Just as the crowd settled from the last match, we entered the next bout--Victor Cross vs. Sean Ryder, a match designed to settle the show for the night.
Sean emerged to a nice applause, high-fiving fans along the way down the ramp. However, when Victor's theme song hit, the applause quickly turned to boos. The hulking, composed, athletic powerhouse made his way down to the ring with a jaw set and cold eyes.
Noah: "Victor Cross was furious about his loss at All In, and you could bet whatever you have that he is going in there to make a statement alongside his brother."
Irvin: "He's got that look, Noah. That look that says someone will get hurt."
The match started with some quick grappling, both men testing each other. Sean got in some good strikes, but Victor quickly shifted the momentum with a brutal spinebuster off the mat, eliciting gasps from the crowd.
Sean attempted to rally, dodging a lariat and hitting Victor with a dropkick that barely moved him. When Sean attempted a top-rope dive, Victor caught him in midair, spun around, and slammed him to the mat with the Iron Verdict—Victor Cross' finish.
Noah: "And that's it! Cross connects!"
Irvin: "Goodnight Sean Ryder."
The referee counted—one, two, three—and the bell rang.
Victor didn't celebrate. He stood, breathing heavily, staring at the camera before the screen turned black.
------
Backstage, the residuals of earlier confrontations were still brewing. Technicians were disconnected cables from the arena, commentators had opened their notepads to begin a post match analysis, and whatever metal buzzed sounded like wrestlers talking about one another to the side.
In the production office, Vince, Mark, and crew were reviewing footage when suddenly, the door crashed open.
Eddie Prince barged in with his championship draped over his shoulder, his anger radiating from him like a supernova. His hair was disheveled and his jaw was tense.
"You!" Eddie said, pointing at Vince. "We need to talk."
Mark peered up from his notes. He sensed trouble brewing already. "Eddie-"
"Oh, don't you dare," Eddie said, stepping slightly closer to Vince. "That wasn't in the script. Hogan holding up my title? Looking an idiot? Who approved that?"
Vince leaned back in his chair, unfazed. "Nobody approved it. That's unscripted; he improvised that. However, we need to talk about you barging in like you own the place-"
"Improvised?" Eddie asked in disbelief as the words left his mouth. "A guy just goes out there, goes off script, gets me to look like an idiot, and that's okay?!"
Before Vince could respond, another voice came from the doorway.
"Hey, kid," Hogan Hornet said while leaning casually against the frame. The voice was calm, but the tone added some power to it. "I didn't mean to step on your ego, alright? I just did what felt right. The crowd was eating it up. You can't script reactions like that."
Eddie turned towards Hogan in a scowl. "You embarrassed me, old man. You think that crowd cares about you? You're nostalgia—they're cheering nostalgia, not you!"
That struck Hogan's ego like a slap to the face. He stood tall, tightening his jaw. "You better watch your mouth, kid. You think holding that title makes you a king? I've seen fifty Princes like you come and go."
Mark was looking back and forth at the two in a panic. "Guys! Not here—"
Eddie stepped forward to close the distance. "You don't get to talk down to me like that. You're a washed up has-been Hogan. The only reason you're even here in the first place is that ACW is done with you."
Hogan's mouth curled into a smile, "And yet, here I am, making your whole crowd care more in five minutes, than you did in five months."
A silence fell in the room. The insult felt heavy.
Vince stood finally, stepping in the middle of them before anything escalated. "That's enough."
Eddie was breathing heavy with anger. Hogan's eyes still had a quiet flame.
Vince looked back and forth between them, "Eddie, there is no argument Hogan did his job, he brought the house down."
Mark was frozen, his pen fell from his fingers hitting the clipboard with a small clack. "Vince," he said in disbelief with a barely audible whisper, "You can't say that."
Eddie looked at Vince like he was cheating. "You think he's right?"
Vince exhaled through his nose, steady. "I just am taking the side of what works. Hogan got the loudest response of the night. You can't buy that crowd energy."
Eddie's grip on his title belt tightened. "You've made me the villain. You made me hateable. That's not what I agreed to. I am the champion of the company—the face."
Vince held his gaze through the silence. "The crowd decides who that face is, not us."
Eddie remained silent for a beat, breathing heavy. Then he laughed bitterly. "You're just making us your performers. You don't give a crap about wrestling, you give a crap about your storylines."
Vince didn't argue. "Storylines sell, wrestling doesn't."
Eddie glared at him for a long moment, and alternated his gaze between Vince and Hogan before turning on his heel. "If you want your villains and heroes so badly, find someone else who'll play the fool."
He left without saying another word, slamming the door on his way out.
The weight of silence was palpable.
Hogan rubbed the back of his neck and said quietly, "You know, it's not that I disagree with you on your ideas—fresh, fresh is refreshing. The crowd seems to like them. But we're wrestlers, not actors. We don't train to play roles, we train to win fights."
Vince turned slowly to Hogan. "So you don't think there is room for both?"
Hogan shrugged a little bit. "Maybe there is, but not everyone can take the hate. Being booed gets to some people."
He patted Mark's shoulder. "You've got a good head on your shoulders kid, keep these boys their heads."
And with that, Hogan walked out, the faint squeak of his boots fading down the hall.
Mark slumped into a chair, running a hand through his hair. "He's not wrong, Vince. Eddie's temper isn't the issue—it's his pride. If he doesn't show up next week…" He hesitated. "…or worse, if he jumps to ACW, we're done. He's our first champion in your new era."
Vince didn't respond at first. He stared at the closed door, jaw set. "I'll talk to him," he said finally, voice quiet but firm.
Mark looked up. "Tomorrow?"
Vince nodded. "Tomorrow."