Casey
Selma had told them not to come, and Alf had said the same — both of them too nervous to want an audience. But their parents, Danny and Lupita Gonzalez, were sitting in the very back row of the stands, watching every second.
"Danny! Selma won!"
"That kid. She said she was gonna lose her debut, and she went and won."
"Our Al better win too…"
"Come on, honey, you know that's not up to the wrestlers. They do whatever the script says."
— Whap —
Lupita immediately smacked Danny across the back.
"Ow! That hurt."
"You think I don't know that? You always act like you're the only one who gets it…"
Maybe Selma's habit of hitting people came from her mother after all…
A short while later, an upbeat rock track kicked in, and Thunder Storms — familiar from TV — made their entrance.
Then a choral hymn began, the kind you might hear in a cathedral.
Alf and his partner walked out slowly, white hooded robes pulled over their heads, each cradling a bouquet of white lilies with solemn reverence.
Danny clapped both hands over his mouth, snorting with barely contained laughter. This time, even Lupita couldn't hold it in.
"Heh heh heh."
"Pfft—ha!"
When the Inquisitors reached the ring down the ramp, they handed out the lilies — only to women and children.
"Al. Pfft—ha. This is… this is too much."
"Hahaha! Selma told us about it, but… heh. There's no way not to laugh at this. Hahaha."
"I never dreamed our s… our son would do something like that. No wonder Selma teases him."
"Right? Al takes after me — real romantic."
"You? Romantic?"
Lupita shot Danny a look.
"Ahem. Let's just… watch the match."
The laughter faded, but both of their eyes still held that swelling pride — the overwhelming feeling of watching their children finally live out a dream.
How do I even describe Alf's match?
Maybe it was the flower-scattering entrance, but the shrieking cheers from the women never stopped. And the screaming got worse when Alf or James took a hit than when they landed a move.
After they won, they even did fan service around the ring — handshakes and the like with the women in the crowd. One of them, maybe going through menopause, was actually crying.
They weren't even some trot idol, and they'd made an ajumma fan in a matter of minutes. Hell, a trot idol couldn't pull that off.
Bottom line: the gimmick Jane had redesigned for them was a massive hit…
"Hehehehe."
"Hell yeah! This is it."
"Hahaha! Nothing but praise."
"My Stargram followers blew up too."
"For real? Let me see."
The three of them were sitting in a row next to me, snickering over their phones and the message boards. Alf and Selma, who'd been sniping at each other right up until the match last night, were practically joined at the hip today.
"Having fun?"
"Yeah. Completely."
"So this is what it feels like to be a star."
"I barely slept last night. Tonight's gonna be the same."
All three of them answered without taking their eyes off their phones.
"Sigh. I should go warm up."
"Hey! Jealous?"
"Jealous? Let's see if you're still saying that next week."
I stood up and started stretching.
"Oh, right — Lina, how about dinner Sunday night?"
"Dinner?"
"Yeah. At our place."
I'd met Selma's parents yesterday when they came to watch the siblings live. Danny was the spitting image of Al, and Lupita was pure Selma.
"Could we do it next week instead?"
"Got plans?"
"Not exactly. I just think it'd be better after my debut."
"Okay. I'll tell Mom."
"Yeah. Tell her I'm sorry — she went out of her way to invite me."
"It's fine. We hadn't even set a date yet."
Every time I stretch, I'm reminded how much of a difference it makes — doing it versus skipping it. Thinking about flexibility, my stats probably aren't actually maxed out. If they were, I'd be able to fold myself up like a gymnast, and I can't quite get there.
Which means strength could probably go higher too, if I trained for it properly. Not that I planned on pushing it further…
If I bulked up with visible muscle, at least people would understand. But if I just got stronger looking like this? Like Alf joked, NASA might come haul me off.
Gaining muscle was a problem too. If I suddenly packed on mass overnight, rumors would start flying about some new drug that doesn't show up on blood tests. Once that kind of filth stuck to my name, becoming an Icon would get a whole lot harder.
And then? I'd just be screwed.
So I'd stick to the invisible stuff — flexibility, stamina, things that didn't show.
"Lina. What are you training today?"
"I'm going to work on some spots with Dorothy."
"Dorothy uses a ton of moves. That'll be complicated."
Dorothy and Olivia had roughly the same years of experience, but Dorothy was an all-rounder — a shooter — so her move set was seriously diverse. She had six finishing moves alone. If her selling had been just a little better — or rather, if she hadn't walked out of WWO after clashing with management over the booking — she might well have survived there as a Main Eventer.
"Lots of moves isn't the problem — I just take them. The kicks are the issue. Some of those, you just have to eat with your body."
Selma used a lot of kicks herself. Her bread and butter was the dropkick, and her signature included things like the Enzuigiri — launching herself up to kick the back of an opponent's head. She knew exactly how dangerous that stuff was.
"Ugh. I'm gonna have to wrestle Dorothy someday too…"
"She doesn't botch much, from what I hear. Just trust her and go."
"Have you figured out how you're winning?"
"Not yet. We haven't even run through the basic moves."
After that, Selma kept grilling me — whether we were calling spots or doing a full rehearsal, how long we'd be at it, on and on.
"Nothing's decided. Just the opponent. Stop asking."
"Fiiine. Okay."
Orlando and its surrounding area had plenty of universities, but one stood out above the rest: Central Florida State University. With a student body of over seventy thousand, it was the second-largest school in the United States — enormous by any measure.
Its computer science and IT programs were well known, and thanks to Florida's tourism industry, the hospitality management department ranked among the best in the world. Less famous than either of those, but still impressive, was the sports business program — ranked inside the top ten nationally.
A huge student body meant a sprawling campus and excellent infrastructure. It also meant fierce competition.
Two young women were cutting across that vast campus, one of them thoroughly annoyed.
"Ugh. School during break? I'm going to be a senior in the fall."
The girl raked both hands through her thick blonde hair in frustration.
"Casey, what choice do we have? You need to knock out some credits in summer session so fall is easier. And you're the one who said you'd finish in one semester and graduate early."
"Yeah, yeah. I have to. That's the only way I'm getting out of this heat."
"Hey! People come here on purpose for vacation."
"Then you can stay, Julia."
Compared to Julia's ordinary brown hair, the girl named Casey had a striking, genuinely beautiful face that turned heads.
"I know, I know. Still pisses me off. Argh! Why is the sun so blinding today?"
"Didn't bring your sunglasses?"
Julia tapped her own pair.
"Left them in the car."
"We've got time. Want to go get them?"
"Nah. Too much effort."
"Unbelievable. How is a lazybones like you the top of the department?"
"Natural genius?"
"Tch. If you just couldn't talk…"
"You'd be the same in my position. Mic work like this is basic."
"Fair. You'd pick it up whether you wanted to or not."
Nobody else at school knew. But Julia — her best friend of ten years, the one who'd skipped grades alongside her since elementary school — knew exactly what Casey's parents did for a living.
Julia half-dragged Casey, who was still shaking a fist at the blazing sun, into the lecture hall.
Even with the air conditioning blasting, summer session classrooms were usually quiet. Today, something was buzzing.
Julia grabbed someone from the cluster of students.
"What's going on?"
"Julia. You're late."
"Yeah, one thing led to another. Why's everyone so worked up?"
"Hold on."
Annabelle pulled out her phone, scrolled for a moment, and held up a video.
"What is this?"
"Just watch."
Julia took the phone. Casey leaned in over her shoulder.
"It's a tag team that debuted last week. The Inquisitors."
On screen, two figures walked out in white robes embroidered with golden flames, hoods pulled all the way up. The robes alone were strange enough — but they were also carrying white lilies, like brides with bouquets. Then the ring came into view. The two men threw back their hoods and handed the lilies to the crowd, picking out only women and children.
"Pro wrestling?"
"Yep."
"Pretty small-time for WWO."
"It's TPA."
At the word TPA, Casey let out a tiny snort of contempt. Fortunately, Annabelle didn't catch it — but Julia jabbed a finger into Casey's side.
"There's a TPA show today. So after class, we're all going. Julia, Casey — you guys want to come?"
"All of you?"
Annabelle pointed at the group of girls, then the group of guys. Roughly seventeen or eighteen people. About two-thirds of the class.
"There's this awesome woman wrestler named Selma G. That's why the guys are coming too."
"Annabelle, let me talk to Casey and get back to you."
"Sure."
Annabelle took her phone back and walked off. The second she was gone, Casey exploded.
"Julia! Why?! Why did you poke me in the ribs?!"
"Read the room. Everyone's into it. What was that snort for?"
"Hmph. Nothing worth watching except the young ones. Even at a glance, the technique was sloppy and the acting was stiff!"
Julia felt a faint throb starting behind her temples.
"So are you going or not?"
"Me? No way! Why would I watch low-rent TPA?"
"Okay. Got it."
"Julia. What about you?"
Julia shrugged.
"Everyone's going, so I'm going. And honestly, they just looked cute to me."
"What? Tch. Well, I'm still not going."
Casey held that line all through class. The moment it ended, she fell in right behind Julia like she'd never said a word.
"Thought you weren't going?"
"I'm going home."
"Oh, right. Your place is near TPA, isn't it?"
"Not near TPA — near the WWO Performance Center!"
Casey's house was, in fact, near the WWO Performance Center. It was a thirty-minute drive. TPA was twenty.
"Pfft. Fine. We'll go with that."
"Keep up, then."
Everyone piled into their own cars and headed for TPA. Casey followed at the very back of the convoy.