Every Trick (Jericho RP)

[Ben M]

The scene opened backstage at TD Garden in Boston, Massachusetts. The hallway was dimly lit, the low hum of the crowd audible in the background. Chris Jericho stood alone beneath a flickering fluorescent light, dressed in a long black leather coat over a vintage “King of the World” t-shirt. Slowly, Jericho removed his sunglasses, then began to speak.

Chris Jericho: Boston… city of champions. Home of comebacks, of legacy… of greatness. Seems fitting, doesn’t it? Because tonight, it’s another step. Another test. Another fight in the journey to become King of the Ring. And standing across from me? Christian Cage.

Jericho paused, scoffing slightly.

Chris Jericho: Christian. We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we? Tag partners. Rivals. Friends. Enemies. Brothers in arms and bitter foes. I’ve watched you scratch and claw your way through this business, carving out a legacy on your own terms. But let’s not pretend you’ve done it clean. Let’s not pretend you're above bending the rules when it suits you.

He raised a hand, mockingly placing it over his heart.

Chris Jericho: "For the peeps," right? Yeah, well the peeps weren’t in the ring a few weeks ago when you hit Hook with a low blow to get your golden ticket. No, that was just you — same old Christian, cutting corners when the pressure mounts. You didn’t beat Hook… you robbed him. And now you want to waltz into Boston and pretend like you belong? Like you earned your spot in this quarter-final?

Jericho took a step forward, his expression hardening.

Chris Jericho: Let me remind you who I am. I’m the twelve-time EBWF World Champion. I’m the man who built this company while you were still trying to convince the world you weren’t standing in someone else’s shadow. And this year? This King of the Ring? It’s not just about a crown. It’s not just about glory. It’s about redemption. It’s about one more run at the top. And no one — no one — is going to stop me. Especially not a cheap shot artist who can’t win a match without reaching into his bag of dirty tricks.

Jericho smirked, then tapped the side of his head.

Chris Jericho: See, that might have worked on Hook. Kid’s got talent, no doubt — but he’s still green. Still trusting. Still playing by the rules. But me? I’ve been around too long to fall for your crap. You want to take a shortcut tonight, Christian? You want to cut corners? Be my guest. Because I’ve got eyes in the back of my head, and I know every trick in the book. Hell, I wrote half of them. This is a battle for survival, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get one step closer to the throne. I didn’t fight through Riddle just to lose to a guy who treats this tournament like a free pass.

Jericho’s voice grew quieter, more dangerous.

Chris Jericho: You may think you’re clever, Christian. You may think you’ve got one more trick up your sleeve. But I’ve seen them all. And tonight, I’m not just going to beat you… I’m going to expose you. Because this isn’t your time. It’s not your moment. It’s mine.

He turned, walking slowly toward the entrance to the arena, his voice echoing behind him.

Chris Jericho: The road to the crown goes through you… and I’m not stopping until I get what’s mine. Thirteen is coming. And Christian? You’re just another chapter in the legend of Chris Jericho.

The camera faded to black as the roar of the Boston crowd echoed louder in the distance.