The Live Series, Part 2
As the fourth match got underway, I headed for Gorilla Position.
Even though I'd hurried over, Miyu was already there chatting with Paul. The person who greeted me was Stacey.
"No bikini gear today, I see."
My outfit tonight wasn't all that different from my usual ring gear — just a few extra rhinestones sewn in. A black tank-top bra and black jeans. That was it.
"I need to move a lot more aggressively today," I said.
"The fans are going to be disappointed."
I couldn't tell if that was just the American in her talking, or the CEO. Stacey might well have preferred I wear bikini gear even for regular matches. But I'd hammered it into the contract that no one could force a gear choice on me without negotiation.
And then there were those tired old romance storylines every pretty female wrestler eventually got handed…
If it were a yuri angle with some blonde bombshell, I'd take it with a cheerful thank you very much — but the male fans would lose their minds. The sponsors wouldn't want to get tangled up in that kind of thing either.
Paul finished talking with Miyu and turned to look at me.
"You saw the article, right? The one calling it 'the funniest penalty match in the world'?"
"I saw it. The kids even turned it into a meme."
"Exactly! That's why I'm not angry!
"If it hadn't become an issue, I would've fired Jordan Backstorm and Eddie Pierce on the spot for greenlighting a scenario like that."
Paul had been around the day before the match, but on match day itself he'd been gone — pulled away for an urgent meeting with the people from HK Motors. The final decision had fallen to Aaron Pierce, the Law brand director. And Jordan Backstorm, as the scenario writer, had carried his share of the responsibility.
"Miyu! Rina! Ready to turn 'the funniest match' into 'the most amazing match'?"
Miyu had been suffering through a Japanese comment section terror campaign, but after the ring segment that day, once the whole thing had swung into comedy territory, the weight on her had lightened considerably. She put on that signature cute expression of hers and said brightly,
"We'll make it the most chaotic match you've ever seen. Just like my signature move!"
"You're going to regret not putting the two of us in the main event — last match of the night," I added.
"Confident, aren't you! Good. I'll be watching."
Paul took it as a joke. I wasn't joking.
In 2026, The Live had drawn twenty million viewers inside the United States alone. This year the numbers were projected to go even higher. Add Europe, Asia, Australia — tens of millions more watching around the world. This was the perfect chance to turn every last one of them into my fans. I was going to empty the tank completely.
The second the match started, I'd burn the Spotlight item. Then I'd fire off the Spot Call skill and devour every scrap of attention in the building. Sorry, Miyu — but I was going to swallow her presence whole, too.
When the fourth match wrapped, the producer called for us to make our entrance. Stacey hugged Miyu and me in turn.
"Both of you — just be careful out there. No injuries."
"Thank you for worrying about us."
"We'll go out and put on a show."
I answered right after Miyu, then stepped straight into the backstage corridor.
The commentary desks ringed the ring.
Law's English announce team sat dead center. To their left were the Spanish, German, French, and Russian broadcast crews. To the right: Arabic, Japanese, Chinese — and at the far end, the Korean team. Being at the end didn't mean they were far. The desks were arranged in a U-shape, so the ring was perfectly visible from every seat.
"Tonight's fourth matchup — Lilac Valkyrie and Hailey versus the Wild Cats — ends in a victory for Team Law."
"That puts both sides at two wins and two losses. All tied up."
"Choi Jae-jun, even back during last month's Smash Down crossover, TPA's in-ring work has been seriously impressive."
"Their roster is thin, so the gap between the top and bottom is huge — but TPA's upper tier can go toe-to-toe with Law without looking out of place."
At an event this size, one match didn't roll straight into the next. There was always a short gap, and filling that gap was the commentary team's job.
"Up next is the match we've all been waiting for — Charina versus Miyu Sky."
"Charina was nothing like the rumors. Talking to her felt exactly like chatting with someone you'd run into in Seoul. Her Korean is completely fluent."
"Choi Jae-jun studied English like crazy for that interview with Charina, you know."
"Ugh — and that's entirely Jo Dae-ho's fault. He kept telling me Charina wouldn't speak Korean and that I had to grind English if I wanted to interview her."
"Haha. You got played completely.
"Viewers, right after this broadcast we've got an exclusive interview with Charina. Do not miss it.
"We'll be right back after these messages."
Kim Seong-cheol finished the promo, took a sip of water, and wet his dry mouth. The show had started at six on a Saturday evening in Boston — seven on Sunday morning in Seoul. More than an hour in, and he figured a lot of people back home were already watching.
