Sean reflects back on Stu-E Price’s comments from his last promo. He stands in the recording booth of the HWA Academy, pacing slowly back and forth, one of his hands cupping his chin in a contemplative manner, a small smirk on his face.

(Sean): You know, I’d say mockery is the sincerest form of flattery, but at this point, Stu, just like everything else you acquit yourself with these days, including the leadership qualities that come with representing this company as its World Champion… It's just plain lazy.

The camera cuts to Sean, who smirks slightly. He crosses his arms but keeps one arm free, his forearm extended upward and his index finger waving.

Sean’s posture is relaxed, but there’s a tautness to his demeanor, a hint of amusement amid the green hue of his emerald eyes.

(Sean): It’s funny, really. Watching you try to mirror my words, my moves, like a desperate kid copying his older brother, hoping no one notices how far behind he actually is. But trust me, I notice.

Sean leans forward now as the light shifts in the room, casting a sharper focus on his face. The smirk that preceded fades, replaced by a colder, more calculating expression. His eyes lock onto the camera, unblinking.

(Sean): See, there’s a plethora of differences between you and me, Stuart. Whilst I’m making statements of intent, pouring my heart and soul into expressing what being World Champion would mean to me, you’re busy recycling whatever scraps of wit you can muster.

Whilst I’m focusing on the road ahead of me, you’ve become predictable, complacent. A guy playing dress-up in the same tired routine, hoping no one notices the cracks showing through.

Sean’s voice lowers, almost to a whisper, but it carries an undeniable weight. The camera slowly zooms in, tightening on his face, capturing every subtle shift in his expression.

(Sean): But I see it, Stu. Even if you, or anyone else acts like they don’t, it’s there. The way you hide behind that false confidence, thinking it’ll hold up when the pressure’s on. Spoiler alert! It won’t.

Sean leans back again, a quiet confidence exuding from him now, the smirk creeping back onto his lips.

(Sean): In the midst of your pathetic attempts to parody me, you did the one thing I know you’d eventually do. You showed your hand too soon. Remember, there are three of us in this little game and you’ve gone face up before the last round of betting. You’ve gone all in off-suit with no face cards, thinking you could bluff your way through another hand. Alas, Stu.

See the minute you declared that you could give the World Championship to me whenever you wanted to, I knew I was right about you. The minute you said the moment I became champion is because you’ve allowed it, I saw through that patronizing fake smile of yours.

A derisive scoff escapes from Sean’s throat along with a dismissive shake of the head.

(Sean): I see through that bullshit gentlemanly facade with all the polite nods and outstretched hands. When you say you’ll shake my hand in the ring, all respectful meanwhile, your other hand’s behind your back, hiding the knife you can’t wait to sink into me.

Sean smirks, crossing his arms as he leans forward slightly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

(Sean): You want respect, but you can’t even look at me without calculating where best to twist the blade. That’s not respect, Stu. That’s not a champion. That’s cowardice dressed up in a cheap suit and a phony smile.

Sean points in an accusatory manner toward the camera.

(Sean): You don’t care for that title. It's no more than a glorified trinket you’ve used to negotiate a bigger salary and merchandising rights. You’re a f**king disgrace to the prestige of that championship, to the lineage of that championship. And that's why you’re wrong about me...

Because when the inevitable moment comes…

When my elbow clatters into your jaw, and the equilibrium from your body deserts you…

When you see your vision close in and your eyes roll into the back of your head…

You’ll know, just like everyone else will know that, in the pantheon of champions, you were always nothing but a placeholder. A name penciled into the record books, soon to be erased.

Because in that moment, as you fade into unconsciousness, you’ll realize that the HWA World Championship was never really yours. You were merely keeping it warm for the one who truly deserves it, the one willing to break his own body before he’d disgrace that title the way you have.

And as you lay there, the world spinning, reality slipping away, you’ll know this… I didn’t just come take the Road to Ruin beat you, Stu. I took the Road to Ruin to take everything you pretended to care about… that title you’re too shallow to honor.

So go ahead and discard those seeds of doubt in your hand you think you can sow because they’re useless inside my head.

Sean taps his forehead with the tip of his finger, a wry smile on his face.

(Sean): You step inside my head, you do so at your own risk, mate, because I promise you won’t like what you’ll find. And that’s a hall of mirrors showing a broken reflection lying in the shadow of a burning championship reign.
And whilst you toy with the knife you’re twirling behind your back, wondering where you can place it in my back, you’ve not noticed mine. Beautiful Masamune, unsheathed from saya, thrust through that secret heart of yours that I know you’ve got buried somewhere you think I can’t find it.

You see, the blade that pierces the deepest, the cut that hurts the most, is the one you don’t expect. And I guarantee you won’t see my blade coming. Not until it’s too late.

Sean gives one final stare into the camera before turning and walking out of frame as the scene fades to black.