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By the time Sandro, Big E, and the YouTube team landed in Tampa and arrived at the FCW Headquarters, the YouTube team uploaded the training montage. The FCW social media team didn't waste time, within minutes, the official Twitter account blasted it out with the caption:
"THE MAKING OF A CHAMPION. @SandroZhang's journey to Forbidden Door starts HERE."
Fans flooded the replies, shocked at the revelation that Sandro had been a state wrestling champion at fifteen, let alone that he'd turned down an Olympic team invite. FCW official forums and Twitter lit up with debates:
"Bro, how did we NOT know this?!"
"Kurt's still gonna murder him, but damn, respect."
"This changes everything. Sandro's not just some indie fluke."
Even the skeptics had to admit, the footage was powerful. There was Sandro, drenched in sweat, drilling takedowns like a machine. Coach Grady's voiceover about his past victories.
The slow motion shot of Sandro nailing a perfect suplex, muscles straining, eyes locked in determination.
Sandro was sitting with April on his sofa, where April watched the video on her phone and Sandro's phone at this time buzzed relentlessly. He picked up his phone and, saw that he had two missed calls from Nikki.
He barely had time to sit down before his phone rang again. Nikki's name flashed on the screen.
Sandro answered, putting her on speaker. "Hey, Nik—"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?!" Nikki's voice was equal parts excited and accusatory.
April who had finished watching the video beside Sandro chimed in, "Seriously, Sandro! You were a freaking state wrestling champion at fifteen? And you turned down the Olympics? How does that not come up in conversation?!"
Sandro rubbed his temples, laughing. "I mean… you never asked?"
"OH, THAT'S YOUR EXCUSE?! REALLY?!" Nikki shrieked.
April groaned as she nudged him with her elbow. "You're impossible. You know that, right?"
Sandro leaned back, grinning. "Yeah, but you two love me anyway."
There was a pause. Then, in unison, both April and Nikki even though separated, "...Shut up."
Then days passed by and it was Monday once again, just four days away from the Forbidden Door Pay Per View. The anticipation was palpable, not just among the fans but in the locker room itself.
The energy inside FCW Headquarters was different, sharper, and more intense, like everyone was collectively holding their breath. For Sandro, the past few days had been a whirlwind of preparation, media buzz, and internal reflection.
The now viral training montage video had sent shockwaves across the wrestling community. It wasn't just the fact that Sandro had been a state wrestling champion at fifteen or that he had once been scouted for the Olympics.
It was the way the story was told. The sweat drenched footage. Coach Grady's gruff but proud voiceover. The suplex is in slow-motion. The icy determination in Sandro's eyes. It wasn't just training. It was a statement. A war cry. A reminder to everyone, especially Kurt Angle, that Sandro Zhang wasn't playing wrestler.
He was one.
FCW's social media department played it masterfully. They clipped bite sized moments from the video into a picture, Sandro sprawling out of a takedown, lifting heavy bags, executing pristine throws, and posting them throughout the weekend. Every post pulled thousands of likes, quote tweets, and debates.
Even some of Kurt Angle's fans, diehards who swore no one could lace his boots, had started to murmur. Just a little. Just enough. What if this kid's actually a problem?
Sandro stayed off Twitter for the most part. April had taken his phone once to stop him from doomscrolling and locked it in a drawer. He didn't argue.
Instead, he threw himself into training, early mornings, late nights, and sparring sessions so intense even Big E had to tap out from exhaustion. But despite the pressure, Sandro remained grounded. Calm. Centered.
And now, it was Monday night. FCW Live. The last show before Forbidden Door.
The arena lights dimmed, the crowd buzzing as the theme song hit. Right on cue, the show exploded to life.
Big E Langston opened the show, stomping his way down the ramp with that stoic confident face that radiated through the building.
The fans erupted into cheers. Sandro walked beside him with the FCW Florida Heavyweights title on his shoulder, clapping and pointing at E like a proud boss.
Big E's opponent? None other than Jake Hager, the powerhouse who had made waves in FCW and was now on his way to WWE's ECW brand. This was his farewell match, and the stakes were high, not in terms of gold or rankings, but pride. Respect.
From the moment the bell rang, it was a clash of strength and athleticism. Big E's raw power was on full display as he countered Hager's technical grapples with spine jarring slams.
Sandro watched closely, occasionally barking advice or clapping encouragement, his presence magnetic enough to draw the cameras in between spots.
Hager, to his credit, brought everything he had. There were moments when he nearly caught Big E in his version of ankle lock, the crowd audibly gasping as E clawed toward the ropes. But Big E's resilience shone through. After a brutal spear followed by his devastating Big Ending finisher, the ref's hand hit the mat for the third time.
1… 2… 3.
The crowd erupted.
Sandro rolled into the ring, lifting Big E's arm in victory. The two shared a moment, a nod, and a big pat on the back, causing the fans could feel that Big E was ready for the next level.
Backstage, as Big E toweled off and Hager accepted handshakes and hugs from the locker room, Sandro stayed in the zone.
He was set to defend his FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship once again, this time against veteran Pat Buck. The crowd was electric when Sandro made his entrance, title strapped around his waist, confidence dripping from every step he took down the ramp.
Pat Buck was no pushover. With years of experience and ring IQ, he brought the fight to Sandro immediately. The early exchanges were crisp, wrist locks, snapmares, and dropkicks. Buck kept Sandro on his toes with technical precision and ring awareness.
