Ryan was riding a high like no other, vindicated from being win-less. A full day had passed since she’d taken down Cynthia Valice on Stampede, and the thrill still coursed through her veins. It felt like a rebirth—the adrenaline, the deafening cheers, the victorious moment as the ref raised her arm high. Steam fogged up her phone screen, but her fingers danced over it, scrolling through the flurry of notifications faster than the water droplets could hit the glass. She’d made it, and the congratulations came flooding in. Trolls, too (“Lol, lucky win”), but it was all just jealousy in different fonts. A win in UNW was still a win. She’d take it.
Dressed in a pricey pair of kicks, a denim mini, and a cropped tee, she hit up her go-to diner back home. Vinyl booths and greasy air brought a hit of nostalgia, while the taste of subpar fries took her back to a million bad decisions. Settling into her usual window seat, she chowed down on a burger, letting memories of the match flood her senses—how she’d countered Cynthia’s finisher, the crowd’s explosive reaction, the electric surge as the ref counted those glorious three seconds, the heart-stopping near falls. She’d ride that feeling for as long as she could. She needed it.
One hand dove into her milkshake—vanilla, extra whipped cream, because screw it, she earned it—while the other scrolled through a cascade of comments:
“Congrats, queen!”
“Total fluke, tbh”
“When’s the rematch? @CynthiaValice asking for a friend”
She grinned, sharp as a swipe right. And then she saw it.
Azure.
Just thinking the name made her jaw clench. That post-match moment—Azure’s smirk, her finger extending in a little patronizing gesture that spoke volumes. And if that wasn’t enough, the way she brushed past Ryan, as if she were some wide-eyed rookie who had stumbled upon beginner’s luck. As if. Ryan had challenged her to a match on the spot. No way was that going to slide. Now, chewing mechanically, she could already feel the fire knotting inside her. She’d erase that smug expression. Soon.
She answered a hater in her DMs with a snap of her nail: 'Stay mad. Simp for her elsewhere.' Send. Satisfaction in a single click.
The waitress—young, nervous, the sort who probably still replied “yes ma’am” to her own mother—sidled over. “Can I get you anything else?”
Ryan didn’t bother to look up. “Another cherry for my shake. On the rim this time, not floating like a sad maraschino life raft.” She finally glanced up, bored and dazzling. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
The girl scurried away. Ryan smirked, teeth flashing.
Her phone buzzed—FaceTime. Andreas. His face framed by some criminally gorgeous Greek coastline, sunglasses perched just so. He looked like an ad for a life you could never afford.
“Look who finally figured out how to win a match,” he quipped, pushing his shades up, pure Eurocentric charm.
Ryan rolled her eyes, middle finger up. “Jealous you weren’t here to see it, sweet prince?”
He grinned. “Please. I was busy enjoying actual culture. Not that thing you call ketchup on fries.”
“At least my fries aren’t drowning in olive oil and regret,” she shot back, sipping her shake like it was champagne.
He snorted. “So. Saw your run-in with your little problem, think she got the message?”
Ryan’s smile turned ruthless. “Ugh, whatever. She’s just another nobody on the roster, nothing special. Too bad for her, she had the misfortune of running into me after my match. Like, seriously, she was trying to ruin my vibe, so of course I called her out! It won’t take much to put her in her place—I’ll knock her down even faster. Just watch me.”
“Careful, Lecavalier. Your ego’s showing.”
“And yours is still missing. Find it yet, or did you leave it in Barcelona with your dignity?”
He clutched his chest, mock-wounded. “Low blow. Savage.”
“Yeah, well, suffer.”
The waitress returned, this time delivering the cherry properly perched. Ryan plucked it off with her teeth, eyes never leaving Andreas.
“You’re exhausting,” he breathed, but there was laughter there.
“You love it.”
“Unfortunately.” The smirk faded just enough to show he meant it. “Don’t let her underneath your skin. She’s might suprise you, never know.”
Ryan twirled a strand of hair, bored. “Her mind games are probably as weak as her comebacks...She’ll probably name-drop Giselle (for whatever reason) to death. I’ll embarrass her for it.”
He shook his head, obviously a little worried. “Just don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.” She blew him a kiss. “Go sunbathe or whatever it is you Euro boys do. I’ve got a match to prepare for.”
She hung up before he could answer, phone tossed aside. The diner noise faded. Ryan stared out the window, already running through her next match, the angles, the comebacks, the win. Azure wanted to play? Fine. She would play. And she would win.
She waved for the check, lazy, dismissive. “Let’s go, honey. I have places to be.”
The waitress flinched. Ryan didn’t care.
Somewhere, Azure was probably getting ready for her big debut. Counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds.
Ryan smiled. She couldn’t wait to ruin it.