Becoming A Wrestler

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He looked out at the fans, their unwavering support giving him the strength to stand tall despite the loss. The camera lingered on Sandro as he stared up the ramp, his eyes filled with determination. This wasn't the end, it was only the beginning. The seeds of a bitter rivalry between Sandro and Joe had sprinkled with water and slowly bloomed, and the fans knew it was only a matter of time before Sandro would get his chance at redemption.

After the dramatic conclusion of the match, the screen faded to black for those watching from home. The words "To Be Continued…" appeared ominously on the screen, followed by a preview of the next episode and the highly anticipated pay per view event. It was a tantalizing tease, leaving the fans craving more.

The camera panned to a dimly lit hallway backstage. Joe was seen walking alone, still holding the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship. His confident stride was interrupted as he turned a corner and came face-to-face with Sandro.

The two men stared each other down, the tension between them almost palpable. Joe smirked, raising the championship slightly as if to taunt Sandro.

"You want this, don't you?" Joe said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Well, you're going to have to earn it, kid."

Sandro didn't flinch. His gaze remained locked on Joe, his jaw set with determination. "Don't worry. I will. And when I do, you won't have any excuses left."

Joe's smirk widened as he backed away, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway. Sandro stood still for a moment, his expression unyielding. The screen faded to black, leaving fans with a tantalizing promise of what was to come.

For the live audience, the experience was far from over. As the arena lights brightened, Sandro, still clutching his neck, slowly exited the ring. The crowd erupted in chants of "San-dro! San-dro!" their voices rising in unison, a testament to their admiration for his effort despite the loss.

Sandro paused briefly on the ramp, turning to glance back at the cheering fans. His expression was a mixture of frustration and determination, playing into the emotions of the storyline. But there was also a flicker of acknowledgment, a silent thank you to the fans who refused to let him walk out defeated.

He raised a fist in the air, a small gesture that sent the crowd into another frenzy of cheers, before turning and disappearing behind the curtain.

Once Sandro stepped through the Gorilla Position, the act fell away. His tense shoulders relaxed, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. The frustration he had shown moments ago was gone, replaced with the pride of a performer who knew he had just delivered a memorable segment. The adrenaline still coursed through his veins, and he shook his head, laughing softly to himself.

"That was incredible," Sandro muttered under his breath.

As he walked down the narrow aisle toward the locker room, he noticed two familiar faces waiting for him, Joe and Eric. Both were leaning casually against the wall, their faces lighting up as Sandro approached. Joe, still carrying the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship on his shoulder, was the first to speak.

"Man, you killed it out there," Joe said, extending a hand for a firm shake. "The crowd was eating out of your hand. Perfect execution."

Eric chimed in, clapping Sandro on the shoulder. "You nailed that moonsault, by the way. I swear the roof nearly came off the place. And that sequence before the distraction? Chef's kiss, my guy."

Sandro smirked, shaking both their hands. "You two weren't so bad yourselves. That piledriver, Eric? Spot on. And Joe, that slap you sold it like a pro. I swear I almost lost it for real."

Joe laughed, rubbing his hand mockingly. "Yeah, I put some stank on that one. Sorry about the sting."

"Totally worth it," Sandro replied with a grin. "The crowd's reaction was everything we wanted."

The three of them continued walking together, exchanging more feedback and praise. They discussed the pacing of the match, the timing of Joe's interference, and how they had managed to perfectly build tension for the pay-per-view. It was the kind of camaraderie that could only come from performers who trusted and respected each other.

Inside the locker room, Sandro began to unwind, carefully removing his gear and stretching out his muscles. The physical toll of the match was evident, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. Across the room, Eric was already halfway through a bottle of water, reviewing footage of their match on a tablet.

"You see this part here?" Eric said, pointing to the screen. "When I hit the neckbreaker and went for the elbow drop, the way you sold that made it look like I took your head clean off. That's what sells it, man. The little things."

Sandro leaned over to watch, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, and your reaction after the kick out? Perfect. You looked like you were about to snap, and the crowd ate it up."

Joe walked in moments later, still in his gear, and plopped onto a nearby bench. "Alright, I just came from creative," he announced. "They're over the moon about how that played out. Apparently, we've got a lot of eyes on us for next week's show and the pay-per-view."

Sandro grinned. "Good. That's exactly what we want."

Joe leaned back, propping his feet up on a bench. "So, what's next for you? After tonight, the fans are definitely going to want to see some kind of retribution. You've got them on your side, man."

Sandro shrugged, the wheels already turning in his head. "I think next week we tease it a little more. Maybe a confrontation, maybe another match where you try to outsmart me again. We need to wait for Dusty and Steve's decision, but I think we should build it up nice and slow."

"Slow burn," Eric said approvingly. "The best kind of storytelling."

Joe nodded. "And at the pay-per-view?"

