After the Emergency
Having lost the match, I left the ring first with the medical staff supporting me.
"Charina! Great work out there."
"You were incredible today. Absolute best."
"You'll get them next time. Hang in there."
"Take care of yourself. Get well soon."
As I stepped onto the ramp to leave the arena, the crowd called out words of encouragement. I'd been worried the brutality of the match might draw criticism, but it looked like I hadn't needed to fret about that at all.
Once we were fully clear of the stage, I shrugged off their support.
"I'm fine now."
"Huh? Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. Fit as a fiddle."
"You're still bleeding from your back."
"It just stings a little. I'm fine."
"Absolutely not. You need disinfection, no exceptions."
The female medic fixed me with a hard stare.
"Then I'll get treatment after I've said my hellos."
"Alright."
With that, I headed into Gorilla Position.
The moment I stepped inside, a crowd of wrestlers and producers broke into applause.
"Rina! How's the body?"
"Whoa! That was insane."
"Seriously, great work."
"Rina. You killed it."
I'd half expected them, but Selma and Alf were nowhere to be seen.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
After greeting my colleagues, I made my way over to the general manager.
"Nancy said you were okay, but how's the back?"
"It stings, but I'm alright."
"Just get it disinfected for today, then go with Anne tomorrow and get a tetanus shot."
"I hear those hurt…."
I'd gotten one in the military. The memory of that sharp, electric pain came flooding back with vivid clarity.
"You're getting one, no arguments."
"Yeees."
"Anyway, you really put in the work. Twenty-three minutes. You almost hit the time exactly."
"Yes, sir."
I was exchanging a quick greeting with the producer when Anne came back as well. The others welcomed her with the same roaring cheers.
The general manager went out to meet her.
"Anne. How's the forehead?"
"The cut's small. The team doctor said it probably won't even need stitches."
"That so? Good. Once it heals, I'll get you plastic surgery so it doesn't scar."
"While you're at it, maybe this hooked nose too…."
"Hahaha. We'll talk about that when the time comes…."
"Tch. Cheapskate."
After finishing with the general manager and the producer, Anne came over to me. Then she pulled me into a tight hug.
"Best match of my entire life. I will never forget today."
"You worked hard, Anne."
"Yeah. You really went through hell too."
Clap.
"Alright, alright. Anne and Rina, go get yourselves treated already."
"Understood."
"Yes."
As I turned to leave, Ryan caught my eye—pointedly looking anywhere but at me.
"Hey, Ryan. Wanna run a hardcore match with me at the next PPV?"
"Uh. Uh. Wh-what kind of gender matchup is that? No thanks."
"Yeah? I was gonna wear a bikini for it, too."
"Pwahaha! You idiot."
Joshua from NEXT, standing nearby, burst out laughing. Leaving his laughter behind me, I headed for the treatment room.
"Good grief. Your back's a complete honeycomb. You really don't feel that?"
"Yes, senior. It stings a bit, but I'm fine."
"I want to smack you one across that back, but I can't even do that."
The wall that had once stood between Jane and me had all but vanished. The general manager's policy was to push me as a face—if not all the way to champion—so there was no longer any real need to keep her at a deliberate distance.
"By the way, how many blood pouches did you two take in?"
"I had five."
"I had three."
Anne, lying on the bed next to mine, chimed in.
"You brought a lot."
"My pants had a ton of pockets."
"Anyway, you both did incredible work. Absolute best. That was a match that will go down in TPA history."
"Thank you."
"Thanks. But what happened with Selma?"
"You can relax. It's a simple concussion. We'll need to keep an eye on her a bit longer, but there's no real problem for now. With a bad concussion, vomiting usually starts first—and she hasn't shown any of those symptoms."
"That's a relief."
"Whew. Thank god."
"Get your tetanus shots tomorrow, then go visit her."
At Jane's words, Anne nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Damn it. I thought I was done ever needing one of those again…. Ugh. Still gotta get it, though."
"Rina. You heard that? No whining—go get it with Anne."
"Yes."
After the disinfection was finished, I stopped by my locker room to grab my things—and a clear, bright ding rang out.
The moment it did, the pain hit me all at once.
"Uuuaaagh!"
Shit. I hadn't expected the rebound to slam into me this hard. It felt like someone was jabbing awls into my back, or like insects were chewing through the flesh.
"Fuck. Nev…er using this again."
As always, there was no free lunch without a price.
Even after I got home, I took the painkillers the medical staff had packed for me and slept face-down.
The next day, Anne and I went to visit Selma in the hospital.
"I should've seen that match with my own eyes…."
"Stop talking nonsense and just rest. Concussions are seriously dangerous."
"Anne, it was still a classic."
"Shut up. You planning to retire after three matches? If you're that disappointed, do it yourself next time."
"That's a bit…. Anyway, it's chaos out there. Did you see the Wrestling Newsletter article? Looks like it might get Match of the Week."
Wrestling Newsletter was the outlet that covered news on American promotions including WWO, plus the Japanese scene and more. Biased pieces showed up now and then, but among those media it was the undisputed number one.
