33. Tag Team Match

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The ring was bathed in light, and Sandro could see Eric and Primo already waiting, their expressions focused and intense. As they climbed into the ring, the referee signaled for the bell, and the match was underway. The pace was fast from the start, with Eric and Primo taking early control as planned.

Sandro felt the tension in the air as the referee signaled the start of the match. The buzz of the crowd, the intensity of the lights, and the presence of his opponents across the ring made everything feel more real, more urgent. This was no ordinary match; this was a proving ground.

Eric Escobar was the first to step into the ring for the Puerto Rican Nightmares, his confidence and experience clear in the way he moved. Sandro knew that Eric was a formidable opponent—strong, agile, and with a ring awareness that only came from years of experience. On Sandro's side, Kofi Kingston took the first shift, bouncing lightly on his feet, his natural energy already radiating through the arena.

As the bell rang, Eric wasted no time asserting his dominance. He charged at Kofi with a series of heavy strikes, each one landing with precision. Kofi tried to counter with his speed, ducking and weaving to avoid the brunt of Eric's blows, but Eric was relentless. He grabbed Kofi and whipped him into the corner, following up with a hard clothesline that sent Kofi stumbling back into the turnbuckles.

Sandro watched from the apron, his fists clenched. He knew this was part of the plan, but it didn't make it any easier to see his partner getting worked over so thoroughly. Eric continued his assault, driving his knee into Kofi's midsection repeatedly, each strike pushing the air out of Kofi's lungs and making the crowd wince in sympathy.

Kofi struggled to regain his footing, but Eric kept the pressure on, dragging him back to the center of the ring and hoisting him up for a powerful scoop slam that rattled the mat. The crowd's energy shifted as they sensed Kofi was in trouble, their cheers turned into murmurs of concern.

Eric wasn't done. He pulled Kofi up by the hair, ignoring the referee's warning, and whipped him into the ropes. As Kofi rebounded, Eric caught him with a spinebuster that shook the ring, the impact echoing throughout the arena. The force of the move left Kofi gasping on the mat, his body sprawled out, and Sandro knew it was time to step in.

With a sense of urgency, Sandro reached out his hand, calling for the tag. Kofi, despite the beating he had taken, managed to roll towards his corner, extending his arm as far as he could. Eric, sensing the momentum shift, tried to grab Kofi's leg to pull him back, but Kofi made one last desperate lunge and slapped Sandro's hand.

The crowd erupted as Sandro vaulted over the top rope, his eyes locked on Eric. He charged forward with a burst of speed, taking Eric by surprise with a series of rapid strikes. A right hand, a left hand, and then a spinning heel kick that sent Eric staggering back. The momentum had shifted, and Sandro was determined to keep it.

Sandro continued his assault, backing Eric into a corner with a flurry of punches and chops. He then whipped Eric across the ring, following up with a running forearm that connected squarely with Eric's jaw, sending him crashing to the mat. Sandro could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins; this was his moment.

But Eric was nothing if not resilient. He quickly rolled out of the ring to regroup, tagging in Primo as he did. Sandro barely had time to react before Primo was in the ring, moving with the speed and agility that had earned the Puerto Rican Nightmares their reputation.

Primo came at Sandro with a flying forearm, catching him off guard and knocking him back. Before Sandro could recover, Primo hit him with a dropkick that sent him sprawling into the Nightmare's corner. Eric, now recovered, quickly tagged himself back in. Together, Eric and Primo executed a perfectly timed double dropkick, one hitting Sandro high, the other low, sending him crashing to the mat.

The Puerto Rican Nightmares were back in control, and they took full advantage. Eric dragged Sandro to their corner, tagging Primo back in, and the two of them worked together to keep Sandro isolated. Every time Sandro tried to fight back, they would cut him off, using quick tags and double-team maneuvers to wear him down.

For three long minutes, Sandro endured the onslaught, taking punishment from both Eric and Primo. The crowd, initially buzzing with excitement, grew tense as it became clear that Sandro was in trouble.

But Sandro wasn't about to give up. He waited for the right moment, biding his time until he saw an opening. It came when Primo, perhaps overconfident, went for a high-risk move—a springboard crossbody from the ropes. Sandro saw it coming and, at the last second, rolled out of the way, letting Primo crash and burn on the mat.

The crowd exploded as Sandro struggled to his feet, knowing this was his chance. He staggered towards his corner, reaching out for Kofi, who was leaning over the ropes, hand outstretched, eyes locked on his partner.

