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They sat down to eat at the little kitchen table that was barely big enough for three, plates stacked with pancakes and bacon and fruit. It was messy and chaotic, Nicole got syrup in her hair, April spilled orange juice trying to pour with one hand, and Sandro dropped a fork under the table and hit his head retrieving it. But they laughed. They laughed a lot.
After breakfast, April suggested a walk, even though the Orlando heat was already creeping in through the windows.
They threw on sunglasses, casual clothes, and sneakers, and headed out to the nearby lake trail. Sandro held both their hands at one point, unconcerned about who might be watching. April had looped her arm around his left, and Nicole swung his right arm with hers like they were kids.
Occasionally, they'd stop for silly photo ops, April making duck faces, Nicole pretending to push Sandro into the lake, Sandro pulling both of them in for a grinning selfie that perfectly captured the ease they all felt around one another.
"This is nice," Nicole said as they stopped by a shady bench, her cheeks a little pink from the sun.
"Too nice," April replied suspiciously. "We're going to get hit by a meteor or something."
Sandro snorted. "I'll take that risk."
They sat for a while, just watching the ducks paddle by and laughing at a toddler trying to chase squirrels. It was simple, but it meant something. It meant everything.
By afternoon, they were back at the apartment. The AC welcomed them like an old friend, and the couch became their haven again.
They played video games, April insisted on Mario Kart, where she dominated most rounds and trash-talked without mercy.
Nicole retaliated by unplugging her controller mid race, which led to a full blown pillow fight, and Sandro, somehow, got caught in the middle of it, holding a controller in one hand and shielding his face with a couch cushion in the other.
Eventually, the chaos gave way to another shared silence, that kind of worn out comfort where no one needed to say much. They lay there on the couch in a pile of limbs and pillows, the late afternoon sun dipping through the blinds and painting golden stripes on the hardwood floor.
Sandro watched April scrolling through her phone, her head resting against his chest, and Nicole curled up at his side, humming softly to herself.
Later, they made dinner together.
Well, Sandro tried, but April kept stealing ingredients to snack on, and Nicole turned the pasta timer into a musical beat she tapped on the counter.
"Should we be concerned that we function more like gremlins than adults?" Sandro asked, stirring the sauce.
Nicole smiled, cheeky. "Speak for yourself, I'm a very mature, sophisticated woman."
"You literally just danced with a colander on your head."
"That was interpretive art."
April, mouth full of shredded cheese, nodded solemnly. "Art."
Dinner turned out surprisingly good, even with the antics. They ate on the floor of the living room, plates balanced on cushions.
After dinner, the calm settled over them like a heavy blanket. The plates had long been emptied, laughter still echoing faintly in the air, but the clock was a traitor, it reminded them that time was up. Nicole had to head to the airport, her schedule on RAW waiting with a strict, relentless grip.
She didn't complain. Not really. But there was a subtle shift in the energy as she gathered her things, slipping her shoes on by the door, her bag already packed and resting against the frame. April stood nearby, quiet but watching her with those expressive eyes that said more than words. Sandro grabbed his keys, trying not to make it a big deal.
"Let's get you there," he said, voice soft.
The drive to the airport was filled with the kind of silence that wasn't awkward but familiar, like a song you didn't need to sing along to anymore because you knew every word.
April rode shotgun, Nicole in the backseat, and they talked about the dumbest things just to keep the goodbye from creeping in too early. April brought up a weird conspiracy theory about pigeons being government drones, which got Nicole laughing so hard she nearly cried.
When they reached the terminal, Nicole lingered outside the car longer than she needed to, clutching her duffel bag like it might anchor her to the moment a little longer.
"I'll text you when I land," she promised, looking at both of them.
"You better," Sandro said, and April chimed in with a mock serious, "Or we'll assume you've been abducted by pigeon drones."
Nicole rolled her eyes but smiled, and then she hugged them, first April, then Sandro. She held onto him a second longer, forehead resting against his shoulder before she pulled away.
"Kill it tomorrow, champ."
He nodded, already missing her.
By the time Sandro and April got back to the apartment, the place felt a little too quiet. The space Nicole had filled was suddenly vacant, like a laugh that hadn't quite finished echoing.
But tomorrow loomed. Monday. The daily FCW live show. And not just any show, this was the first night after the massive Forbidden Door pay per view, and Sandro wasn't just walking into the building as the FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion anymore.
He was walking in as the double champion, the man who beat Kurt Angle and walked out with both the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship and the TNA World Heavyweight Championship.
And tonight, for the first time, he was going to address that victory. And the ambush from Bray Wyatt and his family alongside Abyss that followed it.
The FCW backstage area was buzzing more than usual. People rushing around, staff coordinating camera setups, lights being adjusted. The energy was electric, fans were already pouring into the building, anticipation crackling in the air. Everyone knew tonight was important.
Sandro arrived in black jeans and a fitted grey FCW tee with the words Double Champ emblazoned across the back in gold, something he bought from the merchandise store last Saturday after the pay per view.
His two championship belts rested across his shoulders like armor. April walked beside him until they split at the talent entrance, giving him a quick peck on the cheek without anyone noticing before heading to the women's locker room.
