THE PRICE OF GLORY

January 2027 — Nashville, Tennessee

Everybody dreams about the moment their life changes. Nobody tells you how frightening it can be when that moment finally arrives.

Seventeen Missed Calls

Elijah Mercer woke up to the sound of his phone vibrating against the hardwood floor.

He opened one eye.

Then immediately regretted it.

His head hurt.

His neck was stiff.

His right shoulder felt as though somebody had driven a pickup truck through it.

And somewhere beneath the blankets, his left knee was throbbing.

“Good Lord,” he whispered.

The phone vibrated again.

Eli reached down.

Missed it.

Groaned.

Then rolled onto his side and grabbed it.

17 MISSED CALLS.

43 TEXT MESSAGES.

126 NOTIFICATIONS.

He stared at the screen.

“What the hell?”

The first message was from Mateo Alvarez.

MATEO: BRO.

The second:

MATEO: BROOOOOOO.

The third:

MATEO: YOU BETTER ANSWER YOUR PHONE BEFORE I DRIVE TO YOUR APARTMENT AND KICK YOUR DOOR DOWN.

Eli laughed.

Then winced.

“Don't laugh. Hurts.”

He scrolled farther.

Messages from his mother.

Walter.

Cassidy.

Several wrestlers.

A few promoters.

And one number he didn't recognize.

He opened the message.

Mr. Mercer, my name is Thomas Caldwell. I'm the Director of Talent Relations for American Crown Wrestling. We'd like to arrange a conversation regarding your professional future.

Eli stopped breathing.

He read it again.

Then a third time.

American Crown Wrestling.

ACW.

One of the largest professional wrestling promotions in the country.

National television.

Major arenas.

International tours.

Championships that meant something.

The kind of company Eli had dreamed about since he was eight years old.

He sat up too quickly.

Pain shot through his back.

“AH!”

He collapsed against the pillows.

Then began laughing.

“NO WAY.”

He looked at the message again.

“NO FREAKING WAY!”

His bedroom door opened.

Naomi Bennett stood in the doorway wearing one of Eli's oversized T-shirts.

Her curly hair was tied into a messy bun.

She held two mugs of coffee.

And she looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“Why are you screaming?”

Eli stared at her.

“NAOMI.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

He held up the phone.

“LOOK.”

Naomi approached.

She set down the coffee.

Took the phone.

Read the message.

Then froze.

For several seconds, she didn't move.

Eli grinned.

“Well?”

Naomi looked at him.

Her eyes widened.

“Eli.”

He nodded.

“YEAH.”

She looked back at the phone.

“American Crown Wrestling?”

Eli nodded faster.

“YEAH!”

Naomi covered her mouth.

“Oh my God.”

Eli began laughing.

Naomi looked at him.

Then screamed.

“OH MY GOD!”

She jumped onto the bed.

Eli immediately yelled.

“MY RIBS!”

Naomi laughed.

“Sorry!”

She hugged him anyway.

He held her tightly.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Naomi whispered:

“You did it.”

Eli closed his eyes.

He thought about the little house on Willow Street.

His mother working late shifts.

His grandfather sitting beside him at wrestling shows.

Walter teaching him how to move around a ring.

The years of training.

The empty gyms.

The long drives.

The nights he wondered whether any of it mattered.

He swallowed.

“Not yet.”

Naomi pulled back.

“What?”

Eli smiled.

“I haven't done anything yet.”

Naomi looked at him.

Then smiled softly.

“You've done more than you realize.”

She kissed him.

And for one beautiful moment, the future felt limitless.

But on the bedside table, Naomi's own phone remained silent.

She had been waiting for a call too.

And the longer she waited, the harder it became to celebrate someone else's good news without wondering when her own would arrive.

Three Nights Earlier

December 31, 2026 — Nashville, Tennessee

The biggest crowd in Southern Heritage Wrestling history was on its feet.

One thousand, eight hundred and forty-three people.

Eli knew the number because Walter Hensley had repeated it backstage at least twelve times.

