Dogfight
Sunday mornings at seven were one of those dead hours when there was truly nothing worth watching on television.
The Korean-American beauty wrestler Charina had not appeared in the newspapers or on the TV news, yet articles had already gone up on the portal sites, and the rumor was spreading through YouTube shares.
Just as caster Kim Seong-cheol had predicted, more people in Korea than anyone realized were quietly tuning in from early Sunday morning.
And that included the grand mansion in Hannam-dong.
HK Motors had been famous, ever since the founding grandfather’s day, for starting the day early—at five in the morning. The longer the day, the more you could get done. Sleep? They used to say you could sleep when you were dead.
Now that the late Chairman Wang had passed, the schedule had eased a little, but Sunday was no exception.
Sunday morning, seven o’clock.
On any other day this would have been the hour when Jang Hee-sung finished breakfast, reviewed the past week, and planned the next. Today, the moment the meal was over, he settled into the living room and turned on the television.
His newly married daughter-in-law, Lee Joo-young, watched her father-in-law and wondered what she ought to do. If her husband had been home she could have asked him, but he was away on a European business trip, and her mother-in-law had already left for church.
With the help of the household staff she prepared a plate of fruit and carried it to his side.
“Father, please have some fruit while you watch.”
“I will.”
She set the plate on the table and glanced at the screen. The scene was completely foreign to her, so she remained standing, staring.
“My new daughter, do you know what this is?”
“Isn’t it professional wrestling?”
“Oh-ho. So you’ve seen it before. Most women wouldn’t know…”
“I caught a few glimpses when I was little, following my older brother around.”
“Is that so?”
Once the conversation opened, Lee Joo-young settled demurely onto the sofa opposite him.
“Father, why are you suddenly watching professional wrestling?”
“Today our global brand ambassador has a match.”
“Pardon?”
A professional wrestler as brand ambassador?
It was well known that HK Motors—and Chairman Jang Hee-sung in particular—took a keen interest in sports: support for the national archery team, a soccer club, a baseball team, even a car-racing team. But professional wrestling was not a sport, and it was hardly famous.
“You look quite surprised.”
“A little… If we were going to sign an ambassador, there are Hollywood actors and K-pop stars.”
“The match will start soon. Watch it. Then you’ll understand why I insisted on a professional wrestler.”
“Yes, Father.”
So they watched match after match. It was flashy, but Lee Joo-young already knew it was a show, that everything was predetermined, and she felt no particular thrill.
“We’ve collaborated with WWO twice before. It isn’t that unusual.”
That was news to her.
“Father, is professional wrestling popular in America?”
“Not bad at all. Popular enough that Jetflix launched a series about it.”
“That’s impressive.”
Her answer was empty of soul. She found herself wishing her more easygoing mother-in-law were home; she almost regretted not tagging along for the dawn prayer service.
“This happened when I was twenty-seven, studying in America.”
Jang Hee-sung suddenly began a story from thirty years earlier.
“In Korea I was the grandson of a major conglomerate everyone knew. But Americans had no idea. To their eyes a Korean, a Japanese, a Chinese—we all looked the same. Just another rich yellow monkey.”
Lee Joo-young did the math: the late nineties. Racial discrimination still existed now; back then it must have been far worse.
“One night I left the library late—ten, maybe ten-thirty. My clothes must have looked expensive, because three thugs surrounded me right away. They were about to take my wallet, my watch, even my clothes and leave me in my underwear. The grandson of one of Korea’s top companies, reduced to that. Hahaha.”
He laughed as he spoke, but Lee Joo-young felt she would have fainted if the same thing had happened to her overseas.
“They didn’t even have guns or knives, yet I was completely helpless. When I was a boy my grandfather used to say a man must be able to protect himself and told me to learn taekwondo at least. That night I truly regretted never learning.”
Jang Hee-sung closed his eyes for a moment, as if revisiting the memory.
“Father, didn’t a bodyguard or secretary go with you?”
“My new daughter, it was school. This wasn’t Korea—how was I supposed to walk around America with a bodyguard? I was already being treated like a rich monkey behind my back.”
“Ah—I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. You weren’t even born yet; you simply don’t know what society was like then.”
He wet his lips with water and continued.
“Then out of nowhere a young Hispanic man appeared, fired off a dropkick, flipped them, locked them up, and cleaned up all three in an instant. He was only two or three centimeters taller than me—barely a hundred seventy-five—yet he did it. I was so grateful I pulled out every bill in my wallet and tried to give it to him. A little over five hundred dollars, and he refused. So I made him promise to have dinner with me the next evening and sent him on his way.”
Lee Joo-young was drawn deeper into her father-in-law’s vivid tale.
“The next evening we met and ate. I asked how he could be so fast and so strong. I was curious what martial art he had trained in.”
“Mixed martial arts? Or judo?”
She had already guessed it was wrestling, but deliberately gave the wrong answer.
“No.”
Jang Hee-sung pointed at the television.
“He said he wrestled for an indie promotion. And that his dream was to reach WWO. From that day on I took an interest in professional wrestling and watched matches now and then. The moment I took real control of the group, I arranged the collaborations.”
“What became of that Hispanic man?”
Jang Hee-sung smiled faintly.
“My new daughter, have you ever heard the saying? If someone refuses money, it only means the amount was too small.”
“Yes, I’ve heard it.”
“I treated him to dinner and handed him ten thousand dollars. He took it at once. If he had refused again I would have offered another ten thousand… After that I never heard from him. I never saw him on WWO either.”
“Next up is the match we’ve all been waiting for—Charina versus Miyu Sky.”
“Charina was nothing like the rumors. She spoke Korean so fluently it felt like chatting with someone you’d just met in Seoul.”
At the commentary coming from the television, Jang Hee-sung grabbed the remote and raised the volume.
“Here she comes.”
“Charina? Is she Russian? In Russian, ‘empress’ is tsarina.”
“Heh. No. Her family name is Cha, given name Rina. Second-generation Korean-American, and the new face of our HK Motors.”
“Ah!”
A moment later a woman appeared in black pants and a black tank top, hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her figure had far more volume than Lee Joo-young’s own, yet she looked even more slender.
“Ah…”
“Our ambassador. Pretty, isn’t she?”
“She looks exactly like an idol. She’s truly beautiful. But how can someone that delicate wrestle?”
“Hah. Wait until you see Rina’s match. You’ll be shocked. You’ll become a fan yourself.”
Jang Hee-sung spoke with absolute confidence. Lee Joo-young was equally certain it would never happen. She did not care much for sports in general, and this kind of combat spectacle was exactly the sort of thing she disliked.
Charina entered, followed by her opponent, Miyu Sky. Miyu was a little shorter but thicker, far more solidly built.
“Miyu is a technician, a high-flyer, an all-rounder. Charina is a technician, a powerhouse, an all-rounder.”
“They sound quite similar.”
“As I said earlier, Charina is not a wrestler who cannot use aerial moves. She can use them perfectly well—she simply chooses not to. And Miyu, for her size, has excellent power. Against someone Charina’s weight—around fifty kilos—she can hit almost any power move she wants.”
The commentators kept talking, but Lee Joo-young could not follow a word of it. She could not ask her father-in-law either, so she simply listened.
“So tonight’s match could turn into an aerial war, or it could be packed with power moves.”
“Exactly. Either way, this is going to be a spectacular match.”
— Ding, ding, ding —
“And we’re underway.”
At the caster’s call the two women began circling each other. They locked up; Charina seemed to win the exchange and sent Miyu toward the ropes. Charina used the rebound, ducked under the charging Miyu, and hoisted her high into the air.
“Back body drop!”
Miyu adjusted in mid-air and landed cleanly on both feet.
“Miyu! She spun a full circle in the air and stuck the landing!”
Miyu leapt high and drove both feet into the turning Charina.
“Miyu’s dropkick!”
“Charina blocked it with her hands! She didn’t take it clean!”
Charina backpedaled a few steps, then lowered her shoulder and charged again. Miyu vaulted over her as if clearing a vaulting horse. Both women sprinted for opposite ropes and met again in the center of the ring.
“Running neckbreaker drop!”
“They hit the exact same move on each other!”
They seized each other’s necks and crashed to the mat together.
— Thud —
“That impact had to hurt.”
“Wow! Heating up right from the opening bell. This is the kind of match we’ve been waiting for.”
“Both kick up. They’re telling us that little bump means nothing.”
Both women sprang back to their feet.
“My new daughter, feeling dizzy yet?”
“Yes. It’s so fast I can barely keep up. But… it’s fun.”
“Even if it’s a predetermined show, a match this good is still worth watching, isn’t it?”
Lee Joo-young held her breath for a second, then answered.
“Yes. It’s worth watching. It’s cool.”
“Both wrestlers look like they want their cheeks pinched.”
“Or maybe the opposite? They hate having their cheeks pinched, so they’re working even harder.”