If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
"To the Maestro," Jericho said, voice warm, genuine. "Young, ruthless, and already rewriting the damn history books." Sandro chuckled, tapping his can against Jericho's before cracking it open. He took a long pull, the cold bite welcome after the heat of the ring.
Sandro laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Genius helps," he admitted. "So does knowing how to play the game."
Jericho smirked. "That's an understatement."
Sandro took another sip, then shrugged, his tone casual but honest. "Look, I'm not going to pretend my mind and talent didn't get me here. They did. But I'm not blind either."
He glanced around the room, then back at Jericho. "Having the background I have? The resources? That matters. It opens doors. Makes people listen. Especially when the ideas actually work."
Jericho nodded slowly, understanding exactly what Sandro meant. "Vince doesn't listen to just anyone."
Sandro smiled. "No. But when the numbers make sense, when the stories make money… and when your father happens to be the second largest shareholder?"
He lifted his can slightly. "Conversations get a lot easier."
Jericho laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Unreal."
Around them, the celebration continued. Heyman stood off to the side, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and intense, already spinning narratives, already selling the future. Every so often he glanced toward Sandro, eyes lighting up like he was watching the centerpiece of his greatest masterpiece.
Eventually, Sandro stood.
The room quieted just a little as attention naturally drifted toward him. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Lets enjoy this today," he said, looking around at every member of the Undisputed System. "Tonight matters. History matters. But tomorrow?" He smiled again, sharp this time. "Tomorrow, the world wakes up angry. Scared. Desperate."
He lifted the WWE Championship slightly. "And that's exactly how we want them."
The group nodded, grins spreading, confidence unshaken.
The celebration inside the locker room carried on long after Sandro's words settled into everyone's bones. It wasn't loud forever, eventually it mellowed into that exhausted, satisfied quiet that only comes after something monumental has been accomplished.
Titles were packed away carefully. Ice packs were swapped. Jokes turned into planning, and planning slowly became inevitability. The Undisputed System didn't just feel powerful.
They felt permanent.
Two days.
Two days passed, yet the fire only grew hotter. That was all it took for the wrestling world to feel like it had tilted off its axis.
Two days after Night of Champions, the shockwaves were still rolling, still crashing into places WWE rarely reached. ESPN ran headlines dissecting the ending, calling it "one of the most controversial and defining moments in modern WWE history", replaying clips of Sandro Zhang standing amid a sea of gold, Paul Heyman's reverent bow frozen like a Renaissance painting of worship and power.
Analysts who barely covered wrestling anymore suddenly had opinions. Late night sports radio debated whether WWE had just created its most dominant villain since the Attitude Era or something even bigger. Morning radio shows debated whether this was genius storytelling or corporate favoritism gone unchecked.
Clips of Sandro's cash in aired between NBA highlights and NFL offseason chatter.
"This feels different," one ESPN panelist said. "This isn't just a heel run. This is structural domination."
Online, the discourse hadn't cooled at all. If anything, it had grown hotter. Fans dissected every frame, every glance, every beat. The kiss with Alexa was still trending. The prayer pose meme had evolved into dozens of variations. Some fans were furious. Some were ecstatic. Most were simply glued to their screens.
That alone told the story.
WWE had everyone's attention.
And Monday Night RAW could not come fast enough.
By the time Monday rolled around, RAW wasn't just another weekly show. It felt like a reckoning. The venue, Rosemont, Chicago, Illinois, was already buzzing hours before doors were scheduled to open.
Fans traveled from neighboring states. Some had slept in their cars. Others stood in line refreshing social media feeds, hoping for even a glimpse of the new double champion.
Fans poured into the area in waves, wearing Sandro shirts, Undisputed System logos, anti Sandro signs, homemade belts, old Edge merch, Big Show tribute gear, everything collided in one electric, chaotic mass.
Then the problem surfaced.
The Allstate Arena was sold out.
Not "almost sold out." Completely. Officially. Every seat accounted for.