“Eighteen hundred and forty-three,” Walter had said, staring at the attendance sheet.

Billy Knox had grinned.

“Think we should've bought a bigger building?”

Walter had looked at him.

“Think we should've charged more for parking.”

They'd both laughed.

For a company that had nearly closed during the pandemic, it was a miracle.

And tonight, the main event featured two men who had helped make that miracle possible.

Elijah Mercer.

And his best friend.

“The Showman” Mateo Alvarez.

The Southern Heritage Heavyweight Championship hung above the ring.

Not because it was a ladder match.

Because the championship had been suspended from a display above the entrance before the match, then brought down and handed to the referee.

Walter had insisted on making the presentation feel special.

It was the biggest match either man had ever wrestled.

And the first time their friendship had been tested in front of a paying crowd.

Mateo stood backstage wearing black-and-gold gear.

His hair was slicked back.

His wrists were taped.

And his usual grin had been replaced by an expression Eli rarely saw.

Nervousness.

Eli approached him.

“You alright?”

Mateo looked up.

“Yeah.”

Eli raised an eyebrow.

“Liar.”

Mateo sighed.

“I'm fine.”

Eli grinned.

“Your hands are shaking.”

Mateo looked down.

Then laughed.

“Wind chill.”

Eli burst out laughing.

“That's my line!”

Mateo smiled.

“Good lines deserve to be stolen.”

They stood quietly for a moment.

Then Mateo looked toward the curtain.

“You remember our first match together?”

Eli nodded.

“Knoxville.”

Mateo laughed.

“Forty people.”

“Forty-two.”

“Whatever.”

Eli grinned.

“You forgot your boots.”

Mateo groaned.

“Don't remind me.”

“You wrestled in borrowed boots two sizes too big.”

Mateo shook his head.

“And still carried your sorry ass.”

Eli laughed.

They looked at each other.

Then Mateo's expression softened.

“Crazy, huh?”

Eli nodded.

“Yeah.”

Mateo looked toward the championship.

“We actually made it this far.”

Eli smiled.

“Not bad for two idiots.”

Mateo grinned.

“Speak for yourself.”

They laughed.

Then Mateo held out his fist.

Eli bumped it.

“Whatever happens,” Mateo said, “we're brothers.”

Eli nodded.

“Always.”

Neither knew how much those words would eventually hurt.

The Match of Their Lives

The bell rang.

For thirty-one minutes, Eli Mercer and Mateo Alvarez gave everything they had.

The match began with technical wrestling.

Counterholds.

Reversals.

Quick escapes.

Then the pace increased.

Mateo used his speed.

Eli used his strength and determination.

The crowd cheered both men.

At first.

But as the match continued, something changed.

Mateo began taking shortcuts.

Nothing blatant.

A handful of tights.

A quick shove while the referee was distracted.

A deliberately prolonged hold near the ropes.

The crowd noticed.

So did Eli.

After one particularly questionable maneuver, Eli looked at his friend.

“Come on, man.”

Mateo shrugged.

“It's a championship match.”

Eli stared.

Mateo smiled.

“Don't take it personally.”

Then slapped him across the face.

The crowd gasped.

Eli froze.

Mateo stepped back.

For a moment, even he looked surprised by what he'd done.

Then Eli charged.

The match became a fight.

Not reckless.

Not uncontrolled.

But emotional.

Every move carried years of history.

Every near fall felt personal.

Finally, Eli caught Mateo with his finishing maneuver.

The Mercer Driver.

He covered him.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The bell rang.

The arena erupted.

Eli Mercer was the new Southern Heritage Heavyweight Champion.

He rolled onto his back.

Stared at the ceiling.

And began crying.

The referee handed him the championship.

Eli held it against his chest.

For a moment, he couldn't move.

Then he stood.

Raised the belt.

And looked toward the crowd.

His mother was in the front row.

Sarah Mercer was crying.

Thomas Mercer sat beside her, clapping slowly.

His grandfather had become frailer over the years.

