The Presentation
The other party’s agreement rate.
The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that even a single percentage point of that rate could shift depending on how thoroughly I prepared. There was no way dressing sharply and speaking with clarity would land the same as showing up rumpled and stumbling over my words.
This was about convincing the people at the top of WWO that my idea made sense. If I couldn’t even persuade Bibi and The Bon, Paul Levesque and Stacey McMahon would be out of the question.
With that resolve, I stayed up through the night and into the morning, building the presentation materials slide by slide. I put so much care into it that I wondered whether, in my previous life, this kind of effort might actually have earned me a promotion or a bonus.
It had been a long time since I’d pulled an all-nighter, but the sense that my livelihood hung on this kept the exhaustion from hitting as hard as it should have.
I washed up, did my makeup with care, and pulled out a neat two-piece suit. The heels completed the look—except I didn’t have a bag that could hold a laptop and printed materials. Nothing large enough among my handbags.
“Guess I’ll have to buy a bag tomorrow.”
A backpack with this outfit was truly not ideal, but I had no choice. I stuffed everything in and headed for the academy.
I arrived quickly. The parking lot was nearly empty—only Bibi’s and The Bon’s cars, not even another coach’s. I was twenty minutes early, and they were already here.
I’d half expected to see Coach Donald for the first time in a while. A shame. I’d have to pick another day and come back.
I parked and went straight inside. As I’d half feared, the place was dead silent. Only the click of my heels echoed through the halls.
Tsk. Our class used to come in and train from Saturday mornings. This batch didn’t seem to have anyone that driven.
I’d assumed they’d be waiting in Bibi’s or The Bon’s office, but the only room with lights on was the conference room. I knocked, and a voice called immediately for me to come in.
“Hello.”
“You’re he— Wait, who is this? Damn! When you actually dress up, you get even prettier.”
“Charina, just quit wrestling and go to Hollywood. I’ll be your bodyguard and manager.”
“Thank you for the compliments. But acting is a bit…”
“What are you getting all shy for?”
“No… it’s not that.”
My face must have gone red. It wasn’t shyness so much as sheer awkwardness.
“So how’d you know?”
“Sorry? Know what?”
“You dressed up because you knew Stacey was coming, didn’t you? Did John tip you off?”
What?
I’d come for a rehearsal. I had no idea I was about to do the real thing.
“I… had no idea at all.”
“Then why are you dressed like that?”
Bibi was needlessly sharp about it.
“From what I’ve been hearing, an absorption or merger seems unavoidable. So I thought—if that’s the case, why not push for a better approach? I came to present to you both and see whether it might actually work.”
“You’re going to run a PPT for us?”
“Yes. I wanted you to hear it and give me advice on feasibility and anything that needs fixing.”
“And if we say it’s fine, you’ll take it straight to Paul?”
“Yes.”
At that, not only Bibi but even The Bon burst out laughing.
“Hahaha. A kid who’s only been debuted a month coming up with this is funny enough. Actually going through with it is even funnier.”
“You really are something else. You thought if you made this, they’d go, ‘Wow, amazing!’ and sit down with you? Even we can’t get a meeting with them without booking it first.”
“Bibi. Coincidence or not, she’s about to meet them anyway.”
“True enough. Either she’s lucky, or she’s too young to know how scary the world is and just doesn’t have any fear…”
“Same as her gimmick. Very Gen Z of her.”
Hearing them, I had to admit they had a point. I’d been a little deluded about how impressive I was. In the eyes of the people above, I was just a very talented prospect. Scenario pitches were the kind of thing main eventers got to do—or so I’d been told.
Get a grip.
The milk was already spilled. Might as well see it through.
“Then let me present right now. Please just hear me out.”
“Too late. They’re coming at two-thirty.”
What? That soon?
“You should have told me ahead of time.”
“We thought you already knew and that’s why you came.”
Ugh. Coincidence and misunderstanding stacked on top of each other, and the whole thing had gone sideways.
Fine. It was fine.
The woman Charina had never done this, but the man Lee Tae-ho had presented PPTs in front of strategy directors and executive VPs. This was nothing. Focus on what needed doing right now.
I pulled the laptop from my bag and connected it to the projector.
“Need a hand?”
“No, I’m fine.”
I went to the break room for bottled water, grabbed pens from the office, and finished setting up.
