Yesterday, 05:01 PM
One breath. Two. Three. Adrenaline pumped through Jackson’s veins. Not just because he won. But because he got to perform.
The performance against Crystal hadn’t been easy, he knew this. He accepted it.
“Victory. The thing everyone strives for. Lives for. That’s a valid belief system. I won’t mock anyone who thinks that way.”
Jackson breathed slightly slower, in and then out. Coming down from the excitement in his veins. That was always the part he struggled with post-performance.
And then came the turn.
The moment that softened the adrenaline just that little bit more.
“Scout’s been hyper since the bell rang, I think he’s decided that he scored the pin.”
Daisy spoke quietly, her tone holding the echo of a smile.
Scout barked once, low and rumbling as if annoyed by Daisy’s words.
Jackson leaned down low, now eye level with Scout. Maintaining careful eye contact he began to speak. His words quieter than normal indicating the vulnerability that lived beneath the charismatic showman he liked to present to the world.
“Between you and me? Wrestling’s a different beast than music. The crowd energy is different. The rules are different. The terminology is different. This isn’t a complaint, far from it. It’s me acknowledging that this stage isn’t the one I was raised on.”
Scout licked Jackson’s face once, responding to the emotion flowing off of him.
Daisy watched the interaction with a softening expression.
“Jackson. Feeling vulnerable doesn't make you any less of a rockstar. All it means is that you are trying to adapt to a world, to a new stage that relies on a different discipline than the one you made a name for yourself in.”
Scout sat bolt upright, eyes widening a second later.
“Jackson. I want you to meet someone. A friend.”
Daisy spoke, turning slightly to face him.
Rising to his feet, curiosity gleaming in his eyes Jackson found himself looking at a woman whose aura, whose energy radiated quiet composure, earned confidence. And just a hint of something that resembled a thoughtful nature.
“Raven. This is my brother Jackson. He’s deeper than he looks. He just doesn't allow many to see the core of who he is.”
For several long seconds Raven gave Jackson a once over. Not in the way fans, promoters, or even opponents sizing each other up did. No, this felt like something new. Something unexpected.
Smile back in place, vulnerability hidden under charisma, Jackson looked Raven up and down, assessing her in turn.
“Finally, I can put a name to the face who is responsible for teaching Scout.”
Raven snorted softly, eyes flicking to Scout. Deft warm fingers wrapped themselves around Jackson’s wrist.
“That’s a generous description; he listens when it suits him. I think he’s got a bit of a chaotic streak that largely gets ignored because he’s cute.”
Scout looked between Jackson and Raven, thumping his tail once, completely proud of his chaotic tendencies.
“What’s that saying, the road to hell is paved with good intentions?”
Jackson quipped, gesturing to Scout with a smirk.
Raven snorted again, this time louder and far more vibrant. True amusement lit her eyes. Her expression had changed from assessing to fascinated.
“You don’t rush. In the ring. It’s like you haven’t left music behind. I saw your match against Crystal. You did well, not perfect but you are still learning. That matters. Anyone who expects to be an instant master in a new career isn’t thinking about the performance, only their own ego.”
Daisy tilted her head once as she watched the interaction.
Jackson shrugged once loose and carefree.
“Old habit. Music teaches you-If you try to hit every note at once, it ruins the tempo. It ruins the rhythm.”
Raven nodded once, contemplative.
“That makes sense.”
Silence filtered through the air, a slow burning tension existing between Jackson and Raven.
Daisy grinned as she broke the silence.
“In other words, she thinks you didn’t look like an idiot.”
“That’s high praise.”
Jackson murmured, a slightly more solemn tone to his voice.
Scout added a bark, something instinctive telling him that something was building between Jackson and Raven.
Looking back to the arena doors, Jackson could hear the calm after the performance: the space that existed between performances.
New ring. Different opponent. Different Tempo.
And tempo was something Jackson understood and was already listening to.