But he'd insisted on attending.

Eli pointed toward them.

Sarah blew him a kiss.

Thomas raised a fist.

Eli smiled through his tears.

Then turned.

Mateo stood in the corner.

Breathing heavily.

Watching him.

Eli approached.

Held out his hand.

Mateo looked at it.

The crowd waited.

For several seconds, Mateo didn't move.

Then he smiled.

Took Eli's hand.

And pulled him into a hug.

The audience erupted.

Mateo whispered:

“Proud of you, brother.”

Eli held him tightly.

“Love you, man.”

Mateo smiled.

“Love you too.”

But as Eli turned away, Mateo's smile disappeared.

He looked at the championship.

Then at the crowd.

Then back at Eli.

And for the first time, he wondered whether being somebody's best friend meant always standing one step behind them.

The Phone Call

January 4, 2027

Eli sat at the kitchen table staring at his phone.

Naomi sat across from him.

He'd already read the ACW message fifteen times.

Now he was waiting for the scheduled call.

He checked the clock.

10:58 a.m.

Then 10:59.

Then 11:00.

Nothing.

Eli frowned.

“Think they're gonna call?”

Naomi smiled.

“Yes.”

“What if they changed their minds?”

“Eli.”

“What if they meant another Elijah Mercer?”

Naomi laughed.

“How many professional wrestlers named Elijah Mercer do you think there are?”

Eli shrugged.

“Could be a popular name.”

Naomi shook her head.

Then his phone rang.

Both froze.

Eli looked at the screen.

THOMAS CALDWELL.

Naomi's eyes widened.

“Answer it!”

Eli grabbed the phone.

Nearly dropped it.

Caught it.

Then answered.

“H-Hello?”

A calm voice responded.

“Mr. Mercer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is Thomas Caldwell with American Crown Wrestling.”

Eli swallowed.

“Yes, sir.”

“First, congratulations on your championship victory.”

Eli smiled.

“Thank you, sir.”

“We've been following your work for some time.”

Eli froze.

“You have?”

Caldwell chuckled.

“Yes.”

Eli looked toward Naomi.

She was smiling.

Caldwell continued.

“We're particularly impressed with your ability to connect with audiences.”

Eli swallowed.

“Thank you.”

“Your match with Mateo Alvarez was excellent.”

Eli smiled.

“Thank you, sir. Mateo's incredible.”

“We agree.”

Eli's smile widened.

Then Caldwell continued.

“We'd like to invite you to our developmental facility for a formal evaluation.”

Eli stared.

For several seconds, he couldn't speak.

Caldwell waited.

“Mr. Mercer?”

Eli swallowed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you be interested?”

Eli looked toward Naomi.

Her eyes were filled with tears.

He smiled.

“Yes, sir.”

His voice broke.

“I'd be honored.”

Caldwell continued explaining the process.

Travel arrangements.

Medical screening.

Performance evaluations.

Interviews.

No guaranteed contract.

No promises.

Just an opportunity.

But to Eli, it felt like the entire world had opened.

When the call ended, he stared at his phone.

Naomi watched him.

“Well?”

Eli swallowed.

Then whispered:

“They want me.”

Naomi smiled.

Eli looked at her.

“They actually want me.”

She stood.

Walked around the table.

And hugged him.

Eli held her tightly.

Then began crying.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just quietly.

The kind of crying that happens when a dream you've carried for most of your life finally becomes real enough to frighten you.

Naomi kissed his forehead.

“I'm proud of you.”

Eli smiled.

Then pulled back.

“What about you?”

Naomi blinked.

“What?”

He gestured toward her phone.

“Any news?”

Her smile faded slightly.

She shook her head.

“Not yet.”

Eli frowned.

“They're crazy.”

Naomi laughed softly.

“Apparently.”

Eli squeezed her hand.

“Your time's coming.”

She nodded.

“I know.”

But she wasn't sure she believed it.

The Woman in the Mirror

Later that afternoon, Naomi stood alone in the bathroom.