“Ah—the printouts. Damn it.”
I’d brought three copies. One each for Bibi and The Bon, plus a spare in case Coach Donald happened to be there.
“Forget it. We don’t need to look.”
“Even if we did, we’re just spectators.”
“Venue providers, more accurately.”
“Then we should charge a rental fee.”
“I brought three, so one between the two of you should be fine.”
“We said we don’t need them.”
I took the printouts from my bag and set one neatly in front of each Dudley across the table.
“What the hell? Why are you so smooth at this?”
“You work in an office or something?”
“You see this kind of thing in dramas all the time.”
I gave Bibi a short reply and started quietly organizing the presentation in my head.
How long I sat like that, I wasn’t sure. The door opened without a knock.
“Hey! Bibi! Bon!”
The gravelly voice and the man who opened the door belonged to John, wearing that familiar cowboy hat. And behind him—
People I’d only ever seen on television. Triple J and Stacey McMahon.
I hadn’t expected Triple J himself, but I bowed at a full ninety degrees on instinct.
“Good afternoon.”
When I lifted my head, the Levesque couple was staring at me with startled faces.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Charina from TPA.”
“Huh. I’d heard about you from John and Stacey, but the real thing is even better. So this is what they mean when they say a face the camera can’t capture.”
“You’re too kind. It’s just the clothes making the difference.”
“Oh my. And she talks so prettily too. Our kids could stand to take a few notes… Nice to meet you. I’m Stacey McMahon.”
“I’ve seen you on TV plenty of times, ma’am. Madam Representative.”
“Hmm. Have you, now?”
If something like favorability existed, Stacey seemed to have some toward me. Paul, on the other hand—wariness, maybe?
“That one swears like a sailor. Don’t fall for it, Stacey.”
“Bon, that’s not quite right. She’s better at saying things that turn people’s insides out.”
Why were these two undercutting me right out of the gate?
“Pfft. Is that so? Good at the cutting remarks? That’s a talent too.”
Stacey, of all people, threw up a shield for me.
“Please, have a seat first.”
I gestured them toward the chairs, then took the printout I’d set in front of The Bon and placed it in front of John instead.
“I’ve put out water for now, but would anyone like coffee or something else?”
Everyone said water was fine.
“No way those two clowns set this up. You did this?”
“Yes, CCO. Though I only just learned you were coming, so the preparation is a bit incomplete.”
“Looking at the clothes, it doesn’t seem incomplete at all.”
“I was treating it as the real thing and wanted to rehearse in front of the coaches.”
“A rehearsal… So these printouts are the materials, then. Hmm. Quite a stack.”
Paul tapped the documents with his fingertips as he spoke. Neither he nor Stacey actually read them. Only John flipped through the pages in a casual skim, like leafing through a magazine.
“Charina. So what is it you’re trying to say? Are you worried about being released? You, Selma, the Inquisitors—none of you are getting cut. You don’t need to do something like this.”
“Stacey’s right. So this isn’t necessary. We came to get different advice from the Dudleys, so if you wouldn’t mind giving us the room.”
An immediate dismissal.
“Thirty minutes—no, even twenty. Could you spare me just that much time? Please.”
“We have our own schedule. It was nice meeting you.”
“That’s right, Charina. Let’s set up a proper appointment another time. You can go now.”
What now? Get on my knees?
“Paul. Stacey. Hold on.”
“What?”
“Charina. What’s this scenario? Did you write this?”
“Yes. I wrote it myself. I don’t know the full situation well enough, and I didn’t have the time, so I only laid out the skeleton.”
“John, what is it?”
John’s surprise finally pulled Stacey’s attention.
“It’s an Invasion story—and a very unusual one.”
“Invasion?”
“Yeah. Paul. Can we hear a briefing on this? I’ve got some questions.”
At John’s words, Paul scratched his chin while checking his watch.
“We’re already tight on time if we want to sort the wheat from the chaff…”
“She brought the answer to that problem with her.”
“Huh? How? A rookie just went and ranked the talent on her own?”
“No. Not that. It’s fresh. And it makes money.”
The moment money entered the conversation, Stacey leaned forward with interest. Paul’s face was still furrowed, but once Stacey showed interest, he adjusted his posture as well.
“Coming from John, of all people, I can’t just brush it off. All right, Charina. Let’s hear it. Go ahead.”
“Thank you for the opportunity.”
These people had somewhere to be afterward—I could tell they were short on time. I could also tell the money angle had hooked them. I started working the laptop as I spoke.
“I’ll skip the pros and cons. As Triple J—The Heartbreak Guy, HBG—you’ve lived through two Invasions. You know this better than anyone.”
“Smart call.”
“When CWC and CEW were absorbed and merged, I know former Chairman Victor McMahon did his own version of sorting the talent. But the wrestlers he wanted and the ones the fans wanted weren’t the same. Some of them got sidelined, jumped to other promotions, and thrived there.”
Whether it was the adjusted posture or something else, Paul and Stacey were locked in. They even answered right away.
“That’s right. The criteria weren’t clear. There was a subjective element. And there still is.”
“Dad’s tastes never changed. No offense to Bon, but he preferred white, preferred blond, preferred big men.”
“It’s fine, Stacey. I survived thanks to Bibi.”
“Hah. Is that how you’re spinning it? Bon, don’t you owe me some money?”
“That’s why I carried the tables every single time.”
“Ahah!”
If The Bon and Bibi’s skin colors had been reversed, the Dudley Boyz might never have made it.
Clap.
Paul gave a single small clap and cut the mood short.
“Save the chatter for later. Keep going.”
“Yes.”
I dipped my head briefly in thanks and continued.
“So what I want is to introduce an audition system for the wrestlers during the Invasion.”
“Audition?”
“A separate show?”
The word “audition” was probably unfamiliar to Americans—or at least to people who’d spent their whole lives in wrestling.
“Not that. While the Invasion is running, viewers get to vote on which wrestlers they liked.”
“Decide it by vote?”
“Let the fans pick? That’s fresh, at least.”
The voting idea surprised them a little, but I still hadn’t gotten the reaction I was aiming for. As if that would be the whole pitch.
“Yes. We open a voting section on the WWO site. Members get three to five votes a day. And if they buy that wrestler’s merchandise, they get extra votes based on the price—ten, twenty, something like that. In the end, the wrestlers who sell the most merch survive in order. Meaning WWO is selling votes for money.”
At the idea of selling voting rights, every face in the room went blank with shock.
Surprised? This is a real audition.
It was closer to the Japanese idol “something-48” general elections—where the fans with the deepest pockets monopolize the results—but still.
“And if we do it that way, the wrestlers fans want and the ones the front office wants could end up very far apart. So the score weighting would be something like fifty-fifty, or forty-sixty. We put together a panel of judges from WWO legends with real credibility—or more precisely, legends the front office has influence over. We run it through the November The Live series, combine the judges’ scores with the fans’ scores, and use that to separate the wheat from the chaff.”
That was the Invasion story I’d built.
“She’s insane. How much does she want us to sell?”
“This is… we’re going to rake it in.”
“This is something a twenty-year-old came up with? My father-in-law would pass out from joy if he heard this.”
“Pfft. He would, wouldn’t he. I’d love to see his face if he heard it.”
“Victor? He’d just go, ‘If only I’d known sooner…’ and sit there regretting it.”
That tracked. He had no real power anymore. All he could do was sigh.
John, Paul, and the others put their heads together and started conferring. Bibi was staring at me like I was some kind of monster.
“Coach. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Ha. Why the hell are you even wrestling? You could’ve succeeded in anything else.”
“It’s fun. Beating people up and getting beaten up.”
“This kid gets crazier by the day.”
I dipped my head slightly and crouched down toward the floor.
“Inventory.”
I tapped the Intermediate Scenario Modification Ticket that floated up in the HUD window.
Use the Intermediate Scenario Modification Ticket?
• Stacey McMahon — Est. Success Rate: 88%
• Paul Levesque — Est. Success Rate: 63%
• Bibi Dudley — Est. Success Rate: 68%
• The Bon Dudley — Est. Success Rate: 58%
Select a target.
Ah. So the probabilities for everyone in this room came up.
Paul Levesque—so close. If it had been just a little higher, I could have managed with a Lower-Tier Modification Ticket.
Talk a bit more first. Use it after that.
I closed the HUD window for now. They were still huddled together, so I drank some water and waited.
“It’s a good idea, but there are several problems.”
