Becoming A Wrestler

If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!

Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12

___________________________

The damage was done. The image that closed the show was seared into everyone's mind. Sandro and the Undisputed System standing tall over the fallen team TNA & FCW, blood on their hands and fire in their eyes. "Next Saturday at War Games," one commentator muttered, "God help us all if Sandro and his goons win."

After the show ended, Twitter lit up like wildfire. Hashtags like #WarGames, #UndisputedSystem, and #TeamTNAFCW began trending within minutes. Fans flooded the TNA and FCW official forums, venting their fury, debating outcomes, and dissecting every moment of the carnage that had closed the night.

The final image of Sandro and the Undisputed System, Stu, Drew, Big E, Ryback, standing tall over broken bodies and shattered pride had seared itself into the minds of everyone watching.

Some fans insisted that this kind of dominance was a death knell for the Undisputed System. "Sandro and the Undisputed System peaked too early," one post read.

"You NEVER stand tall before important matches in wrestling. It's a classic wrestling curse." Others chimed in, echoing the sentiment. "They got the advantage tonight. They destroyed the opposition. That means they're gonna lose at War Games. Book it."

But not everyone was convinced. A growing minority pushed back, proposing a darker possibility.

"That's the whole point," one fan replied on the FCW forums. "Everyone expects them to lose. And that's exactly why they won't. Sandro knows how to play this game. He's not just a fighter, he's a tactician."

Arguments raged through the night. Hundreds of comments stacked up beneath YouTube videos. Twitter threads went viral, and video edits emerged, filled with dramatic music, slow motion beatdowns, and close ups of Sandro's cold, unreadable expression.

Speculation was rampant. But that's all it was, just speculation. Hopes, fears, predictions. All of it would mean nothing by Saturday night.

The days that followed didn't get any quieter. In fact, they only grew more chaotic, outside of the ring.

The news about Sandro and Alexa's relationship hadn't cooled off even slightly. If anything, it had gone nuclear.

Tabloids, wrestling gossip sites, and some mainstream media latched onto the pairing like vultures. They speculated about how long the two had been seeing each other. Whether it was real or just for publicity.

A few brazen paparazzi even went so far as to approach Sandro's parents, Jack and Taylor Zhang, outside a private fundraiser they attend in New York.

That turned out to be a catastrophic mistake. Within 24 hours, both media outlets that employed those paparazzi received thick, serious legal letters. The tone was unmistakable.

Jack Zhang wasn't just some businessman. He was a billionaire. The founder of Nexum Core, a rising tech and entertainment behemoth. Jack wasn't just defending his son, he was also sending a message.

Other journalists thought they could redirect their attention to Alexa's family. That strategy failed even faster.

Sandro, anticipating the harassment, had already coordinated legal defense for Alexa's parents. One publication received a cease and desist before they even ran the piece. The others backed down in silence.

The message was simple: Stay out of their personal lives. Or face consequences.

Still, the public pressure didn't stop. Sandro and Alexa were hounded by photographers in cafe, FCW Headquarters lobby, and parking lot. The only reason they managed to preserve any kind of peace was due to their current arrangements.

Alexa had moved into Charlotte's apartment, using it as a temporary sanctuary away from the madness. Charlotte, fiercely protective of her beat friend, ensured no media could reach her.

Meanwhile, Sandro lived in a high end luxury apartment compound surrounded by private security and gate controlled access. No one, not even fans, could get within fifty feet without clearance.

Inside these walls, they found rare moments of calm. Alexa often came over to Sandro's place, spending hours lounging on the oversized sectional, watching movies, eating takeout, or just decompressing.

April would occasionally join them too, offering emotional support and acting as a kind of bridge. The tension between her and Alexa had started to thaw. April cracked jokes. Alexa smirked at them. Progress.

Sandro didn't let the media noise distract him. His days were split between rigorous workouts, sparring with Drew or Ryback, and endless coordination calls with Stu and Big E to fine tune their War Games strategy.

He was also in near constant contact with Dusty Rhodes, Steve Keirn, and even Mick Foley, Kurt Angle, Sting, Kofi, and Taylor Rotunda.

Despite their feud, they still had to talk. War Games wasn't about ego, it was about survival.

Days passed. The tension in the air grew thicker. Fans could feel it.

By the time Monday arrived, the FCW Arena was sold out. Tickets had been gone for a week. Those who couldn't attend in person tuned in through television broadcasts and streaming online. Everyone was desperate to see what would happen next.

The opening match kicked off with fire. Promos followed, building new feuds and reinforcing old ones. But through it all, the crowd buzzed with one question:

What about Alexa?

Then, the lights dimmed.

The first notes of Alexa Bliss's theme echoed through the arena.

The pop was mixed, cheers, boos, screams of excitement, whistles of disdain. But all eyes were locked on the stage.

Alexa stepped out alone.

No Charlotte.

No backup.

Just her.

She was dressed in darker gear than usual, black leather accents, dark purple trims, a hint of shimmer that caught the arena lights just right. Her expression was cold.

Her makeup was sharp. And when she struck her pose at the top of the ramp, hand on her hip, chin tilted with condescending confidence, it wasn't playful. It was dangerous.

Fans who remembered last week's tag match and noticed her difference last week, notice it even more, that this was a different Alexa.

She didn't smile. She didn't wave. She didn't even glance at the fans screaming her name. She stalked down the ramp like she had something to prove. Like she had something to destroy.

Inside the ring, she struck another pose, this time slower, more sensual, but still laced with that bad-girl aura. She didn't look like a mischievous goddess anymore.

She looked like a bad goddess.