She stared at herself in the mirror.

Twenty-five years old.

College graduate.

Professional wrestler.

Independent championship contender.

A woman who'd spent her entire life fighting to be taken seriously.

And somehow, she still felt invisible.

She opened her phone.

Scrolled through social media.

Pictures of Eli.

Videos of his championship victory.

Articles about his future.

Comments from fans.

Promoters.

Wrestlers.

Everybody celebrating him.

Naomi smiled.

She was proud.

Genuinely proud.

But beneath that pride lived something she hated admitting.

Jealousy.

Not because she wanted Eli to fail.

Because she wanted to succeed too.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Cassidy Monroe.

CASSIDY: You okay?

Naomi stared.

Then typed:

Yeah. Why?

Cassidy replied:

Because I know you.

Naomi smiled faintly.

Then another message appeared.

CASSIDY: You can be happy for him and disappointed for yourself at the same time.

Naomi stared.

Her eyes filled.

She typed:

I hate that you know me so well.

Cassidy replied:

It's my worst quality.

Naomi laughed.

Then sat on the edge of the bathtub.

She looked toward the mirror.

For years, she'd told herself she didn't need anyone's approval.

That she was strong enough to handle rejection.

That she would never let someone else's success make her question her own worth.

But today, she felt small.

And she hated it.

Her phone rang.

Cassidy.

Naomi answered.

“Hey.”

Cassidy's voice came through.

“Hey, superstar.”

Naomi laughed bitterly.

“Not exactly.”

Cassidy sighed.

“Don't start.”

Naomi looked down.

“Cass…”

“Yeah?”

Her voice trembled.

“What if I'm not good enough?”

Cassidy was quiet.

Then she said:

“Then you get better.”

Naomi swallowed.

“And if that doesn't work?”

Cassidy sighed.

“Then you find another way.”

Naomi wiped her eyes.

Cassidy continued.

“But don't you dare decide you're worthless because some company hasn't called yet.”

Naomi began crying.

Cassidy softened.

“Hey.”

Naomi covered her mouth.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize.”

Naomi shook her head.

“I just…”

Her voice broke.

“I've wanted this my whole life.”

Cassidy was quiet.

Then whispered:

“I know.”

Naomi cried.

And for the first time in months, she allowed herself to admit how exhausted she was.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Exhausted from proving herself.

Exhausted from waiting.

Exhausted from being told her opportunity would come.

Cassidy stayed on the phone.

She didn't try to fix everything.

Didn't offer empty promises.

She simply listened.

And sometimes, that was enough.

The Brother Who Smiled Too Much

San Antonio, Texas — January 6, 2027

Mateo Alvarez sat at his parents' kitchen table eating breakfast.

His mother Lucia was cooking.

Rafael sat across from him reading the newspaper.

Mateo's phone buzzed.

A message from Eli.

ELI: BRO. ACW INVITED ME FOR A TRYOUT.

Mateo stared.

For several seconds, he didn't move.

Then he smiled.

A big smile.

The kind he wore in front of crowds.

He typed:

THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! PROUD OF YOU, BROTHER!

He hit send.

Then set down his phone.

Rafael looked up.

“Everything alright?”

Mateo nodded.

“Yeah.”

Lucia turned.

“Who was that?”

Mateo smiled.

“Eli.”

Rafael nodded.

“How's he doing?”

Mateo looked down.

“Good.”

A pause.

“Real good.”

Lucia smiled.

“That's wonderful.”

Mateo nodded.

“Yeah.”

Rafael studied him.

“What's going on?”

Mateo shrugged.

“Nothing.”

Rafael raised an eyebrow.

Mateo sighed.

“ACW wants him.”

Lucia gasped.

“Oh, that's amazing!”

Mateo nodded.

“Yeah.”

Rafael smiled.

“Good for him.”

Mateo looked toward the window.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Rafael asked:

“And you?”

Mateo frowned.

“What?”

“Any interest from them?”

Mateo shook his head.

“No.”