And yet… there were still hundreds, then thousands, of fans outside trying to get in, waving tickets, shouting at security, arguing with staff. It didn't take long to realize what had happened. Scalpers had struck early and aggressively. Tickets were resold multiple times. Double bookings. Fake barcodes. Valid tickets that wouldn't scan because someone else had already entered.
Chaos loomed.
WWE management scrambled backstage as the situation escalated from inconvenience to full-blown PR nightmare. Social media filled with videos of fans arguing at gates, chanting to be let in, screaming that they just wanted to see the new WWE Champion live.
Vince McMahon paced his office like a caged animal.
Refunds meant money lost. But bad press meant worse. WWE's PR team was already preparing damage control statements when the situation took a turn no one expected.
But this time was different.
This time, Sandro Zhang stepped in.
Backstage, as reports filtered in and tempers flared, Sandro listened quietly. He didn't interrupt. He didn't posture. He simply absorbed the situation. When it became clear that this was spiraling into a potential PR nightmare, one that could stain the biggest RAW after a historic PPV, he made a decision.
He picked up his phone.
He called his father.
Jack Zhang didn't hesitate.
Within hours, logistics were already moving. Massive tents were erected in the parking lot and along the driveways surrounding the arena. Large projector screens were installed, towering over rows of steel chairs arranged neatly like an outdoor theater. Audio systems were wired in. Security was doubled. Staff redirected fans calmly, efficiently.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was something.
More than that, it was unprecedented.
Fans who couldn't enter the arena were offered seats outside, a live viewing experience, shelter, screens, and sound. It felt less like being turned away and more like being included. Like WWE was saying, we see you.
Then came the second shock.
Sandro walked straight into Vince's office and did something almost no one else in WWE history could do, he argued with him. Calmly. Firmly. With numbers. With optics. With leverage.
Return half the money.
Not all of it. Just enough to make the story shift from outrage to appreciation.
That request traveled up the chain like a lightning bolt.
Vince McMahon argued.
Of course he did.
Money was money. WWE had fulfilled its obligation by providing an alternative viewing experience. Refunds set expectations. Expectations led to losses.
The debate was heated. Voices were raised. At one point, the room went silent.
And then Vince relented.
Reluctantly. Begrudgingly.
But he agreed.
When word spread through the building, jaws dropped.
This wasn't just about tents or refunds. This was about influence. About leverage. About someone, anyone, being able to stand across from Vince McMahon and not only make a suggestion, but win.
Talents whispered. Producers stared. Crew members exchanged looks. No one said it out loud, but everyone was thinking the same thing.
He just convinced Vince McMahon to do something Vince McMahon never does.
No warnings were issued.
No backlash followed.
No heat came Sandro's way.
If anything, the opposite happened.
The perks were real. The influence undeniable.
And for the first time, wrestlers who had long felt unheard, frustrated by creative decisions or directionless momentum, overlooked, boxed in, started looking at Sandro differently. Not just as a character. Not just as a champion. Not just as the top heel.
But as someone with access.
Someone who could make things happen.
By the time the situation was fully under control, anticipation for RAW had reached a fever pitch.
At 6:00 P.M. sharp, the lights in the Allstate Arena dropped.
The opening pyro exploded across the stage, flames shooting high as the crowd inside the building erupted in thunderous cheers. Even outside, the fans seated under the tents roared, their reactions echoing through the night air.
Monday Night RAW was live.
Michael Cole and Jerry "The King" Lawler welcomed the audience, their voices carrying the weight of everything that had transpired just forty eight hours earlier. They didn't shy away from it. They couldn't.
There was no joy in their tone.
Only gravity.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Cole said, his voice heavy, "welcome to Monday Night RAW. We are live in Rosemont, Chicago… and we are still reeling from what we witnessed just two nights ago at Night of Champions."
Lawler sighed audibly. "I still can't believe it, Cole. I watched it happen, and I still don't want to believe it."
Cole nodded. "For the first time in WWE history, a single faction now controls every active championship. Total domination. Total control."
"And it makes me sick," Lawler added. "Sandro Zhang and the Undisputed System got exactly what they wanted."
