The Showcase
TPA athletes' private practice facility.
"Jane."
Someone called out to Jane Kim as she watched the TPA wrestlers train.
She turned. It was Harry Thompson from the talent development team.
"Harry. What is it?"
"Why don't you ever carry your phone?"
"Ah. Sorry. I didn't even realize I left it behind. So what's so urgent you had to come find me?"
Their jobs overlapped in places, but this wasn't one of those times.
"We got a message from the Team 3D Academy. They sent a video and specifically said to watch it with you. What do you want to do? Want to see it together?"
"They said I had to watch it?"
"Yeah."
Jane Kim's role at TPA was on the scenario team, not coaching. She had only come down to the practice floor because her writing had hit a wall and she was hoping the athletes might spark some inspiration.
"Fine. Nothing pressing right now. Let's watch it."
The two of them headed straight up to Harry's office and opened the email.
The first thing that appeared was a men's tag team called the Burning Boys.
"Both of them look good in the masks. The female fans are going to eat that up."
"James Holmes is twenty-three. Alf G is twenty-two. Clean-cut hair, easy on the eyes. They look a little gentlemanly. If the talent's there, they'll sell just fine."
A short clip of the two of them working one-on-one drills followed.
"James is a little rough around the edges, but he's strong for his size. Alf G, on the other hand—is that lucha libre? He's seriously quick."
"Solid combination. I can see why Bibi Dudley says they're worth betting on."
"Jane. He specifically said to keep an eye on three of them. And of these two, it's Alf."
"That so?"
About five minutes in, the screen switched. A female wrestler appeared.
"Twenty-three. Selma G. She's Alf's sister. Blood relatives always make great story material."
"True. Sibling wrestlers are rare enough that it works even better. Though they don't look anything alike. The brother looks white, Selma looks more Latina."
After a brief self-introduction, Selma ran through a series of moves against Coach Amy Adams, someone they both knew well. Everything was clean. The dropkick, in particular, was a thing of beauty.
"Puhaha. Jaguar? Cat family, huh. Hahaha. I know someone who debuted with a cat gimmick too."
Smack.
"Ow! That hurt."
Jane immediately cracked Harry across the back. He clutched at a spot her hand hadn't even reached, as if it truly stung.
"Harry. Say that one more time and I'll half-kill you."
Jane was usually mild and quiet, but every so often she blew up like this. The cat gimmick was one of those triggers. She considered those few months of her debut gimmick the single greatest black mark of her entire career.
They kept watching.
The brother was fast, but Selma looked even quicker.
"She's seriously fast. I don't think we have anyone on the roster who could outrun her."
"Agreed. She's got the speed of prime Jeff Hardy or Rey Mysterio. What about power and stamina, though? Harry, did they send any personal records?"
"Nothing. Just date of birth, height, weight. Only note on the siblings is that they're siblings. Basically means if we're that curious, come see for ourselves."
"Figures. But Bibi said the woman was the best of the three. So the one left is better than Selma?"
"Has to be. Selma's cute and looks talented, but the main character always comes out last."
While they talked, Selma hit a gorgeous diving elbow and bounced right back up with a light kick-up.
"That's excellent."
"Unusual finisher for a woman. And the jump height is great—it'll look spectacular. Really flashy."
That's all for now. Thank you for watching.
The screen went dark. Selma's demonstration ended there.
A brief silence. Then a very young East Asian woman appeared—long black hair, pale skin. The only thought that crossed both their minds was: She's beautiful.
Then came a clear, lovely voice.
"TPA's coming to pick me up? So I have to prove myself?
That's hilarious.
Shouldn't TPA prove first that they're even capable of taking me?
Right? Jane Kim! You 'old lady.'"
The final words, spat out in Korean, made Jane shove her chair back and shoot to her feet.
"That little bitch—who the hell is she calling an 'old lady'?!"
"Old lady? Jane, what does that mean?"
"Forget it. You don't need to know."
They had been waiting for a demonstration video. Instead, that was the entire promo.
"Jane, did she just cut a promo on us?"
"Yeah. Completely ridiculous. Arrogant as hell for a gimmick."
"I don't know what 'old lady' means, but if it got under your skin that bad, the heat worked perfectly. That was an outstanding promo."
Jane had no choice but to admit it. Her composure had cracked on the spot.
"Harry. How old is she? And is she Korean?"
