CHAPTER TWO
Malik stumbled into the locker room of the high school gym, the walls lined with battered benches and inspirational posters about "hustling harder" and "believing in yourself." The smell of stale sweat hit him like a clothesline.
He braced himself, heart pounding.
"Okay," he muttered. "The voice said... shout STATUS?"
He glanced around. No one was watching. Except a janitor half-asleep on a mop.
Malik cleared his throat, then belted it out like a bad stage actor.
"STATUS!"
BEEP.
A blue holographic screen popped up in the air in front of him, semi-transparent and flickering like a bad WiFi signal.
🛡️ WRESTLER SYSTEM — VERSION 1.0 🛡️
Name: Malik Smith Jr (M.K Jr) Level: 1 (Amateur Rookie) Strength: 7/100 Speed: 6/100 Stamina: 5/100 Charisma: 8/100 Technique: 6/100 Fanbase: 12 Followers (mostly family)
🎯 Signature Move: Power Bomb (Locked until Level 5)
🎯 Finisher Move: Head Stomp (Locked until Level 10)
📈 Next Milestone: Win a Match (Reward: +5 Strength, Unlock 'Showboat' Skill)
Malik stared at it.
"You gotta be kidding me," he said. "Twelve followers? My own mom must've made fake accounts."
As he scrolled through the menu with a swipe of his hand, a second screen opened up — flashing red.
MEMORY FILE: 'The Road Not Taken (and Crashed Into a Ditch)'
Before he could say anything, the memories flooded back like a wrestling montage nobody asked for.
Flashback Montage — Real Time:
2006: First big wrestling match. Lost in under two minutes to a guy dressed as a radioactive moose. 2009: Tag team run with "Captain Catastrophe." Went viral once… for slipping off the top rope and knocking out his own partner.
2012: Injured his knee during a ladder match in an indie promotion called "Slam-A-Palooza." Crowd size: 38 people, one dog.
2015: Signed briefly to WWE developmental. Never made it past dark matches. Nicknamed "The Regretful Eagle" after his sad, flappy entrance pose.
2018-2024: Drifted through tiny federations. Bar brawls disguised as matches. Merchandise sales that could barely cover gas money.
2025: Final match in front of a half-eaten nacho crowd. Fired. Car crash. Fade to white.
The memories left him breathless, like he'd just taken a steel chair to the gut.
He grabbed the bench for balance. His hands were trembling, not from fear — from possibility.
He remembered the bitterness. The humiliations. The endless tiny towns. The feeling of being a joke.
But he also remembered something else:
The roar of a real crowd.
The rush of a perfectly timed suplex.
The kid who once dreamed of being world champion, screaming in his heart louder than the doubters ever could.
He wiped his face — maybe sweat, maybe tears — and looked back at the glowing STATUS screen.
"I get it now," he said quietly.
"This is my rematch with life."
Malik grinned, cracked his knuckles, and stood tall.
Somewhere deep inside the system, a new line of text flashed in bold gold letters:
✅ NEW QUEST UNLOCKED: "Rewrite Your Legend"
And Malik Smith Jr.?
He was ready to suplex the sun.
[End of Chapter 2]