30 minutes later: Jackson’s living room.
Daisy’s eyes were on her phone, scanning the screen as she read.
“SCW doesn’t waste time. You’ve got your next match listing. This time at SCW Pay Per View Shattered Reality. Against Sofia Soldata. Night One: Boston.”
Jackson spoke the name quietly under his breath, testing the sound of it. Feeling the weight of it.
“I’ve seen her. Clips. Not in person. She doesn’t miss. Everything is clean, tight. No wasted movement. That I can appreciate in an opponent.”
Daisy looked him over “You don’t seem nervous. Not even a little.”
Jackson exhaled slowly, one breath out.
“No. But I am listening. To the tempo. To the rhythm. To SCW as a whole. I won’t disrespect SCW or its roster by not putting in the work. By not acknowledging the talent here.”
Raven paused at the door, having attached Scout’s leash.
“Hey. Before Boston. Want to grab a drink? No crowds. No noise. Just something normal.”
Raven breathed out low and slow, heart beating a shade faster in her chest.
Daisy felt her eyebrows shoot up at the question Raven had posed-But she said nothing. Not yet anyway.
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
Jackson replied, voice taking on a softer yet no less charming tone.
Raven flashed a small smile, genuine, honest. Real.
“Good. Don’t trip trying to look cool in Boston. That would be embarrassing.”
Hand over his heart Jackson deadpanned. “Brutal. Truly. Have you ever thought about pursuing a career in stand-up comedy?”
Daisy turned slowly to face Jackson, an amused grin on her face.
“Wow. You get a new opponent and a date all in the same week.”
Leaning back against the couch, Jackson stared up at the ceiling.
“Looks like the rhythm is changing.”
Daisy leaned over the couch whispering.
“Yeah, it really does, doesn't it?”
A Quiet Bar – Boston, Massachusetts
The bar wasn’t loud.
That alone made it perfect.
Low lighting, wood-paneled walls, a jukebox humming something old and familiar—nothing that demanded attention. The kind of place where conversations stayed conversations, not performances.
Jackson Mikaelson sat at the bar with his jacket draped over the back of the stool, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched yet. No ring gear. No stage lights. Just him.
Raven slid onto the stool beside him a moment later, ordering without looking at the menu. When her drink arrived, she lifted it in a small, almost ceremonial toast.
“No cameras,” Raven whispered, voice becoming a shade gentler.
“No noise.”
Jackson clinked his glass lightly against hers.
“Already better than half my career.”
She smiled at that—subtle, real.
For a moment, they just sat there. The kind of silence that didn’t ask to be filled.
“You don’t carry it with you,”
Raven said finally.
Jackson turned his head.
“Carry what?”
“The win,” Raven clarified.
“Most people do.”
He considered that, then shrugged.
“Wins fade. Nights like tomorrow don’t.”
Raven studied him, eyes sharp but not probing.
“Are you always this calm before a fight?”
“No,”
Jackson admitted.
“I’m just… focused.”
She nodded, as if that confirmed something.
“You fight like you’re listening for something,”
“Not waiting for permission. Waiting for timing.”
Jackson exhaled through his nose, amused.
“You sound like my producer.”
“I train dogs,”
Raven replied dryly.
“Timing’s everything.”
That earned a quiet laugh from him.
“Sofia won’t rush, she won’t charge recklessly.”
Raven added after a beat.
“She won’t give you space unless she means to.”
“I know,” Jackson hummed.
“That’s what makes it interesting.”
Raven took a sip of her drink, then glanced at him sideways.
“You respect her.”
“Yeah.”
He said simply.
“That doesn’t mean I’ll be careful.”
She smiled again—this time wider.
“Good.”
The jukebox shifted tracks. Something slower now.
Jackson finally took a sip of his drink.
“Do you ever get nervous before taking part in something you have no idea what's going to happen?"
Raven shrugged.
“I get observant.”
“Same thing.”
