Lisa Rayple
Everything Stacey had put on the table was the kind of offer you simply couldn't walk away from — no matter how many times Jane had told me to take my time with the contract.
The salary alone would have been enough. But the adjustment to my advertising revenue split made it clear just how serious Stacey really was. On top of that, she promised promotion across the WWO website and social media. Linked Quest 2 — Reach One Million ByeolStar Followers — was going to be a cakewalk at this rate.
Bodyguards would be assigned as standard, and if I wanted them, a dedicated hair and makeup team would be provided as well.
"Once you're an ambassador, you'll be locked into every major PLE. Even WrestleMaster. And because you'll be carrying the brand image, you won't be able to work as a heel — nothing that paints you in a negative light. Losses will drop off significantly, too."
"So that means I'd be a face?"
"A tweener wouldn't be out of the question, but nothing random or out of left field. And I'll put together a long-term plan to build you into an Icon."
That last part was the finishing blow.
"We can't exactly sign anything right now anyway. Would it be all right if I think it over until tomorrow morning and get back to you?"
"Of course. Like you said, it's not as if we can put pen to paper here. It's gotten late — shall we call it a night?"
I didn't mind getting up, but there was one more thing I needed to ask.
"Sure. But… won't the other wrestlers get jealous?"
"Just keep the contract details to yourself and you'll be fine. Anyone would understand once a sponsor of that caliber is involved. It's unprecedented in WWO history. There'll be some whispering behind your back, of course, but…"
I'd been planning to ask Jane about this. Would that still work? Keeping quiet entirely felt wrong. If I just left out the dollar amounts, it should be fine.
"One more question."
"Ask away."
"What about Jane Kim? And Selma?"
"I was wondering when you'd get around to that."
Stacey smiled like she'd been waiting for it.
"Jane Kim is going to be the head of the scenario team for the new brand. You and Selma will both be moving there. You'll need someone you can talk to freely — someone to travel the road with."
"Ah! Thank you."
"Is that everything?"
No. One more.
"Actually, there's one more thing. This might be out of line, but… could I get Paulo Hackman's contact information?"
"Huh? You two had a falling out. Don't tell me you're planning to team up with Hackman?"
"Not for me. I want to introduce him to Selma."
Stacey caught my meaning and nodded with a smile.
"Don't worry about it. I'll tell him myself to take Selma under his wing. You just play dumb."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you. That's really everything this time."
"All right."
I parted ways with Stacey after agreeing to call her the next morning. The moment I got in the car, I dialed Jane.
"What's going on at this hour?"
"Sunbae-nim. Is this a good time?"
"It's fine. Talk."
I left out the numbers and told her I'd been offered a contract on par with an S-class wrestler.
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to sign. The money's great, but the secondary terms are what really sold me."
"Then do it. I don't know the figure, but waiting until April isn't going to change much. That said, it's a major contract — bring a lawyer when you sign and make sure there aren't any poison-pill clauses."
"Do you know any lawyers?"
"I'll introduce you to one tomorrow."
"Thank you. I'll do that. Good night."
"You too. Get some sleep."
The next day, I called Stacey and told her I was ready to sign.
"You're coming to Law in Philadelphia, right?"
"Yes. I've got a practice session with Miyu Sky and a Confrontation Segment against her."
"Good. Once you're done, we'll head to headquarters together and sign the paperwork. You haven't told anyone yet, have you?"
I didn't feel like lying about that.
"I told Jane. I kept the numbers secret. Beyond that, I won't say a word to anyone."
"Jane, huh… You two clearly have a strong bond, so I can live with that. And keeping the numbers quiet was the right call. The fewer people who know, the better — Selma included."
"Understood."
"Especially Director Overdia. Ideally, the first syllable of 're-signing' never reaches his ears."
Fair enough. If Director Overdia found out, he'd lose his mind all over again.
"I'll make sure of it."
After hanging up, I met Jane briefly to get the lawyer's contact info and set a time. He couldn't actually practice law across state lines — all he could do was review the documents — but that was more than enough.
"That's plenty. I'll see you Tuesday at WWO headquarters."
"Sounds good."
I flew into Philadelphia on a Saturday afternoon flight, slept hard through the night, and headed for the Wells Fargo Center first thing Sunday morning.
Security stopped me at the entrance, so I pulled off my sunglasses and mask right away.
"Oh! Charina!"
The young guard completely lost his composure staring at me. At least the middle-aged one managed to keep his head.
"Good morning. I don't have my credentials yet — is it all right if I go in?"
"Of course. Uh…"
"Yes?"
He hesitated, then carefully asked, "Would you mind signing something? I'm a huge fan."
"Of course. Want a photo too?"
"Are you… are you serious?"
"Absolutely. Just wait until after Tuesday to post it on social media."
"Got it."
I signed for both guards, took a couple of photos, and headed inside. Fortunately, the ring was already set up. Crews were still hanging lights and mounting advertising boards. The moment I walked in, the workers started murmuring among themselves.
I approached the person who seemed to be directing the crew — I didn't know his title, but he was clearly in charge.
"Excuse me… is the ring fully set?"
"It is. Looking to practice?"
"Just some bump drills, nothing major."
"Go right ahead. It's all yours."
"Thank you."
I stretched outside the ring, then stepped through the ropes.
