Team 3D Academy, Part 3

That was the daily schedule I'd been handed — and it was the same routine for all five weekdays.

Anyone with prior experience, or anyone already in the intermediate class, got to run practice matches, drill tag-team work, and learn the art of the promo — the beginning and the end of professional wrestling itself.

A promo meant grabbing a mic for interviews, self-promotion, and needling your opponent. Without promos, wrestling was just a flashy stunt show. With them, every character got a spine and the whole story locked into place.

Of course, for a complete beginner like me, that was still a long way off.

Thud.

All three of us were working breakfalls. No — we'd been doing nothing but breakfalls for a full hour. Selma and Alfred had been gasping for air for a while now, and my own breathing was starting to catch up.

"Worn out after just one hour?"

"No, sir."

"We're fine."

"Your conditioning looks a little rough, but I like that you're not complaining. Five-minute break."

The second the word "break" left Donald's mouth, the siblings collapsed onto the ring mat, and I dropped down with them.

"Sit and listen. You can debut with sloppy striking. But if you can't sell — if you can't take a move — you will never debut. You know why."

"Because of serious injury."

"Alfred. That's true, but go further. What happens if you can't sell? If a breakfall fails? Your face gets caved in. Your spine snaps. I don't need to spell out what comes after that, do I? So you practice breakfalls every single day for the rest of your career. No exceptions. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

Then came lunch. The menu barely changed — just bacon ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠added for the salt. Everyone needed to build muscle, so there was no way around it. I, of course, had zero need for any of that. Tch. God, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I was craving carbs. Dinner was going to be all carbs, no debate.

After lunch we filed into the AV room to watch match footage.

"I've seen this one."

Someone's voice. The match was a men's title bout from a few months back at TPA.

"Wait — why is the champion from WWO NEXT?"

The surprise knocked the thought straight out of my mouth.

"You didn't know? Some of TPA's PLEs — premium live events — and PPVs are co-promoted with NEXT."

Selma, sitting next to me, filled me in.

"So the championships are shared?"

"Yeah. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes a NEXT title ends up over at TPA. And the reverse, obviously."

"So they go wrestle on WWO ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shows?"

"Of course. Doesn't matter which promotion holds the belt — they bounce between both. But the title always finds its way home pretty fast. Two months, tops."

In my previous life I'd only ever watched WWO's Law and Smash Down. NEXT matches barely got any airtime, so I'd had no idea NEXT and TPA were this tightly linked.

"If you look good in a co-promoted match and the crowd likes you, WWO will scout you. TPA gets more eyes on their product, so they go for it."

Charina. This character had luck with people. Selma was already drowning in material as a luchadora-style trainee, and she still had this kind of deep knowledge on top of it. I owed her a good dinner later.

The match itself was nothing special. Or rather — it was almost useless for a female trainee. Both guys were powerhouses north of 264 pounds. They had a few big spots, but fundamentally they never left brawler territory. Great for the male trainees. For the women, powerhouses were rare to begin with, and looking around the room, only one female trainee even had the size for it.

Donald paused the tape throughout, pointing out where a wrestler executed a move cleanly, where the sell was sharp, and where the timing fell apart and someone botched. The women looked bored. The men were locked in. A few even raised their hands with questions.

"You're not curious? Pfft. You said you wanted to be a powerhouse — pay attention."

"You think they'd let me be a powerhouse just because I want to?"

"Pfft. Fair point."

With this body, no gimmick on earth would make a powerhouse run look believable. The afternoon block was labeled "Power Moves," but Donald only had us working rope rebounds, hammer blows, and chops. Nothing special. The vibe suggested we were stuck on fundamentals for the next few days at least.

After we wrapped the first day's training, Donald mentioned Amy had filled him in and asked when I planned to hit a gun shop.

"I'm free whenever."

"Better to handle this kind of thing fast. Want to go now?"

"You know a place?"

"Of course. High school buddy of mine runs one."

With Donald's help I bought a shotgun to keep at the house and a compact pistol for the car — an S&W M&P Shield, the kind that was easy for women to handle. Three hundred for the shotgun. Three-fifty for the pistol. Was that… too cheap? No wonder gun accidents were so common.

On the afternoon of our third day of training, Bibi Dudley — who we hadn't seen at all — finally showed up.

"All three of you are looking clean."

He also confirmed our doping tests had come back clear.