Jackson spoke with a hint of a laugh in his voice.
She laughed softly, shaking her head.
The bartender passed by, and Raven set some cash on the counter, rising to her feet.
“I won’t keep you.”
Jackson slid off his stool too.
“Thanks for not asking for predictions.”
Raven stared into his eyes, probing.
“I don’t need them.”
Raven took a long pause before adding “Just don’t forget—you don’t have to be loud to be heard.”
Jackson flashed a smile, the same smile he’d used on different stages throughout his career.
“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”
They shared a look—unspoken, easy.
Tomorrow, the ring would listen.
And Jackson would answer.
As the sun crept beneath the hills behind Jackson's home a scant few hours later, he looked around to see that Daisy was nowhere in sight. Most likely asleep. Eyes drifting to the clock he murmured "11.57pm.
Almost midnight.
"Supreme championship wrestling. I'm still figuring this out. Figuring out how to be a wrestler. And that's okay. This is match number 2. My second opportunity at learning how things work here."
A light set of footsteps broke into his reverie.
"You've been awake for a while haven't you Jackson?" Daisy asked quietly.
Jackson turned to her, expression open "I've never had anything permanent in my life. Except for you. No steady paycheque. No sense of home. And now I am competing in SCW. It's not home. Not yet. But deep down I am afraid. What if I can't adapt to having a sense of steadiness in my career.?"
Daisy's features softened.
"You will. Adapt to this. Right now you are locked in a state of fear. Your entire body is telling you this is temporary. This too will be taken away. It will take time to accept permanence. Trust me Jackson. This too shall pass."
Jackson nodded, hands trembling.
"That's what scares me. Home. If SCW becomes my home. I'll do anything to keep it. How do I even begin to process that?"
Daisy (Voiceover): You start by acknowledging what you feel. That's how you begin. Sofia Soldata. Jackson respects you. I respect you. Scout respects you. But none of that means you won't be tested when the bell rings."
Scout barked once low and loud, eyes narrowed as if to say 'RUN'.
Fade to black.
The performance against Crystal hadn’t been easy, he knew this. He accepted it.
“Victory. The thing everyone strives for. Lives for. That’s a valid belief system. I won’t mock anyone who thinks that way.”
Jackson breathed slightly slower, in and then out. Coming down from the excitement in his veins. That was always the part he struggled with post-performance.
And then came the turn.
The moment that softened the adrenaline just that little bit more.
“Scout’s been hyper since the bell rang, I think he’s decided that he scored the pin.”
Daisy spoke quietly, her tone holding the echo of a smile.
Scout barked once, low and rumbling as if annoyed by Daisy’s words.
Jackson leaned down low, now eye level with Scout. Maintaining careful eye contact he began to speak. His words quieter than normal indicating the vulnerability that lived beneath the charismatic showman he liked to present to the world.
“Between you and me? Wrestling’s a different beast than music. The crowd energy is different. The rules are different. The terminology is different. This isn’t a complaint, far from it. It’s me acknowledging that this stage isn’t the one I was raised on.”
Scout licked Jackson’s face once, responding to the emotion flowing off of him.
Daisy watched the interaction with a softening expression.
“Jackson. Feeling vulnerable doesn't make you any less of a rockstar. All it means is that you are trying to adapt to a world, to a new stage that relies on a different discipline than the one you made a name for yourself in.”
Scout sat bolt upright, eyes widening a second later.
“Jackson. I want you to meet someone. A friend.”
Daisy spoke, turning slightly to face him.
Rising to his feet, curiosity gleaming in his eyes Jackson found himself looking at a woman whose aura, whose energy radiated quiet composure, earned confidence. And just a hint of something that resembled a thoughtful nature.
“Raven. This is my brother Jackson. He’s deeper than he looks. He just doesn't allow many to see the core of who he is.”
For several long seconds Raven gave Jackson a once over. Not in the way fans, promoters, or even opponents sizing each other up did. No, this felt like something new. Something unexpected.
