Debut Preparations

A lot had happened over the past three months.

A month ago, a male wrestler named Lorenzo Barrera had debuted in TPA wearing a mask that looked like something out of an Amazonian tribe. About two weeks after that, a female wrestler named Vanessa Wise had debuted as well.

Neither of them existed in the memories of my previous life two years from now.

Maybe they would have made it big three or four years after I arrived here…

Yeah. I was skeptical.

Both of them had done their final evaluation — a practice match against Devon. They did it in front of every trainee, and Lorenzo was worse than Alf, never mind James. He hesitated every time he went on offense, and even though the mask hid his face, the screams he let out were awkward beyond belief.

And Vanessa.

Vanessa only showed moves that leaned entirely on raw power. Since she was supposedly going to play a heel, that might not have mattered — but looking at the atmosphere after their debuts, neither of them had managed to climb out of jobber territory. Lorenzo was still displaying every problem from his final evaluation, and Vanessa was only good at… angry acting?

Selma, watching on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠TV, felt the same way I did — that it didn't look like acting so much as genuine rage.

As a result, Lorenzo and Vanessa's matches never pulled the crowd in, and the reactions naturally fell flat.

The funny part was that once Vanessa was gone, some of the other trainees started talking to me and Selma. Turns out Vanessa had been the ringleader of the clique that iced us out. Selma found it even more disgusting when they came crawling over acting friendly the moment Vanessa disappeared, and she shut them out cold.

Alf was the one who'd actually been bullied, and he got along fine with the male trainees — but Selma built walls around herself like she was the victim.

We'd run an incredibly tight schedule for three months and learned every technique we could get our hands on.

"From now on, we're changing the schedule a little," Vivi announced. "During the day, you'll work on your own signature moves and finishers, with the occasional practice match. In the afternoon, you'll practice promos — mic work, facial acting, that kind of thing — and start building your gimmicks."

Everyone erupted into applause and cheers.

That was the language of debut preparation.

"Woooo!"

"Finally! Hahaha!"

"Rina!"

Selma threw her arms around me on the spot.

"Quiet, everyone. I'm not done talking."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Given the current climate at TPA, Alf and James will probably need to debut as a tag team. You two will have to do practice matches with me and Devon once or twice a week."

"Yes. We can do that."

"It would be an honor."

TPA's men's tag division was stagnant. That made a new team far more competitive. If their chemistry clicked, they could put on better matches than either of them could alone and draw a real following. They'd be working against legendary tag teams like the Dudley Boyz and the Hardy Boyz, which made it that much easier to grab the fans' attention. And debuting as a tag team didn't mean staying one forever — once they had enough experience under their belts, the odds of a split were high.

"Obviously you'll need to develop a tag-team finisher too, right?"

"Yes."

"Dig through the match footage of every great tag team. Come up with a good tag finish. Something like our 3D…"

"Yes. Understood."

Vivi looked them over with a satisfied expression, then turned her eyes to me and Selma.

"You two have a very high chance of debuting as singles. TPA's women's roster is paper-thin. So you really need to nail your promo prep and your gimmicks. Rina's one thing, but Selma — you're sexy. You're definitely going to get popular."

"Yes. I'll work hard at it."

"I'll give it some thought."

"And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you know wrestling gear is critically important for female wrestlers, right? Think about gear that fits your gimmick. If you're stuck on the design, ask Amy for help."

"Understood."

"Yes."

The moment we started learning mic work and facial acting ahead of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the promos, I immediately understood why I'd never heard of Alf and Selma in my previous life — even with talent like theirs.

"Hahaha! I'm going to smash you. Right. On. That. Ring."

"You think a nobody like you can beat me? Hahahaha."

Amy, watching the mic work, shook her head — and so did Devon and even James.

These siblings had something like camera fright. Their acting and their mic work were both disastrously bad.

"Are you two reading from a book? What are you even doing right now?"

"Sorry."

"We'll try again."

Trying again changed nothing. Their voices still shook, they still delivered lines like they were reading a textbook, and their faces were frozen solid.

"Devon. What do we do with these two? This is so bad I don't even have words. It's worse than Lorenzo."

"Suffocating. Just suffocating."

Then a thought hit me.

"Coach."

"Rina. Got a good idea?"

"Why don't we send those two to a speech academy and an acting school in the mornings? Learning from real professionals would help a lot more, wouldn't it?"

Devon snapped his fingers instantly.

"Rina, that's a great idea. If they learn the fundamentals from people who teach this for a living, they should improve. What do you two think?"

There was no real choice. If they wanted to debut, they had to go. Alf and Selma looked at each other, both bit their lips hard, and lowered their heads. Then they said they'd go.

James handled his fine.

"Good. James, you're solid. Your voice is just a little thin. Practice speaking with more of a rasp — something huskier."

"Yes, Coach."

"Last up is Rina."

The script I got was… something else.

"Pfft. You think a nobody like you could ever be my opponent? Does your house not have mirrors? Or are your eyeballs just rotten?"

Everyone laughed immediately.

"Whoa. She's good."

"She's too good — listening to it just makes me mad."

"Right? Coach, maybe it's because we're both women, but it feels like she's scraping under my skin."

