SCW EXTRA
Climax Control
Backstage, Gorilla Position
The curtain snapped back into place behind him with a dull, heavy thud, like the end of something that didn’t quite feel finished. Out there, the crowd was still alive, still loud. And still riding the high of what they’d just seen. The kind of noise that followed a war, not just a match. It bled faintly through the walls, through the structure of the building itself, but back here it didn’t carry the same energy.
Back here, everything slowed down. Production voices cut through the air in quick bursts, camera calls, headset chatter, stagehands moving equipment with practiced urgency. People moved around LJ Kasey like he was both part of the system and completely separate from it at the same time. A few looks his way, a few nods of respect, quiet and unspoken.
He walked through it without acknowledging any of it. Not because he didn’t notice because he didn’t need to. Ally stayed beside him, matching his pace step for step, close enough that her presence was constant but not intrusive. Her hand brushed lightly against his arm once, then again when they slowed for a moment near the edge of Gorilla.
He didn’t look at her, but he leaned into it just slightly. That was enough. He didn’t look like a man who had just come up short in the biggest match of his career. That was the thing. He had no limp, no dramatic frustration, no pacing, no hands on his head, no shouting into the void. His breathing was steady, his posture straight, his expression controlled in a way that almost looked too calm. But it wasn’t empty, it was contained. The kind of control that only comes when something matters enough that you refuse to let it spill out in front of everyone else. As they moved past a stack of production crates, LJ’s eyes flicked to the side and that’s when he saw them.
Miles and Carter.
They weren’t standing front and center like they were waiting to make a moment out of it. They were off to the side, seated near the wall, half in the flow of traffic and half outside of it. Like they’d been there long enough to not look like they were waiting, even though they clearly were.
Carter was the first to shift when he saw LJ. He stood, pushing off his knees, posture already reading the situation before a word was spoken. Miles followed a second later, slower, but with that same focus locked in. LJ didn’t stop, he just angled toward them naturally, like it was the most obvious path in the world.
Carter stepped forward first. “That,” he said, voice even but firm, “was one hell of a fight.”
There was no exaggeration, no pity, just truth like it always was between them all. LJ let out a small breath through his nose, something that almost passed for a laugh if you didn’t listen too closely.
“Yeah,” he replied, rolling one shoulder slightly. “Would’ve preferred a different ending.”
Carter’s mouth twitched faintly, like he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. He didn’t need to.
Miles stepped in next. There was no hesitation there either. He pulled LJ into a quick embrace, solid and grounding, the kind that didn’t ask for permission because it didn’t need it.
“Proud of you,” Miles said quietly, just loud enough for LJ to hear and no one else.
For a split second, LJ didn’t respond, didn’t move and then his hand came up, brief and firm against Miles’ back before they separated.
He nodded once, he didn’t say thank you or even brush it off. He just accepted it.
Ally’s hand squeezed his arm gently again, and this time LJ did glance at her. There was something softer in his eyes for that moment alone, something that didn’t belong to the arena or the match or the weight of what just happened.
“I’m gonna steal Carter for a minute,” she said, her voice light but purposeful, already giving them space without making it awkward.
Carter gave a half-smile. “I’ve survived worse.”
LJ huffed quietly, nodding. “Yeah. Go on.”
She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, fast, subtle, but enough and then she and Carter stepped off to the side, giving the brothers room without making it feel like they were being left behind.
For a moment, it was just LJ and Miles. No noise or rush, just that shared space where neither of them felt the need to fill the silence immediately.
LJ shifted his weight, glancing briefly toward the curtain behind them, then back again. “Well,” he said finally, tone casual in a way that was just a little too intentional, “Good news, yeah?”
Miles raised an eyebrow, already knowing there was something coming. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” LJ replied, lips pulling into a faint smirk. “You don’t have to worry about facing me for that title anytime soon.”
There it was, the deflection and the humor. The thing LJ reached for when he didn’t feel like unpacking everything sitting under the surface.
Miles let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
That brought a shrug to LJ’s shoulders, “I try.”
“You just went toe-to-toe with the fuckin’ World Champion,” Miles said, stepping a little closer, his tone shifting just enough to cut through the joke. “And that’s what you’ve got?”
LJ shrugged lightly, like it didn’t matter. “I’m just saying,” he continued, gesturing vaguely. “Your big Title for Title moment? Still intact. No awkward family drama. No headlines about us tearing each other apart before you even get your shot.... You’re welcome.”