Smile back in place, vulnerability hidden under charisma, Jackson looked Raven up and down, assessing her in turn.
“Finally, I can put a name to the face who is responsible for teaching Scout.”
Raven snorted softly, eyes flicking to Scout. Deft warm fingers wrapped themselves around Jackson’s wrist.
“That’s a generous description; he listens when it suits him. I think he’s got a bit of a chaotic streak that largely gets ignored because he’s cute.”
Scout looked between Jackson and Raven, thumping his tail once, completely proud of his chaotic tendencies.
“What’s that saying, the road to hell is paved with good intentions?”
Jackson quipped, gesturing to Scout with a smirk.
Raven snorted again, this time louder and far more vibrant. True amusement lit her eyes. Her expression had changed from assessing to fascinated.
“You don’t rush. In the ring. It’s like you haven’t left music behind. I saw your match against Crystal. You did well, not perfect but you are still learning. That matters. Anyone who expects to be an instant master in a new career isn’t thinking about the performance, only their own ego.”
Daisy tilted her head once as she watched the interaction.
Jackson shrugged once loose and carefree.
“Old habit. Music teaches you-If you try to hit every note at once, it ruins the tempo. It ruins the rhythm.”
Raven nodded once, contemplative.
“That makes sense.”
Silence filtered through the air, a slow burning tension existing between Jackson and Raven.
Daisy grinned as she broke the silence.
“In other words, she thinks you didn’t look like an idiot.”
“That’s high praise.”
Jackson murmured, a slightly more solemn tone to his voice.
Scout added a bark, something instinctive telling him that something was building between Jackson and Raven.
Looking back to the arena doors, Jackson could hear the calm after the performance: the space that existed between performances.
New ring. Different opponent. Different Tempo.
And tempo was something Jackson understood and was already listening to.
30 minutes later: Jackson’s living room.
Daisy’s eyes were on her phone, scanning the screen as she read.
“SCW doesn’t waste time. You’ve got your next match listing. This time at SCW Pay Per View Shattered Reality. Against Sofia Soldata. Night One: Boston.”
Jackson spoke the name quietly under his breath, testing the sound of it. Feeling the weight of it.
“I’ve seen her. Clips. Not in person. She doesn’t miss. Everything is clean, tight. No wasted movement. That I can appreciate in an opponent.”
Daisy looked him over “You don’t seem nervous. Not even a little.”
Jackson exhaled slowly, one breath out.
“No. But I am listening. To the tempo. To the rhythm. To SCW as a whole. I won’t disrespect SCW or its roster by not putting in the work. By not acknowledging the talent here.”
Raven paused at the door, having attached Scout’s leash.
“Hey. Before Boston. Want to grab a drink? No crowds. No noise. Just something normal.”
Raven breathed out low and slow, heart beating a shade faster in her chest.
Daisy felt her eyebrows shoot up at the question Raven had posed-But she said nothing. Not yet anyway.
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
Jackson replied, voice taking on a softer yet no less charming tone.
Raven flashed a small smile, genuine, honest. Real.
“Good. Don’t trip trying to look cool in Boston. That would be embarrassing.”
Hand over his heart Jackson deadpanned. “Brutal. Truly. Have you ever thought about pursuing a career in stand-up comedy?”
Daisy turned slowly to face Jackson, an amused grin on her face.
“Wow. You get a new opponent and a date all in the same week.”
Leaning back against the couch, Jackson stared up at the ceiling.
“Looks like the rhythm is changing.”
Daisy leaned over the couch whispering.
“Yeah, it really does, doesn't it?”
A Quiet Bar – Boston, Massachusetts
The bar wasn’t loud.
That alone made it perfect.
Low lighting, wood-paneled walls, a jukebox humming something old and familiar—nothing that demanded attention. The kind of place where conversations stayed conversations, not performances.
