Second Semester
Boyd School of Law
Las Vegas, Nevada
The lecture hall felt different in January.
Same seats. Same long tables scarred by years of nervous tapping and spilled coffee. Same whiteboard waiting to be filled with statutes and hypotheticals that would make everyone second-guess their intelligence. But the air had shifted with that new semester energy, new expectations and of course new rumors.
LJ Kasey felt them before he saw them. The looks from his fellow classmates. They weren’t hostile, not exactly. Just...aware. Heads turning a beat longer than they had last semester. Whispers that stopped when he passed. A few smiles that came with raised eyebrows, the kind that meant we know.
He slid into his usual seat three rows up, backpack at his feet, notebook already open. His ribs still ached if he breathed too deep, but the pain had dulled into something manageable, background noise rather than a warning siren. Healing didn’t mean forgetting. It meant adapting.
“Dude.”
LJ glanced up as Marcus, one of his study group partners, leaned across the aisle.
“Congrats,” Marcus said quietly, and offering a fist bump which LJ gladly accepted, “Engaged and still alive after a dog collar match? That’s efficiency, my friend.”
LJ smirked, "It was barely on both counts. Bill attempted to whoop my arse and then getting jumped after? At least Ally said yes, which has made the healing from it a lot more tolerable."
“Bruh, if I had a fiancee as hot as Alexandra Callaway, I would definitely call that more than tolerable.”
A couple of students nearby chuckled. Someone further back mouthed congrats. Another gave him a subtle thumbs-up. It was strange, being congratulated for something that felt deeply personal by people who only knew fragments of his life through headlines and social media clips.
And then there was Karin. The petit little blonde that had attempted to make a pass at him the first week of classes last semester and has been a pissy little bitch...the Brit side of him wanted to call her the more colorful version of the word. She sat two rows behind him, legs crossed, posture perfect, lips already curled like she’d been waiting for her moment. Karin treated law school the way some people treated senior year of high school, as a hierarchy to be climbed, a social game to be won. She was smart, sure, but she was loud about it. Loud about everything.
“Wow,” Karin said, not bothering to lower her voice, "Guess it’s official then.”
LJ didn’t turn around.
“Official what?” someone asked.
“The engagement,” Karin replied sweetly, "You didn’t see it? It’s everywhere on social media that LJ got himself engaged over the Christmas break.”
LJ closed his notebook slowly and turned in his seat, meeting her eyes without heat, without tension. Just attention that she apparently was craving constantly.
“Yes,” he said evenly, "It’s official, I proposed, she said yes. We’re happy and now on top of everything else, we’re planning a wedding.”
Karin tilted her head, studying him like she was doing him a favor, "I just think it’s... bold.”
“Bold?” LJ echoed.
“I mean,” she continued, “You’re twenty-two, almost twenty-three. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Career, fame, money. And you’re settling down with someone who’s... what, forty-two?”
The room went quiet in that subtle way it does when people pretend they aren’t listening while absolutely listening.
LJ held her gaze, “You’re right about one thing,” he said, "I do have my whole life ahead of me.”
Karin smiled, thinking she’d won.
“And I’m choosing to spend it with someone who actually knows who she is,” he continued calmly, "Who moved across states with her kid to be with me. Who stands in my corner when I’m broken, bleeding, and questioning every decision I’ve ever made.”
Her smile quickly began to falter.
“She doesn’t need me to rescue her,” LJ added, "And I don’t need her to make me feel important. We choose each other, each and every day.”
There was a brief pause as LJ glanced around for a moment.
“And just so we’re clear,” he said, voice still even, “My fiancée doesn’t need your approval and neither do I.”
The professor walked in right then, saving Karin from having to respond. She looked away, jaw tight, suddenly very interested in her laptop.
Marcus leaned over again, grinning, "Bro....You didn’t even raise your voice.”
“It’s called growth,” LJ murmured, "Innit fuckin’ pathetic that in a room full of legal adults that the prom queen has to act like that?”
As the lecture began, LJ settled back into his seat and the whispers faded. The attention drifted elsewhere as statutes replaced gossip and case law replaced assumptions. Somewhere between notes on jurisdiction and the professor’s dry humor, LJ felt it, that quiet certainty again. He wasn’t behind and he wasn’t lost.
He wasn’t defined by the vets who tried to break him, the crowd that speculated about his absence, or the people who thought they understood his life because of an age gap and a headline.
He was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Second semester.
Still standing.
Still choosing the life he wanted.
-----------------
LJ & Ally’s Home
Las Vegas, Nevada
The apartment had settled into its evening rhythm. It wasn’t loud or tense. Just lived-in like their little family belonged together.
LJ sat at the dining table, hoodie pushed up to his elbows, laptop open and flanked by a small army of casebooks. He had Civil Procedure on the left and contracts on the right. A legal pad already half-filled with tight, slanted handwriting that grew messier the longer he stared at the screen.
The second semester did not waste time.
His eyes tracked across a paragraph on personal jurisdiction for the third time before his brain finally accepted it. He underlined a sentence, scribbled a note in the margin, then leaned back and rubbed his face with both hands.
Across the apartment, Ally sat on the couch beside Ashlynn, homework spread between them. It was Pre-Calculus tonight and Ally was doing that thing where she talked through the steps out loud, not because Ash didn’t understand, but because it helped her feel like she did.
“Okay,” Ally said gently, tapping the page, "So you don’t divide yet. You isolate the variable first. See?”
Ashlynn frowned, then nodded slowly, "Oh... oh. Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.”
LJ smiled faintly despite himself. This, this quiet, was the part no one ever saw.
He turned back to his laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard...and then his eyes flicked, just slightly, to the lower corner of the screen muted, paused and still there.
The video from Inception of Brandon Hendrix making his grand return, jumping him and attempting to make a statement. Someone had clipped it clean, too clean. Complete with slow motion and commentary layered over it with some rando “wrestling journalist” talking about it.
LJ’s jaw tightened. He didn’t click it. He didn’t need to. He’d already watched it once....ok maybe twice.
.....Enough times to memorize the angle his head snapped back, the moment his body stopped fighting.
He eventually said ‘fuck it’ and hit play again and the commentator’s voice played softly anyway, leaking through his headphones where he hadn’t muted everything.
“Man, you gotta feel for LJ Kasey,” the voice said, half-sympathetic, half-smug, “This poor guy just cannot catch a break. First Barnhart, now Hendrix. At this point, it’s like the vet locker room’s got him on speed dial.”
LJ exhaled through his nose.
Then the tone shifted.
“But I will say this,” the commentator continued, "This kid has got a fantastic sense of humor about it. He fired off a tweet that honestly made me spit my drink.”
The screen flashed briefly to the tweet, enlarged for effect.
Knock down ONE asshole and another asshole pops up.
What is this, Whack-a-Vet?
The commentator laughed.
“Alright, LJ. You got some mad respect from me on that one. That’s funny and sharp. Honestly? I kinda wish he’d lean into that edge more. BRUV, you gotta stop being polite and stop trying to play nice. Because at some point, you gotta meet fire with something hotter.”
LJ closed his eyes for a second.
Not because it hurt, but because it landed. He minimized the video, the sound cutting off abruptly, and stared back down at his notes like they hadn’t just betrayed him.
From the couch, Ally glanced over, "You okay?” she asked softly.
He looked up, expression already neutral again, "Yeah. Just....Civ Pro is trying to ruin my life.”
She smiled, unconvinced but letting it go, "Join the club, Ash’s math is currently bullying me.”
Ashlynn snorted, "Hey!”
LJ chuckled, then bent back over his work, pen moving again. More jurisdiction and minimum contacts. Reasonableness but beneath the words, beneath the structure and order of the law, something darker simmered.
He wasn’t wrong. Knock one down, another pops up.
Whack-a-vet.
LJ Kasey had done everything the “right” way. Took his hits, got back up. Smiled through the pain that he endured. He tried to be respectful and tried to be patient.
And still, they kept coming like he had a target on his back and a neon sign hanging over his head saying ‘Easy Target’.
He underlined another sentence, harder this time.
Stop being polite, the commentator had said. LJ didn’t smile at that, but he didn’t dismiss it either.
From the couch, Ally laughed at something Ashlynn said, the sound warm and real and grounding. LJ glanced up again, just long enough to anchor himself there, in this moment, this life.
Then he went back to his case studies because being responsible didn’t mean being weak.
And being patient didn’t mean staying quiet forever.
-----------------
RECKONING, NOT A FAIRY TALE
The camera doesn’t find LJ Kasey in a ring. It finds him seated.
A plain wooden chair on a concrete floor. No entrance music. No smoke. Just harsh gym lights overhead, buzzing faintly. His wrists are taped, not because he’s about to wrestle, but because he always tapes them now. It has turned into a habit, routine and control.
He doesn’t look injured, but he doesn’t look relaxed either.
He stares straight into the lens.
“Funny thing about the word return,” LJ says quietly, "People say it like I’ve been gone.”
He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“I didn’t disappear. I didn’t vanish. I didn’t go hide.” There was a brief moment, a beat, "I got jumped by a big bitch and I got hurt but I took out Barnhart like I promised at Inception. BY THE WAY BILL I’M STILL WAITING FOR AN APOLOGY I KNOW WILL NEVER COME! But I stayed standing long enough for everybody to see who was waiting to take the next swing. Thank you to Hendrix for that one.”
His jaw tightens, not anger but in resolution.
“They keep calling this a reckoning. They keep calling it unpredictable. They keep calling it a test to see if I’m really back.” A slow exhale through his nose, "So let me clear something up.”
He lifts his head, eyes steady, "I didn’t spend these last few weeks rehabbing my body, burying myself in law books, and coming home every night to a life I fought like hell to protect....just to see if I’m ready.”
There is a pause for a moment and a smirk.
“I already know what I can handle.”
The camera inches closer.
“And then there’s Anthrax.”
The name lands flat, there is no mockery or fear. Just a fact like a lawyer would.
“The Clown Prince of Chaos. The grin. The paint. The walking hazard sign.”
LJ tilts his head slightly.
“The guy who doesn’t just want to beat you, he wants to scramble you. He wants to turn a return into a spectacle and wants to turn a fight into a nightmarish fairy tale.”
A faint scoff escapes his lips.
“That’s cute.”
He straightens in the chair.
“You want chaos? Do you want unpredictability?” He taps his chest once, "You’re looking at a man who got jumped after winning a war....then got jumped again for daring to stand back up.”
His voice drops, colder now.
“I’ve already lived through the part where everything goes sideways. So don’t misunderstand me when I tell you flat out, I don’t fear clowns. I don’t get rattled by noise and I don’t lose focus because someone smiles while they swing.”
He leans closer, intensity sharpening like a blade.
“Because I’m not walking into this match angry. I’m walking as clear headed as ever.”
Silence hangs for a moment again. He’s just doing this to make a point by now in case you missed it.
“This isn’t a pathetic redemption story. This isn’t a comeback tour and this sure as hell isn’t a fairy tale where I need the crowd to believe hard enough for me to win.”
He shakes his head slowly.
“This is me reminding the locker room that I don’t need momentum. I create it.”
LJ rises from the chair now, filling the frame.
“So Anthrax, I want you do your thing. Laugh like an idiot. Grin like a fool and try to turn this into a circus.”
A faint, dangerous smirk creeps across his face.
“But understand this before the bell rings.”
He takes one step forward.
“You’re not testing whether I’m back.”
Another step.
“You’re finding out what happens when you step in front of someone who’s already survived worse than you and learned exactly how to keep moving forward.”
He turns and walks out of frame. No rush. No drama. Just certainty. No fairy tale. Just consequences.
The camera doesn’t move when LJ Kasey stands.
It lets him rise into the frame like a storm front rolling in, slow, inevitable, impossible to ignore.
He doesn’t pace. He doesn’t gesture wildly. His hands stay loose at his sides, taped wrists flexing once like he’s checking the tension in a rope.
“You know what the funny part is?” LJ continues, voice calm but sharpened, "They keep calling Anthrax dangerous because he’s unpredictable.”
A slight shake of his head.
“That’s not dangerous. That’s just noise.”
He steps closer, the concrete floor echoing under his boots.
“Danger is knowing exactly what you’re walking into and doing it anyway. Danger is a man who’s already been laid out, already been jumped, already been laughed at by people who thought he was finished
and didn’t blink.”
His eyes narrow, not angry. It was extremely Focused.
“Anthrax wants to scramble focus. I know damn well he wants to make this about chaos and how he does that is the attempt to make it all turn my return into a three-ring circus.”
A breath through his teeth.
“That’d be funny....if my entire career wasn’t already being treated like one.”
He tilts his head.
“Brandon Hendrix jumps me from behind. Vets line up like it’s open season on the younger Kasey and people online crack jokes about how I can’t catch a break.”
His gaze hardens.
“And you think I’m worried about a clown?”
“No.”
He plants his feet.
“What you don’t understand, Anthrax, what none of you seem to understand....and this should be blatantly fucking obvious by now is that chaos doesn’t scare me.”
His voice lowers.
“Chaos is a familiar beast to me and has quickly become a friend. I balance law school, a career that tries to break my body every week, and a life I’m building with someone I love, while people actively root for me to fail. You think a painted smile and a few mind games are going to knock me off center?”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh.
“I have had to live off-center my entire life.” The camera tightens now, close enough to catch the tension in his jaw, "You don’t derail me by being weird. You don’t bait me into mistakes by acting unhinged. And you sure as hell don’t turn me into a fairy tale character just because you don’t know how to take things seriously.”
A brief silence.
“This match?” LJ continues, "This isn’t about whether I’m back.”
He taps his chest once.
“This is about whether you’re ready for someone who doesn’t need adrenaline...doesn’t need anger....doesn’t need hype.”
His eyes burn.
“Someone who’s already accepted the worst outcome and kept moving.”
He straightens fully now.
“So laugh. Grin. Make faces. Try to turn the ring into a joke. Just remember something.”
His voice drops to a near whisper.
“Clowns only work when the audience is afraid of them.”
He steps forward until the frame barely holds him.
“And I’m not afraid.”
A long pause.
“I’m focused.”
The silence stretches, uncomfortable, deliberate.
“This isn’t a redemption arc. This isn’t a comeback tour. This isn’t a storybook ending where the hero needs magic or belief.”
He shakes his head once.
“This is a man walking back into the ring because it’s his job... and because someone decided to stand in his way.”
One last step.
“So Anthrax, welcome to the return. You don’t get to turn this into a circus.”
The camera lingers as LJ turns away.
“This is a reckoning.”
Fade out.
