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Fans in the front rows pointed at his attire, nudging their friends in disbelief. Some held up their phones, recording what was already an iconic entrance. The ring announcer's voice cut through the noise, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion… SANDRO ZHANG!"
As Sandro began his walk down the ramp, he carried himself differently than before. There was a confidence, a commanding presence, but not arrogance.
He still acknowledged the fans, reaching out for a few high fives, but unlike before, where he would enthusiastically slap hands with everyone, now, he was selective. A high five here, a nod there. He wasn't cold, but he carried himself with the demeanor of a man who knew he was at the top.
The closer he got to the ring, the more the noise grew. It wasn't just about his new look, it was about what he was going to say. Last week had changed everything.
Sandro reached the steel steps and ascended them deliberately, stepping into the ring with the poise of a champion who knew exactly who he was. He made his way to the center, then slowly, with purpose, lifted the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship into the air.
The 80% of fans who cheered him roared louder, showing their continued support. Even those who had booed seemed captivated by the moment.
Sandro soaked it all in before heading to the right corner of the ring, where a staff member handed him a microphone. The music died down, and the anticipation skyrocketed.
He let the moment linger.
He looked around the arena, watching the mixed reactions in the crowd. Some fans chanted his name, others booed, and some simply waited, eager to hear what he had to say.
Sandro raised the microphone to his lips, pausing for a moment before finally speaking.
"Last week… I did something that shook this entire industry."
He let the words hang in the air, allowing the crowd's reaction to fill the space. The cheers intensified, though the boos from the minority remained.
"I bribed a referee. I used my money, my power, to restart a match. And the internet went crazy."
A mix of cheers and laughter from fans who loved the drama, contrasted by some lingering boos.
"Some of you are calling me the smartest man in wrestling today."
More cheers.
"Some of you are calling me a sellout, saying I went too far."
Scattered boos.
Sandro smirked slightly, adjusting his grip on the mic.
"But let's be real here… all I did was what every single person in this business WISHES they could do,
I took control of my own fate."
A massive pop from the crowd.
"For years, we've seen injustice in this business. We've seen legends held down, robbed of their moments. We've seen talented wrestlers never get their shot because some suit in the back didn't like them. And you know what? I'm sick of it."
His voice grew more intense, the passion clear in his words.
"I didn't cheat. I didn't steal. I simply used my resources. And guess what? If any of you had the power to do what I did, you'd do the exact same thing."
The cheers grew louder, the 80% of the fans starting to rally behind his mindset. "I didn't take the easy way out, I took control. I made sure that the right thing happened."
He then gestured toward the championship on his shoulder. "This title? I EARNED it. I fought for it. I bled for it. And I REFUSED to let some shady officiating take it away from me. So I did what had to be done. And I'll do it again if necessary."
The crowd erupted, now almost fully behind him.
Sandro paced slightly, letting his words sink in.
"People are comparing me to Ted DiBiase, saying I 'bought' my way to the top. Let me make one thing clear, I'm not here to throw money around just to flaunt it. This isn't about greed… this is about justice."
He turned toward the hard camera, his gaze sharp and unwavering.
"I'm not the villain here. I'm the wake up call this industry needed."
A massive "SANDRO! SANDRO!" chant broke out, the fans fully engaged.
Sandro nodded, letting them chant before he took out a hundred dollar bill from his pocket, and spoke again.
Sandro held the crisp hunger dollar bill between his fingers, letting the camera zoom in on it. The crowd quieted slightly, intrigued by what he was about to say. He let the silence linger for a moment, then finally spoke.
"You all know what this is," he said, holding the bill higher. "It's the currency of this country. With this, you can buy food, clothes, cars, hell, if you've got enough of these, you can buy damn near anything. And not just here, but all over the world."
He turned the bill between his fingers, letting the audience take in its significance. "But let me ask you something… why is this piece of paper worth a hundred dollars? Because it says '100' on it? Because the government tells you it is?" He smirked, shaking his head. "That doesn't make sense, does it? At the end of the day, it's just paper and ink. There's nothing physically valuable about it."
The crowd listened intently, some murmuring in agreement.
"This bill is worth a hundred dollars because people believe it is. Because it has a reputation. A reputation built on trust. When you go to a store and hand them this, they don't question it. They take it because they trust in the system behind it."
He paced slowly, letting his words sink in. Then, he pulled out a lighter from his pocket. The moment it clicked open, the crowd reacted with a mixture of surprise and confusion.
"But trust… trust is fragile. It can be destroyed in an instant. One bad decision, one bad event, and suddenly, all that trust? Gone."
Without hesitation, Sandro brought the flame to the corner of the bill. The fire caught quickly, its orange glow flickering in the dimmed arena lights. Gasps erupted from the audience as the flame began to eat away at the bill.