Harry flipped through the attached file.
"No. Second-generation immigrant. American nationality. Born March 2007. She's only twenty."
"Whew. Thank god. She looks so young I thought she was fifteen or sixteen."
"You're the same way—you can never tell an East Asian person's age just from their face. So, Jane, how does it feel getting worked by a promo? Old lady?"
Jane snorted.
"Hmph. I was just startled because Korean came out of nowhere. I wasn't worked."
"Sure, sure. Whatever you say."
"Anyway, the conclusion is clear. Looks and promo alone make her a monster. Even if her in-ring work is just average, we can plug her straight in as eye candy."
"Agreed. That's how I see it too. So, Jane—when do we go?"
Jane glanced at the wall clock.
Four in the afternoon. Awkward time to show up now. Tomorrow morning she had an important meeting, and the afternoon was already booked.
"Day after tomorrow. Nine a.m."
"Perfect. I'll call Bibi right now."
"Hahaha. Jane got completely worked."
I was drilling my finisher, the Shooting Star Press, when Bibi walked over beaming.
"They're coming from TPA at nine the day after tomorrow. I had no idea 'you guys' old lady?' would get under Jane's skin that bad."
Yeah. She's married. Not even an old maid. Who knew the word "old lady" would set her off like that. If I'd thrown in actual swearing, she probably would've grabbed me by the hair.
"You doing the demo with Selma?"
"Give me an hour to talk it over with the others."
"Alright. Got it."
An hour later I went back to Bibi.
"I'll do it with Alf."
"With Alf?"
"Yes. Selma looks a little light."
Selma was 171 cm and 60 kg. Muscle made her heavier than she looked, but she still read as slender rather than heavy. Taking moves was one thing; for selling offense, the visual wasn't ideal as a demo partner.
Signing with TPA didn't mean an automatic debut either. I wasn't going to fail, but I still had to clear the dark matches and house shows. And more than anything, the story mattered.
So I decided to open with Alf.
"Alf, huh… You two haven't worked together recently, have you?"
"We've watched each other train every day. Thirty minutes of timing should be enough. And Coach, the truth is…"
I laid out the scenario the others and I had cooked up.
"Hahaha. That sounds fun. Make it look good."
Bibi clutched his stomach and laughed hard.
"Alright. Do it."
"Haha. I'll give it everything."
"Damn, almost forgot. Gotta teach The Bon the showcase too. That guy's gonna love this."
The next morning I arrived at the academy earlier than usual—six a.m.
This was a showcase. No half-measures.
I stretched thoroughly, then put on the full K-beauty secret weapon: the "no-makeup makeup" look.
By the time I finished, the Gonzalez siblings and James had arrived.
"James. You memorized every line?"
"Of course."
"Selma. You're the most important. Your acting has to be perfect."
"I practiced a lot with Mom and Dad."
"Alf, keep your face under control."
"Yeah. I practiced with Mom too."
When they put it like that, I had to trust them.
At exactly nine, Jane Kim and Harry Thompson walked in with a woman who looked like a wrestler.
"That's TPA's Tyna Steeles."
A few of the trainees filled me in and the name clicked. She wasn't in gear—just leggings, no makeup—so I hadn't recognized her. A veteran, currently working mid-carder level.
Bibi, The Bon, and the rest of the coaching staff greeted the visitors. Then Bibi looked straight at me and barked,
"Rina. Let's go right now."
I didn't answer. I just stepped into the ring.
"Hold on. If we really want to gauge her level, we need to know the opponent's level too. Tyna, get ready."
"Yes."
Tyna started peeling off her hoodie, ready to climb in.
"Hey now, Harry. You should look at who the opponent actually is."
"Who is it?"
"Watch. You'll see."
The moment Bibi finished speaking, Alf shot into the ring.
Alf and I faced each other, ready to work. Donald, today's referee, took center.
The visitors and the trainees all froze.
They had assumed that if I was doing a showcase, it would be with my partner Selma. No one expected me to work a man—Alf.
"A guy? You're putting her against a guy?"
"Alf's about eighty kilos. That should give you a rough idea."
"I thought she was eye candy."
"She can do eye candy. She can also do real matches."
"Well, if she's a brawler, sure, she can work a man."
At Harry's words the trainees burst out laughing.
