The Beginning of Competition
After spending one night at a hotel specially arranged by WWO, I met with Paul and Stacey the next morning.
Three girls around my age were already waiting at the dining table.
“These are my daughters. Ayla, Casey, and Amy. They’re huge fans of yours and begged me to let them meet you just once. Was it a mistake not to tell you ahead of time?”
Paul asked with careful politeness.
“No. It’s really fine. I’m Charina.”
“We’re such big fans! You look even more delicate up close.”
“That crying scene yesterday broke my heart. I actually teared up too.”
“How do you keep your skin so perfect when you wrestle? What do you use?”
I had been surrounded by Selma and Olivia plenty of times, but Selma was the only one my age. Being swarmed by girls my own age for the first time left me thoroughly flustered. On top of that, the three of them talked so much my head was spinning. If someone had shoved a contract in front of me right then, I would have signed without reading a single word.
Fortunately the chaos ended when the food arrived.
“I saw your TPA debut against Olivia live!”
“What? How did you see that?”
Casey, the middle sister, claiming she had watched my debut match genuinely surprised me.
“I went with some school friends on a whim and saw it. Then I came home and showed Mom. I’m the number-one fan in the family.”
“Tch. Just because you saw it by accident doesn’t mean you get to brag…”
“Amy! That’s called destiny.”
Listening to the daughters, I learned that for some reason the whole family had stayed away from wrestling for a long while. My match had been what pulled them back in.
“It had been so long since the kids showed any interest in wrestling that I got interested again myself. I originally just wanted to poach Lina, but TPA’s finances looked so bad I decided to swallow the whole thing.”
So these girls were the ones who lit the fire under Stacey for the merger. I really ought to thank them. Still, every so often a faint chill ran down my spine for reasons I couldn’t name.
I finished the meal with them, signed autographs, took photos, then headed straight to the airport and flew back to Orlando.
“Clint. I’ve arrived in Orlando.”
You worked hard. Just go home and rest today.
“Everyone’s training, though. Shouldn’t I stop by?”
After yesterday’s show they’re completely on fire. Better if you don’t come.
“Understood. Has my schedule going forward been set?”
Just a stage greeting before this week’s show. The director pulled you from everything else so the other talent can get some spotlight.
“Ah. Got it.”
Rest well. You did great.
So the news about the wrestlers’ auditions had already reached the director.
At the airport the combination of my hat, sunglasses, and the sheer number of tourists heading to Disneyland kept anyone from recognizing me. The moment I got into a taxi, though, the driver knew me instantly.
“You’re Charina, right?”
“Ah. Yes.”
“Wow! What an honor. Yesterday’s Law—you were stunning.”
“Thank you.”
He wasn’t hitting on me, but the man simply would not stop talking.
“Those thumbtacks—weren’t you scared? Just thinking about it gives me the creeps.”
“My boys went crazy over it. I had to buy them the T-shirts and the championship belt.”
“‘Charina Ura!’ is so simple it’s easy to chant. Charina Ura!!! Ye~!”
Ugh. Ugh! My ears felt ready to bleed. He kept pouring words out without giving me a single opening to say “Wait a second.” Next time I was parking my own car at the airport. No more taxis.
After Charina left, Paul and Stacey boarded their private jet headed for WWO headquarters.
“Mick Foley’s ring segment last night is scoring ridiculously well.”
“Yeah? How high?”
“Lowest score is a four. Some places even gave it a perfect five.”
Paul’s eyes widened at the mention of a five.
“A perfect score? Who handed that out?”
“The National Association for the Prevention of School Violence! Hilarious, right?”
“Hahaha! Almost as funny as the feminists and the PC crowd. Hahaha.”
“They even called it a must-watch video for kids. Haa… Charina. What the hell is that girl? On the surface she’s just a pretty little thing, yet she wrote a scenario like that? As a rookie!”
Paul had nothing to say to that. If she weren’t so young and green, he would have already thrown her into the scriptwriting room—the exclusive privilege of main eventers. And it wasn’t as if she was only smart. Wrestling ability, looks, star power, mic work, work rate… there was nothing to criticize. A true hexagonal player, filled to the brim and overflowing.
If he had to find a single flaw, it would be that she showed no hunger for the championship belt right now. Maybe it was just that East Asian humility…
“What a shame.”
“Paul, what’s a shame?”
“If we’d had just one son, I would have made her my daughter-in-law.”
Stacey pouted at that.
“Tch. My fault for not giving you a boy.”
“I’m just saying how badly I want her. That’s all.”
Paul had always insisted he never wanted his own children in wrestling, so Stacey knew he wasn’t serious—yet she felt the same regret. The talent was too delicious to simply watch from afar; she wanted to lock Charina down so she could never escape into the entertainment world. Paul had meant it in exactly that spirit.
“Introducing her to your brother’s kids would be a bit much, right?”
Paul’s face turned serious at once.
“Stacey! We just finished pushing Dane out. You want to let that family set foot in here again?”
“Haa. If your brother comes back he’ll start eyeing the top seat again.”
“One hundred percent…”
“Then maybe we should try for a late baby right now?”