Today, maybe — just maybe — they could challenge the mythical two-percent viewership rating he hadn't seen in six or seven years. Even if not today, the next PLE would almost certainly get there. The Charina he'd met in person was far more magnetic than she was on camera. Korean-American or not, a woman that fluent in Korean, that beautiful, and that talented was guaranteed to go viral.
"Jae-jun hyung. Charina's going to lose tonight, right?"
"Probably. There's no way the booking has a Japanese wrestler drop three straight. Japan wouldn't sit still for that."
Choi Jae-jun was right. In the wrestling world, Korea didn't have a single legitimate talent — not in WWO, not even down in the smaller promotions. Japan was the country American wrestlers went to on pilgrimage just to learn technique.
"Shame. If she'd just gone straight into Miyu Sky, there might've been a win scenario."
"From our side, all we can hope for is a great match. That she doesn't get completely outshone in presence or performance."
The commercial break ended. A fierce guitar riff tore through the arena, and Charina appeared.
— Wooooah! —
A roar loud enough to rattle eardrums exploded from the crowd.
"Our Charina makes her entrance!"
The broadcast cameras locked onto her. The gear wasn't much different from her usual look, and yet somehow she seemed even more beautiful. Cheers and applause rolled through the stands, but the fans along the ramp she was walking went quiet instead — just staring, dazed, as if their minds had gone blank.
"She looks even more stunning tonight."
Choi Jae-jun's comment snapped Kim Seong-cheol back to reality. He'd nearly caused a broadcast incident.
"She does. Doesn't seem particularly nervous. Looks like she's in great condition, too."
The ramp was a good thirty meters long, but she was on a skateboard — she flew down it in an instant, then circled the ring once. Kim Seong-cheol wasn't the only one who'd lost his words. At the far end of the opposite side, the French commentary team went silent as she passed. Then the German team. All of them just watched her go by, mouths shut.
She completed the lap and arrived in front of the Korean desk. She held out her hand. Choi Jae-jun and Kim Seong-cheol both reached out to meet it.
— Slap! —
— Slap! —
She high-fived them with a smile and kept moving. One full circuit of the ring apron, then she climbed up, leaned against the ropes facing the crowd, and flipped herself backward into the ring with that signature reverse entry of hers.
Inside, she worked the corners, greeting the audience, then — unlike previous matches — started rolling out her ankles and joints while staring up at the stage.
"Charina looks almost solemn tonight, doesn't she?"
"She does. She's not lying on the ropes or sitting down like usual. And even though she should already be fully warmed up, she's still loosening her joints."
"Probably because her opponent is Miyu Sky — the Genius of the Sky?"
"Exactly. High-flyer and technician. Charina doesn't show it much these days, but if you dig up her old TPA footage, her aerial work is excellent. Especially the Shooting Star Press and the Corkscrew Stunner — the execution on those is outstanding."
Ever since Charina had debuted on Law, the Korean commentary team had gone back and watched every match she'd ever had. Only three since her debut, but the impact had been enormous. One against Olivia, who outweighed her by more than double. The second against Dorothy Oswalt, a name even WWO fans knew. The last — a hardcore match against Anne Clements that had been named Match of the Month. It was a genuine shame there was no TPA broadcast deal in Korea; domestic fans couldn't see any of those three, and every one of them had been excellent. Power, speed, aerial ability — nothing missing.
While they talked, Miyu Sky entered the ring as well.
Charina raised both hands and mimed pinching her own cheeks. Miyu Sky fired it right back, mirroring the gesture.
"The winner's privilege being a cheek pinch… it's a little ridiculous, honestly."
"Miyu Sky's cheeks are a bit on the chubby side, so I guess that's how we end up with a match like this. It seems like nothing, but for the loser — especially if Miyu loses — it would be genuinely humiliating."
From Orlando, Florida! Standing five-foot-five, one hundred ten pounds — representing TPA… Cha~ri~na!
As her name was called, Charina spun in place, smiled, and threw a wink.
"…Yeah. When she smiles, she's definitely even prettier."
"She is. Just… incredibly charming."
From Kanagawa, Japan! Law's Genius of the Sky… Miyu Skyyyyy!
Once the ring announcer finished the introductions, the referee stepped to the center of the ring, ran through the standard instructions with both wrestlers, and took a step back.
— Ding. Ding. Ding. —
The bell rang. Both women charged straight at each other.