But Sandro was sharp. Sharper than ever. His intensity had hit a different gear since his training video had gone viral. Every suplex, every strike, every Irish whip, he executed with purpose.
Midway through the match, Pat Buck stunned Sandro with a rebound lariat, nearly picking up the win. The crowd gasped at the near fall.
But Sandro kicked out.
He does a kip up and hits a superkick on Buck, where his eyes are burning with that quiet fury. He pointed at Buck, then stood and shouted, "Get up!"
Buck rose slowly.
Sandro climbed the top rope. The crowd rose with him.
Then he launched.
Top System Cutter. Perfect execution. Pat Buck was laid out cold.
Sandro could've ended it there. But no. He wanted a message sent. As Pat tried to stir, Sandro climbed again, perched himself with cold precision, and launched into his picture perfect finisher the Downfall DDT.
Then Sandro cover him.
One. Two. Three.
The ref called for the bell, and Sandro rolled off, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily but victorious once again. The title was handed back to him, and he hoisted it with one arm, as the crowd chanted his name with a deafening chorus of admiration and momentum.
He leaned over the ropes, motioned for a mic, and breath heavy, sweat glistening under the lights.
"Four days," he said, staring directly into the hard camera. "Four days 'til Forbidden Door. Kurt, hope you watched this. Hope you saw what's coming. Because I'm not walking into that match to survive. I'm walking in to END you. Walking out with both championships in hand."
Mic drop.
The camera panned over the crowd as the credits began to roll. Fans were on their feet. Some still cheering, some chanting, some even buzzing on their phones.
After that, anticipation and buzz could be felt growing heavier with each passing day as the Forbidden Door pay per view crept closer. Orlando was brimming with excitement.
It was wrestling weekend, and the air in the city practically vibrated with the energy of fans from across the state, some even flying in from across the country.
The event was set to be held in one of Orlando's biggest mid sized stadiums, boasting a capacity of around 20,000 seats, and every last one had been sold out weeks in advance.
The arena had undergone a complete transformation. The Forbidden Door branding was everywhere, banners, floor decals, and digital boards, all bearing the signature logo that merged the FCW and TNA insignias together. It felt historic. Two promotions, one ring, and one night where it all came to a head.
When the day finally arrived, backstage was packed and humming with activity. Wrestlers, producers, trainers, and camera crews bustled through the corridors. Some were stretching. Others pacing.
The locker rooms had become sanctuaries of focus and nerves. Sandro was there, too, in his private locker room with Big E, but unlike most of the others, he had time. His match with Kurt Angle was the main event, which meant he was the last to go on.
While the others prepared mentally for their matches, Sandro sat on a bench, with his headphones in, eyes closed, tuning out the noise as he visualized everything, his entrance, the opening bell, every suplex and counter, and finally, the moment he'd raise both the FCW and TNA championships high above his head.
Elsewhere, the card had already been finalized. Nine matches stood between now and that final showdown. And the very first match of the night? One that had fans buzzing from the moment it was announced.
The opening pyro exploded in dazzling light across the roof of the stadium, red and gold streaks lighting up the crowd as the show officially kicked off. The roar was deafening. Cameras swept across the sea of fans, signs waving, chants already starting.
And then—
"BEER!"
The opening chords of Beer Money Inc.'s theme music hit, and the audience lost it.
James Storm emerged first from the curtain, sunglasses on, cowboy hat tilted low, a beer can in hand, and a wide grin spread across his face. Bobby Roode was right beside him, the more stoic of the two, flexing his arms and glaring down the camera lens like a man on a mission.
Both wore their FCW Tag Team Championship belts proudly strapped around their waists.
As they strode down the ramp, James Storm took a long swig from his beer, then casually tossed it into the crowd. A lucky fan caught it and lost their mind. Storm and Roode climbed into the ring, each taking a corner to soak in the cheers. They raised their belts high, pacing and pointing at the entrance.
The atmosphere shifted.
The lights dimmed.
Then—
The pulse pounding strings of the Main Event Mafia's theme filled the arena. The reaction was immediate with a chorus of boos, thunderous and unrelenting.
Scott Steiner stormed out first, muscles rippling, his signature chainmail headgear glinting under the lights. Behind him, Booker T emerged, focused, intense, every movement calculated. They were the reigning TNA World Tag Team Champions, and they wore it like armor.
Both men walked down the ramp slowly, exuding menace. They didn't respond to the jeers. Their eyes were locked on Beer Money Inc., and the message was clear, this wasn't a show. This was business.
Inside the ring, the tension was electric. Beer Money stood firm, staring down the veterans. Scott Steiner pointed directly at Roode and mouthed something unintelligible but angry. Booker T cracked his knuckles.
The referee took the TNA titles, held them up high to the crowd on all four sides, and then handed them off to the timekeeper.
The bell rang.
And just like that, the Forbidden Door was kicked open.
The match started with James Storm and Booker T circling each other. The crowd buzzed with anticipation. Two ring generals. Two styles. One prize.
They locked up. Collar and elbow tie up in the center of the ring. Booker T, the veteran, took the advantage first, sliding into a headlock. Storm tried to power out, but Booker transitioned smoothly into a hammerlock, then rolled him down with a snapmare, floating into a chin lock.
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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