"Hahaha. If a woman feels scraped, that's the best mic work there is. Rina, you don't need any more mic work practice."

What came next was makeup class.

Even with the system having injected me with feminine knowledge and social graces, actually doing it was incredibly hard. On top of that, the original me had zero artistic talent. Drawing a single eyebrow had me groaning in agony.

"Rina! Your eyebrows are uneven. Again!"

Amy barked at me sharply.

"Haaah. Coach. This is too hard."

"You want to ruin that face?"

"And American-style makeup — eye shadow doesn't even suit me. It doesn't fit the gimmick I have in mind either."

"What kind of gimmick are you going for?"

"A free-spirited Gen Z concept. So my position is going to be a tweener."

"Tweener?"

A tweener sat right in the middle between a face — the good guy — and a heel — the bad guy. In martial arts terms, it was like walking the line between righteous and demonic.

"Who's your inspiration?"

"Stone Cold Steve Austin."

"Ha! Dreaming big, aren't we."

"Anyway, American Gen Z kids don't do makeup like this these days. They do K-pop idol makeup."

"And you can pull that off?"

I couldn't. Nothing to say to that. Damn system. If it was going to hand out skills, it should have thrown in makeup techniques too.

"…"

"Rina! When those two go to acting school, you're going to a makeup academy. I've never seen a girl this bad at makeup. How are you worse than the guys?"

At Amy's words, Alf and Selma grinned like they'd just won something.

"Heh."

"We knew it when you were laughing at us. Haha."

I immediately drove a chop into Alf's chest. Not a worked move — a shoot.

Whack.

"Ow!"

"Whoa. Alf. That acting just now was really good."

"You actually hit me! That hurt!"

"I hit you so it would hurt."

Amy laughed at us, and so did Devon, watching from a little farther back.

"Both of you, cut the horsing around."

"Yes."

"Now get out there and work on your finishers and signature moves."

"Yes, Coach."

"Thank you."

"Thank you for your hard work."

Once the debut group had left, Devon — who'd been watching — spoke up.

"Not bad."

"What isn't?"

"Rina going with a Gen Z gimmick and a tweener position."

"Devon, you know that doesn't work with ordinary skill, right?"

Amy herself had been a wrestler until about ten years ago. A neck injury mid-career had kept her from climbing any higher, leaving her stuck as a mid carder. She'd retired without lingering regrets and pivoted into training, putting her trademark flexibility to use. And the role she'd played in her prime had been a tweener. A complete failure, though.

"Amy, I hate to say it, but the gap between your looks and Rina's is massive. Her mic work was the same — she pulled off that haughty attitude really well. And she's actually twenty now, so running wild and reckless as a Gen Z gimmick will work just fine."

"Tch. You don't have to spell it out — I know! And it's not just me. Put any diva from history next to her and they'd still lose on looks. Sure, there are people who prefer white blondes and don't like Asians, but…"

No matter how hard the government cracked down, racists still existed. Florida was a little better, but head just a bit north into Georgia and the rednecks still ran thick.

"You can't do anything about the skin color you were born with. Anyway, it's a really good gimmick. Just look at my own boys. Complete reverse-psychology brats and broken time bombs. So it'll hit hard with people in their twenties and thirties. Meanwhile the forties and fifties will grab the backs of their necks like they're watching their own kids."

Both of Devon's sons were pro wrestlers. Their training attitudes had been terrible and their skills weren't much better, so they hadn't even made it to TPA — just bouncing around indie promotions. At least lately the word was they'd finally gotten their heads on straight and were working hard, which was a relief.

"The gimmick's good. It should connect properly. But the style is different. Tweeners are genuinely hard. You need good booking, but the acting has to back it up. Her acting? I'll need to see more, but it was pretty solid. Can TPA even write that kind of booking at their level, though?"

"Who knows. It's been a while since TPA had a proper, consistent tweener. They might actually write it well now."

"I don't know. It's not my business to get involved. I just gave the warning."

Amy cut it off coldly, as if she wanted no further responsibility — as if it wasn't her problem. That coldness was good for the work itself, but it was also why she couldn't move up into a company like TPA.

"Fine. Got it. I'll talk to Vivi about the rest."

Devon moved to his office and called Vivi.

"Worse than Lorenzo, I'm telling you. Couldn't even watch with my eyes open."

"Rina's."

"With a face like that, did she ever need to? Would you have walked around in makeup with that face?"

Even now, the male trainees couldn't stop sneaking looks at Rina. Bare-faced and she was already that much of a distraction — if she'd actually dressed herself up on purpose, it would have interfered with training. Hell, even Vivi and Devon, both past fifty, might not have been immune.

"Right. But listen."

"Rina wants to do a Gen Z gimmick and work as a tweener."

Devon relayed the entire conversation he'd had with Amy.

"You do it."

"If I talk to that woman, I feel like I'm going to get steamrolled again."

TPA's women's side producer was Jane Kim. A woman who'd been terrible at mic work as a wrestler had somehow become incredibly smooth with words the moment she became a producer. Every time Devon talked to Jane Kim, he felt like he was getting talked into a corner.

"Hey, Vivi — didn't Rina say Jane was her role model?"

"Ah. Then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠things might actually work out."

"It'll be interesting when those two meet."