Moments later, the upbeat drumroll of Natalya's music hit and brought the crowd to their feet. She walked out smiling, confident as ever, waving toward the sea of fans who chanted her name.

If Alexa was the rising shadow, Natalya was the veteran light, respected, admired, and seasoned.

Natalya entered the ring, did her signature pose, and then walked to her corner. The referee signaled both women to prepare.

The bell rang.

And Alexa exploded.

Before Natalya could even raise her fists, Alexa was on her, tackling her to the mat with a Lou Thesz press and raining down fists like a woman possessed. The aggression was tenfold from last week. She didn't pause. She didn't show restraint.

Natalya covered up, shocked, trying to roll away, but Alexa grabbed her hair, yanked her back into a mounted position, and slammed her head into the canvas three times before the referee forced her off.

The crowd gasped.

Alexa didn't argue with the ref. She backed away, smiling. But that smile never reached her eyes.

Natalya tried to stand and Alexa charged again.

A stiff knee to the ribs folded Natalya. Alexa hooked her arm, snap suplex. Natalya arched her back in pain. Alexa didn't give her a second.

She ran to the ropes. Rebounded. Double knee drop to Natalya's gut.

"Where's your fighting spirit now?" Alexa snarled, hovering over her opponent. "You're a legacy? You're a joke."

The crowd booed, but some fans, mostly male and teenage, couldn't help but cheer. This version of Alexa was brutal, ruthless, and damn impressive.

Natalya finally rallied a bit of offense, catching Alexa in a sudden arm drag and rolling to her feet. She followed up with a clothesline, then a spinning back elbow that caught Alexa square in the jaw.

But Alexa laughed.

Wiped her lip.

And came at her harder.

She ducked the next blow, hit a drop toe hold, then transitioned into a modified camel clutch, yanking Natalya's chin back while pressing a knee between her shoulder blades.

Natalya screamed.

The referee checked for a tap.

Alexa sneered. "Beg for it."

Natalya refused. Inch by inch, she crawled toward the ropes. She grabbed the bottom one, and the ref called for the break.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Alexa didn't let go until four and three quarters.

She stood, letting the crowd see her smile now, mocking, devilish, unrepentant.

The end came fast.

Alexa caught Natalya with a hard elbow to the temple, then whipped her into the corner. She followed with her signature double knees into a moonsault. The fans popped despite themselves.

Then she pulled Natalya up, barely conscious, and set her up.

Twisted Bliss.

Impact.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rang.

Alexa stood tall, hands on her hips, eyes scanning the crowd like a queen surveying her court.

They didn't know whether to cheer or boo. But they watched.

She strutted around the ring, smirking at the downed Natalya, then leaned against the ropes, tongue pressed to her teeth in satisfaction.

The camera zoomed in close.

And she said, "Tell them I'm not playing cute anymore." She exited the ring, unbothered by the noise around her.

As she walked up the ramp toward the entrance stage, Alexa Bliss didn't rush. She moved with deliberate grace, each step echoing confidence, dominance, and a touch of mischief. The crowd was still reacting, half in awe and half in outrage, when the arena lights suddenly flickered.

The sound of static hit first.

Then—

"SHOCK THE SYSTEM!"

The arena plunged into a low roar of anticipation, which quickly turned to feral boos as the Undisputed System's music dropped in full force. Lights pulsed with calculated chaos as Sandro Zhang emerged from the back.

He looked like a man who owned everything he surveyed.

Sandro wore a sharp, jet black suit, the stitching custom and expensive. A deep crimson tie cut through the look like a blade. His shoes gleamed under the lights. Every detail screamed wealth, power, and dangerous control.

Behind him walked the rest of the Undisputed System, Stu Bennet, Big E, Drew McIntyre, and Ryback, each man dressed in tailored black suits that gave off a mafia like presence. They didn't just look like wrestlers, they looked like an elite cartel.

The fans unleashed a cacophony of hate as they descended the ramp.

Sandro didn't blink. Neither did his men. They walked with ice in their veins.

At the midpoint of the ramp, Sandro and Alexa came face to face.

The moment froze like a still frame from a movie.

Alexa, still glowing from her ruthless victory, tilted her head and twirled a lock of her hair with calculated flirtation. Then, without hesitation, she winked at Sandro and blew him a kiss.

The crowd exploded with boos and screams.

Sandro caught the air kiss with his hand and cool as ever placed it inside the inner pocket of his suit jacket like a treasured token. His smirk oozed arrogance. Swagger. Ownership.

His men behind him all clapped with theatrical approval, smiling like proud henchmen watching their boss claim another piece of the empire. Big E even whistled low and slow, while Ryback did a small golf clap. Drew chuckled and shook his head, impressed. And Stu gave a slow nod, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd like a predator.

Alexa brushed past them and exited through the stage curtain without another word. But her message was loud and clear.

The queen had chosen her king.

And now the king was here to speak.

Sandro and the Undisputed System entered the ring slowly, letting the atmosphere burn. The boos got louder, but they only fed off the noise. Cameras flashed. Signs waved. The commentary team kept quiet, as if waiting to hear what kind of storm was about to erupt.

Stu, newly minted with his win last week, grabbed a mic from the ringside crew and passed it to Sandro with a casual handoff.

Sandro patted his shoulder with brotherly appreciation, then stood center ring. He waited. Let the moment breathe. The crowd simmered, restless. Then he lifted the mic. He took a slow breath, and that sinister smile stretched across his face like something out of a crime novel. "Isn't it beautiful," he began, voice low and smooth, "when a plan comes together?"

___________________________

Name: Alessandro Zhang

Age: 20 (2010)

Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA

Brand: FCW

Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles

Faction: The Undisputed System

Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion