The Osaka high-rise’s master bedroom was nearly silent except for the noise of the air conditioning. The expansive cityscape stretched out for miles as glistening symbols of success and wealth peeked through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Jey was unable to look at it since... he couldn’t turn his head.
He was flat on his back, facing the white ceiling, on the center of the king-sized mattress. A heavy-duty collar was fitted around his throat and jaw that held his neck area and spine in a fixed, hard position. The thick plastic and dense foam felt like a medieval torture device, holding the heat up against his skin and forcing him to breathe in measured breaths.
His cellphone sat on his chest, above his heart.
It was on speaker mode.
"You let him into the building and didn’t bother to alert me," Jey said, his voice constrained by the tight grip of the brace. "You got access to a live microphone. You let him walk right through the barricades and everything. You signed him, didn’t you?."
"We acquired an independent contractor a while ago," Mr. Shin’s voice replied through the tiny speaker. The CEO’s tone was devoid of the panic or sympathy one might expect when speaking to an employee who had nearly been crippled on live television. "A contractor who happened to generate the highest global engagement metrics this promotion has seen in forty-eight months. The video of the incident is trending on three different continents, Mr. Ray."
"He spiked me, dammit!" Jey barked, instantly wincing as the sudden spike in his heart rate caused a sharp, warning throb to shoot down his muscles. "That wasn’t any carefully planned angle to build up to a pay-per-view. He tried to break my neck. I could be eating all my meals through a plastic straw right now."
"But you are not," Mr. Shin countered smoothly, the rustling of paperwork audible in the background of the call. "Our medical staff conducted a thorough evaluation. MRI and CT scans confirm there is no structural damage to your vertebrae. You suffered severe whiplash and muscular trauma. It is painful, yes. But it is not permanent. You will heal."
Jey tightened his fists at his sides and picked up bunches of the pricey duvet cover. He was boiling mad. He had signed the payday contract with the understanding that JW was a sanctuary of order, free from the chaotic and unchecked violence of the Mexican and independent circuits, and where honor and strong style reigned supreme.
Instead, he had walked right into an entirely different environment baited with an adequate paycheck.
"You should have warned me," Jey said, his voice dropping. "If you knew he was coming, if you put pen to paper with him, you owed me a phone call. I stepped into that ring completely blind to that."
"If I had warned you, the reaction would not have been authentic," Mr. Shin explained. "The fans felt the reality of that assault. They felt your genuine shock. They felt his genuine hatred. You cannot script that level of emotion. It must be captured organically."
The bedroom door opened with a click.
Jey couldn’t turn around and see who it was, but the soft, confident pad of bare feet on the floor told him without even a moment’s hesitation.
Bambietta walked into his line of sight, holding a glass of iced water and a small plastic cup with two prescribed muscle relaxers. She wore faded denim shorts and a loose black tank top. The dark circles under her eyes were a bit paler than they had been on the day that Billy knocked on their front door.
One look at the phone on Jey’s chest, one earful of the tinny, corporate voice of the CEO, and her eyes flared with anger.
Bambietta set the water and the pills down hard on the bedside table. She leaned over him, her shadow blocking out the harsh afternoon light. "Tell me that isn’t the front office."
"Let’s not do this right now, Bam," Jey whispered, trying to keep his tone even.
She snapped back, not caring in the slightest if the CEO heard her. She leaned closer to the phone’s microphone. "It has only been two weeks! Fourteen days since his stupid brother tried to paralyze him in your ring, Shin. He is supposed to be on strict bed rest, not arguing with the suit who authorized the attack."
"Ah, you," Mr. Shin’s voice crackled through the speaker, unbothered by her hostility. "Your loyalty to our talent is commendable. But we are simply discussing the reality of the industry. Ray Jr. understands the position he is in."
"He isn’t in any position right now, have you seen him?" Bambietta shot back, her hands on her hips. "He can’t even turn his head to look out the damn window. You want him back in the ring? Then leave him alone so his spine can actually heal."
"I will leave him to his recovery," Mr. Shin said smoothly. "But before I disconnect, I need you to understand something, Jey. The public does not care about the technicalities of a contract. They care about a good feud. They care about the legacy of Lee Ray, and the two sons willing to destroy each other to claim it. We did not create this animosity, we merely provided a canvas for it."
Jey stared blankly. "You’re playing with fire."
"Yes and we are selling tickets," Mr. Shin agreed with him. "You two are a massive draw now. Ray Jr, the resilient hero, and he is the bitter outcast. Take your time. Heal your neck. Because when you return, the entire world will pay to see you get your revenge. That’s what’s best for business, kid."
Click.
The line went dead. The quiet of the master bedroom came back, and it was deeper and more oppressive than ever.
Bambietta took the phone from Jey’s chest and threw it in the corner of the room onto a large armchair. She gave a long frustrated sigh, her hand resting on her face before she settled herself on the edge of the mattress. She took care not to shake the bed frame.
"You promised me you were going to ignore his calls until the collar came off."
"I had to know if he was in on it from the beginning."
"Of course he was," Bambietta scoffed, reaching over to hand him the two muscle relaxers. She helped guide the glass of water to his lips, supporting the back of his head with her free hand so he could swallow without bending his neck. "Promoters are all the same, Jey. Mexico, Japan. It doesn’t matter. They’ll see dollar signs hovering above your family drama."
Jey swallowed the pills, the cool water soothing his throat. He lay his head on his pillows, closing his eyes.
"I should have pushed him out when he showed up at the front door," Bambietta muttered darkly, taking the glass away and setting it on the nightstand. "I swear, the next time I see him, a slap to the face is going to be the least of his worries."
"Leave him alone, Bam," Jey said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Bambietta blinked, looking down at him in disbelief. "Excuse me? Are you defending the psycho? The guy who made your sick mother tear up?"
"I’m not defending him," Jey sighed, the medication already beginning to introduce a heavy, dull fog into his vision. "I’m just saying... I understand why he wants to tear my head off. It isn’t just about the name. It isn’t just about Dad leaving the legacy to me."
Bambietta frowned, shifting her weight on the mattress. "Then what is it about? Because from where I was standing, it looked like pure jealousy."
Jey opened his eyes, but couldn’t see anything in front of him, only the ceiling tiles. He had been hiding it for almost eight months, from Linda and most shamefully, from the woman beside him.
"Months ago, when we were still living in that rusted-out shoebox on the outskirts of the city," Jey began, his voice strained. "Right after Mom was hospitalized for the first time with the autoimmune flare-up. Billy called me."
Bambietta’s brow furrowed. "He called you? Why didn’t you tell me?"
"Because he didn’t call to offer condolences, or to check on Mom," Jey explained, the memory souring his stomach. "He called to ask for money."
Bambietta waited for the rest of the pieces to fall into place.
"His right knee was completely gone," Jey continued, the words spilling out of him like a confession. "The indies had grinded whatever cartilage he had left in there into dust. He found a specialist in Tijuana who could perform a total joint reconstruction. An experimental procedure that could potentially save his career, maybe even get him to a level where a major promotion would finally look at him. But it cost thousands."
Bambietta let out a dry, humorless laugh. "We didn’t have thousands. We were eating instant ramen six nights a week."
"I know," Jey said heavily. "But Billy didn’t believe that. He still thought Dad had left behind some massive, secret fortune. He thought the ’Lee Ray legacy’ came with a trust fund or something. He didn’t know Dad died drowning in medical debt. He assumed I was just hoarding the wealth, living the high life as the chosen son while he was popping painkillers just to walk to his mailbox."
Bambietta reached out, her warm hand gently resting on Jey’s forearm. "Jey... you didn’t have the money. Even if you wanted to help him, you couldn’t."
"I told him no," Jey whispered, the guilt finally breaking through his stoic facade. "I told him I couldn’t help him. I told him every spare dime we had was going to keep Mom breathing in the ICU. I had to choose between my mother’s life and my brother’s career. And I chose Mom."
"You made the only choice you could," she insisted firmly, her grip tightening on his arm.
"But he doesn’t see it that way," Jey replied, turning his eyes as far as he could to meet her gaze without moving his neck. "To him, I’m the imposter who stole his father, stole his name, and then sat on a pile of imaginary cash while he lost his only dream. That’s why he showed up here. That’s why he isn’t going to stop."
A wheezing gasp came out of Jey.
"He didn’t just come to Japan Wrestling to make a measly paycheck," Jey murmured, his eyelids fluttering shut. "He came to take everything from me, because he genuinely believes I took everything from him."