Sandro's eyes gleamed. "That's where Dusty and Steve will decide. What's important is that we give them the payoff they've been waiting for, and follow whatever has been decided by Dusty and Steve."

Manehwile, as the live audience filed out of the arena, the buzz of excitement was unmistakable. Conversations about the matches, the storyline developments, and the brewing rivalry between Sandro and Joe filled the air.

Online, on Twitter and FCW Official Forum, it was ablaze with reactions, predictions, and debates about what would happen next.

Meanwhile, the energy from the live event still lingered as Sandro returned to his apartment late that night. The city lights flickered outside his window, a soothing reminder that life moved on even after the intensity of the ring.

After unpacking his gear, he let out a long sigh, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. Sandro wasn't one to dwell on online chatter, but he was aware of the buzz surrounding his performance.

Fans were debating his worthiness for the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship, some rooting for him to claim the title soon, while others felt he needed more time to prove himself. Sandro, however, had learned to let it all roll off his back.

What mattered most to him was the story they were building in the ring and the reactions from the live audience. Their chants of "San-dro! San-dro!" still echoed in his mind as he drifted off to sleep that night.

The next morning, Sandro was awakened by the soft beeping of his alarm. Stretching his arms, he felt the familiar mental soreness after his match, a badge of honor from the previous night's match. Deciding to take the day slow, he headed to the kitchen to make his usual healthy breakfast, a habit he maintained to keep himself in peak condition.

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling chicken. Sandro hummed to himself as he chopped vegetables for an omelet, enjoying the rare peace of a morning at home. He was halfway through frying the chicken when his phone buzzed on the counter. Glancing at the screen, he saw Dusty Rhodes' name flash across it.

"Morning, Dusty," Sandro answered, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he flipped the chicken in the pan. "What's up? Something for me?"

Dusty's warm laugh came through the receiver. "Morning, kid. You're always thinking about work, huh? Don't worry, nothing urgent, just wanted to give you a heads-up about next week."

Sandro smirked. "You've got my attention. Hit me."

"Well," Dusty began, his tone shifting to the familiar rhythm of a storyteller, "next week, we've got Joe in a non-title match against Taylor. It's gonna be a one-sided beatdown. Joe's gonna brutalize the poor kid, it's all part of the setup."

Sandro nodded, already imagining how the match would play out. "And where do I come in?"

"That's where the fun starts," Dusty continued. "Midway through, Taylor's gonna be on his last legs. That's when your music hits. It distracts the referee and Joe just enough for you to slip in through the crowd. You hit Joe with your finisher, the Dragon's Shot, and roll Taylor over him for the pin."

Sandro paused, absorbing the plan. "I like it. It's bold but makes sense with the story we're telling. Joe's gonna be livid."

Dusty chuckled. "That's the idea. You're planting seeds, kid. The fans are gonna eat it up. It's the kind of thing that keeps them tuning in every week."

After hanging up with Dusty, Sandro returned to his breakfast, his mind buzzing with ideas for next week's segment. He was excited about the opportunity to build more tension with Joe, but for now, he focused on enjoying his rare day off.

Once his meal was finished, Sandro decided to treat himself to some light reading and a long stretch session to loosen up his muscles.

He spent the afternoon playing guitar which he learned during his free time, one of his favorite ways to unwind, strumming out melodies that reflected his current state of mind. It was a quiet day, but one that Sandro cherished. The calm before the storm, he thought.

As the evening rolled in, Sandro sat down with his notebook to jot down ideas for his upcoming involvement in Joe's match. He believed in approaching every moment in the ring with intention, even a surprise interference.

"How can I make the Dragon's Shot look even more devastating for the fans watching?" he muttered to himself, sketching out angles and timing. He replayed last night's match in his head, noting the crowd's reactions to certain moves and how he could enhance them.

Sandro also thought about Taylor. He respected his work ethic and knew this moment would be big for him. Sandro made a mental note to touch base with Taylor as soon as possible to ensure they were on the same page.

As Sandro scrolled through social media later that night, he couldn't help but notice the firestorm of discussions about his match with Eric and Joe's interference. Fans were debating fiercely: Was Sandro ready to be champion? Would Joe ever get his comeuppance? Was Eric going to insert himself into the title picture?

One particular thread caught Sandro's eye: "Sandro might not have the experience yet, but the crowd loves him. He's got the 'it' factor," one fan wrote.

Another responded, "Sure, but love from the crowd doesn't make you a champion. He needs to prove himself in big matches before he's ready for Joe."

Sandro chuckled, appreciating the passion of the fans. Whether they were for him or against him, the important thing was that they were invested. That was what truly mattered in wrestling, keeping the audience emotionally hooked and the rest will come in, even if sometimes the story was a bit bizarre as long as the fans love it, everything would fall into place.

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Name: Alessandro Zhang

Age: 19 (2009)

Birthplace: Orlando, Florida USA

Brand: FCW

Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Style

Faction: Dragon Boom (Tag Team)

Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions