Jane Kim
Monday morning, the atmosphere at TPA had hit rock bottom.
If the merger went through, no one knew who would be cut—from the general manager all the way down to the lowest-ranking staff. That was simply the nature of American companies: full-time or contract, they could fire you without any legal cause. Of course there were forms of employment the law actually protected, but none of them had anything to do with TPA.
The mood was depressed, gloomy, despondent. Word had gone out telling the wrestlers not to come in, so the building sat empty.
Carl sat in the general manager’s office staring at an email that had arrived for TPA and finally let the rage he had been holding back explode.
“Fuck! That son of a bitch. That traitorous bastard! If he’d just held on a little longer—if he’d just told me—none of this would have happened.”
“Please calm down, Director.”
“Finance Manager, do I look like I can stay calm? Look at this email. Pomonai wants to shoot a commercial with Charina. They offered a minimum of five hundred thousand dollars. If we’d just waited a little longer, everything would have… found its place again!”
Bang! Bang!
Carl couldn’t contain himself; he kept slamming his fists into the desk. Hailey Kingsley thought she might have glimpsed tears at the corners of his eyes. She considered saying something comforting, then immediately abandoned the idea. She didn’t even know what would happen to her; who was she to comfort anyone?
And the truly absurd part was that this was TPA’s absorption merger, yet neither the director nor the president could attend the board meeting. The representative had mortgaged every last share and then lost them all to WWO; the director had never held shares to begin with, so he had no seat at the table either.
Wasn’t this how Poland had been in the early twentieth century? Their own country’s fate decided without them, Germany nibbling away piece by piece under the tacit approval of Britain and France, then splitting the spoils with the Soviets?
“It’s maddening. I wish I at least knew what they were saying in there.”
“Director, it’s better not to know at all. It would only make you angrier.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. By the way, have you still not been able to reach the representative?”
“Just a text in the early hours. Said he was sorry and not to look for him.”
Even Hailey, who had been keeping her composure, flared at that.
“How irresponsible. Going dark at a time like this…”
“What good would it do if he showed up? Same result. That absolute idiot. Moron bastard. No—better that he stays gone. If he appears he might actually get beaten to death.”
At that same moment, Jane Kim was receiving an unexpected visitor in her room.
“How did you even get in here?”
“They took one look at my face and waved me straight through. I wasn’t expecting a red-carpet welcome, but you could at least offer me a seat.”
“I’m sorry. Please sit.”
John Michaels sat down with a sly little grin.
“So what brings you here without any notice?”
“You know the board meeting is happening right now, don’t you?”
“Haa. Of course. Some idiot dumped TPA on the street without even checking the situation first.”
“Right. The hard work was finished and the harvest was right there waiting. Shame.”
John agreed so easily that Jane found it almost suspicious.
“What is this?”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? Last Emergency, only twenty-five hundred seats filled, and you still set an all-time high in video sales. Anne and Charina’s match got picked as Match of the Week.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
John shrugged and waved the suggestion away.
“It’s praise. Not for TPA—for you.”
“Meaning?”
“Charina goes without saying, but you wrote the scenarios for Selma and the Inquisitors too. The only matches that actually got good reviews were those three and the men’s champions’ tag match.”
“The women’s tag match was fine as well.”
“Don’t be so amateurish…. That one rode Natasha’s popularity more than anything. Her actual skills had gone backward, if anything…”
Jane still couldn’t figure out why the man was heaping praise on her, so she simply listened.
“Same with the rest of the card. The gap between the matches you handled and the ones you didn’t is huge.”
“So what exactly are you trying to say?”
“We can’t accept Victor McMahon’s apology. He’s locked himself away at home, and even if he weren’t, he’s the type who only apologizes when there’s money in it. But Stacey says she’ll apologize. So you should come over too.”
Everything clicked into place for Jane at once.
“You met Rina.”
“Yeah. I thought only her looks and wrestling were monstrous. Turns out her brain is even worse. Guess the whole ‘Asians are smart’ thing is real.”
John tapped his temple with an index finger.
“What exactly did she do?”
“Ask Rina yourself.”
“You think I’ll just switch sides over an apology?”
Jane’s tone turned sharp, but John stayed completely unfazed.
“If we take over TPA, the infrastructure—arena, buildings—will be fine. But the wrestlers? What about the wrestlers?”
“……”
“Michael? Luke? Champions here, sure, but zero charisma, zero ability to own a crowd. In WWO they’d be mid-carders. Natasha? A time bomb waiting to go off. Elizabeth Walker? Still no technical growth. The only ones even worth a look are Dorothy, Anne, Olivia maybe?”
Jane, who had only been listening, answered in a low voice.
“You think they’re worth less than Rina?”
“Obviously. It was already true, and this time it became undeniable.”
“So you’re just going to throw away every TPA wrestler?”
“Charina brought the solution for that—the scenario.”
“What?”
“Charina said you’re like a real aunt to her. Sounds like you never heard a word of it.”
With that, John stood.
“So what is it?”
“I told you—hear it from her. And something else I noticed this time: blood really doesn’t lie. Stacey inherited Victor’s business instincts. You think someone like that would just leave a talent like Rina alone without you around? She’d work her into the ground all over the place.”
“What did you just say? You cowardly bastard!”
Jane shot up from her chair.
“Pfft! Kidding. Just kidding. Calm down!”
“You call that a joke? What are you trying to pull? Are you threatening me?”
John looked as if he had expected exactly this reaction. His back stayed against the sofa; he didn’t even uncross his legs.
“Just listen first. Get angry after you’ve heard everything—do whatever you want.”
He watched her steadily until she sat again, then continued.