"Weird as hell, looking at that soft body with barely any muscle on it. Well — we did a full blood draw, so if it passed, it passed. Donald! Starting Monday, put all three of them into technical work."

"Yes!"

"Yeah!"

"Hell yes!"

Spending entire sessions slamming breakfalls into the mat had not been fun, so the three of us cheered on the spot. Donald said he needed a word with Bibi and left, giving us a short break.

"What are you two doing tomorrow?"

No training on Saturday or Sunday. You could come in for open gym on Saturday if you wanted, but the academy shut its doors completely on Sunday.

"Probably come in and hit the weights. Why?"

"If you're free, want to grab dinner? My treat."

"Really? I'm in."

"Yeah. Pork okay?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"We don't have any food restrictions."

"Then I'll handle the reservation."

Korean restaurant. Samgyeopsal. Perfect.

Saturday afternoon we met back at the academy. The siblings went to lift. I stayed on breakfalls. I wasn't one of those web-novel protagonists where a gender swap meant invincibility. I'd nicked my finger with a box cutter just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to check — blood came out just fine. My joints were tougher than average, so I probably wouldn't get hurt as easily as most people… but that still meant my breakfalls had to be perfect.

"Don't you get bored of that?"

"You done?"

"It's already five."

"Oh. Lost track of time."

"Nobody soft survives in this business, but you're something else."

"Not much else to do, honestly."

"Must be nice, not having to lift."

"Where's Alfred?"

"Alfred — Al. He told you to just call him Al. And he already went to shower."

"Still doesn't roll off the tongue. Come on, we should wash up too. We've got dinner."

The first time I'd had to shower with the other women here, I'd frozen up wondering how to handle it. But the setup was perfect for that — individual shower stalls. No awkwardness at all.

I told them to follow my car, and we headed to the restaurant.

"Korean BBQ?"

"Yep. Ever been?"

"Only in K-dramas."

"I've been dying to try it."

Judging by how they lived on chicken breast every night, neither of them waited for the pork belly to finish cooking before their chopsticks were already out.

"It needs more time. Also — both of you can use chopsticks?"

"Japanese family next door. We learned from them."

These two really did have a knack for getting along with people. Selma still kept a wall up with the other female trainees — maybe because of me — but Alfred had already fallen in with the guys well enough to train alongside them.

"You two really are multi-talented."

"Says the person who ran a marathon in three hours and twenty minutes."

"If I were you, I'd have gone into acting instead of wrestling."

"Right? Action movies — legally allowed to beat the hell out of people."

Ugh. If my life hadn't been on the line, I probably would have done the same. Watching the two of them demolish the meat, I ordered another round.

"Isn't this place expensive?"

"It's fine. Eat as much as you want."

"You really are rich. The new SUV already gave it away, but still."

"Even without a car like that, I could cover this."

"So why are you treating us?"

"Because you two have been helping me out more than you realize?"

"I was just being nice because you're pretty. Easy on the eyes."

That wasn't Alfred. That was Selma. My eyes narrowed to slits.

"Are you—?"

"I'm not a lesbian. Don't get the wrong idea. It just feels like training with an idol. That's all. I like that."

"Pffhahaha—"

"You little—! Your big sister is talking!"

Sibling rivalry with a one-year age gap. Same in Korea, same here.

"I hope the three of us can debut together. Probably hard, though."

"We could end up on the same team, right?"

"You idiot. Have you ever seen a team with two women and one guy?"

"There used to be."

"That was a manager role. What, you want to be the eye candy? With that face?"

"Rina said I was decent-looking enough."

"You moron. That's just something people say to be polite."

Now they were bickering over nothing. Ugh. No end in sight. Eventually I had to jump into the war myself.

"You could always help each other out with run-ins and stuff. But only if the writers — if the story — actually call for it."

"Pfft. The writers will probably just put us against each other. Me as the face, that idiot as the heel."

"Heh. Look at that face. It'd be the other way around."

"You little— why are you picking fights today?"

Damn it. I couldn't take any more.

"Selma! Just eat. Stop fighting for five minutes."

They finally shut up and went back to the meat. Whew. Finally livable. Still — watching them go at it was kind of cute. Like a pair of high-school brats mid-puberty. I picked up my chopsticks and smiled a little.

"Hey. You. Don't smile with that face. That's a foul."