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The music didn't stop, and the food was still being picked at, but the wild excitement mellowed into something gentler. Laughter still echoed, but it had a drowsy warmth now, like everyone had exhaled after weeks of build up to that one, perfect moment. Most people gathered in the living room, a mass of bodies sprawled across furniture and floor, drawn together by the gravitational pull of Jack Zhang.
It was rare to find a room full of professional wrestlers who would collectively shut up and listen to someone talk for more than ten seconds, but Jack? He held the room effortlessly. Not because he demanded it, but because he earned it.
"So there we were," Jack said, chuckling as he leaned forward in his seat, eyes twinkling. "Mid level management review, quarterly performance meeting, and one of my execs, Larry, a good guy, runs marketing, he stands up, looks around at all of us in suits and ties, and says, 'Gentlemen, I believe this pie chart has personally offended me.'"
A burst of laughter rippled through the room.
Sandro laughed the loudest. "No way Larry will do that."
"I swear on everything," Jack said, holding up a hand. "He said it with such a straight face as well. Dead serious. And I thought, 'Either he's lost it… or he's a comedic genius.'"
Taylor, seated beside her husband, shook her head with a smile. "He later told me he did it just to see if anyone in the room was paying attention."
"He was testing you?" asked Drew, grinning.
"Oh yeah," Jack nodded. "I told him he passed. Gave him a raise. Anyone bold enough to interrupt a meeting with comedy is either someone you fire or someone you keep close."
"Or both, really," Kofi added, making everyone laugh again.
Taylor chimed in with her own tale about one of her partners from her law firm who once scheduled a video call from the middle of a hot yoga class. "He kept the camera on, sweating like a maniac, answering strategy questions like he wasn't in downward dog."
"Corporate in America is wilder than wrestling," muttered Sheamus, earning nods of agreement.
Sandro sat against the wall, arms resting over his knees, watching his parents like they were the stars of the show. Which, tonight, they kind of were.
He had grown up with this energy, his dad's dry wit, and his mom's whip smart sass, but seeing them blend into this world, his world, made something settle comfortably inside his chest. It felt right.
In the middle of a story about a finance officer who tried to pitch a new software idea using interpretive dance (and succeeded, somehow), Sandro's phone buzzed in his lap.
He glanced down, thumb already unlocking the screen.
Nikki: Happy New Year, babe. Mwah.
A soft smile tugged at his lips. He glanced around, making sure no one was peeking over his shoulder, then typed back:
Sandro: Happy New Year to you too. Kiss back at you.
He pocketed the phone without fanfare. Just a small moment tucked between laughter and warmth, private and quiet, but it left a glow in his chest that mingled nicely with everything else going on.
The party continued for another couple of hours. Slowly, inevitably, the vibe wound down as fatigue crept in. People began rising from their seats with groans, stretching out their backs, gathering jackets and bottles they'd brought. Hugs were exchanged, promises to catch up soon made with drowsy sincerity.
Big E was the first to leave, clapping Sandro on the back. "Hell of a night. Thanks, bro."
Nick gave him a mock salute, sunglasses still inexplicably on. "Legendary."
Charlotte and Alexa waved from the doorway. Rebecca hugged Sandro tightly. "Happy New Year, you crazy man."
Sheamus and Drew left together, still arguing over which of them had eaten more tacos. Bray stayed back an extra minute to help fold a few chairs before slipping out with Kofi, Taylor, Rowan, and Harper. One by one, the apartment emptied, the echoes of celebration trailing behind them like smoke.
Eventually, the only people left were Sandro, April, and his parents.
April, who'd lingered with a casual, "I'll help clean up," like she didn't already know exactly how the night was going to end.
Taylor stood, brushing off her jeans. "We'll stay in the guest room," she said, giving Sandro a meaningful smile. "We brought travel stuff. No worries."
"Yeah," Jack said, stifling a yawn as he stood beside her. "We're wiped."
"Thanks for coming," Sandro said, giving his mom a hug and his dad a quick pat on the back.
With that, Jack and Taylor disappeared into the spare room, the door closing softly behind them. Sandro turned and looked at April, who was already stacking empty plates.
"You really don't have to—"
"Shut up and pass me the trash bags," she said, shooting him a grin.
So they cleaned. Quietly, methodically. April gathered bottles, half empty cups, and rogue napkins from every corner of the apartment while Sandro boxed up the leftover food and rearranged the furniture.
They moved around each other with the kind of rhythm born from familiarity, bumping shoulders, exchanging tired jokes.
After nearly an hour, the apartment looked like itself again. The mess was gone, but the warmth lingered. Dishes stacked in the sink, leftovers in the fridge, an open bottle of cider on the counter.
Sandro leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You're amazing."
April rolled her eyes, walking toward him. "I know."
Sandro reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Come on," he said softly. "Let's shower and sleep."
April nodded.
She went first, disappearing into the bathroom with a towel over her shoulder, the door closing behind her. Steam soon filled the hallway.
Sandro sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, flicking through messages, replying to a few more Happy New Year wishes, some from FCW and TNA wrestlers, some from his business associates, and some from his old friends back in Uni.
When April stepped out, face fresh, hair damp, wearing one of his old shirts and nothing else, he stood and kissed her on the forehead before heading in to shower himself.
The water was hot and cleansing. He leaned against the tile for a moment, letting it run down his back, washing away the weight of the day. Of the year. Of everything.
When he returned to the bedroom, April was already curled up under the covers, scrolling on her phone. She looked up when he entered, eyes soft.
He climbed in beside her. No grand gesture. Just comfort. Just them.
