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The reaction was instant and unanimous, cheers, laughs, and a few playful "hell yeahs" echoing off the walls. Whatever lingering doubts a few had about him started melting away. If there's one universal truth in wrestling locker rooms, it's that someone offering free drinks will always earn goodwill.
Shawn raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. He clapped Sandro lightly on the shoulder. "Well played. You've got 'em eating out of your hand already."
Sandro smirked. "Just trying to do right by the boys."
Shawn leaned in. "That's how you start building trust. Keep doing that, and you'll find doors open real fast around here."
Triple H, who'd been hanging back listening, gave a slow nod of approval. "Not bad, Sandro. Not bad at all."
Then Shawn added, "I'll join you guys, but I'm not drinking tonight. I'd like to get some decent sleep for once."
Triple H's grin widened a she heard that. "Oh no. Here we go. You're showing your old man side more and more every day, you know that? Keep this up and you'll be turning into Ric Flair, still hanging around, still talking about the good old days, but without the fun part."
The room burst into laughter, the sound bouncing off the lockers.
"That's a low blow," Shawn shot back with a chuckle. "Especially since I was the one who retired him. Don't be comparing me to 'Naitch'."
Sandro couldn't help but smile at the banter. There was a warmth here he hadn't expected, a camaraderie that, at least for tonight, didn't feel toxic.
He knew from his past life that WWE locker rooms could be political minefields, especially during certain eras, but looking around now, he saw a group of people who, for the most part, got along.
He also knew the histories. Triple H and Shawn had reputations from the wild days of DX, the Attitude Era, and Ruthless Aggression. Back then, they could be ruthless both on camera and backstage. But the others here, from Cena to Morrison, from Truth to Orton, generally had good reputations when it came to how they treated others behind the scenes.
For Sandro, it was a small but important reassurance. He wasn't walking into a shark tank tonight.
Still, he understood that relationships in this business were built over time. One good night didn't guarantee anything.
But as he looked around the room, Hornswoggle was making someone laugh so hard they nearly dropped their gear, Cena was patiently listening to a young crew member, Orton was giving Morrison some quiet advice, and he felt like maybe, just maybe, this was a place where he could plant roots.
And as the night wore on, the plan for that bar trip solidified. A few wrestlers made jokes about who'd drink the most. Someone, Santino, naturally, promised to tell a "true story" that everyone knew would be hilariously fake. Miz was already plotting how he'd "accidentally" get something trending on Twitter from the bar.
Sandro soaked it all in. He wasn't just part of the show anymore. He was starting to feel part of the locker room.
As he thought so, he peeled himself out of his current outfit, tugging at the tie before finally slipping out of the sweat and blood stained shirt, a souvenir from his kayfabe brawl with Shawn earlier in the night.
The fabric clung a bit, stiff where the fake blood had dried, and it felt good to finally pull it off. He swapped into something casual, a fitted long sleeved black t shirt and dark jeans, blending in with the rest of the roster who'd already changed out of their gear.
Once ready, Sandro gave a quick wave to the guys still milling around in the locker room.
"I'll be outside, fellas," he said with a grin. "Don't take too long, the first round's not gonna buy itself."
That got another round of "hell yeahs" and good natured ribbing. He stepped out into the hallway, finding Shawn and Triple H already there, both having traded their in ring or segment attire for something more relaxed.
Shawn's shirt had that faint worn in look, while Triple H, still in his leather jacket, looked like he'd stepped out of a late night biker bar rather than a wrestling arena.
They didn't waste the waiting time. Sandro, eager to soak up whatever wisdom he could, asked them questions, little things about reading the crowd, structuring a match, how to pace a promo so it builds instead of peaks too early, and many more.
Shawn's answers came with that mix of humor and sharp instinct, telling stories about times he'd misread a crowd and had to improvise on the fly. "You'll know when you've got 'em, Sandro," he said, leaning casually against the wall. "It's in the eyes and in the noise. You can feel it in your bones when they're with you."
Triple H's advice was more tactical. "Think long term. Every promo, every match, you're planting seeds. Don't just pop the crowd for one night. Make 'em want to see you next week, next month. That's how you stick yourself to them."
Sandro mostly listened, nodding, storing away their words like gold coins in a chest. Then, in the middle of a sentence, Triple H's eyes flicked down the hallway.
Coming toward them was a group of Divas, Nikki Bella, her twin sister Brie, Eve Torres, Kelly Kelly, Maryse, Gail Kim, Jillian Hall, and Katie Lea Burchill. The click of heels on the polished floor echoed down the hall, the group chatting among themselves, all done up in their post show glam.
Hunter's lips curled into a sly grin. Without warning, he slung an arm around Sandro's shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially.
"Go on," he said in that deep, teasing tone. "Look at this lineup. Invite 'em to drinks with us. And while you're at it…" His smirk turned lewd. "…which one's your type, huh? Maybe you find yourself some company tonight, take her back to your home. Have a good night."
He even gave a little chuckle that was more devilish than subtle.
Sandro turned his head, taking in the sight of the approaching women. His gaze naturally found Nikki first, one of his three girlfriends, though no one here knew it except for Brie. The moment their eyes met, Nikki wiggled her eyebrows in a quick, playful motion, subtle enough not to draw attention.
Shawn, catching wind of Triple H's teasing, shook his head. "Cut it out, Hunter. And for your information, the kid's already in a relationship. Everyone knows it. Twitter knows it. Entertainment news knows it. Remember when the paparazzi caught him and Alexa Bliss at FCW? It was everywhere."
Triple H laughed, holding his free hand up in mock defense. "Relax, I'm just busting his chops. It's not a crime to look at beautiful women. Just teasing the young man."
Neither man noticed the private exchange between Sandro and Nikki. The smile that lingered on his face afterward wasn't about Triple H's joke, but they didn't know that.
Triple H waved his hand in front of Sandro's eyes. "Earth to Sandro. You still with us?"
Sandro blinked and looked back at them. "Huh? What's up?"
Hunter chuckled quietly, catching Shawn's glare but saying nothing. Both men assumed the smile meant Sandro had been tempted by the sight of the Divas. Shawn decided to give him a word of caution anyway.
"You can invite them if you want," Shawn said, his tone carrying that veteran's authority. "But don't take Hunter's advice too literally. The women here aren't like that, and we don't need any unnecessary drama backstage.".
Sandro let out a short laugh. He understood exactly where Shawn was coming from. *Don't worry. I'm not that guy. I know how bad it can get, the ones with Edge, Matt, and Lita ring a bell? Or while this one's a bit different, Miss Elizabeth and Randy Savage back in the day?"
That got a slow nod from both of them. For now, they'd take his word.
Sandro stepped forward as the Divas neared, introducing himself to each with polite confidence. "Hey, we're heading to the bar near the arena. The drinks are on me if you want to join us."
The reaction was almost instant. Free drinks were always a good incentive, but coming from Sandro, young, handsome, rich, and making waves on his debut, it was an easy yes.
Nikki's eyes flicked toward the others, reading their expressions. In her head, she could practically hear them thinking about how good he looked, and before any of them could make a move, she slid into character.
"Oh? Well, in that case," Nikki said with a playful smirk, stepping just a touch closer to him, "I guess I could make time for that."
The sudden tease caught the girls and Sandro off guard. Sandro coughed lightly, masking the surprise. But with the invite accepted, he excused himself, heading back toward the male locker room entrance where Shawn and Hunter waited. Before either could launch into another round of comments, the rest of the guys began filing out, ready for the night ahead.
Sandro took point, leading the group through the cool night air toward the bar he had in mind.
The place wasn't fancy, just a local joint a few blocks from the arena, but it was known for strong drinks and a laid back atmosphere. When they stepped inside, the warm light, the hum of conversation, and the smell of grilled food hit them at once.
Sandro walked straight to the bar, catching the attention of the middle aged bartender, a guy with rolled up sleeves and a weathered smile.
"Everyone you see walk in with me," Sandro said, gesturing toward the wrestlers trickling through the door, "put their tab on me tonight."
The bartender's eyes widened. "You serious?"
Sandro smirked. "Dead serious."
Recognition flickered in the man's face, this was Sandro's hometown, after all, and whether you loved or hated him on TV, he was somebody here. The bartender gave an enthusiastic nod. "Got it. You're a good man."
As Sandro stepped back to join the group, the place was already buzzing a little louder. The regulars who were wrestling fans who relaxed here after the show recognized the wrestlers, and phones started discreetly coming out for pictures.
Some of the braver fans, the ones who'd had maybe a drink or two to steel their nerves, eventually made their way over to the wrestlers. It started small, one young guy in a faded John Cena t shirt shyly approached with his phone in hand, asking for a picture. Cena, being Cena, gave him a big smile, posed, and even told him to "never give up" before handing the phone back. That broke the seal.
Soon, little groups formed near the bar and at scattered tables. Fans, men and women, and even a couple of starstruck teenagers, came up for photos, autographs, or just to say they loved the show.
The wrestlers handled it in different ways. Cena was patient and kind with everyone. Miz leaned into his cocky on screen persona, throwing in sarcastic one liners that made people laugh. Orton, ever the cool one, kept it minimal, a quick handshake, a quick smile, and done.
Some of the old school guys kept the kayfabe up like it was still 1987. If they were a babyface, they turned the charm on full blast. If they were a heel, they played the part, giving fans mock scowls or refusing to smile for photos.
Sandro fell into the latter category, sort of. He stayed in heel mode, but nowhere near as extreme as the old timers. It was more playful than hostile.
If a fan wanted a picture, he'd give them that smirk, maybe point at himself like they were lucky to be standing next to him, but he'd still take the shot. He'd sign autographs with a flourish, often adding a little heel-ish comment above his name, something like "You wish you could be me."
That balance worked. The fans loved it, and it kept him from breaking character completely. But it also didn't make him unapproachable, which was important for his real life reputation.
Of course, there were a few female fans who were… bolder. Attractive, confident women who clearly didn't care about keeping things subtle.
Some leaned a little too close when asking for selfies, some let their hands linger on his arm longer than necessary, and a couple didn't even bother hiding the fact that they were interested.
One brunette in a low cut red dress even whispered something suggestive in his ear after they took a picture, biting her lip in a way that left no doubt about her intentions. Sandro just gave her a polite, almost apologetic smile and said, "I've got a girlfriend."
When that didn't deter her right away, he drifted toward a cluster of the guys, Cena, Truth, Morrison, Hornswoggle, and Cody, using them as a buffer.
That, naturally, opened the door for an immediate round of teasing.
"Ohhh, look at you," R-Truth grinned, pointing a finger. "Running away from the pretty ones. That's a first."
"Careful," Morrison added with mock seriousness, "if you say no too many times, they're gonna start thinking you're playing hard to get."
Hornswoggle was the loudest. "Hey, ladies! He's shy!" he shouted toward the bar, which only made Sandro shake his head in disbelief.
Cody chimed in, smirking. "Man, if you don't want them, send 'em my way."
Sandro just laughed it off, hands raised in mock surrender. "Yeah, yeah, get it all out of your system," he said, grinning. "Enjoy it while you can, because next time I'm letting them come after you instead."
The banter kept the mood light, and the drinks kept flowing. By the time midnight rolled around, the energy in the room was looser. Conversations got louder, laughter came easier, and the little bar had turned into their own private afterparty.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: WWE - RAW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: The Undisputed System
Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA X Division Champion