Trial Simulation
Boyd School of Law
Las Vegas, Nevada
The mock courtroom didn’t look like much at first glance, it had the same fluorescent lighting, same beige walls and of course the same rows of uncomfortable chairs that had seen more caffeine-fueled panic than actual justice. But the second the professor stepped aside and announced the start of trial simulation, the energy in the room shifted.
This wasn't a lecture anymore, instead this was a performance that accounted for 30% of their grade.
LJ Kasey stood when called upon and was instructed to come to the front of the room, buttoning his jacket with calm precision. His notes were already organized, tabs marked, case law highlighted and his legal pad filled with bullet points so tight and deliberate they looked rehearsed, because they were.
He’d been preparing for this all week. Sitting across from him, his assigned opposing counsel shuffled papers. One too many. A whisper of panic passed between them, eyes darting down at half-written notes like they might magically finish themselves.
LJ noticed, of course he did. The judge for the exercise, a local attorney brought in to observe, glanced between the two sides, "Counsel, you may proceed.”
LJ stepped forward. He was not rushed and extremely calm...he was thankful for the jacket that covered the potential sweat stains that came through his dress shirt. At least he remembered to wear deodorant today.
He was very ready and took a deep breath.
“May it please the court,” LJ began, voice calm and measured. Not loud, not theatrical, just confident enough to make people lean in, "This case is not complicated. It’s only been made to look that way.”
A few eyebrows lifted.
“The opposing side wants you to believe that intent can be inferred where none exists,” he continued, pacing once, slow and deliberate, "They want speculation to do the heavy lifting because the facts simply won’t.”
He paused, then glanced briefly at his notes.
“They cite State v. Marshall as justification for that leap,” LJ said, almost conversationally, "Unfortunately for them, they stop reading right before the part where the court explicitly rejects that reasoning.”
A murmur moved through the room. LJ flipped a single page on his pad.
“Page twelve,” he added helpfully, "Second paragraph. First sentence.”
The judge glanced down at their own copy. Across the aisle, opposing counsel stiffened. LJ didn’t look at them.
“Now, if the court applies the statute as written,” he continued, “And not as creatively reimagined as they tried very colorfully I might add, then the conclusion becomes unavoidable.”
He lifted his gaze, eyes steady.
“This claim clearly fails on its face.”
He stepped back. Clean. Contained. Done.
When the other side stood, the energy changed, not dramatically, just enough to feel the imbalance. Papers shuffled. A sentence restarted halfway through. The argument wandered, circled, tried to land somewhere solid and never quite managed it. And then the opposing side said something that caught his attention and gave him just enough to yell out, “Objection.”
LJ’s voice cut in smoothly.
The judge looked up, "On what grounds?”
“Mischaracterization of both precedent and testimony,” LJ replied instantly, "Counsel is attributing intent that was never established and directly contradicts the record.”
There was a brief moment of silence and then the judge nodded, "Sustained.”
Someone near the back let out a quiet ‘oof.’
When LJ stood again, it was with the air of someone who knew the ending and was just walking everyone else toward it.
“Your Honor,” he said, “Even if we momentarily entertain the opposing theory, which I strongly advise against, it still collapses under basic statutory interpretation.”
He gestured with his pen once, precise.
“The statute requires affirmative action. Not assumption, not implication. Action. And there is none.”
He let that sit and stir in the room for a moment before he continued.
“No amount of argument can create facts that don’t exist,” LJ finished, "And no court should pretend otherwise.”
And then he was done, he glanced at his opposition and then simply took his seat on his side. The judge folded their hands, "Thank you, Mr. Kasey.”
When closing arguments wrapped, it wasn’t dramatic. No gavel slam or applause, just inevitability.
The judge finally spoke, "This was...exceptionally well-prepared. Mr. Kasey, you anticipated every counter before it was raised. You should be extremely proud of your performance here today and I must say that if I am welcomed back for the next round when you are in action, I am very much looking forward to it.”
LJ inclined his head. Polite. Professional, "Thank you.”
As chairs scraped and people started packing up, the whispers came — not about wrestling, not about TV antics or headlines.
About that.
Marcus leaned over as LJ slid his notebook into his bag, "Bro,” he muttered, “You didn’t just win that. You bullied the law.”
LJ snorted softly, "Well that’s what happens when they don't do the work.”
“That’s cold.”
“That’s accurate. I’m not about to paddy cake the souls I face all because they don’t know how to truly prepare for things. I don’t do that in the ring and I sure as hell won’t do it in the court room. My mums would never forgive me if I did.”
They stepped out into the hallway, sunlight spilling through the windows, the tension finally easing. LJ rolled his shoulders once, loosening muscles that hadn’t been tense — just focused.
Marcus glanced at him, "Have you ever thought about how terrifying you’d be as an actual trial lawyer?”
LJ shrugged, "Preparation’s preparation and it doesn’t matter if it’s a courtroom or a fight,” he added quietly, "If you know where the argument breaks, you don’t need to raise your voice.”
They walked a few more steps before Marcus peeled off toward the library, still shaking his head in disbelief.
“Seriously,” he called over his shoulder, "Remind me never to be on the other side of you. Ever.”
LJ smirked but didn’t respond. He just adjusted the strap of his bag and kept moving, the hallway noise fading behind him as he pushed through the double doors and out into the open air.
The Vegas sun hit him square in the face.
He paused there for a moment, standing still, letting the warmth settle into his shoulders. The adrenaline from the simulation had already started to ebb, replaced by that familiar clarity he always got after he’d executed something properly.
No panic, no scrambling and ZERO wasted motion. Just preparation meeting the moment.
His phone buzzed in his pocket breaking him from his train of thought and this time, he looked.
A reminder for him as he had another battle to prepare for as a headline sat at the top of his notifications, bold and impossible to ignore.
BLAZE OF GLORY XV — TEXAS STREET FIGHT
LJ KASEY vs BRANDON “F’N” HENDRIX
Dickies Arena — Fort Worth, TX
LJ stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
The match that he agreed to, dealing with Hendrix and the bullshit that he start, was Texas Street Fight. For this there were no rules, no safety nets and not even a clean edge. A fight that Brandon started and LJ was going to finish in Texas.
He locked the screen and slid the phone back into his pocket, jaw setting as he started walking again.
The funny thing was, the mock trial had felt almost relaxing. In there, chaos had rules, arguments had structure. And people couldn’t just rush you and hope something stuck.
Out there?
Brandon Hendrix had already proven he didn’t care about any of that, but the thought didn’t make LJ tense. If anything, it grounded him.
Because whether it was a courtroom or a ring, the principle was the same: You study, you prepare, you identify where the other side breaks.
And when the moment comes?
You don’t hesitate and you finish them...for good.
LJ pushed open the door to the parking structure, the echo of his footsteps following him as he headed toward his awaiting uber. Texas was coming, Hendrix was waiting.
And LJ Kasey had already proven, today of all days, that when the stakes were high and the pressure was on...He didn’t just survive the trial.
He controlled it.
--------------
Back Where It Started
Fort Worth Stockyards – Fort Worth, Texas
Texas didn’t look anything like Las Vegas. That was the first thing LJ noticed the second they stepped out of the car and onto the brick-lined street of the Stockyards. Vegas was neon and noise and constant motion. This place moved slower, older. Like the buildings had been standing long enough to remember things.
Boot shops, old saloons. And the most delicious smell of barbecue drifting through the air from somewhere down the block. A couple of tourists wandered past with cameras while a man in a cowboy hat leaned against a railing like he’d been doing that exact same thing for twenty years.
LJ adjusted the collar of his jacket and glanced around, quietly taking it in.
“This is your old stomping grounds, huh?” he said.
Beside him, Ally smiled faintly.
“Pretty much,” she said, "Ash used to beg to come down here when she was little. Thought the longhorn drives were the coolest thing in the world.”
They walked side by side without rushing. No cameras or schedules breathing down their necks. Just the quiet rhythm of two people sharing a place that meant something.
Ally pointed across the street, "That place right there?” she said, "Best brisket sandwich you’ll ever eat. Or at least it was when I lived around here.”
LJ looked over at the building, nodding thoughtfully, “Noted,” he said, "For after I survive Sunday.”
She nudged him with her elbow, "You’re going to do more than survive.”
He gave her a sideways glance, "That confidence is dangerous, you know.”
“I’ve seen what you do when someone pushes you too far,” she replied simply.
They walked a little farther before the noise faded just enough to leave them in a comfortable quiet. LJ shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes drifting over the street again.
Then he spoke, "...You ever wonder if you made the wrong call?”
Ally slowed slightly, "What do you mean?”
He shrugged, trying to sound casual even though the question had clearly been sitting with him longer than he wanted to admit, "Moving,” he said, "You, Ash....All of it.”
His gaze stayed forward, "You had a life here. Friends, familiar places. Everything made sense.” He paused a beat, "Then I came along and suddenly you’re packing everything up and moving to Vegas to live with a twenty-something wrestler who also decided law school sounded like a fantastic idea.” A faint smirk tugged at his mouth, "Not exactly the safest investment.”
Ally stopped walking. LJ noticed when she didn’t keep pace and turned slightly toward her. She was looking at him like the answer had been obvious the whole time.
“Lyle,” she said softly.
He winced a little at the full name, "That’s never a good start.”
“It’s the right start,” she countered. She stepped closer, slipping her hand into his, "You didn’t make me leave anything,” she said, "I chose to go.”
Her thumb brushed across his knuckles.
“Because the life I had here was comfortable,” she continued, “But the life I have with you actually means something.” LJ looked down at their hands for a second, absorbing that, "You gave Ash a home where she feels safe. You gave me a partner who doesn’t run when the second things get hard. And you gave us a future that actually feels like we’re building something together.”
She tilted her head slightly, "So no,” she finished, "I’ve never once thought it was the wrong choice.”
LJ let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, "...Good,” he muttered.
“Why?”
He shrugged, "Because if you’d said yes and secretly regretted it, that would’ve been awkward.”
She laughed, the sound warm and easy, "You’re ridiculous.”
“Accurate,” he corrected.
They started walking again, their pace naturally falling back into sync. After a moment Ally glanced at him, "You nervous?”
“About the match?” LJ said and she nodded. He considered that for a moment before answering, "Not nervous,” he said, "Focused.”
He looked down the street, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the old brick road, "Hendrix started something he doesn’t understand yet,” LJ added quietly, "And Texas just happens to be where it ends.”
Ally studied him for a second, then squeezed his hand, "Well,” she said, “after you’re done ending it...”
She nodded toward the barbecue place down the street, "You’re finally trying that brisket sandwich.”
LJ smirked, "Now that,” he said, “sounds like a victory worth fighting for.”
And together they kept walking through the streets that used to be her home, toward a night that was about to change everything.
------------
WHEN IN TEXAS...
Fort Worth, Texas – Outside Dickies Arena
The camera flickers on and the first thing anyone sees is boots. Not flashy ones. Not costume-shop nonsense either. Real leather, worn enough to look like they’ve actually touched dirt before. The camera slowly pans up.
Dark jeans, a plain button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A tan cowboy hat sitting slightly crooked on LJ Kasey’s head like he’s still deciding whether he actually likes it or not and then there’s the grin.
It’s the kind that suggests trouble.
Behind him, the skyline of Fort Worth glows in the late evening light, Dickies Arena sitting just over his shoulder like a promise waiting to be kept. LJ tips the brim of the hat slightly and looks straight into the camera.
“Well... howdy.”
He pauses just long enough to let the absurdity of a British accent delivering that word hang in the air.
“Yeah, I know,” he says with a shrug, "Trust me, this feels weird for me too.”
He gestures down at the boots.
“I’ve got people back home who’d probably disown me for this look. But when you come to Texas... apparently you commit to the bit.”
The smirk fades slowly.
“And seeing as how Saturday night is a Texas Street Fight, I figured I might as well lean into the environment.” He adjusts the brim of the hat again, eyes sharpening, "Because Brandon ‘F’N’ Hendrix seems to think he understands what kind of fight he’s walking into.”
A small laugh escapes him.
“That’s adorable.” LJ begins pacing slowly, boots thudding softly against the pavement, "You see, Hendrix... you didn’t start this because you wanted a fight.”
He points toward the arena behind him.
“You started this because you wanted attention.” His voice drops slightly, "You jumped me after my win over Bill Barnhart because you thought it would make a statement. And technically... it did.”
The grin returns, colder now.
“It told the whole world exactly what kind of man you are.” He stops pacing, "A coward who can’t stand seeing someone else earn something the right way.”
His jaw tightens.
“You didn’t want to wrestle me. You wanted to steal a moment.” LJ tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing, "So I did what any reasonable person would do.”
He spreads his arms casually.
“I made your life miserable.” A shrug, "I cost you matches. I embarrassed you and yeah... I even showed my whole bloody arse on national television just to distract you long enough to watch you lose.”
He chuckles.
“Still proud of that one, by the way.” Then the humor disappears entirely, "Because while you were busy throwing tantrums and chasing me around arenas... I was doing something you’ve clearly never learned how to do.”
He taps his temple.
“I was preparing.” His voice grows harder with every word, "You see, Brandon... there’s a difference between chaos and control. You thrive in chaos because it lets you hide. But me?”
He takes a slow step toward the camera.
“I create control inside the chaos.” The wind kicks slightly, tugging at the brim of his hat, "And now we’re in Texas.”
He gestures toward the arena again.
“A Texas Street Fight. No rules. No count-outs. No referees saving you when things get uncomfortable.”
The grin returns, but there’s nothing friendly about it now.
“You wanted a fight so badly that you had to jump me to get it. Well congratulations, mate.”
He spreads his arms wide.
“You finally got one.” LJ takes another step closer to the camera, "Here’s the problem though...”
His voice drops to a near whisper.
“You’re walking into this thinking it’s going to be chaos. But chaos doesn’t scare me.”
A final step brings him close enough that the camera has to tilt up slightly.
“Because every single time you’ve tried to break me...”
His eyes burn into the lens.
“I got back up. So Sunday night in Fort Worth, Brandon... when that bell rings and the rules disappear...”
He slowly removes the cowboy hat.
“You’re going to realize something very important.”
He tosses the hat onto a nearby railing.
“You didn’t start a fight. You started a verdict.”
His voice hardens completely.
“And in Texas?”
The faintest smile curls at the corner of his mouth.
“We deliver those the old-fashioned way. Violently.”
LJ turns and starts walking toward the arena without another word, leaving the camera lingering on the discarded cowboy hat swaying gently in the Texas wind.