“Please, go ahead, Madam Representative.”
“All right. First—merchandise. Producing merch for every wrestler through the The Live period is impossible. And far too expensive. Also, depending on in-ring ability, some wrestlers will get featured roles and some won’t. Exposure levels will be different.”
“Yes. But photo cards like baseball cards, keychains, caps, towels—those should be doable, right? They wouldn’t be expensive. You could capture stills from match footage, so it wouldn’t take much time either. And we’d need to produce a profile video for every wrestler. Nothing long—about a minute each should be enough. Champions and a handful of already-popular names should be excluded, though. Otherwise the votes would just pile onto them.”
I answered without a second of hesitation, and not only Stacey but Paul too stared at me in open surprise.
“Didn’t they say she was a high school graduate? She’s too sharp.”
“This PPT is put together remarkably well too. She only had a day at most to make it, and I’d love to show it to our staff and tell them to learn something.”
Comparing America’s freewheeling PPT culture to Korea’s, Korea came out looking better. I didn’t know what the big American corporations were like, but TPA’s PPTs were crude at best. WWO was probably at that same level.
Paul, John, and the others went back and forth among themselves, studying the printouts I’d given them and the PPT on my laptop, firing questions at me whenever something came up. Then the questions I’d been waiting for arrived.
“John. Can you handle this alone?”
“Are you crazy? Absolutely not.”
“We’d have to keep running the existing shows while working on this in secret.”
“Exactly. Pull one person each from Law, Smash Down, and so on, and build a TF team.”
This wasn’t one brand’s problem. It tied together all three of WWO’s brands plus TPA. Writers would have to cross brands constantly. They’d be run ragged.
“Hmm. This needs a veteran attached—someone who’s lived through an Invasion, or at least watched it on TV!”
“Hasn’t lived through one, but has watched. And her scenario sense is solid.”
“Who?”
“John, who are you talking about?”
“Jane Kim.”
Exactly the answer I’d wanted.
“Charina. I heard Jane handled all of your scenarios?”
“Yes, Madam Representative. For the four of us rookies, Jane wrote every scenario from debut onward.”
“One person focused on all of you? Unusual.”
“Maybe because we’re both Korean—she looked out for us a bit.”
“With that level of skill, she can keep handling it. Fine. Give it to Jane.”
They assumed so easily that Jane would just come along that I had no choice but to cut in.
“About that…”
“About what?”
“Jane doesn’t particularly like WWO. Part of it is because of things Victor McMahon said in the past.”
At that, everyone fell quiet for a moment, thinking.
“Ah. You’re talking about the porn star comments.”
“Oh, that? Didn’t Victor apologize?”
“As if my father-in-law would ever apologize.”
“Tsk.”
“It’s fine. If someone’s capable, you just use them.”
Stacey said it with complete confidence, as if it were nothing.
“Darling. How do you plan to handle it?”
“Jane doesn’t have kids of her own, so she must have treated Charina like a daughter. Then it’s easy.”
“Huh?”
“If she won’t join, we just tell her we’ll put Charina in a scenario that ruins her. That should do it, right?”
Crazy woman. No wonder Jane hated them.
“Right. Jane’s the type who gets attached. It’s nothing.”
“Yeah. That’ll work. She was the best, but she has trauma from being screwed over—she’ll never turn her back on that.”
“Hahah. Exactly.”
Birds of a feather. The couple was the same, and so were the best friends. And because it worked in my favor—because I wanted Jane to come over with us—I stayed quiet, selfish as it was.
“And we give her a proper position. That should cover it.”
I was curious what Stacey meant by a “proper position,” but with me in the room, they didn’t elaborate further.
The meeting rolled on. They ordered pizza into the conference room for dinner and kept refining the details. Even the Dudley Boyz, who’d only been watching at first, eventually got pulled in and started contributing, and more ideas came out of it.
In the end, I didn’t need to use a Scenario Modification Ticket for the Invasion and audition plan itself. But to tilt things even slightly in my favor, I put forward one last, more personal scenario detail at the end—something just for me.
“That’s too much for a rookie. Better not. Let’s find another wrestler for that.”
In the end, it was only after I used one Lower-Tier Scenario Modification Ticket on a still-hesitant Paul that I got the green light for a scenario of my own.