“Of course there’s no such plan right now. We’re not stupid enough to pluck a flower that hasn’t even bloomed. But life is unpredictable. So join the Invasion Special TF team. If that succeeds, we’ll give you a head-of-women’s-scenario-team position on whatever brand Rina settles into. Law or Smash Down—either one.”
In some ways WWO’s scenario team leaders held more real power than the general managers, who were often little more than figureheads. Scenario leads met with Paul Levesque constantly; general managers had to worry about match conditions, facilities, merchandise sales, and the rest.
“……”
“Getting an apology matters, sure. But did Bret Hart getting an apology over the Montreal Screwjob actually change anything? He stayed so buried in that one thing for so long that he blew every good opportunity that came after. No—he just got cursed out by the fans. ‘Why are you still talking about something from that long ago…’”
“Ha. That doesn’t sound like something the person who was actually involved should be saying.”
“Maybe…. That’s all I’ve got. We have to settle everything at November’s ‘The Live,’ so I’m slammed. Deadline is this time tomorrow. Think it over carefully and call me.”
John left on that note.
The second the door closed, Jane picked up her phone. The connection tone barely rang before it was answered.
“Hello.”
“Where are you right now?”
“Ah—Senior. I’m at home.”
“We need to talk. I’m coming over. Wait for me.”
“What? Right now?”
Jane hung up without another word and walked out.
She followed the route from memory to Charina’s place. It was close enough that she arrived almost immediately and pressed the buzzer.
“Senior. Please come in.”
Charina bowed her head in a gesture that could have been greeting or apology—Jane couldn’t tell which.
“I am really, really angry right now. But I’ll hold it in for the moment. Let me hear what you have to say. Tell me what you did. And what the hell is this scenario?”
“Please sit first.”
“Pull out the document you showed John.”
“Sit down. I’ll bring it right away.”
Charina went to fetch the papers, and only then did Jane have a moment to look around the apartment. Minimalism? There was almost no sign anyone actually lived here—it felt like a hotel room. Living room: sofa, table, TV, floor lamp, one side table. Not even a single picture on the walls. She didn’t know about the bedroom, but from this alone it didn’t feel like a young woman’s home at all. Just a place to sleep.
Her eyes landed on the side table. Every small photo frame was lying face-down.
Why are the pictures face-down?
She picked one up. Young Charina and people who had to be her late parents. Jane had heard they died in a car accident two years earlier, but she had never learned how Charina grew up or what kind of people they had been. In Korea you asked about those things easily; this was America, so you waited until someone volunteered. Asking outright could get you sued for privacy invasion. Still, Jane was curious.
Then John’s words from earlier floated back up.
Charina said Jane is like a real aunt to her, but it seems you haven’t heard a word of it.
“Haa.”
Jane exhaled just as Charina returned with the documents.
“One is the original proposal I wrote. The other is the cleaned-up version after the meeting with Stacey McMahon, Paul Levesque, and the rest.”
“What? You met both of them?”
Jane had assumed Charina had only spoken with John, or at most with Paul. Looking at the stack Charina handed over, it was thick—fifty or sixty pages at a glance.
“Exactly how did that meeting happen?”
“I wanted to know if the story I had in mind was actually workable. So I went to run it by the Dudley Boyz and ran into those three by accident. I presented the scenario right there in front of them and got the green light.”
“I need to read this before we talk any further.”
Jane started turning pages carefully, one by one. At first it looked like a standard Invasion angle. The further she went, the more her eyes widened. It looked like they were letting the fans pick the gems, but the judges carried enough weight that it wasn’t pure democracy. Introducing an audition format was already surprising; underneath it ran a clear, almost malicious intent to milk the fans dry. No wonder John had called her a genius, and no wonder Stacey—who usually thought she was the smartest person in any room—had offered an apology.
“You wrote this right after we talked that day?”
“Yes.”
“In half a day?”
“No. I pulled an all-nighter for the first time in a long while. Finish the revised version.”
Charina headed for the kitchen. Jane kept reading. WWO clearly hadn’t wanted to go quite that far on the money-grabbing, so they had dialed the intensity down. They had even added free-pass slots so less popular wrestlers could still be chosen by the judges.
The more she read, the clearer it became: this wasn’t an Invasion. It was a Revolution wearing an Invasion’s clothes. Hold an event like this every two or three years and the voting alone would hook the fans deeper than ever; the wrestlers would burn hotter just to survive. In wrestling, being number one in popularity was the same as being number one in skill. Pride was on the line.
What kind of thoughts does this kid walk around with every day?
Charina returned with coffee and toast.
“Eat something while you look.”
“Thanks. I will. But this doesn’t feel like something I should finish here.”
“Take it with you. I’ll email a copy too. Just don’t let it leak.”
“I’d appreciate that. And I’ll keep it quiet.”
Jane wet her dry mouth with coffee and organized her thoughts.
“Reading this, it’s obvious they need me. Why are you trying to lock me down?”
A simple question, yet Charina took a long time before answering.
“Because there’s no one else I can trust.”
“There’s Selma. There’s Vivi and Devon.”
“Selma is a friend. Vivi and Devon are good people, but they feel more like coaches than family.”
“And me?”
“I don’t know if it’s because you’re Korean, but Senior feels comfortable. More than anything, I can lean on you. Even your nagging feels like you actually worry about me. I like that.”
Jane stood up the moment the words landed.
“I’m going. See you tomorrow.”
“Se—Senior? Why? Did I say something wrong?”
“It’s not that. I’m leaving.”
Jane fled Charina’s apartment, climbed into her car, and drove home. Her vision blurred; the hands on the wheel trembled. She barely held the rising emotion in check until she made it back.
A child she had wanted more than anything and never had. If she had given birth, the kid would have been almost exactly Charina’s age. The thought made her chest ache.
She parked, sat there crying for a long time, and only then went inside.