Jackson Mikaelson sat at the bar with his jacket draped over the back of the stool, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched yet. No ring gear. No stage lights. Just him.
Raven slid onto the stool beside him a moment later, ordering without looking at the menu. When her drink arrived, she lifted it in a small, almost ceremonial toast.
“No cameras,” Raven whispered, voice becoming a shade gentler.
“No noise.”
Jackson clinked his glass lightly against hers.
“Already better than half my career.”
She smiled at that—subtle, real.
For a moment, they just sat there. The kind of silence that didn’t ask to be filled.
“You don’t carry it with you,”
Raven said finally.
Jackson turned his head.
“Carry what?”
“The win,” Raven clarified.
“Most people do.”
He considered that, then shrugged.
“Wins fade. Nights like tomorrow don’t.”
Raven studied him, eyes sharp but not probing.
“Are you always this calm before a fight?”
“No,”
Jackson admitted.
“I’m just… focused.”
She nodded, as if that confirmed something.
“You fight like you’re listening for something,”
“Not waiting for permission. Waiting for timing.”
Jackson exhaled through his nose, amused.
“You sound like my producer.”
“I train dogs,”
Raven replied dryly.
“Timing’s everything.”
That earned a quiet laugh from him.
“Sofia won’t rush, she won’t charge recklessly.”
Raven added after a beat.
“She won’t give you space unless she means to.”
“I know,” Jackson hummed.
“That’s what makes it interesting.”
Raven took a sip of her drink, then glanced at him sideways.
“You respect her.”
“Yeah.”
He said simply.
“That doesn’t mean I’ll be careful.”
She smiled again—this time wider.
“Good.”
The jukebox shifted tracks. Something slower now.
Jackson finally took a sip of his drink.
“Do you ever get nervous before taking part in something you have no idea what's going to happen?"
Raven shrugged.
“I get observant.”
“Same thing.”
Jackson spoke with a hint of a laugh in his voice.
She laughed softly, shaking her head.
The bartender passed by, and Raven set some cash on the counter, rising to her feet.
“I won’t keep you.”
Jackson slid off his stool too.
“Thanks for not asking for predictions.”
Raven stared into his eyes, probing.
“I don’t need them.”
Raven took a long pause before adding “Just don’t forget—you don’t have to be loud to be heard.”
Jackson flashed a smile, the same smile he’d used on different stages throughout his career.
“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”
They shared a look—unspoken, easy.
Tomorrow, the ring would listen.
And Jackson would answer.
As the sun crept beneath the hills behind Jackson's home a scant few hours later, he looked around to see that Daisy was nowhere in sight. Most likely asleep. Eyes drifting to the clock he murmured "11.57pm.
Almost midnight.
"Supreme championship wrestling. I'm still figuring this out. Figuring out how to be a wrestler. And that's okay. This is match number 2. My second opportunity at learning how things work here."
A light set of footsteps broke into his reverie.
"You've been awake for a while haven't you Jackson?" Daisy asked quietly.
Jackson turned to her, expression open "I've never had anything permanent in my life. Except for you. No steady paycheque. No sense of home. And now I am competing in SCW. It's not home. Not yet. But deep down I am afraid. What if I can't adapt to having a sense of steadiness in my career.?"
Daisy's features softened.
"You will. Adapt to this. Right now you are locked in a state of fear. Your entire body is telling you this is temporary. This too will be taken away. It will take time to accept permanence. Trust me Jackson. This too shall pass."
Jackson nodded, hands trembling.
"That's what scares me. Home. If SCW becomes my home. I'll do anything to keep it. How do I even begin to process that?"
Daisy (Voiceover): You start by acknowledging what you feel. That's how you begin. Sofia Soldata. Jackson respects you. I respect you. Scout respects you. But none of that means you won't be tested when the bell rings."
Scout barked once low and loud, eyes narrowed as if to say 'RUN'.
Fade to black.