Rafael nodded slowly.

Mateo forced a grin.

“Guess they're not ready for this much charisma.”

Lucia laughed.

But Rafael didn't.

He watched his son carefully.

Mateo stood.

“Anyway, I gotta get to the garage.”

Lucia frowned.

“You haven't finished breakfast.”

Mateo smiled.

“Saving room for greatness.”

He kissed her cheek.

Then walked toward the door.

Rafael called after him.

“Teo.”

Mateo stopped.

“Yeah?”

His father looked at him.

“You don't have to pretend with me.”

Mateo's smile faded.

For a moment, he looked like the ten-year-old boy who'd watched his father's wrestling career end.

Then he smiled again.

“I'm good, Dad.”

He walked out.

Rafael stared toward the door.

Lucia approached.

“You think he's alright?”

Rafael sighed.

“No.”

She looked at him.

Rafael continued.

“But he doesn't know how to tell us.”

Outside, Mateo climbed into his truck.

He sat behind the wheel.

Stared at his phone.

Then opened Eli's championship photograph.

The crowd.

The lights.

The belt.

His best friend.

Mateo smiled sadly.

Then whispered:

“Why not me?”

He hated himself for asking.

But he couldn't stop.

The King Without a Kingdom

Detroit, Michigan — January 8, 2027

Marcus Holloway stood in front of a mirror wearing a black suit.

The jacket fit perfectly.

His hair was neatly trimmed.

His expression was cold.

At twenty-seven, Marcus had become one of the most talked-about independent wrestlers in the Midwest.

His ring name was simple.

KING HOLLOWAY.

He'd built his reputation on power.

Intensity.

And an intimidating presence that made crowds hate him.

He was good at it.

Very good.

But tonight, he wasn't preparing for a wrestling match.

He was preparing for a meeting.

A representative from World Elite Grappling had contacted him.

WEG.

A nationally televised promotion with international reach.

Not as large as Titan Global Wrestling.

But still a major opportunity.

Marcus stared at himself.

Then adjusted his tie.

His phone rang.

Aaliyah Brooks.

He froze.

They hadn't spoken in months.

Their relationship had never fully recovered from the years Marcus spent shutting her out.

But lately, they'd begun exchanging occasional messages.

He answered.

“Hello?”

Aaliyah's voice came through.

“Hey.”

Marcus smiled faintly.

“Hey.”

She paused.

“Big day?”

Marcus nodded.

“Yeah.”

“WEG?”

“Yeah.”

Aaliyah smiled.

“Congratulations.”

Marcus looked down.

“Thanks.”

A long silence followed.

Then she asked:

“You nervous?”

Marcus laughed.

“No.”

Aaliyah chuckled.

“Still lying, huh?”

Marcus smiled.

“Some things never change.”

Her tone softened.

“Marcus.”

He looked toward the mirror.

“Yeah?”

“I'm proud of you.”

Marcus swallowed.

For a moment, he couldn't speak.

Then he whispered:

“Thanks.”

Aaliyah continued.

“But…”

Marcus sighed.

“There's always a but.”

She laughed softly.

“Just remember something.”

He waited.

“You don't have to become somebody else to prove you're somebody.”

Marcus stared at his reflection.

The suit.

The expression.

The image.

King Holloway.

A man who demanded respect.

A man who refused weakness.

A man who'd built himself into everything Marcus Holloway once believed he needed to be.

He swallowed.

“I know.”

Aaliyah was quiet.

Then she said:

“I hope you do.”

They hung up.

Marcus stared at the mirror.

Then smiled.

Not warmly.

Not happily.

But with determination.

He adjusted his tie.

And whispered:

“Time to take what's mine.”

The Old Man and the Dream

Briar Glen, Tennessee — January 10, 2027

Walter Hensley sat on the porch of his house drinking coffee.

Rebecca sat beside him.

The morning was cold.

The sky was gray.

And Walter's knees ached.

At sixty, he was beginning to feel every year he'd spent in the wrestling business.

