Leaving Home, Chasing Legacy

By this hour, the pub had settled into its usual quietude. Shadows stretched across the room, while the dim lights above bathed the worn tables in a cozy glow. Matthew and William were seated opposite each other, with untouched pints before them. The moment teetered on the edge, hanging like a monsoon about to unleash.

Matthew leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. His eyes held a clarity that had been absent before, a resolve born of introspection and the inexorable pull of destiny. "I'm going back," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I'm not just going back—I’m claiming the championship, my way.”

A grin threatened to break across William's face, a fierce blend of pride and deep understanding. "Never doubted it for a second, lad."

"And you're coming with me," Matthew declared, raising his pint high in a bold gesture of camaraderie and shared destiny.

But William's hand remained still, his glass untouched. Instead, he released a heavy, burdened sigh, his head shaking with a slow finality. "I can't, Matty. Not now."

Matthew's expression tightened, confusion clouding his face. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

William leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I’ve got my own path, mate. Picked up a few wrestling gigs, got things lined up here. My time’s now.” He tapped the table for emphasis before nodding at Matthew. “But yours? Yours ain't here anymore.”

A smirk played on his lips as he looked around. "Doesn't seem like people are lining up for your autograph lately, huh?" he said sarcastically, chuckling and taking a sip of his drink.

The words settled over Matthew like a mantle. He had always imagined tackling this next chapter with William at his side, a partnership forged in the crucible of shared dreams and hard-fought victories. But now, faced with the reality of this new path, he understood.

"You're sure about this?" he asked, his voice softening.

William let out a hearty chuckle. "Never been surer of anything, lad. You don't need me over there, yet. This is your moment, your chance to show the world what you're really made of. You don't need me stealing the spotlight." He chuckled once more.

Silence stretched between them, a moment of quiet understanding and unspoken gratitude. Finally, Matthew raised his pint, the amber liquid catching the light. William mirrored the gesture, their glasses coming together with a soft clink. As Matthew drank, he let the decision settle into his bones, a fire kindling anew in his heart.

As dawn broke, Matthew found himself in the lively airport, surrounded by a tide of people moving in all directions. He remained distinct, a beacon of resolve in the midst of the commotion. His inner fire blazed even more intensely, driven by a determination that surpassed simple ambition. This time, he wasn't just going back to prove himself.

The voice on the intercom crackles and pops, its tone urgent yet monotone: "Now boarding Flight 217 with service to New York. All passengers, please proceed to Gate 12 for final boarding." It reverberates through the bustling terminal, competing with the sounds of suitcases being dragged and people chattering. Its robotic quality makes it seem detached from reality.

He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders to ease the tension, and picked up his bag. This was the moment. He was returning to reclaim what belonged to him. As he approached the jet bridge, he paused at the entrance, giving one last look at the city he called home. The familiar skyline lay before him, a canvas of memories and experiences that had defined him. Dublin had given him everything—his foundation, his resilience, his determination. But his future? That lay across the ocean, waiting for him.

Matthew stepped forward, propelled by the burden of unresolved matters. This wasn't merely a return; it was a moment of truth. The call of America was unmistakable. This time, he would respond with the entirety of his untapped potential.