CHAPTER EIGHT
The gym was transformed.
Bleachers filled to the brim.
Spotlights flashing red and gold.
A makeshift entrance ramp lined with folding chairs and energy drink sponsors.
This wasn't just a high school tournament — it looked like WrestleMania's broke cousin and felt like the start of something legendary.
The tournament was underway.
And it was Malik's turn.
His opponent?
Ricky "Ricochet" Marris.
Senior. Fast. Cocky.
A wiry high-flyer with a neon headband and an ego that could bench press trucks.
The announcer's voice crackled through the mic:
"Introducing first, standing 5'9", weighing in at 162 pounds...
Ricky 'RICOOOOOOCHET' Marris!"
Ricky flipped over the ropes in one smooth motion, showboating to a modest cheer.
Then—
"And his opponent... standing 6'1", weighing 220 pounds of PURE RELEVANCY...
He is the Tribal Chief of Eastwood… MALIK! SMITH! JUNIOR!"
The lights cut.
His theme blasted (a dramatic tribal drumbeat layered with trap bass).
Malik stepped out into the arena like a war god with homework due.
Bare chest. Black pants. Intensity turned up to eleven.
The crowd didn't know what to do.
Some booed. Some cheered.
Most just stood up.
Round One: Ring the Bell
DING DING DING.
Ricky came out fast.
Leaping kicks. Springboard stunts. A cartwheel-into-DDT attempt that would've looked incredible…
…if Malik hadn't caught him mid-air like a child throwing a tantrum.
WHAM.
Spinebuster.
The mat bounced.
"OHHHHHH!" the crowd roared.
Malik didn't stop.
Every move was clean. Calculated. Dominant.
He threw in stiff clotheslines, suplexes that rattled bones, and enough big-man agility to make half the gym forget this was high school wrestling.
Ricky tried to rally with a flurry of strikes—
But Malik absorbed them.
And then…
It was time.
Finisher Time: Skyfall Judgment
Malik faked a lariat.
Ricky flinched.
Gut kick — connects.
He underhooked both arms.
Lifted.
High.
The crowd gasped.
Then—he twisted mid-air—
And SLAMMED Ricky with the Skyfall Judgment.
The mat practically screamed.
Ricky lay flattened like a stamp on a letter to nowhere.
The crowd paused—
Then exploded.
"THIS! IS! AWESOME!"
clap clap clapclapclap
"THIS! IS! AWESOME!"
Malik dropped to one knee and covered.
1… 2… 3!
DING DING DING.
System Ping: Victory
📢 MATCH WON!
+150 XP
+25 Bonus XP (Crowd Stunned!)
+Finisher Landed: +50 XP
🏆 SKYFALL JUDGMENT – Registered as Finisher of Legendary Potential
🧠 Crowd Meter Unlocked: 10/10
👕 Fanbase Boost: +30 Followers (Eastwood Wrestling Thread Exploding)
—
Malik stood over his fallen opponent, breathing hard, sweat dripping, heart pounding.
He didn't smile. Didn't gloat.
He just raised one hand to the crowd… and pointed to the sky.
ACKNOWLEDGE ME.
The crowd answered with something he'd never heard before in his life:
Chants.
"MALIK! MALIK! MALIK!"
Vanessa, Caleb, and even Sweet Danny were screaming in the front row.
Coach just stood there, arms folded… trying not to smirk.
Locker Room Reaction
As Malik walked back through the curtain, everyone stopped talking.
Even the kids who didn't like him…
Nodded.
"Dude," Caleb whispered. "You just dropped a main event-level beatdown."
Malik looked at his trembling hands, still buzzing from the adrenaline and system pings.
"One down," he muttered.
"Three to go."
Because this wasn't just a win.
This was a warning.
The Island of Relevancy just claimed its first victim.
[End of Chapter 8]