A feral howl of gusting winds smash themselves against the dojo’s paper walls. Though the end of the world seemingly rages outside, within Sensei Abe Lincoln calmly greets the camera with a feigned grin and an even more fraudulent bow.
“One last time, mmhmm?” he chuckles. Indeed, for one last time, the sensei turns on his heels and leads the way into the depths of the complex. He emerges into a massive hall trimmed in white and red, and replete with Yama-branded banners. In the centre, he sits upon a resplendent throne.
“Abe…” Yama greets his once-mentor. “What did I say would happen if the grouting between the bathroom tiles wasn’t scrubbed clean by today?”
Lincoln’s head drops.
“That you would use my toothbrush to scrub it clean,” he stammers.
“No,” Yama says. “That YOU would.”
The instruction is implied rather than stated, but Lincoln wisely quells any thought of revolt. Defeated by the very monster he made, he scurries off to correct his error.
Rising, he scoops up the Real World’s Championship from the arm of the gigantic chair and drapes it over his shoulder.
“You know…” The champion is pensive with his initial tone. “…As we near the end of this little experiment, the peasants will likely start reflecting on the kind of legacy they’re going to leave behind. But I don’t need to, do I? I have this.”
He slaps the golden face of the championship, and then a second time for good measure. A mocking snort follows.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah… I know. Freddy Kilgore gets a pity shot.” Yama rolls his eyes. “But we’ve seen how that plays out before. Freddy tries to lift me up, and then he comes crashing back down to Earth. That’s as far as the Freddy Kilgore story goes, people. That’s what his legacy is going to be.”
He lets the last words hang there for a moment – a reminder to one man in particular.
“But me?” His nose rises into the air, lording over his lessers. “I am who I always said I was. I won the first main event in Classic history and I’m going to be winning the last. Not Freddy, not Vito, not Alex Bruder… ME! I’m the freaking poster child! The all-conquering hero! And guess what? That makes you all the villains in this piece! The losers! And it’s such a bitter pill to swallow that people would pull the plug on this whole company just to try and stop me! Well thank you, idiots, for yet another feather in the cap. I KILLED CLASSIC WRESTLING!!! AND I’M DAMN PROUD OF IT!”
The calm has passed. Only fury remains.
“You’re welcome, everybody,” Yama snarks. “In case you didn’t get the memo, this is MY world now and none of you deserve to even earn a living in it! So send Vito back to driving cabs! Send King Kong Frank back to shilling moonshine out the back of his uncle-brother’s pick-up! Hell, we may as well just put that mangy mutt Freddy down! Because he’s not going to have a damn thing to live for after the dust settles! Definitely not this championship, and definitely not the memory of Classic Wrestling! It’s done! It’s dead! As it should be!”
Yama looks down at the hunk of metal on his shoulder with disdain.
“You know what I’m going to enjoy most about this?” A disturbingly out of place grin crosses his face. “When I put Freddy Kilgore into the dirt AGAIN, I’m going to send this championship in the same direction. Just as I did to Princess Butter-Pup after the last show. Or MECCA last month. Or Freddy’s career trajectory back when I first put him down almost a year ago!
I’M GOING TO DESTROY IT.
Because I can. Because I WON. YOU DON’T GET YOUR HAPPY ENDING! I DO! SCREW YOUR FLAMIN’ LEGACIES!!!”
Steam billows from his nose as he seethes.
“Classic Wrestling is dead. And when I crush Freddy Kilgore’s chest in for good, it’ll be the last nail in an overdue coffin. Afterwards, I sincerely hope you all have a terrible life and I never have to hear any of your names again. Until then, however, I’ll just settle for enjoying your misery. Watch me burn this mothe[BEEEEP] down and play my fiddle while it happens.”
Shujin Yama pushes past the camera, and just like Classic Wrestling itself, he is done.