With that, Stacey slid onto Paul’s lap.
“The age gap with Lina would be huge.”
“True.”
“Let’s take our time thinking about Lina’s future. We’ve got plenty of it.”
“Yeah. And we’ve got Jane Kim as leverage too.”
“Hey. Your crying acting got a lot better. What’s the secret?”
The moment I walked into TPA on Wednesday the place erupted.
“Secret? I just imagined Alf being all lovey-dovey with you. The thought of both of you going insane made me sad.”
“What?! You little—!”
—Thwack—
Selma immediately spiked me in the back.
“Yaaah! Hey! That hurts!”
“Ohhh! Your selling’s improved too.”
“Selling my ass! That actually hurt like hell.”
“But that’s a great idea! From now on whenever I act I’ll just think of that Alf bastard!”
Well, if that was what it took to improve Selma’s acting, fine. Still, my back really hurt. How hard had she hit me?
After that I spent the rest of my training helping Selma, Dorothy, Tina and the others with their technical work. In the evening I headed over to Selma’s house.
Tonight’s NEXT broadcast was critical. John Michaels was going to deliver a message to every wrestler in both WWO and TPA. I hadn’t planned on watching at Selma’s place, but after my heartbreaking tears on Monday, Selma’s mother, Lupita Gonzalez, had insisted I come. I couldn’t refuse.
“Aigoo. Why did you cry so pitifully, huh?”
“It was acting. Acting.”
“Come on. That didn’t look like acting. You think a mother raising a daughter can’t tell?”
Other people couldn’t tell, though. Stacey and Teresa both thought it was pure performance.
Since she had invited me herself, the table was loaded with food.
“Whoa! You never even set a table like this for my birthday.”
“Right? Mom’s going overboard. At this rate she’s going to adopt Lina.”
“I’m hurt. So hurt.”
“Seriously.”
Alf and Selma were suddenly in perfect sync when it came to complaining. Lupita only had to pick up a rolling pin and both siblings shut their mouths instantly.
After stuffing ourselves until our stomachs nearly burst, we settled in the living room to watch NEXT. Like us, NEXT seemed to be sorting the wheat from the chaff by bundling wrestlers into stables and testing them in matches. Then came an unexpected mixed-tag match.
“Mixed tag?”
“Why are they doing that? Damn it. Don’t tell me we’re going to have mixed tags too.”
“I’m going crazy. I just know they’re going to stick me with this guy.”
“Selma! I don’t want it either. How am I supposed to win if I’m tagged with you?”
The siblings were bickering again. I almost felt respect for Lupita and Danny for having raised them this far.
“No. It’ll be fine.”
“What’ll be fine?”
“Even if you lose, it’ll be fine.”
“How is that fine? Our chemistry is garbage—the match will be a disaster.”
“You’re siblings. Of course it can be messy. Perfect teamwork would actually be weirder.”
“You think so?”
“Hearing Lina say it… yeah, that makes sense.”
They might not even take each other’s tags. That would turn the whole thing into a comedy show and the crowd would laugh themselves sick—but I decided not to mention that part.
Once the mixed-tag match ended, the man we had been waiting for finally appeared: John Michaels.
“War? Fine by me. But there are too many wrestlers and only so many matches. So we’re introducing a voting and audition system.”
“Voting?”
“Alf. Shut up and listen.”
“First, every wrestler’s profile and a short intro video will be uploaded to the WWO and TPA websites. Viewers can cast five votes every day for each promotion. You vote for the wrestlers you like. No double-voting—one vote per wrestler.”
John Michaels’s explanation continued without pause.
“Voting closes ten days before The LIVE. Only the top vote-getters earn a spot on The LIVE card. One more thing—anyone entered in the Ring of Crown is exempt from voting and automatically qualifies. Champions deserve that much of an advantage, right?”
Selma and Alf clenched their fists so hard their knuckles turned white, staring at the screen as if lasers might shoot from their eyes.
“We can’t leave everything to the fans, of course. There will be a panel of judges as well. I’ll announce the judges the day after tomorrow on Smash Down.”
The crowd had gone dead silent at the radical selection method, and the commentators were just as quiet.
“I’ve talked long enough. Two final points, then check the website tomorrow for the rest.”
“First: October’s NEXT Halloween Battle—Law faces NEXT, Smash Down faces TPA. Think of it as a dress rehearsal.”
“Second—and this is the real deal. At November’s The LIVE, Law takes on TPA and Smash Down takes on NEXT. Full promotion-versus-promotion war. The losers get swallowed whole, so prepare well. Hahaha.”
“This is an opportunity, right?”
“What do we have to do to get picked?”
“We’ll have to do something. Worst case, upload singing videos or dance videos to Stargram.”
“Uuuugh! I’m a wrestler—why do I have to do that?!”
“I’m going crazy. I’m tone-deaf.”
She always looked tone-deaf… so it was true. And neither of them looked like they could dance either.
“Or just post sexy photos.”
“…….”
That same night, EAW’s ratings—airing opposite NEXT—were completely demolished, and every wrestling board online talked about nothing but John Michaels’s announcement.