April clicked her phone off and set it on the nightstand. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Sandro said, pulling the covers up. "Better than okay."
"Good," she whispered.
They lay in silence for a moment, the hum of the city outside barely audible.
Sandro turned his head toward her. "You staying tomorrow?"
"Maybe," April said, grinning. "Depends on whether you feed me pancakes."
"I'll make waffles."
"Oh damn. You're really trying to win me over."
"I thought I already did."
She reached out and took his hand. "You did."
They lay there, fingers intertwined, eyes drifting shut. Not lovers performing for the world. Not wrestlers trying to climb the next rung. Just two people in a quiet room, sharing the silence.
After that, several days passed by filled with warmth, rest, and simple joys, Sandro spending time with his father, mother, and April, of course. They didn't go out much, choosing instead to stay inside Sandro's apartment, enjoying the rare quiet moments that felt like stolen time in their usually hectic lives. The pace of their days slowed to a comfortable crawl.
Mornings bled into afternoons over long breakfasts, April's sleepy yawns, Taylor's sharp wit over coffee, and Jack's half serious rants about the news. The evenings were filled with games, movies, stories from old times, and talks that stretched deep into the night.
It had been a while since Sandro had this, his family close, his world calm, the noise of wrestling and business dialed down just enough that he could hear himself think. And as much as he thrived on chaos in the ring, he cherished these days just as deeply.
Of course, amidst the comfort and calm, there was business too. Jack was never off the clock completely, and neither was Sandro, not really. One afternoon, as April napped on the couch and Taylor stepped out for a quick grocery run, saying how it reminded her time when she met Sandro's father, Jack and Sandro settled by the window, sipping coffee and going over updates.
Jack started with a familiar grin, "So, Marvel's finally kicked off production on those projects that you recommended and making this multiverse thing you're saying at the board meeting you attended to some time ago."
Sandro raised a brow. "Seriously? They finally decide to follow my recommendations?"
"More than that," Jack said. "I made sure of it. Sat in on some of the early creative sessions myself. They're sticking to the source material, faithfully, too. Any changes are either from the original What If? Arcs or grounded stuff that makes sense."
"And there's no agenda nonsense whatever, right, Dad?" Sandro asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
"None," Jack confirmed, his tone hardening just a bit. "I told them, if there's even a hint of ideological fluff that gets in the way of storytelling, it's out. Doesn't matter who's pushing it. Entertainment first, always."
Sandro nodded, satisfied. "Good. That's what people want. Not lectures. Just good characters, good arcs, good stories, and fights that make you scream at the screen."
Jack chuckled. "Exactly. But we need to stay on it. Production's still in early stages. If any of the usual Hollywood players start sniffing around and try to wedge in their narratives, we cut it out before it roots."
"Agreed. Keep it clean, keep it fun.".
They clinked their coffee mugs in a silent toast to that shared goal.
Jack leaned back in his chair. "Also, Twitter."
Sandro tilted his head. "What about it?"
"You were right. We bought up more shares from minority holders. Quietly. Cleanly. We've increased our voting power at the executive table. And the best part? The stock has tripled in value after the introduction of hashtags and also posting video clips."
Sandro blinked, impressed. "Tripled? Damn."
"Yup," Jack said, not even trying to hide his pride. "People like it and flock in using Twitter even more. Several advertisers are approaching Twitter as well to advertise their products. And now that we've got more say at the top, we can shape the direction even further."
"That's huge," Sandro said. "Especially with the midterm election around the corner. People are going to flood back to the platform if they trust it's not biased."
"That's the plan," Jack nodded.
There was a pause as Sandro looked out the window, the Orlando skyline stretching beyond. It always surprised him how far they'd come. How much of his old life, his real life, bled into this one? Sometimes it made him feel like he was cheating fate.
Jack broke the silence again. "One more thing. Music."
Sandro looked back. "Oh?"
"I've been talking to a few agencies. Not just managers either. Some studios. Distribution teams. The idea is to consolidate, buy them out, merge them, and launch under one banner. We're not rushing, but it's in motion. A couple of months, maybe three, and we'll be sitting on a serious chunk of the music industry."
Sandro whistled low. "Between that and my Spotify shares, we're gonna have serious pull in the industry, Dad."
"That's the goal," Jack said. "Control the platform, the management, and the online distribution? We don't just play the game. We are the game."
Sandro leaned back, letting it sink in. "I gotta say, Dad… this is the kind of power play I dreamed about back when I was little." Inwardly, Sandro felt a bit sheepish for saying such a thing, because he knew that he wanted to become w wrestler the moment he reincarnated to this earth.
Jack laughed, shaking his head. "Well, you're doing something different now, that's for sure, even though we tried to stir you from wrestling, turning from hobby to work, but it's okay, as everything works out fine for our genius son."
Sandro smiled.
Then Jack's face shifted, as if remembering something that had slipped his mind. He snapped his fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot, the red is also Nokia."
Sandro blinked. "The former giant phone company?"
"Yeah. Apparently, they've been quietly developing a new smartphone. Supposed to be their answer to Apple."
"No way," Sandro said, intrigued. "I thought they faded out after losing to Apple."
"They did. But now they're back. Leaner. Smarter. They're working with some of the same supply chains we use for Apple mobile division. There's a chance they'll be a real competitor."
"Damn. We might actually have a new fight on our hands in the tech sector."
Jack nodded. "Better competition than some startup hyped on buzzwords and no product."
"True."
They then talked for another hour, throwing ideas back and forth, new projects, political angles to consider, investment strategies, and who to watch in the entertainment press. It wasn't just father son bonding. It was a strategy. It was a partnership. It was empire building.
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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