"Saw it. I check it every day. The podcast side's going nuts too."
Anne answered before I could, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. She had every right to be. If TPA landed Match of the Week, it would be the first time in roughly two years—and that previous one had been a men's match. A women's match had never been selected. Compared to WWO, let alone EAW or the Japanese promotions, the in-ring quality simply hadn't been in the same conversation.
"So what are you two doing now?"
"For me, it's just a winner's promo next week. Then a week off."
"I'm listed for a week off too. When Anne does her promo, I'll probably come out to congratulate her."
"What? You're just going to stroll out and congratulate her? What kind of story is that?"
"I'm not exactly in a position to start gunning for the championship title yet."
"After a match like that, you've earned it. What more do you need?"
Selma was angrier about it than I was. Anne soothed her as she spoke.
"You have to build the story properly. If you make her a main eventer overnight, what happens to Olivia and Dorothy? And that psycho Natasha—you think she's just going to sit still?"
So far, none of us had been tied into anything with Natasha Bland. But her reputation was so notorious that Anne was a little uneasy about it.
"You two will probably work a lot of different wrestlers for a while. Climb the ladder that way, then you'll have to face Elizabeth for the IC title first. And maybe around the end of the year, the two of you end up fighting over an IC title shot…."
What Anne laid out was one of the textbook routes, and the odds were high we'd follow something like it. The only real variable was NEXT.
Selma was one thing, but Anne and I were probably going to get invited to NEXT's October PLE, Halloween Battle.
Selma, who had been whining about how restless and stifled she felt, was discharged after one more day. In exchange, she was banned from every form of training except stretching for a full week. She insisted she could at least hit the weights, only to get chewed out by the producer and Jane—told to spend that time practicing her mic work instead.
Anne and I were in the same boat. Sweat-inducing exercise was forbidden; the wounds could reopen and scar.
"Then would it be alright if I spent about a week at an acting academy?"
"An acting academy? That's a solid idea, but will just a week be enough?"
"Yes. I'm planning to camp out there all day."
"Alright. I'll pass that along to the general manager."
I told Clint, my handler, and started reporting to the acting academy. A week flew by in a blink.
Anne's wound only needed a small bandage on her forehead, but she wrapped it in a full bandage for show and cut a promo in the ring.
"See that? That's how terrifying a champion I am!"
"Anne! Anne!"
I was waiting for my entrance too, wearing a tank top with oversized bandages plastered across my shoulder and back.
"They say the winner between Dorothy and Olivia gets to face me…. Heh. That's just funny."
"Charina, you're on!"
"Yes!"
My theme song cut her off. I climbed straight onto the board and stepped out onto the stage.
"Wooo! Wooo!"
"Charina! Charina!"
I scanned the crowd with a blank expression for a moment, then made my way slowly toward the ring. I took the mic from the ring announcer, climbed the steel steps, and stepped inside at an unhurried pace.
"Ha! And why the hell are you here?"
"A loss is a loss. Congratulations."
"So?"
"If I'd been even a year older, I would've won. Just a little short on experience."
Laughter rippled through the seats at that.
"Looking for another fight? Want a rematch?"
"Look at the state of us right now. You think a normal match is even possible? Even if you beat me, only Olivia or Dorothy comes out ahead. I can't stand the thought of that."
"Ah, shit. So what? What are you proposing? Why'd you even come out?"
I took one more step toward Anne. She stepped forward too, refusing to give ground. Close enough that a thrown fist would land.
The arena went dead silent in an instant.
"Anne. Don't lose that championship for a full year. Let's run it back one year from now."
My voice was low, but it carried through the entire building.
"Whaaat?"
Anne's face twisted in shock as she actually took a step back.
"I've got dibs on you."
"Ooooh!! Ooooh!!"
"Charina! Anne! Charina! Anne!"
The crowd erupted. Cheers exploded; some stamped their feet, others threw their arms up in celebration.
Anne stared me down for a long moment, then let out a short laugh.
"This is completely ridiculous. You're booking a match a year out yourself? Fine. I accept."
"Good."
I held out my hand with the word. Anne snorted a laugh and clasped it.
We shook on it, and I left to the crowd's applause.
After that, I figured the storyline would play out exactly the way Anne had described—exactly the way Jane had told me. But the next day, Friday, when I stopped by the acting academy and then came into TPA to train, I could tell immediately that something had gone very wrong.
"Clint! What's the chaos this early?"
"Bruce. That stupid bastard ruined everything. That son of a bitch!"
He kept spitting out "Fuck" and "Shit!" one after another. In the past month I had never once heard Clint swear—not when a car cut him off, not even when someone slammed on the brakes in front of him.
But Bruce… wait. The CEO?
The only person in the company named Bruce was the president.
Clint was too worked up for a real conversation, so I went looking for the easiest target—Jane. She was in the hallway mixing English and Korean, swearing loud enough to carry down the corridor.
"Fuck! That bastard ruined everything. Shit!"
If even Jane was like this, then "Bruce" really was the president. And whatever mess he'd made, he'd made it thoroughly.