Quarterfinals, Part 2
A few days earlier, after arriving in Sacramento from Portland — Sunday morning.
"You've already warmed up?"
"Yes. I got it done first thing this morning."
"Good. Let's go."
I followed John to a private wrestling gym.
"Number Sixteen is Sara Bankis, right?"
"No."
"The boards are all saying it's Sara."
"Go see for yourself."
Two familiar Rebellion staffers stood guard at the door. I wasn't sure this warranted that level of security, but…
Inside, there was a single ring, and Number Sixteen was stretching in the middle of it.
"It's an honor to meet you, Bankis-senpai."
Number Sixteen turned her head, looking back and forth between me and John.
"I told them it wasn't me. And still the rumor spread all over the boards."
"Ugh."
At John's words, Number Sixteen let out a short sigh, stood up, and walked over.
"Nice to meet you, Charina."
"Yes. Nice to meet you too."
After we shook hands, she pulled off her mask.
It was Sara Bankis, just as expected.
"Well, now that it's out, there's no real need for me to stick around. Work out the chemistry yourselves. We'll do the final check in LA."
"Hold on, Michaels. Doesn't that mean I can just join up already?"
"Hmm…"
John thought it over, then spoke.
"Can't. Hotel reservations and all that. Just keep things as they are until LA."
"Tch. Fine."
"I'll be back in two hours."
With that, John turned as if to leave.
"Boss! How long is our match supposed to be?"
Still half-turned toward the door, John twisted only his head back.
"Twenty minutes!"
"What? Twenty minutes? Including the entrance?"
"No. Twenty minutes without the entrance. With the entrance, call it about twenty-five.
For reference, the LA show has wrestlers' families invited, plus a bunch of celebrities and company CEOs. So you'd better put together something damn good."
"You've got to be kidding…"
John walked out like he had nothing more to say.
"You heard him, rookie."
"Haaah. Yes."
"Shall we start by trading moves? Then we'll build the combinations."
"Understood."
San Francisco.
Between the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz Island, there was plenty to see — but sightseeing was out of the question. Every spare moment went into digging through classic matches for ideas.
"Jane-senpai. Why do I always have to write the scenarios myself?"
"Because the matches you put together are more fun than the ones I write!"
I was venting over a long-overdue meal with Jane.
"Ugh, my brain is going to seize up. Why does it have to be a twenty-minute match? It's not even a PLE!"
"Getting the experience now will help you when the PLEs come around. And Sara's good at building matches too. Take the chance to learn from her."
Sara Bankis had originally been a novice at that sort of thing, but from what I'd heard, having to write her own matches in EAW had forced her to grow a lot in that department.
I kept whining after that, but Jane was firm: if you wanted to become a main-eventer — never mind an Icon — learning to structure a match was non-negotiable. Charlotte and Vicky Lynch had been doing it for years, and even Lisa Raiple had started dabbling lately. The reason Miyu had never quite cracked true main-event status was supposedly because she couldn't do this, so I really had nothing left to say.
"Do well, cutie."
"Excuse me?"
I recoiled at the word cutie. I hadn't heard that even when I was seven.
"First time? Stacey calls you that, you know."
"Ugh. Gross. I'm going to pretend I never heard that."
Over the rest of the meal, I got her advice on how to handle the stretches in the match that tended to drag.
Time flew, and before I knew it, show day had arrived.
The San Francisco card opened with Aurora Love versus Mizuki Miho, then rolled through a men's singles match and a men's tag team bout. After that came the women's quarterfinal: Nadia Jackson versus Olivia.
It was a No DQ match, so midway through, Olivia dropped to the floor, grabbed a kendo stick, and climbed back in.
Crack.
Crack.
CRAAACK.
She hammered Nadia's back and lower back in a flurry, and on the third swing the stick snapped clean through the middle. Olivia flung the broken half aside and drove Nadia into the corner.
With Nadia slumped in the turnbuckle, Olivia hit a hip attack — then ground her hips into Nadia's face. The crowd ate it up; it was the kind of spot almost no one ever got to put on Nadia.
Olivia slammed Nadia, then went for a leg drop — but Nadia rolled clear and slid out of the ring. Olivia followed, trying to ram her into the steel post, only to eat the post herself.
Clang.
Nadia drove her into it two more times, then shoved her into the steel steps.
Crash.
Only then did Nadia roll Olivia back inside. She hoisted Olivia up and dumped her with a suplex.
BOOM.
The canvas howled under the weight of both women coming down.
"If they did that off the top rope, wouldn't the ring collapse?"