With one last effort, Sandro dove forward, slapping Kofi's hand just as Primo managed to tag in Eric. The crowd roared as Kofi exploded into the ring, his speed and energy overwhelming Eric, who was caught off guard by the sudden shift in momentum.

Kofi unleashed a barrage of high-flying moves, dazzling the crowd and keeping Eric on the defensive. He hit Eric with a series of dropkicks, then followed up with his signature Boom Drop, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Primo tried to interfere, but Sandro was back on his feet, intercepting Primo with a superkick that sent him crashing to the mat.

The match was breaking down, the planned sequences giving way to pure instinct and adrenaline. Sandro and Kofi could feel the chemistry between them clicking into place, their movements synchronized and fluid as they began to take control. The crowd, sensing the shift, began chanting, "This is awesome!" The energy in the arena was electric, fueling both teams as they pushed themselves to their limits.

Eric, desperate to regain control, managed to tag Primo back in. The Puerto Rican Nightmares, determined to end the match on their terms, set Sandro up for their tag team finisher—a devastating combination of power and precision that had put away many opponents before.

Primo, now the legal man, positioned Sandro for the finish while Eric climbed to the top rope, ready to deliver the final blow. Kofi tried to intervene, but Eric, always aware, launched himself at Kofi with a flying elbow, sending Kofi tumbling out of the ring.

The referee began the count as Primo covered Sandro, the crowd holding its collective breath. One…two… But just before the third count, Sandro summoned every ounce of strength left in his body and kicked out, breaking the pin. The crowd erupted in cheers, their support giving Sandro the boost he needed.

Eric and Primo played their part perfectly, their expressions of shock and frustration convincing everyone that they had expected to win. But Sandro wasn't done yet. He had taken their best shot, and he was still standing.

As Sandro slowly got to his feet, he noticed the referee subtly signaling to him. Sandro understood immediately—the decision had been made. He and Kofi were going to win this match. But first, they had to make it count.

Kofi, back in their corner, was calling for the tag, his voice full of urgency. Sandro, despite the pain and exhaustion, knew he had to reach his partner. With a burst of energy, Sandro launched himself at Eric, catching him off guard with a superkick that sent him sprawling. He then turned to Primo, hitting him with a clothesline that sent him crashing to the mat.

The crowd was on their feet, the noise deafening as Sandro stumbled toward his corner. Kofi was there, hand outstretched, and with one final push, Sandro made the tag. The moment Kofi's hand touched his, the crowd erupted.

Kofi leaped into the ring with renewed energy, taking the fight to Primo. He hit Primo with a series of rapid strikes, followed by a high-flying maneuver that left Primo dazed. But Kofi wasn't finished. He glanced at Sandro, who nodded, understanding what came next.

Kofi set Primo up in the center of the ring and tagged Sandro back in. This was it—the moment they had been building towards all matches. Kofi hit Primo with the Trouble in Paradise, the force of the kick spinning Primo around. Before Primo could even react, Sandro was there, catching him with the Dragon Twist Cutter, a move that was as much about precision as it was about impact.

Primo hit the mat hard, his body bouncing off the canvas. Sandro quickly went for the pin, hooking Primo's leg as the referee dropped to the mat. The crowd was chanting along with the count. One…two…three!

The bell rang, and the crowd exploded in cheers, the noise filling the entire arena. Sandro rolled off Primo, his chest heaving with exhaustion, but a smile spreading across his face. Kofi was by his side in an instant, pulling Sandro to his feet as the referee raised their hands in victory.

The Puerto Rican Nightmares, though clearly disappointed, showed their respect, shaking hands with Sandro and Kofi before leaving the ring. The crowd's cheers followed them, a testament to the performance both teams had put on.

As Sandro and Kofi stood in the center of the ring, soaking in the adulation of the crowd, Sandro felt a deep sense of satisfaction. This was what he had been working towards—this moment of triumph, of proving that he and Kofi could be a legitimate force in the tag team division.

After celebrating their victory in the ring, Sandro and Kofi made their way backstage, still riding the high of the match. The adrenaline was still pumping through their veins, and both men were grinning from ear to ear. As they passed through the curtain, they were greeted by Dusty Rhodes and Steve Keirn, who were waiting for them just behind the gorilla position.

Dusty clapped his hands together, a proud smile spreading across his face. "Hell of a match, boys! Hell of a match! That's how you make a statement out there."

Steve Keirn nodded in agreement, patting both Sandro and Kofi on the shoulder. "You guys really put on a show tonight. That's exactly what we needed."

Sandro, still catching his breath, gave them both a grateful nod. "Thanks, Dusty. Thanks, Steve. It means a lot to us that you believed in us enough to give us this opportunity."

Dusty chuckled, his voice warm and full of his usual enthusiasm. "Believe in you? Hell, son, you made us believers with what you did out there. That wasn't just a win—it was a statement. You boys deserve every bit of that victory."

Kofi chimed in, his smile wide and genuine. "Yeah, we just wanted to make sure we made you proud out there. We've been working hard to get to this point, and we're not stopping anytime soon."

Steve smiled knowingly. "And you shouldn't. Keep this up, and you're going places. I had a feeling tonight was just the beginning."

After a few more words of encouragement from Dusty and Steve, Sandro and Kofi made their way to the locker room. The adrenaline was still buzzing, but the reality of their accomplishment was beginning to sink in.

The door swung open, and they were greeted with a round of applause from their friends—Nick Nemeth and Sheamus. Surprisingly there was also Drew McIntyre and Stu Sanders, who were all waiting for them.

Nick was the first to speak, his usual cocky grin plastered across his face. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the new dynamic duo. You guys killed it out there!"

Sheamus, ever the imposing figure, clapped Sandro on the back with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of him. "That was a banger of a match, lads. You had the crowd eating out of the palm of your hands!"

Drew, quieter but no less supportive, nodded in agreement. "Aye, you two looked like you've been teaming for years, mate. That chemistry was spot on."

Stu, the last to chime in, added with a smirk, "You set the bar high tonight. I'm just glad I wasn't in there with you."

Sandro chuckled, feeling a mix of pride and camaraderie. "Thanks, guys. We couldn't have done it without all the support from everyone here. It means a lot."

Kofi, always the optimist, added, "We've got a long road ahead, but tonight felt like a real turning point. I can't wait to see what's next."

The group continued to chat, exchanging stories and impressions of the match. The atmosphere was light, full of good-natured ribbing and genuine excitement. Sandro felt at ease among his peers, knowing they all shared the same passion for wrestling, and the same drive to succeed.

After a while, the conversation shifted as the adrenaline from the match began to wear off. It was time to unwind. Sandro and Kofi changed out of their ring gear, slipping into more comfortable clothes.

The exhaustion from the match was beginning to catch up with them, but it was a good kind of tired—the kind that comes from knowing you've given everything you had.

As they finished changing, Sandro looked around at his friends. "So, what's the plan now? I could use a good meal after all that."

Nick grinned, already one step ahead. "I was thinking we hit up that Chinese place down the road. I've been craving some General Tso's chicken."

Sheamus perked up at the suggestion. "Sounds good to me. Nothing like a feast after a hard-fought victory."

Drew and Stu nodded in agreement, and soon the group was heading out of the arena, the night still young and full of promise. The air outside was cool and refreshing, a welcome change from the heat of the arena. They walked together, their footsteps echoing in the quiet of the night, the bond between them stronger than ever.

When they arrived at the Chinese restaurant, the warm, inviting aromas greeted them like an old friend. The place was cozy, with red lanterns hanging from the ceiling and the gentle hum of conversation filling the air. They were seated at a large round table, perfect for their group, and soon found themselves pouring over the menu, their appetites growing by the second.

Sandro, feeling the weight of the evening's events, leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face. "This is exactly what I needed. Good food, good friends, and a win under our belts. It doesn't get much better than this."

Kofi nodded, his eyes scanning the menu. "You said it, man. Tonight was just the beginning, but it's nights like this that make all the hard work worth it."

The conversation flowed easily as they ordered their food, each of them sharing stories from the road, their dreams for the future, and their love for the business. The bond between them was palpable, a testament to the camaraderie that wrestling had forged among them.

When the food arrived, the table was soon filled with an array of dishes—sweet and sour chicken, beef and broccoli, lo mein, and of course, Nick's beloved General Tso's chicken. The group dug in with gusto, the satisfying crunch of egg rolls and the clink of chopsticks adding to the symphony of the meal.

As they ate, the conversation turned to the future. Drew, ever the thoughtful one, spoke up between bites of beef and broccoli. "So, what's next for you two? Now that you've got this win under your belts, what's the plan?"

Sandro, taking a moment to think, and deciding to tell Drew and Stu about the tournament that Dusty and Steve were preparing, replied, "Honestly, I'm just focused on keeping this momentum going. Tonight was big, but we've got to keep pushing forward. I want to make sure that me and Kofi were qualified for a tag team tournament, to name the number one contender for the tag team championship that Dusty and Steve are going to hold."

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Name: Alessandro Zhang

Age: 18 (2008)

Birthplace: Orlando, Florida USA

Brand: FCW

Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Style

Faction: None

Championship History: 0