You’re meeting her for the first time.

You pull the door open and slowly enter the office.

It’s surprisingly bare for the head decision maker of the entire ECL, sparsely furnished with only a blank wooden desk covered in papers, some swivel chairs, and a few nondescript file cabinets. There’s no sign of any decoration or personalization at all.

But even if there were, the room still wouldn’t be nearly as interesting as the woman to which it belongs.

Commissioner Zhang is a middle-aged Asian woman wearing a red blouse, with jet-black hair that hangs free around her shoulders. She puts down the sheaf of paperwork she was writing on and looks up to regard you with a calm and level gaze.

“Hello, John,” she says.

“Wait, you know who I am?” you ask in confusion, before you remember who you’re talking to. “Oh, right, of course you do. Uh, hello, Commissioner. I just wanted to stop by and, um...find out a few things about the ECL.”

You’re usually more coherent than this, but something about Commissioner Zhang is making it hard to concentrate on stringing a sentence together. Maybe it’s the unreadable expression on her face as she looks you over. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re talking to your boss for the first time. Maybe it’s just that her blouse has several of the top buttons undone.

“Certainly,” she says in a neutral tone. “Ask away.”

You take a deep breath as your first question comes to mind. “I’ve noticed that some fighters here have a gimmick, or a costume, or a character, whatever you want to call it, and others don’t. Some of them mentioned the Commissioner’s Board as the reason they had or didn’t have one. I was just...”

“...Wondering what you need to do to get one yourself?” she finishes, and you nod in confirmation.

“I get this question fairly often,” she replies. “And I’m sorry to tell you that the process is somewhat difficult. You’ll need at least five matches under your belt before you can even apply for one, including at least three wins. And in order for that application to be approved, you’ll need an endorsement from at least two other fighters. I suggest that you do your best to make some friends, if you haven’t already.”

She stands up to retrieve something from a file cabinet, and you idly wonder if her skirt is really long enough to be considered business wear as your eyes linger on her long legs. You’re still staring when she turns back to face you.

“Oh, uh—sorry,” you say, blushing.

She brushes it off, thankfully. “You’re not the first person to ogle me and I doubt you’ll be the last. This booklet”—she hands you a small brochure—“will tell you what you need to know about gimmicks and a few other facets of ECL performances. It includes a list of currently-unused suggestions, if you’re having trouble thinking of one yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply as you take it from her. You’ll keep it in your dressing room in case you need to look at it again.

“New prospects often need all the help they can get,” she says. “Any further questions?”

You’re about to tell her no when one pops into your head. “I’m curious about something. In some promotions, the Commissioner, uh...takes part in the fights from time to time. They become part of the show themselves. Have you ever—could someone in the ECL challenge you to a match?”

Commissioner Zhang tilts her head at you. Her face remains impassive, but you get the sense that your question has amused her somehow?

“Yes, they could,” she says finally. “In theory.”

A chill works its way down your spine as you mull over the implications of that comment. “Um, thank you very much for the help, but I think I’ll be going now.”

“Come by again if you need anything,” she says serenely, and you head out the door in a little more of a hurry than you really needed to.