We open to the ring.

Miss Furry is inside of it studying her laptop.

The screen glow lights her face as a video plays.


Miss Furry rewinds the clip.

Outside the ring, Graves leans against the apron looking salty.

"They stole it."

"You said that already."

"Because it's still true."

He gestures vaguely upward.

"Some stupid billionaire weirdos.

Meeting naked in the woods.

Deciding which belts I get to hold.

I haven't lost shit since my return.

STOLEN!

I fuckin' HATE the Billionaires!

...

Except for Elon… Elon’s alright and surely had nothing to do with this decision."

"You love Elon."

"That man shoots cars into space and carries a chainsaw to fuck his enemies with...

Respect."

Centurion slips a waistlock.

Davison counters, but Centurion flips Davison with a leg sweep.

Davison pushes up, but is snapped backward with a tight German suplex.

"There."

Graves squints toward the laptop.

"What."

"That part."

She pauses the video.

"He does that a lot."

"Yeah? He's good. So what?"

"No, not good—"

She knowingly side-eyes the camera.

"—Careful..."

Graves pushes himself off the apron and slides into the ring.

"Careful?"

Belly laugh.

"Careful gets a pussy like him twenty-five years!

Of course he's careful."

"Careful gets you old."

Graves grins.

"Same thing."

Furry fast forwards.

Right where Centurion hoists Davison.

Spin.

1000 Mile Slam.

POP

"That's the part everyone talks about."

"Yeah."

"The slam.

The finish.

The big moment."

"Duh!?"

She taps the space bar and pauses it again.

"But the interesting part is before that.

His balance.

Watch his hips.

Watch the shoulder turn."

She glances up at Graves.

"You're studying him?"

"Duh!"

She closes the laptop.

"Everyone else is talking about the legend.

The foundation.

Twenty-five years.

Next Anarchy Champion.

Next challenger to you."

Miss Furry stands.

"That's not what I see."

Graves tilts his head.

"I see an old-time loser!"

"Hmph—I see a pattern...

Every move.

Every adjustment.

Every decision.

Twenty-five years of habits.

Twenty-five years of doing things the same way.

Twenty-five years didn’t make you unstoppable, Centurion.

It just gave the rest of us twenty-five years to figure you out."

She crouches slightly.

"And habits are interesting things.

Because once you notice them…"

A small smile appears.

"They're really hard to hide."

Graves watches her carefully now.

"Ha! That's my girl! Not scared in the slightest!"

"I didn't say that..."

She stands upright.

"He's dangerous.

Smarter than most.

Stronger than people give him credit.

And that slam could break me in half..."

Miss Furry tilts her head slightly.

"But here's the thing about legends.

Everyone looks at them the same way."

She glances down toward the mat.

"From head on."

She lowers her stance into a prowl.

"I've established that I don't hunt from straight in front.

I wait.

I circle.

And when a moment presents itself...

I.  Don't.  Miss."

Graves smiles under the mask.

"Good.

Because when Centurion almost dropped me on my head…"

He points at her.

"You weren't in front then either."

Miss Furry walks past him and stares at the spot where the Anarchy Championship used to be thrown.

"No...

I wasn't.

You were, while doing what everyone always does with Centurion."

She walks the length of the ropes.

"Standing right in front of him.

Chest to chest.

Eye to eye.

Because you think every problem is solved by hitting harder."

Miss Furry stops near the corner and faces him.

"But I wasn't looking at his face.

I was looking at his feet.

His base.

His foundation."

"And what'd you see?"

"An opening...

The fact that once he commits and thinks the moment's his."

She shrugs.

"That's when he's most susceptible to something... unexpected."

Graves laughs under his breath.

"Always plotting!"

Miss Furry keeps circling.

"He talks like a man opening the gates.

Come one, come all.

Step into the ring and face the legend."

Blink.

"That's the part I like most.

He thinks it's all about him.

Like I should feel lucky for the opportunity and smile for a picture."

Her head shakes.

"No.

I'm not going to March Madness to appreciate Centurion.

I'm going to March Madness to test the cracks."

She looks back toward the empty spot on the floor.

"And the Anarchy title?

Intended as his shot to get back at you.

Me? A sacrificial speed bump on the road to Graves.

That's what they booked..."

Miss Furry shakes her head.

"I don't like it...

I don't like them.

Acting like I'm just a bag carrier.

Acting like the Anarchy Championship is just some tool to move old men around the board..."

She plants both hands on the ropes and stares at the turnbuckle.

"You were mad when they stripped you.

Good.

You should be.

Because they didn't just take your belt.

They took the belt away from the Boneyard."

She walks towards Graves and stands dead center.

"And now they think they can just hand it to Centurion.

The reliable old hero they can trust with the brand."

She smiles.

"But they failed to realize that the man they trust to hold this place together is walking into a match with something he doesn't understand.

Not a student.

Not a mascot.

Not an afterthought standing behind the loud guy."

Her eyes narrow.

"A problem.

But unlike my mentor...

A patient one.

The kind that waits.

The kind that notices one bad step and turns it into a bad fall."

Graves says nothing now.

Miss Furry finally looks straight ahead to the camera.

"Twenty-five years is a long time, Centurion.

A long time to be the thing everybody leans on.

Twenty-five years holding this place up just like Gravy said.

It IS impressive.

But at March Madness..."

A small smile.

"It'll be twenty-five years of people chasing your Final Fantasy...

...Only for mine to end with your shoulders on the mat—and the Anarchy Championship coming home."