"This is how fast trust can burn away," Sandro said, watching the fire spread. "When people start doubting, when uncertainty creeps in, panic follows. And panic spreads like wildfire."
He continued watching the bill burn, his expression calm but thoughtful. "If no one steps in, if no one takes action, then trust keeps eroding… until there's nothing left."
The last remnants of the bill curled into black ash between his fingers. The audience was mesmerized, locked into every word he said.
"Now let's talk about what happened last week."
Sandro crushed the burnt remains of the bill in his palm, then dusted them away. "Nick cheated. Everyone saw it. The fans, the locker room, the world. In that moment, trust in this championship, trust in this company, was on the verge of breaking. People started asking, 'Is this title a joke? Is FCW just another company that lets this kind of crap slide?' That doubt, that panic, started to spread."
He looked around the arena, scanning the faces in the crowd. "So I stepped in. I did what had to be done. Because if I hadn't, what happens next? What happens if Nick gets away with it? What happens if he walks around with this belt, knowing he stole it? How do you all feel then?"
A few voices in the crowd shouted, "Pissed off!" Others nodded, murmuring in agreement.
"Exactly," Sandro said, pointing toward them. "You would've felt betrayed. You would've felt like this belt didn't mean anything. And that's what I couldn't allow to happen."
He ran a hand over the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship draped over his shoulder. "I didn't do what I did because Taylor my best friend is in the match. Hell, I would've loved for him to win. But that's not why I did it. I did it because this title, this company, deserves better. I did it to protect what we've built here. To make sure FCW remains a place where championships mean something."
Sandro's voice intensified, his passion coming through with every word. "So, yeah, I bribed a referee. I did what none of you would have the guts to do. And I'd do it again, because I refuse to let this place turn into a joke."
The crowd erupted in cheers, now fully behind him.
He pointed to the hard camera. "And so, to everyone on the internet, who compared me to Ted DiBiase, saying I bought my way to the top, listen up. This isn't about greed. This isn't about money. This is about justice. I didn't buy a championship. I saved it."
Sandro took a step forward, gripping the mic tighter. "I am not the villain. I am the wake up call this business needed."
The fans erupted into another "SANDRO! SANDRO!" chant, and he let them have their moment. Then, as they quieted down, he smirked slightly and leaned into the mic.
"And if you still don't get it… maybe you're just not smart enough to."
He tossed the microphone over his shoulder, letting it bounce off the mat as his music hit again. He climbed the turnbuckle, raising his championship high, and the arena exploded once more.
Whether they loved him or hated him, one thing was clear, Sandro Zhang had just cemented himself as one of the most compelling figures in FCW currently.
Just as Sandro soaked in the reaction, standing tall on the turnbuckle, his championship raised high, the sudden blast of Dusty Rhodes' entrance music hit the speakers.
The arena erupted in surprise. Even Sandro, still perched on the ropes, turned toward the entrance ramp, his face showing a well acted look of disbelief. The reaction was instant, fans were cheering for Dusty, the legendary "American Dream" making his way out onto the stage, microphone in hand.
Sandro stepped down from the turnbuckle, readjusting the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship on his left shoulder, while keeping his eyes locked on the Hall of Famer.
Dusty walked with purpose, his iconic swagger still as strong as ever, waving to the crowd before signaling with his free hand to cut the music. The cheers simmered just enough for him to speak, though the energy in the building remained electric.
Dusty brought the microphone to his lips.
"Well now… I tell ya what, that right there was one hell of a speech, son."
The crowd cheered again. Dusty nodded, letting them show their love before continuing.
"Sandro, you got a way with words, baby. You stand there in that ring, draped in gold, talkin' about justice, about takin' control, about doin' what you think is right… And as a man who's been in this business for decades, let me tell ya, what you just said? That fire, that passion? I respect it and I support it as a veteran wrestler of this industry."
Sandro smirked slightly, adjusting the belt on his shoulder, while Dusty continue his words.
"But as the head of creative of FCW… as the general manager of FCW… I can't accept what you did last week."
BOOOOOOOOOOO!
The reaction from the crowd was immediate. The 80% of fans who had been supporting Sandro turned on Dusty in an instant, showering him with boos after what he have just said.
Sandro, still standing in the center of the ring, shrugged theatrically before bending down to pick up the microphone he had previously tossed aside. He brought it to his lips, staring up at Dusty on the stage.
"So what does that mean, Dusty?" Sandro asked, his voice dripping with curiosity, but also a hint of defiance as he looked deeply on Dusty. "Are you gonna punish me? For doing the right thing last weel? For doing something you just admitted you agree and support with?"
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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 & 1 FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion 7