"Please. Nowhere close. Maybe if three people came down together on a triple threat, but otherwise?"
Nadia hit a Samoan Drop, followed up with a leg drop, and covered. That was the match.
Even with the win locked in, Nadia stayed sitting on the mat, sucking wind like she'd truly been through hell. A moment later Olivia got up, and their eyes met. I thought they might go at it again — but Nadia stuck out a fist in acknowledgment, Olivia bumped it, and climbed out of the ring.
Next up was Brooks Reed versus Obama Femi. Obama Femi overcame interference from Paul Hackman and took the win. Brook Breaker showed up late and hit a spear and a powerbomb on Obama as he was heading up the stage ramp.
In the women's division, Hailey versus Lilac Valkyrie went to Hailey by submission after a hard-fought contest. After the bell, Hailey went right back after Lilac for giving her so much trouble — a clear contrast to Nadia and Olivia, and a signal that their feud was just getting started.
"This is where the heels and faces start splitting off."
"Hailey's pretty tight with Number Sixteen too, right? They could end up in a stable together."
"Or it could go the other way."
The last match of the night was Sandy Orton versus Chris Jacob.
Sandy came out first. A little later, Jacob followed. You wouldn't have noticed it just watching him walk around in street clothes, but he'd dropped even more weight since last time.
"He looks better than before, at least…"
"The real question is whether he only lost fat — or muscle along with it."
Even without me saying anything, Selma and Vianna each tossed in a comment of their own.
"Don't you need to go out there?"
"They said I don't have to this time. And I actually packed proper clothes."
"Heh. That whole situation last time was just a special case."
I thought so too. WWO ran plenty of improvised spots, but lately it had gotten excessive. From what I'd heard from Hailey, Vianna, and others, Law and Smash Down had both pulled spontaneous scenarios a few times, and the veterans had started grumbling — You're not even giving us time to warm up properly?
The match got underway.
Early on, after a rope rebound, Sandy seized control with a lariat. He kicked and stomped Jacob several times, then hoisted him for a suplex. Jacob twisted free, and with their backs pressed together, hit a neckbreaker for the counter. He sent Sandy into the corner and hit two straight crossbodies, then climbed to the middle rope facing him and started hammering away.
One!
Two!
Three!
The crowd counted every blow. The referee made a show of breaking it up, and the assault paused. Sandy scooped him up like he was going for a powerbomb — it looked like it would land — but Jacob leaned back and slipped free with a headscissors whip.
"Whoa. He's gotten a lot faster."
"He was fine in the early going last time too."
Unlike before, Jacob worked in stomps, chain wrestling, and trips to the floor to manage the tempo. Before long, more than ten minutes had passed.
Jacob hit an enzuigiri, grabbed the staggering Sandy by the head, and drove him down with a bulldog. He looked at the ropes, hesitated theatrically, then ran. Instead of a Lionsault, he hit a plain splash. Cover — Sandy kicked out at two.
Jacob climbed to the top and connected with a diving elbow drop, then covered again.
One!
Two!
The referee stopped counting. Jacob wheeled on him in fury — Why aren't you counting? — and the ref pointed at Sandy's foot. One of Sandy's legs was hanging out over the apron.
Jacob's rage and sense of injustice came through even on camera.
"His acting's still sharp."
"He's always been good at the wronged-guy act. The dirty stuff too."
"Well, you were a Jacob fan. You'd know best."
Jacob dragged Sandy by the arm a few steps toward the center of the ring and covered again — this time Sandy kicked out on his own. Jacob ran the ropes once more. This time he went for it: a full spinning Lionsault.
Sandy rolled clear. He waited while Jacob lay clutching his midsection, then as Jacob staggered to his feet — RKO.
Cover. Jacob kicked out at two.
Sandy went to the far corner and waited for Jacob to get up again. The moment Jacob pushed up from his stomach, Sandy planted a punt kick — a full soccer kick — flush.
One!
Two!
Three!
Ding ding ding.
The winner… Sandy Or~ton!
"Whoa. He's gotten so much better."
"A few weeks and he's already pulling that off."
Vianna and Selma clapped, genuinely impressed. So was I.
Then a murmur rose from the hallway.
"Looks like they're going out to greet them. Let's go too."
At Vianna's suggestion, we headed toward Gorilla Position. Every male wrestler was already out there, along with a handful of the women. The corridor was lined up as orderly as an honor guard.
A moment later, Sandy and Jacob stepped into the hallway — and the wrestlers erupted in cheers and applause.
"Jacob! You're completely reborn!"
"Good game!"
"That was incredible!"
Sandy and Jacob answered the roar with smiles of their own.