The cafeteria is the literal opposite of a post-show ring. Everyone’s there, I don’t wanna be, and there is no magic. In fact, I think it’s where all my magic kind of dies.

I do what I do every day. I sit by myself and try not to choke on the garbage pail food.

Some douche bumps me as he walks by. He’s accompanied by four other Neanderthals. He and his buddy are very clearly from the Kings of the Ring, their polo shirts and khakis screaming that they’ll flunk out of college because of majoring in ‘Frat’ in two years, but they won’t care because money is no object to them. They stand over me like vultures.

“Yo. Why you at me and my boys’ table?”

“No one was sitting here.”

“You right. A no one is sitting here.”

They walk past all slow like they’ve done their job of intimidating me. One of them turns and, under his breath, lets loose one more parting shot.

“Friggin’ dyke.”

I shrink.

I wish I could tell you the magic comes with me. That the character you play in the ring leaks over into your real life. But I can’t. Our hearts don’t make things true. In the modern era, that’s actually a really neat thing. I can’t explain how funny it is to see Roman Reigns and Braun Strowman put each other through tables on Monday night, only for them to post a picture on Instagram of them “broin’ out” at Universal Studios on Tuesday.

But here, it’s the worst thing. There’s a gap.

Can’t let them get to me. Have to think of the positives. I got Tiburon on my side. A good. But the needle still hadn’t moved. A bad. Damn, I’m bad at this.

I’d better get better quick because Dante Blair and Gwen Goro are walking by out of the corner of my eye. No, not walking by. Walking to. I thought they’d move right past, but…they don’t.

“Hey. That sounded rough.”

“…you can’t be talking to me.”

“And why not?”

“Because I’m a nobody and you’re Dante Blair. Mr. Number One. Sitting at the right hand of the Mother.”

“Maybe, sorta. You two know each other though, right? Babe?”

Gwen is cold, a living icicle. “We’re acquainted.”

I shoot the frost back in return. “Somewhat.”

For a fighting champion, Dante sure seems to recognize when he should leave. “Damn…should I go?”

But I can’t let him.

“If you run away now, I can’t challenge you.”

“Yeah. About that. I hear you’re thinking about climbing the ladder.”

“So that’s why you’re here. Trying to weasel out of the whole thing, are you?”

“Nope. I welcome it, Faye Grimes.”

I look to this gargantuan boy who looks like he’s a thirty year-old NFL player, a guy whose people have no record of ever being nice to me and my kind…just sort of be cool about everything.

“If you can get the approval of the other three champions, I can guarantee you’ll get a title match with me. You can set that up, right babe?”

“Stop calling me that.” How can you be so cold to a guy that warm?

“That’s a yes.”

He extends a hand to me. I kinda stare at it. No, no kinda. No maybes. That’s what Tibby’s been saying. I have to be absolute.

I do stare at it. I shake his hand.

But almost immediately, he pulls me in closer, his face dangerously close to mine. His voice lowers, but it doesn’t get sinister like I think it would.

“What exactly are you after?”

“Respect. To erase the lines. To prove I’m worth something. Maybe even to unite us all.”

He stares daggers at me. I stare right back. We have a Pay-Per-View worthy staredown right now.

Then Dante suddenly lets go and is all cool again.

“Cool. I can get you that title match. Can’t guarantee you’ll win.”

He seems to ponder about it for a moment.

“To unify. I never thought about all that. Sounds fun enough.”

“Right? A school of warriors and we’re okay with these stupid divisions.”

“Oda Nobunaga.”

Gwen, who had barely contributed anything to this conversation at all, suddenly either spouts gibberish or sneezes.

“Bless you?”

Dante didn’t hear anything better. “We agreed that Latin was a dead language.”

“Not Latin. Japanese. Oda Nobunaga was a samurai warlord who set out to unite a divided Japan. The whole country feared him because of his brutality. They called him ‘The Demon King.’”

Oh, Gwen. You and your infodump sessions. I’m glad at least that never changed. But for once, I’m interested.

“Did he do it? Did he bring it all together?”

“His vision and ambition took him far.”

I wait for her to continue, but a phone goes off. She pulls one out of her purse.

“I’m late for, like, ten things.”

“Then we’d better get going. See you, Effie.”

Ew. No one’s ever called me that. I hope no one ever does again. The conspiracy theorist side of me wonders if he called me that to distract me enough to not stop them as they turned and hurried out.