The first person he ran into was Rebecca. Her red hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, and she wore a similar smirk to his, both of them radiating the confidence of people who had just come back from war and won. Like Sandro, she had gold on both shoulders, FCW Divas Championship on one, TNA Knockouts Championship on the other.
"Look at us," she said, giving him a once over. "Gold never looked so good."
"Speak for yourself," Sandro grinned. "I've always looked this good, both of this are just accessory to shine it more."
They shared a laugh, and soon they were joined by Beer Money Inc., James Storm and Bobby. Roode. The two men, charismatic and cocky, were carrying both the FCW Tag Team Titles and the TNA World Tag Team Titles, belts gleaming like war trophies.
Together, the four of them made their way to the photoshoot area set up backstage.
The photographer, a woman named Lina, adjusted her lenses and lighting quickly. "Okay, you four are killing it. Just pose like you know you run this place, because, frankly, you do."
Sandro stood in the center, Rebecca to his right, Roode and Storm flanking them. They posed with their titles, serious expressions first, then some looser, fun shots, Rebecca blowing a kiss, Storm raising a beer, Sandro flashing a cocky smirk.
"You know," Roode said as they waited for another setup, "we should form a stable or something."
"The Double Champions Club," Rebecca chimed in.
Storm laughed. "Hell yeah. Every belt but two? We're practically the New World Order with better hair and love for beer."
"I call being the Triple H of the group," Sandro said, striking a lazy pedigree pose.
They all cracked up.
It was lighthearted, but beneath the jokes was a very real sense of pride. FCW had gone into a competition with TNA and come out of it with three of their top championships. Only AJ Styles, who managed to capture the FCW North American Championship, and Kevin Nash, who defended his TNA Legends Title, held ground for TNA.
"Next time," Rebecca said, adjusting her TNA Knockouts title, "we're taking those too."
After that they do invidiual photoshoot with Beer Money Inc. a tag team photoshoot, and when the photoshoot wrapped, the lights dimmed in the arena, and the night officially began.
The show opened hot with a tag team match featuring Kofi Kingston and Taylor Rotunda versus Curt Hawkins and Jaylen Croft.
It was a fast paced match, full of energy. Kofi flew across the ring with his usual flair, springboarding and twisting through the air like gravity didn't apply to him. Taylor held it down with technical precision, showing off the same gritty resilience that had made his father proud.
Curt and Jaylen were no slouches either. They worked over Taylor with classic heel tactics, quick tags, dirty moves behind the ref's back, trash talk aimed at the crowd.
But the tide turned when Kofi got the hot tag. The crowd exploded as he stormed the ring, hitting dropkicks and leaping clotheslines with his usual fire. After a brief scuffle, Kofi nailed Hawkins with the Trouble in Paradise, the loud crack of boot on skull echoing through the building.
1… 2… 3.
The crowd roared.
Taylor and Kofi celebrated, raising each other's arms as the commentary team hyped them up as potential tag team title contenders. As Sandro was now a double heavyweight champ, it make sense for the two of them to tag.
Backstage, Sandro was watching on a monitor. He smiled at the screen. Those two had come a long way.
"Alright," a producer tapped his shoulder. "You're on in five."
Sandro nodded, adjusting the belts on his shoulders. He took one last breath, then stepped out into the hallway that led to the curtain.
The lights dimmed. A single spotlight hit the stage.
Then Sandro's music 'Cult Of Personality' hit.
The crowd reaction was instant loud, raucous. Half cheers, half stunned awe. He emerged through the curtain, both titles on his shoulders, the Titantron behind him flashing his name in bold letters.
He stood there for a moment at the top of the ramp, soaking it all in. This wasn't just another entrance. This was a statement.
"Ladies and gentleman, please welcome the FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion and the TNA World Heavyweight Champion! Sandro Zhang!"
The crowd cheer loudly and when he stepped into the ring, a mic was already waiting. The chants of "Double Champ!" echoed off the walls.
Sandro let them chant. He let them feel it.
Then, finally, he lifted the mic.
"Last Saturday," he began, "I did something they told me wasn't possible."
The crowd roared.
His voice steady and resolute, "I walked into Forbidden Door as the FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion. I walked out not just as the FCW title, but also the TNA World Heavyweight Champion," Sandro said, letting the pause hang in the air, letting the crowd drink it in.
Sandro smiled, but there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes, pride, yes, but also a fire that hadn't been there before. A couple signs in the crowd read "FCW > TNA" and "Sandro = Legend in the Making."
"I faced Kurt Freakin' Angle," he said simply, and the audience popped. Just saying the name sent a ripple of awe through the arena. "One of the best, if not the best, in this business. Going toe to toe with him, and coming out on top, proves that I deserve every ounce of this gold. If beating Kurt Angle doesn't validate that, I don't know what does."
The audience erupted again, louder this time, some fans even stomping their feet as they chanted, "You deserve it! You deserve it!"
Sandro nodded, a hint of humility in his eyes. "After the most brutal match of my career, I can say this, that I a more immense respect for Kurt Angle. We've had our disagreements, our tensions, but after that match, what's left is respect. At least from me."
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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, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion