Ahead of The Live Series

Paul Levesque was reviewing the footage of Lisa and Charina's match one more time when the intercom buzzed.

"You done?"

"Yes. I pulled the Super Ultra Lionsault out as a separate cut."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

At that chaotic, childish name, Paul let out a sigh.

"Just call it 'New Lionsault' or 'Lionsault 2.'"

"But the wrestler herself settled on that name."

"It's a sealed move anyway. The kind of thing you'll only see once or twice a year!"

"Understood."

"Anyway, good work."

"Yes, sir."

After hanging up with the video editing staffer, Paul transferred the clip from the email to his phone. Then he sent it to someone.

He waited maybe five minutes.

The call came right back.

"Paul. What the hell is this all of a sudden?"

"You little bastard! No hello? Hey!"

They had been close enough, casual enough, that the speech of a man thirty-odd years younger tumbled straight out of Paul's mouth. And it was the same on the other end.

"Hi! There, that count as a greeting? So what is this?"

"A move Charina came up with. She calls it the 'New Lionsault.'"

Paul could not bring himself to say Super Ultra Lionsault. Just speaking the name was embarrassing — a technique title fit for a child.

"New Lionsault? Hahahaha!"

"You like that, you son of a bitch?"

"Of course I do. I saw the match she won with the Walls of Jayco — no, the Walls of Charina, too. Come on, be honest. Does it sting? Are you jealous? Huh?"

"Hah. It's just one person. There are plenty of wrestlers using the Pedigree as a finisher these days. Nothing for me to get jealous over."

"Tsk tsk. Even at your age, you still can't kick the lying habit. And are ten of those Mid Carders worth the same as one Charina? Hahaha."

At Jayco's needling, Paul could almost feel a vein standing out on his forehead.

"So is Charina going to keep using this move?"

"No. I sealed it. I'll only green-light it for big events."

"Good call. That move looked way too dangerous."

So it had looked that way to Jayco's eyes, too. No surprise — Jayco himself had suffered plenty of knee trouble from the Lionsault, whether from missing the rope step or from the impact of landing on his feet when the opponent ducked on a scripted miss.

"Your contract runs through the end of November, right…?"

"……"

Jayco said nothing.

"Drop the pride and just come over. Come here, wrestle for about two years, and retire."

"Retire, huh…. You hear that from Booker?"

"That's right."

"That bastard. Still can't keep his mouth shut."

The words came out like a joke, but his voice had dropped considerably.

"Quit stalling and come over. Come teach Charina a few things."

"Huh? Charina? Technically she's already pretty polished. What's left to teach?"

Paul clicked his tongue.

"Tsk tsk. Chris! You think technique alone is enough to survive in this vicious, cutthroat business? Teach her mic work, showmanship, and how this industry actually works. And…"

"And?"

"Come protect Charina."

"Protect her?"

Jayco's voice rose again.

"She's going to become a target of jealousy and resentment, whether she means to or not. Right now she's on a different brand, so nobody's enforcing pecking order or keeping her in check — but who knows what happens later. More than anything, the guys lose their minds every time they see her. Practically drooling. No matter how hard you crack down, there's always some lunatic somewhere."

Unless an actual fistfight broke out, the front office couldn't step into every wrestler-to-wrestler matter. That kind of envy and pressure was something a performer had to weather alone. And sexual harassment in spaces where the cameras weren't rolling… There had even been some deranged bastard who, no matter how much education and discipline you threw at him, went on a podcast and said he wanted to rape a female wrestler.

"Nothing like that happened at TPA."

"The roster was smaller there, and there was no road travel for house shows. And nobody was dumb enough to mess with Vivi and Devon. But this place is different."

"Hmm…."

Paul did not like Jayco's hesitation one bit. Maybe he simply hated that Jayco ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still felt a sense of responsibility toward EAW.

"Hey! You can't even look after a junior who respects you?"

"It's not something I can decide that easily. I need time."

"I've got a schedule after this. Decide by this time tomorrow. I'm hanging up."

Paul spat the words and cut the call.

That quest had popped up right before the practice match with Lisa, the moment Paul called for the start of the bout. I had no idea how far "colleagues and related personnel" stretched, or how many people made up that eighty percent — but it had appeared so suddenly that there was nothing I could do about it.

In a panic I'd tried to use the Spot Call skill or the Spotlight item, but both had been locked. The only silver lining was that the Timer was still usable. So I gave the best performance I could inside the scenario, with no skills and no items, and it ended in success. I couldn't say for sure, but the way the wrestlers had come pouring in midway through had probably helped.

After lunch, I sat alone in the waiting room and checked the skill I'd just received.

As unhelpful an explanation window as ever.

"Ha! So if I detect something, does a siren go off? And once I've detected it, what am I supposed to do?"

What a ridiculous skill. If I knew in advance and dodged first, that was a botch too. Was it telling me to take someone else's botch — their mistake — and turn it into my own? The front office would love that. At least a shoot — a real strike — would be useful. Taking a hit you saw coming was different from taking one you never saw at all.

From Sunday afternoon through Monday afternoon, I had to spend a lot of time getting in sync with Miyu. Her offense ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was heavy on aerial moves, so even minor rope rebounds involved things like handsprings, and I had to match my own techniques to hers — which meant the timing work ate up quite a while.

I also sat down with Law's writer, Backstorm, and Miyu to discuss the ring segment.

"Hmm. What if one of you comes out in a Philadelphia Phillies uniform and the other in a New York Yankees uniform? The crowd might get more invested."

Backstorm's idea didn't sound bad. On top of that, The Live was being held in Boston, so the bit could even carry into the following week. Miyu shot it down, though.

"Ugh, I hate that. Japanese fans are already going crazy on social media telling me to get revenge. Throw baseball fans into the mix on top of that? Just thinking about it gives me a headache."

Several other ideas came up, but none of them landed. Miyu refused any rough ring segment — she must have been tormented by Japanese fans that badly — and without that edge, everything left felt too tame and too familiar.

"Miyu. How about we start ordinary and finish comedic?"

"How?"

I laid out what I had in mind for Miyu and the writer.

"Hmm. That could be fun. And I've gotten that kind of reaction before, too."

"Huh? Eh?"

"Why so surprised? Miyu, you're still cute. What's the Japanese word for it…."

"Do you mean kawaii?"

At that, the writer slapped his palm against his knee.

"That's it. Kawaii! That's the one! Miyu is still kawaii. The fans will agree. And since Miyu's winning the match, a penalty like that doesn't even matter."

"Yeah, fair enough. All right, Charina. Let's do it that way."

And just like that, the ring segment scenario was locked in.

The Law show in Philadelphia.

About thirty minutes after the start, Miyu Sky climbed into the ring first and cut a promo.

"I can understand Sayuri losing by submission. But with Asuna — how did the referee miss that? Charina won that match by cheating."

Miyu was someone with serious popularity on Law, someone who always drew cheers. This time, though, the boos were far louder.

"Heh. Miyu looks a little rattled."

"She's barely ever been booed like that since her debut. And right now her point is actually correct, and they're still doing it."

The PD finished speaking and looked at me.

"Impressive. You've already got the whole Law crowd in your pocket."

"Maybe the matchup was just that good?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Say whatever you want — I'm going to avenge Asuna and Sayuri."

"Charina! Go."

"Yes."

At the PD's word I headed straight backstage and waited for my theme to hit.

"Next week at The Live, I'm going to beat Charina—"

— Zing. Zzzing. Zzing. —

— Whoa! —

— Charina! —

— Charina! Hoorah! —

The moment I rolled onto the stage on my board with a mic in one hand, the roar got even louder.

"Miyu Sky! How many times has Asuna won matches like that?"

"Those were No DQ matches. Not like this one."

"Really? She's never won with Green Mist even once?"

When Miyu couldn't answer, laughter rolled out of the seats.

"Haha! Can't answer, can you? Right?"

"Hey! Stop running your mouth out there and get in the ring right now."

"You think I won't come just because you told me to?"

I rode the board down the ramp, high-fiving the kids along the way, and headed for the ring. Then I tucked the board under my arm and entered the ring the ordinary way.

"Charina! Wrestle me next week at The Live! Fight me!"

Miyu stepped right up into my face as she said it. I smiled and backed up the same distance she'd closed.

"Why? Why should I wrestle you? I don't want to wrestle you."

"You scared? You chicken?"

"Yep! So terrifying I don't think I'll be able to sleep."

The crowd answered my cowardly line with a mix of boos and laughter.

"So you are a chicken."

"A chicken? More like there's nothing in it for me if I wrestle you. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠You're not a champion — what exactly are we supposed to do here?"

"Then will you do what I want?"

— What? —

"What is it?"

— What? —

"Miyu! Can I just pull on your cheek once? Do that and I'll give you the match."

Miyu flinched and stepped back, and the seats erupted in laughter.

"Don't want to? Then I'm just leaving!"

The second I started to go, Miyu grabbed me in a hurry.

"If you win! If you win, you can do it! But if I win, I get to pull on your cheek. Deal?"

"Call!"

It was an absurd victory prize, but the crowd was having an absolute blast. Chants of our names mixed with laughter. There were even kids and young women in the seats pinching each other's cheeks.

With that, I closed out the ring segment.

And so was born the strangest title match in wrestling history: the Cheek-Pull Match.