The camera panned across the crowd, signs everywhere. Some praising Sandro. Some condemning him. Some calling him a god. Others calling him a tyrant. The energy was electric, volatile, alive.
Then—
SHOCK THE SYSTEM!
The opening notes blasted through the speakers, sharp and unmistakable.
The arena exploded.
Cheers and boos collided violently, a deafening mix that rattled the rafters. The lights flickered, then bathed the stage in gold. The music pulsed. The atmosphere shifted.
Here they came.
First through the curtain were Wade Barrett and Drew McIntyre, the WWE Tag Team Championships gleaming in their hands. They walked with purpose, shoulders squared, eyes forward, soaking in the reaction without a hint of hesitation.
Next came Big E and Ryback, the World Tag Team Titles strapped around their waists like declarations of war. Big E grinned wide, clapping his hands, while Ryback stared coldly into the crowd, jaw tight, predatory.
Then Kofi Kingston emerged, the Intercontinental Championship resting proudly on his left shoulder. He nodded along to the music, calm, composed, aware of the history unfolding around him.
Dolph Ziggler followed, no gold, but all swagger. He rolled his shoulders, smirked, played to the crowd like he owned something just as valuable as a title, confidence.
The reaction intensified when Chris Jericho stepped out, the World Heavyweight Championship draped over his right shoulder. He paused on the stage, turned slowly, and spread his arms wide, drinking in the chaos with a knowing smile.
Then came Alexa Bliss, Divas Championship secure around her waist. She twirled once at the top of the ramp, soaking in the spotlight, her expression equal parts playful and dangerous.
Paul Heyman appeared next, his demeanor reverent, almost ceremonial. He clasped his hands briefly, eyes scanning the crowd as if judging them, before stepping forward.
And finally—
Sandro Zhang.
The reaction reached a new level, some fans screaming in fury, others chanting his name despite themselves.
The WWE Championship rested on his left shoulder. The United States Championship hung from his right hand. Gold on both sides. Power in every step.
Sandro stopped at the top of the ramp and simply looked out.
The sea of fans. The signs. The rage. The awe.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he raised the United States Championship.
Pyro erupted instantly.
Justin Roberts' voice cut through the noise, loud and official, introducing them one by one, his words punctuating the moment like a roll call of conquest.
"Ladies and gentlemen… please welcome the WWE Tag Team Champions, Wade Barrett and Drew McIntyre… the World Tag Team Champions, Big E and Ryback… the WWE Intercontinental Champion, Kofi Kingston… Dolph Ziggler… the NEW World Heavyweight Champion, Chris Jericho… the WWE Divas Champion, Alexa Bliss… the RAW General Manager and Special Advisor, Paul Heyman… and the WWE United States Champion and the NEW WWE Champion… SANNNNDROOO ZHAAANG…"
He took a breath.
"…THE UNDISPUTED SYSTEM!"
Sandro didn't flinch.
He didn't smile.
He simply stood there, absorbing it all, the noise washing over him like a storm he had summoned himself.
The group then made their way to the ring together under Sandro's leadership, gold flashing under the lights, reactions crashing over them like waves. Sandro get into the ring last, standing tall in the center as his faction surrounded him.
He took a microphone.
The noise didn't die down immediately. He waited. Patient. Calm. Letting the moment breathe.
When he finally spoke, his voice was steady.
"Rosemont," he said, a small smile creeping in, "I can hear you."
The crowd roared louder.
Sandro nodded. "Two nights ago, history was made. And whether you love it… or you hate it… you're still talking about it."
Boos. Cheers. A mess of emotion.
He lifted the WWE Championship slightly. "This isn't an accident. This isn't luck. This is what happens when vision meets execution." He glanced around at his faction. "This is what domination looks like." The Undisputed System stood tall, unmoved, unrepentant.
_______________________________
Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: WWE - RAW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: The Undisputed System
Championships History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA X Division Champion, 1x WWE United States Champion, & 1x WWE Champion
Other Achievements: 1x Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royale Winner, 1x Mr. Money In The Bank, & Youngest WWE Champion
Wrestlemania Record: 1 - 0