Miles laughed again, but this time it wasn’t just amusement. There was something warmer in it. Something that said he understood exactly what LJ was doing, and wasn’t going to let him hide behind it. “Mate,” he said, shaking his head, “If that’s your takeaway from tonight, you weren’t paying attention.”
That landed and you could tell as LJ’s smirk faltered just slightly, not gone, but less solid.
“Raven didn’t walk through you,” Miles continued. “He didn’t outclass you. He didn’t make you look like you didn’t belong. He survived you.”
LJ didn’t respond immediately. His jaw shifted slightly, his eyes flicking away for a second before coming back. “...Still didn’t get it done,” he said.
“No,” Miles agreed, without hesitation. “You didn’t.”
One thing that can be said about the Kasey Brothers, there was no cushioning, sugarcoating any shit between them. It was just honesty.
“But that doesn’t mean what you think it means.” LJ looked at him properly now as Miles shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Sometimes not getting it done just means it wasn’t your moment yet. Doesn’t mean you don’t belong in it.”
LJ exhaled slowly, that tension in his chest easing just enough to let something else take its place, perspective. “…Yeah,” he muttered.
Miles watched him for a second longer, then smirked slightly. “And for the record?” he added.
LJ glanced up.
“Someday,” Miles said, “We’re probably gonna have to have it out.”
Between them was no hostility, no ego, just the inevitability of what this business does.
LJ’s expression shifted again—this time into something sharper, something more like himself.
“Yeah?” he replied.
Miles nodded. “Yeah. And I’m looking forward to it when it does happen.”
That earned a real reaction. A genuine grin, small but undeniable. “Course you are,” LJ said.
“Course I am.”
The moment settled between them, easy and familiar in a way that had nothing to do with titles or matches or pressure. Just the two of them, brothers.
Then LJ rolled his shoulders again, like he was resetting something internally, letting the last of the match fall away.
“Right,” he muttered. “Can’t stand around all night.”
Miles raised an eyebrow. “No?”
LJ’s expression shifted, not dramatic and instead focused. “I’ve got another problem to deal with.”
Miles didn’t need clarification. “Ah, yeah...Hendrix.”
LJ nodded once. “Yeah.”
Miles stepped in just enough to clap him on the shoulder. “Then go deal with it.”
LJ took a breath, “Yeah,” he said. “That’s the plan.”
He glanced over toward Ally again. She was already looking at him, like she’d been tracking him the whole time without making it obvious.
Of course she had. He gave her a small nod, she returned it instantly. That was all they needed.
LJ looked back at Miles one last time. “…Thanks,” he said.
Miles smirked. “Go on.”
And LJ did, he turned and walked, not rushed, not dragging, just moving forward with purpose. The match with Raven was over, the opportunity had come and gone. But as he moved deeper into the backstage maze, there was no sense of something ending, only something shifting.
Because tonight hadn’t proven he couldn’t hang at the top.
It proved he already did.
And now? There was someone else waiting for him. And this time, it wasn’t about proving anything.
It was about finishing it.
----------------------
SECOND SEMESTER PRESSURE
Boyd School of Law
Professor Roth’s Office
Las Vegas
The office wasn’t intimidating on purpose. That was the problem. No towering shelves meant to overwhelm. No dramatic lighting or heavy desk designed to create distance. Just a clean, organized space, casebooks stacked with intention, framed degrees on the wall, and a desk that looked like work actually got done there.
Which meant when you got called in? It wasn’t for show. It was because it mattered.
LJ stood just inside the doorway for half a second before stepping in fully, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Professor Roth didn’t look up immediately. He finished jotting something down on a legal pad, then set his pen aside and leaned back slightly in his chair.
“Mr. Kasey,” he said, calm as ever. “Please, have a seat.”
LJ did, dropping into the chair across from the desk without hesitation, posture relaxed but attentive, not defensive, not casual either.
Roth studied him for a moment, not harshly, not skeptically. Instead he was assessing him.
“I’ll get straight to it,” Roth said. “You’ve been...busy.”
That pulled the faintest smirk out of LJ. “That’s one way of putting it.”
Roth didn’t return it. “I’ve reviewed your attendance,” he continued, “Your submission timestamps, and your performance metrics across LRW and Civil Procedure. And I’m trying to reconcile something.”