Rebecca looked at him.

“Dad?”

Walter smiled.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

He nodded.

“Yeah.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Walter laughed.

“Why does everybody keep asking me that?”

Rebecca smiled.

“Because you're stubborn.”

Walter chuckled.

“Fair.”

She looked toward the yard.

Then asked:

“Have you talked to Eli?”

Walter nodded.

“Yesterday.”

Rebecca smiled.

“How's he doing?”

Walter's expression softened.

“Excited.”

She laughed.

“I bet.”

Walter nodded.

“Scared too.”

Rebecca looked at him.

Walter continued.

“He's got a chance at something big.”

She smiled.

“You always said he would.”

Walter looked down.

“Yeah.”

A long silence passed.

Then Rebecca asked:

“Does it bother you?”

Walter frowned.

“What?”

“That he's leaving.”

Walter stared toward the road.

For a moment, he didn't answer.

Then he smiled sadly.

“Little bit.”

Rebecca nodded.

Walter continued.

“Feels like yesterday he was a little kid sitting in the fourth row.”

He laughed softly.

“Now he's got people from national television calling him.”

Rebecca smiled.

Walter swallowed.

“I always knew this day would come.”

He looked toward her.

“Just didn't think it'd hurt.”

Rebecca reached for his hand.

Walter smiled.

She squeezed it.

Then said:

“You know what Mom used to tell me?”

Walter looked at her.

“What?”

Rebecca smiled.

“That loving somebody means letting them grow.”

Walter looked down.

His eyes filled.

Rebecca continued.

“Even when it means they don't need you the same way anymore.”

Walter swallowed.

For a moment, he thought about all the years he'd spent chasing championships.

All the moments he'd missed.

All the people he'd hurt.

And now, sitting beside his daughter, he realized something.

He'd spent most of his life trying to become unforgettable.

But the thing he'd be remembered for might not be a championship.

It might be a young man named Eli Mercer.

A young man who'd learned to believe in himself because Walter had believed first.

Walter smiled through his tears.

“Guess I did something right.”

Rebecca leaned against his shoulder.

“You did a lot of things right, Dad.”

He looked at her.

She smiled.

“And some things wrong.”

Walter laughed.

“Yeah.”

Rebecca squeezed his hand.

“But you're still here.”

Walter nodded.

“Yeah.”

He looked toward the road.

And whispered:

“Still here.”

The Promise

Nashville, Tennessee — January 12, 2027

Eli stood in the kitchen packing a suitcase.

Naomi sat at the table watching him.

He'd spent the last hour trying to decide which wrestling gear to bring.

He'd packed three pairs of boots.

Four sets of trunks.

Six T-shirts.

And enough athletic tape to wrap an entire football team.

Naomi stared.

“Eli.”

He looked up.

“Yeah?”

“You're going for three days.”

Eli nodded.

“Yeah.”

She gestured toward the suitcase.

“Why do you have enough clothes for three months?”

He shrugged.

“Preparation.”

Naomi laughed.

“That's not preparation. That's a moving company.”

Eli grinned.

“Never know.”

She shook her head.

Then grew quiet.

Eli noticed.

He set down a shirt.

“Hey.”

Naomi looked up.

“Yeah?”

He approached.

Sat beside her.

“What's wrong?”

She shook her head.

“Nothing.”

Eli raised an eyebrow.

Naomi sighed.

“I'm happy for you.”

He smiled.

“I know.”

She looked down.

“I really am.”

Eli frowned.

“Naomi.”

Her eyes filled.

She swallowed.

“I just don't know what happens next.”

Eli stared.

“What do you mean?”

She looked at him.

“What happens if they sign you?”

He smiled.

“We celebrate.”

Naomi shook her head.

“After that.”

Eli's smile faded.

She continued.

“You'll be traveling.”

He nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Training.”

“Yeah.”

“Working television.”

“Hopefully.”

Naomi swallowed.

“And I'll be here.”

Eli reached for her hand.

“Baby…”

She looked away.

