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Drew and Ryback began their start on a bulking regimen the next day, eating constantly, lifting heavier, and pushing their limits. They also worked on chemistry, little cues, shared glances, how to move together in the ring, and how to carry themselves like a unified machine. Sandro was at the center, the architect and leader, guiding without ego, listening when needed, pushing when it mattered.
He also made time for his personal life, carving out evenings for April, his girlfriend. They'd cook dinner together in his apartment or hers, sometimes just sit on the couch with takeout and TV, other times talk about everything, her goals, his fears, the weight of this new spotlight. She kept him grounded.
He also spends time with his parents, Jack and Taylor, for brunch every day as they are still in Tampa, eating whatever Taylor cooks for them. They didn't talk about wrestling much. Jack just made coffee and cracked jokes about Sandro's eyes looking "too villainous." Taylor, as always, just smiled and hugged her son a little longer than usual.
At night, he always found time to call Nikki. Sometimes the calls were short, quick check ins. Other times they lasted an hour or more, talking about the biz, their shared ambitions, and how lonely it could get even when you were surrounded by people. Sandro knew she understood him in ways others didn't.
But the biggest curveball of the week came on Sunday.
He was mid stretch in his apartment, scrolling through some fan reactions online, when his phone buzzed. It was Alexa.
"Meet me at that small cafe near FCW HQ? at 5 PM. Need to talk."
He stared at the message longer than he should've. His heart picked up a little. Their last conversation had stayed with him.
Now, she wanted to talk again.
Sandro didn't dress fancy. Just jeans, a black hoodie, and sunglasses. He pulled the hood up as he stepped inside the small café, scanning the room until he spotted her in the corner, blonde hair tied up, a black leather jacket, sipping what looked like an iced coffee. She looked up the moment he stepped in.
Their eyes locked. She smiled faintly.
He sat across from her, unsure whether to smile or apologize. He settled for both.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
There was a long pause. Just them and the quiet hum of background chatter.
Sandro could feel the air between them stiffen, heavy with something unspoken. The faint clatter of cups and quiet chatter from nearby tables filled the void, but between him and Alexa, silence reigned. He cleared his throat, the sound more awkward than he intended, and shifted slightly in his seat.
"So… why'd you want to meet?" he asked gently, keeping his voice low.
Alexa set her coffee down, her fingers still curled lightly around the cup. Her eyes didn't meet his right away. She took a breath, like she'd been holding something in for a long time and finally had no choice but to let it out. Then, in a soft, uncertain voice, she asked, "Have you… figured out how you feel about me?"
She didn't look up after the words left her lips. Her face flushed a soft pink, the color crawling up from her neck to her cheeks, and her eyes stayed glued to her lap. Sandro blinked, caught completely off guard. He coughed, almost choking on his own breath as her question rattled around in his chest.
He hadn't expected this, at least not now. Not like this.
"I…" he started, then trailed off. He ran a hand over his face and leaned back slightly, giving himself a moment. When he finally spoke again, his voice was gentle. "Alexa, honestly… I haven't had the time to really think about it."
Her head snapped up slightly, just enough for him to catch the way her expression shifted. The flush in her cheeks quickly faded, replaced by a pale stillness. Her lips trembled for a second before she pressed them together, clearly trying to hold something back.
"I know that's not fair to you," Sandro continued, quickly, trying to get the words out before she shut down completely. "You had the guts to ask me directly, and I respect the hell out of that. I do. But I've just been… buried. Between training, building this faction, keeping my balance, it's been a lot. I'm not saying no. I'm just saying I need more time."
Alexa sniffled. She blinked rapidly, her lashes fluttering as if she were trying to blink back tears. And for a second, Sandro hated himself. He didn't mean to hurt her, but the truth was never easy to dress up, and even gentleness can cut.
Then, unexpectedly, Alexa looked up, a fragile hope in her eyes. "Then… would it be okay if we went out? Like… to the mall or something? Just once. As a date. You can think about your feelings that way. Just… give it a chance."
She exhaled, almost like she'd let go of the last of her pride. Her voice cracked a little, but she didn't hide it. And that hit Sandro right in the chest.
He looked at her, really looked. This wasn't the confident, tough in the ring Alexa the fans saw. This was someone baring her heart in the middle of a quiet café with trembling hands and a flicker of hope.
How could he say no to that?
"…Yeah," he said after a pause, and when he saw the little smile that crept onto her lips, it felt like something inside him shifted.
They left the café and walked to his car. The afternoon sun was dipping low, giving the sky a warm hue. They drove to the mall, not saying much at first, both a little nervous now that they were calling it a "date."
Inside, they did the typical stuff, tried on ridiculous sunglasses, laughed at a weird dancing clown at the lobby of the mall, even managed to get a stuffed bear at the arcade, which Alexa named "Bruiser."
They got some smoothies and sat in the food court for a while, just talking. Not about wrestling, not about pressure, just silly, random stuff. Their favorite childhood cartoons. Their first wrestling experience. The time Sandro got locked in a gym bathroom for an hour because the latch broke.
And bit by bit, Sandro felt something ease inside him. He started noticing things. How Alexa's eyes lit up when she laughed. How she kept brushing her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. How easy it was to be around her, even when he wasn't trying.
