Monday Night Raw – Albany, New York – 10:15 PM – Backstage
The crowd's roar from the arena was muffled through the walls, but it was constant — the kind of noise that reminded J.J. exactly how small he was in this world. Raw wasn't a locker room full of friends; it was a pool full of sharks, and he'd just bled in front of them.
J.J. leaned against a crate, an ice pack balanced over his knee. He watched the small monitor showing the current match — The Rock defending the WWF Championship against Mankind — and the energy in the arena was electric.
Beside him, Al Snow was talking to Head like they were both analyzing the bout. Across the hall, Owen Hart and D'Lo Brown were discussing travel plans.
The Vince Encounter
Vince McMahon appeared from the production area, striding like a man with a dozen conversations going on in his head at once. He was mid-sentence with Gerald Brisco when his eyes caught J.J.
"You," Vince said, stopping.
J.J. stood up straighter. "Sir?"
"You kept pace with Jarrett. You didn't get blown up. And you didn't stare at Debra like an idiot. That's good. Shows discipline." Vince adjusted his jacket. "But discipline doesn't sell tickets. People have to feel something. Make them hate you. Or make them want to carry you out of the ring on their shoulders. Right now, you're somewhere in the middle, and the middle is death in this business."
With that, Vince turned and walked away, Brisco nodding silently behind him.
J.J. sat back down, words rattling in his head. Middle is death.
Stephanie Again
Later, as the show neared its main event, Stephanie walked up, now free from headset duty. She leaned on the crate beside him.
"You're thinking about what he said," she guessed.
"He's not wrong," J.J. replied. "Jarrett didn't have to work hard to beat me. That's not what gets people talking."
She shrugged. "The middle's where everyone starts. What matters is if you can claw your way out of it. The question is — are you just going to play along, or are you going to make them notice you?"
Her tone wasn't flirtatious yet — but there was curiosity there. The kind of curiosity that could turn into something more over time.
Before he could answer, the crowd popped huge from the monitor — The Rock had just hit the People's Elbow.
The Main Event Ends
As the show closed, the locker room buzzed. The Rock had retained, Mankind had stolen the crowd's sympathy, and everyone was already thinking about tomorrow's travel.
J.J. grabbed his bag, ready to leave, when Mark Henry called out:
"Hey Styles — bus call's in twenty. Don't miss it, rookie. They leave your ass behind once, you'll never hear the end of it."
The Road
The tour bus smelled faintly of sweat, coffee, and the faint chemical sting of Bengay. Jarrett and Debra were in the back, Foley was telling a story near the middle, and Hardcore Holly sat in the front row, silently watching the road.
J.J. slid into a seat alone, earbuds in, but eyes on everything. This wasn't just travel — it was politics on wheels.
Stephanie wasn't on the bus — she'd flown ahead for business meetings — but the thought of her question lingered: Are you going to make them notice you?
The hum of the bus and the blur of highway lights made his mind race. He wasn't here just to fill a card slot. He was here to climb.
And the climb started tomorrow night in Philadelphia.