“I don't wanna be the girlfriend waiting at home.”

Eli's expression softened.

Naomi continued.

“I love you.”

Her voice trembled.

“But I have dreams too.”

Eli nodded.

“I know.”

She looked at him.

“Do you?”

The question hurt.

Not because it was cruel.

Because it was honest.

Eli swallowed.

“Of course I do.”

Naomi shook her head.

“Sometimes it feels like your dream is the one everybody's waiting for.”

Eli stared.

“And mine is just…”

She stopped.

Eli waited.

Naomi wiped her eyes.

“Something that'll happen eventually.”

A long silence passed.

Then Eli moved closer.

He took both her hands.

“Look at me.”

Naomi looked up.

Eli swallowed.

“I don't want you waiting for me.”

She froze.

“What?”

He smiled sadly.

“I want you chasing your dream.”

Naomi stared.

He continued.

“Even if it takes you somewhere different.”

Her eyes filled.

“Eli…”

He shook his head.

“I love you.”

Naomi began crying.

“And I don't want you waking up ten years from now wishing you'd done something else because of me.”

She leaned forward.

Hugged him.

Eli held her tightly.

Then whispered:

“Promise me something.”

Naomi pulled back.

“What?”

Eli smiled.

“Don't ever make yourself smaller so I can feel bigger.”

Naomi stared at him.

Then smiled through her tears.

“Okay.”

He kissed her forehead.

She held him tightly.

For a moment, everything felt right.

But love had a way of making promises that life didn't always allow people to keep.

The First Price

January 15, 2027 — American Crown Wrestling Developmental Facility

Eli Mercer stood outside a massive training facility.

Glass doors.

Professional signage.

A parking lot filled with expensive cars.

Inside, he could see several wrestling rings.

Weight rooms.

Medical offices.

Production equipment.

Everything he'd ever imagined.

And more.

He swallowed.

His phone buzzed.

A message from Sarah.

MOMMA: No matter what happens today, I'm proud of you.

Eli smiled.

Another message arrived.

WALTER: Remember what I taught you. Listen. Stay safe. Be yourself.

Then Mateo.

MATEO: DON'T FORGET ABOUT US LITTLE PEOPLE WHEN YOU'RE FAMOUS.

Eli laughed.

He typed:

Never, brother.

Then Naomi.

NAOMI: Go show them who you are. I love you.

Eli smiled.

Love you too.

He put the phone away.

Then looked toward the building.

For a moment, he remembered being eight years old.

Sitting in the fourth row.

Watching Thunder Jack Callahan.

Believing that professional wrestling was the greatest thing in the world.

He remembered the strip of athletic tape.

The words.

KEEP GETTING UP.

He reached into his bag.

Pulled out the tape.

Looked at it.

Then smiled.

“Alright, little man,” he whispered.

“Let's see what we can do.”

He folded it carefully.

Placed it back in his bag.

Then walked toward the doors.

Inside, Thomas Caldwell stood waiting.

He smiled.

“Mr. Mercer.”

Eli shook his hand.

“Sir.”

Caldwell gestured toward the facility.

“Welcome to American Crown Wrestling.”

Eli looked around.

His heart raced.

Then Caldwell continued.

“We've got a lot to discuss.”

Eli nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

Caldwell smiled.

“First, I want you to understand something.”

Eli looked at him.

“This business can give you everything you've ever wanted.”

Eli swallowed.

Caldwell's smile faded slightly.

“But it can also take things you never expected to lose.”

Eli stared.

Then nodded.

“I understand.”

Caldwell studied him.

For a moment, he almost looked sympathetic.

Then he smiled.

“Good.”

He opened the door.

“Let's get started.”

Eli stepped inside.

Behind him, the doors closed.

And somewhere far away, the people who loved him continued living their lives.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Dreaming.

Not yet knowing how much everything was about to change.

Because fame wasn't free.

Glory wasn't guaranteed.

And the price of becoming somebody was often paid by the people who loved you before the world knew your name.