LJ leaned back slightly, folding his hands loosely in his lap. “What’s that?”
Roth tilted his head just a fraction. “You’ve been out of the country,” he said. “Multiple times. Extended travel, a whole lot of different time zones. Public commitments that, based on what I’ve seen, are not exactly low-effort. And yet....your work hasn’t slipped.”
Not a question but it was an observation. LJ didn’t answer immediately. He just held Roth’s gaze.
“So,” Roth continued, “I want to be very clear about why you’re here.”
He leaned forward slightly now.
“This isn’t a reprimand.” That got LJ’s attention more than anything else. “It’s a concern,” Roth added.
There it was.
“Because what you’re doing right now?” Roth said, tapping a finger lightly against the desk, “It’s sustainable....until it isn’t.”
Silence settled for a moment.
“You’re juggling two full-time demands,” he went on. “And one of them doesn’t care about deadlines, structure, or academic expectations. The other does.”
LJ exhaled slowly through his nose, then shifted forward slightly in his seat. “With respect,” he said, tone even, controlled, “It hasn’t affected my work.”
Roth didn’t interrupt.
“I haven’t missed a submission,” LJ continued. “I haven’t fallen behind on reading. I haven’t slipped on performance.”
He tilted his head slightly. “If anything....I’ve gotten sharper.”
That hung there.
Roth watched him closely. “You believe that?”
“I know that,” LJ replied without hesitation. “When I’m on the road, I don’t have time to waste. There’s no margin for it.”
His voice didn’t rise, but there was something firmer underneath it now.
“I prep on flights. I read in hotel rooms. I outline between training sessions.” A faint shrug. “I don’t get the luxury of putting things off.”
Roth’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes shifted. “You’re saying the pressure helps,” he said.
“I’m saying it forces discipline,” LJ corrected. “And discipline doesn’t care where I am.”
Roth leaned back again, folding his hands together. “You understand why I’d question it,” he said.
“Of course I do,” LJ replied. “Most people don’t try to do both.”
“Most people wouldn’t succeed at both.”
LJ didn’t smile. “Most people aren’t me.”
There wasn’t arrogance in it, just certainty. Silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable, just measured.
Roth nodded slowly. “That much,” he admitted, “Is becoming increasingly difficult to argue against.”
LJ let out a quiet breath, tension easing just slightly in his shoulders.
“But,” Roth added, and there it was, “This isn’t just about whether you can keep up.”
LJ’s eyes narrowed a fraction.
“It’s about whether something eventually gives. Because when it does....law school doesn’t wait for you to catch up.”
LJ leaned forward again, resting his forearms lightly on his knees. “It won’t have to,” he said.
Roth held his gaze. “That’s confidence.”
“I like to think of it as preparation. I don’t walk into anything unprepared,” LJ added. “Not a match. Not a class. Not this.”
He gestured lightly between them.
“If that ever changes? Then we’ve got a problem.”
Roth studied him for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded. “…Alright.”
LJ didn’t move.
“I’m not going to tell you to stop,” Roth said. “Because clearly, that’s not going to happen.”
A faint hint of something almost resembling humor touched the corner of his mouth.
“Correct.”
“But I am going to tell you this,” Roth continued, tone sharpening just slightly. “The margin for error in this program is thin.”
He leaned forward again.
“And you’re choosing to operate without one. That’s either going to make you exceptional...Or it’s going to catch up to you.”
LJ stood slowly, adjusting his jacket as he did. “I’ll take those odds,” he said.
Roth watched him for a second longer, then gave a small nod. “I figured you would.”
LJ turned toward the door, hand already on the handle.
“Mr. Kasey.” He paused, glancing back. “…Keep proving me wrong,” Roth said.
That earned the smallest smirk.
“Planning on it.”
And with that, LJ stepped out into the hallway, the door closing quietly behind him. The noise of the law school returned immediately, students talking, footsteps echoing, the normal rhythm of a place that demanded everything from the people inside it.
LJ adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and started walking.
Europe hadn’t slowed him down, Japan wouldn’t either because as far as he was concerned?
There was no version of this where he picked one life over the other.
He just got better at carrying both.
---------------------
NO MORE ROOM FOR ERROR
Las Vegas
Nightfall
The Strip was alive like it always was. Lights bleeding into the sky, traffic crawling, people laughing like nothing in the world could touch them. It was loud, chaotic, alive in a way that never stopped. The kind of place where distractions came easy.
LJ Kasey stood above it all.
Not on a rooftop this time. Not leaning on a ledge like he needed something to hold him up. Just standing on a quiet parking structure overlooking the city, hoodie half-zipped, the wind pulling at the fabric like it was trying to get a reaction out of him.
It didn’t.
The camera adjusted slightly as he stepped forward into frame, Vegas glowing behind him like a backdrop that didn’t matter. He didn’t pace, he didn’t posture, he just looked into the lens and let his eyes do the tone setting.
And for a second? He said nothing.
“....I’ve watched it back.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
“The match. The ending. The part where you decided you couldn’t beat me....so you made sure I couldn’t beat you either.”
A slow breath in through his nose.
“I’ve watched it enough times to know exactly where it went wrong.”
His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing, not in confusion, but in clarity.
“And here’s the part that’s been eating at me all week, Brandon…It wasn’t that you were better.”
Another step forward.
“It wasn’t that you out-fought me. It wasn’t that you out-thought me.”
His jaw tightened.
“It’s that you took something that was supposed to be a fight and you turned it into an escape route.”
The wind kicked up, but LJ didn’t move with it.
“You didn’t win that match,” he said flatly. “You survived it by calling in your boys... and by making sure it never finished properly.”
His eyes sharpened now, something colder settling in.
“And for a while? That bothered me because I kept thinking I made a mistake. I kept thinking I missed something. I kept thinking there was a moment where I could’ve stopped you from doing what you did.”
He shook his head once.
“…Nah.”
Another step closer. The camera subtly adjusting to keep him centered.
“The truth is? The only mistake I made…”
His voice dropped.
“…was thinking you wanted a fight in the first place.” Silence stretched for just a second before he continued. “You don’t want a fight, Hendrix.”
His lip curled faintly.
“You want control.”
He tapped his chest once.
“You want things messy enough that you can hide in it. You want just enough chaos that when things go wrong, you’ve got an out. You want angles, timing, interference, anything that keeps you from having to stand there and deal with someone who won’t break the way you expect them to. That’s who you are.”
His voice didn’t rise, It didn’t need to.
“And I let you have that last time.”
There it was. Ownership.
One thing that can be said is that LJ left no room for bullshit excuses let alone deflection.
“I let you drag it into your kind of fight.” His shoulders squared. “That’s not happening again. And then you went and you gave me control of the stipulation...you gifted me a chance to even the playing field.”
A faint, humorless smirk.
“Thought that was clever, didn’t you?”
He nodded once, like he was acknowledging it.
“Thought you were playing chess. Thought you were putting me in a position where I’d pick something emotional. Something reckless. Something that gives you another way out.”
His eyes locked in.
“You don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”
He takes another step to the point that there is now there’s no distance left between him and the lens.
“So let me make this very, very clear…” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “There is no room for error this time.”
Each word dropped is deliberate.
“There will be no distractions, no interference and no ‘wrong place, wrong time.’ No convenient chaos of your posse randomly showing up for you to disappear into. You don’t get to run this one.”
His expression hardened fully now.
“You don’t get to twist it. You don’t get to survive it.”
The city noise faded behind the weight of what he was saying.
“Because I’ve already done the part where I question myself.”
His eyes didn’t move.
“I’ve already done the part where I sit with it and figure out what went wrong. And now?”
A slight shake of his head.
“Now there’s nothing left to figure out.”
He stepped back once, just enough space to breathe, but not enough to break the intensity.
“You wanted my attention? You got it. You wanted a war? You got that too.”
His tone sharpened—not louder, just cutting.
“But what you don’t understand yet...is that I don’t need perfect conditions to beat you.”
He spread his hands slightly.
“I just needed to make sure you don’t have any. So next week in Osaka... when we step into that ring...”
He tilted his head slightly.
“…you’re not walking in with an advantage.”
Another step back.
“You’re walking in with nothing.”
His voice dropped one last time.
“And I’m walking in knowing exactly who you are.”
A faint, dangerous smirk crept in.
“And that’s a problem for you.”
He turned then, no dramatic exit, no looking back, just walking off into the Vegas night like the outcome was already decided.
The camera lingered a second longer on the empty space he left behind.
