph. I’ll watch from the back.”
—Booo!—
The crowd booed; Jacob grinned.
“Ha! You dumb WWO fans!”
—Booo—
—Get out!—
—Fuck you!—
“If it weren’t for me, the Charina you all love wouldn’t even exist! You know she’s my biggest fan, right?”
Just like that, the boos cut off cold.
That old man was selling me.
We hadn’t even said hello yet!
I was the one who should be selling myself, and here he was…
Ha! Couldn’t someone have given me a heads-up?
Anyway, the new general manager Casey Levesque clearly loved pulling one over on people.