They went for dinner after, a quiet Italian place nearby. She ordered lasagna, he got fettuccine, and they ended up stealing bites from each other's plates like they'd been doing this forever. When they walked back to the car, the night was cool, and Sandro found himself walking a little slower, wishing it could last longer.
At her apartment door, he unlocked the car's central lock to let her out. Alexa didn't move for a second, then leaned in quickly and kissed his cheek, just a soft press and gone in a blink. She didn't say anything after. Just smiled, said goodnight, and slipped out of the car, leaving Sandro frozen for a heartbeat before grinning like a dope all the way home.
Then two days passed by, and Monday hit like a freight train.
Backstage at the FCW arena was buzzing, but Sandro stood in the center of it all, calm and composed with his TNA World Heavyweight title on his left shoulder. He wore a tailored black suit with gold thread accents, sleek, powerful, the look of someone who was in charge combined with a gold aviator he used.
Beside him stood the rest of his crew, Big E, Drew, Stu, and Ryback. All of them were dressed in matching formal black suits. They looked like they'd just walked off the runway and into a mafia movie.
This was their look going forward. Suited up for promos, disruptions, anything that wasn't in ring. They wanted to make a statement, visual dominance, unity, and style. When it was time for a match, they'd change into ring gear, but until then, this was their armor.
Sandro paced lightly, eyeing each of them.
"You all ready?" he asked, his voice steady, confident.
Drew gave a small nod, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. "Ready, mate."
Ryback cracked his knuckles, dead serious. "Let's tear the place down."
Big E was bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, his energy barely contained. "Let's give them a reason to remember tonight."
Stu, the most calm between the three, just straightened his tie and smirked. "Let's make it count."
Sandro nodded once. "Remember your roles. You're the storm behind me. Stoic, unflinching. I'm the one they look at and think they have a chance against. Then you step in and show them they don't."
The night moved quickly. Matches blurred past, promos aired, lights flashed, and fans roared. But everything built toward one thing, the main event promo. The lights dimmed, the crowd buzzed with anticipation, and Sandro's entrance theme Cult of Personality by living colour hit.
He walked out first with his TNA World Heavyweight title on his left shoulder and a microphone on his right hand, flanked by Big E, Drew, Stu, and Ryback. The arena lights bathed them in gold and black.
The crowd erupted in own of the most loudest boos ever heard on live TV, with only Sandro responding to the loud boos with sneer and arrogance, while Big E, Drew, Stu, and Ryback just put stoic and mean face.
Big E and Drew get in the run first, followed by Sandro, and then Stu and Ryback. Sandro stood in the center of the ring, mic in hand, the others behind him like shadows. He looked around, letting the loud boo continue.
When the boos finally started to die down, Sandro raised the microphone to his lips and tilted his head slightly, a smug smirk stretching across his face. His sunglasses glinted under the arena lights, and he tapped the mic once, waiting just a heartbeat longer.
"You done yet?" he asked, his voice cutting through the lingering noise like a blade. "Or do you need another minute to wet your pants with all that booing?"
That triggered it again. The entire FCW Arena erupted into another tidal wave of boos, louder than before, a full-throated symphony of hate directed at the man standing tall in the ring with gold on his shoulder and steel in his voice. And what did Sandro do?
He clapped.
A slow, mocking clap that echoed through the speakers. Big E crossed his arms behind him, jaw clenched. Stu gave a little shake of his head, like the crowd was a joke not worth laughing at. Drew simply stared forward, cold as stone, and Ryback cracked his neck, fists twitching at his sides.
When the crowd noise ebbed once more, Sandro finally spoke again, his grin now something darker.
"That's all it takes," he said, voice dripping with disdain. "All I had to say was you could boo again, and look at you, right on cue. You people are so easy to manipulate, it's almost disappointing."
A wave of fresh jeers rolled in, but Sandro didn't even flinch this time. He turned slightly, gesturing broadly to the crowd as if presenting a joke to his crew.
"You see this? This is what I'm cleaning up. This right here, you. You're the cancerous tumors choking the life out of this industry. And guess what? Cutting you out is gonna be easier than I ever imagined."
The crowd roared in rage, chants of "You suck!" building, but Sandro just shook his head with a sneer.
"Yeah, yeah, scream it louder, scream it until your throats are raw, I don't care. I'm not out here for your validation. I'm not here for your cheers or your claps or your stupid signs you hold up with glitter and duct tape. I'm here for a higher purpose. I'm here to rebuild." He stepped forward, now standing front and center, shoulders squared, voice unwavering.
He stepped forward, now standing front and center, shoulders squared, voice unwavering.
"You all saw it last week. The new crew. The new family I've made."
He turned around then, raising his hand in a slow, deliberate gesture toward the men behind him.
"Drew. Stu. Ryback."
They each took a step forward as their names were called, stoic and terrifying under the harsh light. Their presence was undeniable.
The fans booed harder, chants of "Fuck You!" starting to rise when they saw Drew and Stu at Sandro's side, but Sandro just held up his hand. "Look at them. Drink it in. You remember the war I had with Drew and Stu. You remember 'The Empire.' Back when I was still your little puppet, dancing on your strings, doing everything just to hear your applause." He sneered now, bitterness lacing his tone.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: FCW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: None
Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion