Nicholas leaned in, his fingers drumming on the edge of the folders as he scanned the labels once more. Reality slate reductions. Scripted cancellations. Variety shows highlighted in red ink. That part made sense to him—most of them were losing money, kept alive more by routine than by actual interest.
Then he flipped the page.
Basketball.
Baseball.
American football.
European football.
He blinked, once. Then again.
"What… is this?" Nicholas asked, his voice slow as he looked up.
Across the desk, Vince let out a breath through his nose, rubbing his temple. It was wild how strange this world felt when you really thought about it.
Sure, computers could crunch numbers in a flash, and editing bays looked slick, but culturally, it felt like they were stuck in a time warp—prime time dominated by sitcoms, reality shows, and talent contests that shone brightly for a moment before fading away. Sports were just filler, something to switch to when the commercials dragged on too long.
Nicholas pointed at the list. "You want Vox to shift towards sports broadcasting?"
Even though the names of the city and country were a bit off, you could still get the general idea. It felt reminiscent of the early 2000s from his previous life, except for the more advanced computer that seemed to belong to the late 2000s, back when sports broadcasting was just starting to take off and wasn't the norm yet.
Harborview, where IRW was located, was a port area—just as the name suggests. But this wasn't just any port; it was the Federation's largest deep-sea port. The city was called Dodge, which you could liken to New York.
That part caught Vince off guard a bit because he would have expected it to be Stanford, given that it was known as the birthplace of wrestling. But looking out from Dodge felt worlds apart from today's Vince.
First, he had to take over Dodge—which meant facing off against ACW and then WF. He also had to tackle NPJW.
Vince didn't realize how lost in thought he was until he heard Nicholas snapping his fingers in front of him. He shook himself out of his daze and turned to Nicholas.
"Not pivot," Vince corrected him. "Expand."
Nicholas leaned back, looking a bit uneasy. "Vox isn't just a regional cable station. We have an image to uphold. Prestige. National appeal. These—" he paused, carefully choosing his words, "—college tournaments, local leagues, seasonal competitions… they don't meet prime-time expectations."
Vince shook his head slowly, a hint of disappointment in his expression.
"That's because you're viewing them as they are right now," he said. "Not as what they could become."
Nicholas frowned. "With all due respect, sir, sports don't deliver consistent ratings. They have spikes and then drop off. Sitcoms can be rerun. Reality shows can trend."
Vince leaned in, resting his elbows on the desk, his voice calm yet pointed.
"You're thinking in weeks," he said. "I'm thinking far ahead."
Nicholas stayed silent.
"Sports don't depend on scripts," Vince continued. "They thrive on unpredictability. Rivalries. History. Losses that linger for years. Victories that shape cities. You can rerun a sitcom episode endlessly, but no one remembers it forever. A championship… that's something different."
Nicholas opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again.
Vince pointed to the American football file. "You want to know what you'll gain from this? Loyalty. Generational loyalty. Fans who tune in every season because they can't wait to see what happens next."
Nicholas paused for a moment. "But American football is already out there on a national level. It's… all over the place. Regional deals. No unified identity."
Vince gave a slight smile. "Exactly."
Nicholas tensed up. "You're suggesting—"
"I'm saying that whoever brings it all together," Vince replied, "will own it."
Nicholas looked at him, wide-eyed. "That's… quite a vision."
"It's bound to happen," Vince said confidently. "Someone will make it happen. Vox just gets to be the first in line."
Nicholas glanced down again, his eyes catching on a phrase scribbled in Vince's handwriting next to football.
Super Bowl.
"What's this about?" Nicholas asked.
"A glimpse of the future," Vince said matter-of-factly.
Nicholas exhaled, a mix of a laugh and disbelief. "You're suggesting we turn a seasonal sport into a national spectacle."
"And then," Vince added, "a global phenomenon."
A hush fell over them.
Nicholas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Even if you're onto something… it's a gamble. Shareholders won't sit around for ten years waiting for results."
Vince nodded in agreement. "That's why we don't kick off there."
He pushed another folder toward Nicholas. "College basketball. National tournaments. It has a built-in structure. Local fans are passionate. No major broadcaster dominating the scene."
Nicholas opened it up.
Two-year trial.
Low acquisition cost.
High regional loyalty.
Minimal production overhead.
"If it doesn't work out," Vince said, "we walk away. If it does, Vox proves it's still a powerhouse."
Nicholas leaned back, his mind racing with thoughts. There was a certain logic to it—uncomfortable, yes, but still logic.
He nodded slowly. "I'll… start exploratory negotiations."
"Good," Vince replied. "Keep it quick."
Nicholas got to his feet, gathering the folders. "You really think this is possible?"
Vince gazed out the window, the hazy skyline of Dodge stretching beyond the glass. In the distance, harbor cranes loomed, and ships lined the port like pieces waiting to be moved on a game board.
"I don't think," he said. "I know."
Nicholas hesitated, confused, but decided against asking for clarification. He left the office, his head swirling with wild ideas.
The door had barely clicked shut when Vince's phone rang.
"Vince Maston," he answered.
"Mr. Maston," came a smooth, practiced voice. "Harry Oscorp here. I'm Ren Hoult's associate. We had talked the night before, where I went to New Japan Precinct to bail an innocent."
Vince straightened up. "Yes? I remember."
"I've just received a legal notice from Isagi Corporation," Harry continued. "They're claiming IRW was involved in the warehouse fire."
Vince's grip tightened on the desk. "So they actually filed?"
"Yes, but it's flimsy," Harry quickly added. "No solid evidence. No witnesses. The fire wiped out most of the proof."
"Can they pin this on me personally?"
Harry chuckled softly. "Not unless they get really creative—and that would backfire on them. If things escalate, we can look for a scapegoat. But I doubt it'll come to that."
Vince leaned back, narrowing his eyes.
This didn't feel like something Yoichi would do.
"Keep me updated," Vince instructed.
"Absolutely."
The call ended.
Vince stared at the phone for a moment longer before placing it down.
Yoichi was loud, petty, and reactive.
This? This felt different. It felt more... calculated.