— Thud —
I'd noticed it last time, too: this ring was in far better shape than anything at TPA. The spring was almost identical to the ring back home. TPA just maintained whatever was already installed; here they tore everything down and rebuilt it fresh every week as they traveled — and the difference still showed. The gap between brands started with things as basic as the ring itself.
My session with Miyu was at eleven. It wasn't even nine yet. Having nothing to do at the hotel last night, I'd gone to bed early and gotten up early — and now I was stuck in this awkward window of free time.
One hour of warm-up, then rest.
I started with bump drills and worked through everything I could do solo — dropkicks, lionsaults, the works.
"Wish we had a dummy for you."
The same man who'd given me the green light earlier walked over.
"I'm fine. This is more than enough."
I kept drilling — and then someone strode in, laughing loud enough to fill the arena.
"Hah! I knew I felt like coming in early today…"
I turned. A powerfully built woman stood there in a training outfit.
"I'm sorry — who are you?"
"Wow. No makeup and you don't recognize me? We've run into each other how many times now?"
She genuinely had zero makeup on. I had nothing.
"It's me. Lisa!"
"Ah — I'm so sorry. With the tattoos covered and the nose piercing out, I completely didn't recognize you."
"Ha! Whatever! How do you have such terrible eyes?"
The before-and-after gap was just that massive. Still, failing to recognize Law's top champion was a serious breach of etiquette. I bowed my head and apologized.
"I'm truly sorry."
"You mean it?"
"Yes. That was a major screw-up on my part."
"Then spar with me for thirty minutes."
"Huh? How?"
Lisa pointed a finger at the ring.
"In there. What do you say?"
Me? No reason to turn that down.
"Sounds good. Go stretch first."
"Oh! Straight to the point. If it were Miyu, she'd still be overthinking it."
Lisa and Miyu were famous for being inseparable — a bond that cut straight across nationality and race. The funny part was that Miyu was six years older. And yet Lisa treated Miyu like a little sister, and Miyu treated Lisa like an older one. Not just on camera. Backstage, too.
Lisa warmed up by the book, ran through her bumps until they were clean, and only then declared herself ready.
"Want to trade holds and work through sequences?"
"No. Full match."
"Thirty minutes of match work is a bit much. Miyu Sky's coming soon and I've still got practice with her."
"Fifteen minutes mapping spots and sequences, then fifteen in match format. Deal?"
"Deal."
We climbed into the ring and started laying out the geography.
"How do you want to open?"
"Lockup or a kick, then a lariat?"
A lariat off a single-arm grab was Lisa's standard early-match attack — pure routine.
"Isn't that a little boring? You didn't call me over just to drill the basics, did you?"
Lisa burst out laughing.
"Heh! Hahaha! Fair enough — my bad. Corner-to-corner charge to start?"
"Hmm. Let's just run at each other from the center and open with a double shoulder tackle. First exchange, I bounce off. Second time, I come back out of spite and bounce off again. Third charge, you take me over with an arm-drag slam. From there, you've got about three minutes to do whatever the champion wants."
Lisa moved her arms through the air, mapping it out in her head.
"I like it. Then what?"
"You sit me up on the top rope and we switch the heat."
"That's a pretty vanilla turn."
This time Lisa was the one who wasn't sold.
"Then what do you suggest?"
"I go for a suplex — and you reverse it. You lift me instead. Can you do that?"
"Easy."
"We switch on that."
Lisa Rayple's aerial game wasn't her strongest suit, but she had power and athleticism to spare, and her move set was wide because of it. At a glance she looked similar to Charlotte — but when it came to power moves, Lisa Rayple's arsenal ran much deeper.
The more we talked, the more fun it got. We went back and forth with the kind of intensity that left spit flying, trading ideas like our lives depended on it.
The man Charina had spoken with was Dennis Pale, head of facilities.
While Charina was just practicing on her own, he'd figured it was fine. Passionate veterans did this sort of thing from time to time. But the moment Lisa Rayple showed up, the situation changed completely.
First question: was he even supposed to allow a practice match like this?
He had ears. He knew Charina was drawing massive attention from the higher-ups. And her opponent was Law's flagship star — the Women's World Champion. If either of them got hurt in an impromptu match, all hell would break loose. His own job might not survive it. And right now, as the highest-ranking person on site, that responsibility landed squarely on him.
Do I stop this? Or let it ride?
As an employee, shutting it down was the obvious call. But as a wrestling fan, he desperately wanted to see these two go at it. No matter how hot Charina was running, facing a top champion would take at least a year of build — and even then, she'd almost certainly be booked to lose like a jobber.
He called the Law brand director first. The phone just rang. No answer.
Next, he dialed Bron Freed, the executive director.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Freed, it's me. Dennis Pale."
Bron and Dennis almost never spoke for work. Bron's confusion was immediate.
"Pale? What's going on?"
"Ha. I'm not even sure if this counts as a big deal."
"What is it? Spit it out."
"Lisa and Charina are about to run a practice match. What do I do? Shut it down, or leave them alone?"
"What? Hold on a second."
Through the receiver, Freed could be heard talking to someone else.
"Pale. Twenty minutes. Tell them to wait twenty minutes. You can manage that, right?"
"Are you on your way?"
"Yeah. Levesque and I are both heading over. Stall them for twenty minutes. And get some cameras set up — even two or three will do."
"Understood."
The moment the call ended, Dennis walked straight to the ring and relayed Freed's message to both wrestlers.