"What's so funny? She's not a brawler? Then what is she? A shooter? A showman who cares more about promos than matches?"
This time Bibi answered with a sneer.
"Our Rina? She's a powerhouse."
"You think I'm an idiot? What kind of bullshit is that?"
Most of the talking was Harry's. Tyna, who wasn't high enough on the totem pole to jump in, just kept her eyes locked on the ring.
"Everybody sit down first. We start when you're sitting."
Bibi waved them toward the metal chairs set up ringside. Harry and Jane sat and opened their notebooks.
"Bibi. You're recording this, right?"
"Of course. We're using today's match as teaching material too."
"Not something you see every day. Man-versus-woman singles footage…"
"Yeah…"
About thirty seconds later the bell rang.
Ding-ding-ding.
The two of us circled, locked up, and the match was on.
"I figured there'd be some kind of introduction."
"Too corny."
"Corny? Who was it that always demanded long entrances—"
Alf controlled me and sent me into the ropes. I rebounded, jumped, and drove both feet into his chest.
Thud.
Clang.
The impact sent Alf flying nearly three meters before he rolled.
"Running dropkick? She's skinny but she's got power."
"Alf's selling is excellent too."
Once the match started, even the silent Jane joined the conversation.
Alf lay flat. I sprinted, stepped on the bottom rope, and arched my body into a perfect lionessault.
"Lionessault?"
Alf raised his knees.
"Aaagh!"
My stomach crashed onto them. I screamed sharply, clutched my midsection, and rolled across the mat.
Alf grabbed my hair, hauled me up, and dumped me with a suplex.
Clang.
"Whoa! Alf's not holding back."
"Rina! Get up!"
"Rina, stay with it!"
The trainees, fully locked in, started cheering.
One hand on my lower back, one on my stomach, I sold the pain.
"She's not actually hurt, right?"
"Our Rina's acting is insane."
"'Our Rina'? This bastard's lost it."
Alf hoisted me for a powerbomb. I countered with a head-scissors whip and bought myself a breath. I came up, planted another dropkick, then met him off the ropes with a spinning heel kick. I yanked him up and locked his head between my legs.
"Pedigree? Safe finisher."
Harry assumed it was a Pedigree.
I took one deep breath—and lifted him.
"Powerbomb?"
"She's hoisting eighty kilos with that frame?"
Harry wasn't the only one who spoke. Tyna muttered something too.
Those childlike arms had no business lifting that weight, yet I raised Alf high. The second he felt himself go up, he hammered punches into my head and used his own weight to crush me down. Then he dropped a leg across my throat.
Thump.
I rolled free.
Every small punch and kick had been stripped out. The result was a match that ran faster and sharper than usual.
No one knew my signature or finisher yet, or even what style I worked. No one could predict the next move.
"Bibi. What the hell have you been teaching these kids?"
"This is a showcase? This is completely insane."
Bibi had heard the rough sequence and the major spots, but even he was stunned. The match quality was far beyond what he expected. Both of us were jumping higher and moving faster than we ever had in practice.
If there had been submissions or pins, we could have stolen a breath. This match had none. Only big moves, one after another.
If my own palms were sweating, Harry and Jane—seeing us for the first time—had to be worse.
I hit a Samoan Drop. Moments later Alf answered with a German suplex and an elbow drop, flipping the momentum.
Boom.
Alf climbed the top rope and launched a moonsault. I rolled clear just in time.
"Nice, Rina!"
"Finish him, Rina!"
"Alf, get up! Alf!"
"Wake up, you idiot!"
The trainees' cheers shook the gym. The big spot was here.
I climbed the top rope, body trembling as if I were spent, and started clapping my hands for the crowd.
Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!
I hadn't even asked them to, but the trainees clapped along. Swept up in it, Tyna Steeles, Jane, and Harry clapped too.
Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!
Alf staggered to his feet. I launched the diving corkscrew stunner I had named Dark Fall.
"Is… is that the Eclipse?"
"That's her finisher?"
Only Emma Moon used it currently, but the move was legendary. Anyone in the business recognized it instantly.
I thought that would end it—then I climbed the top rope again, body still wobbling. I flipped backward in a perfect arc and crashed dead-center onto Alf's chest.
"A Shooting Star Press on top of that?"
"How… how did you teach them this?"
"This is rookie-level work…?"
Referee Donald's hand hammered the mat.
One—
Two—