Harold… you’ve been skulking around like the bogeyman no one dares name. Not gone, not forgotten – just waiting. Waiting for the right moment to crawl back into the light and pretend you still matter.
But I’m not talking to you right now.
No, this part’s for her.
Michaela… you look so small up there on the stage. Lights in your eyes, crowd in the palm of your hand. You bend yourself into shapes that make people gasp, twist in ways the human body shouldn’t. And you know what I see? I see a girl who’s been running so long she’s learned to fold herself up just to fit into the cracks where no one can find her.
Not even him.
Your father thinks this match is about me and him. He thinks if he breaks me, he gets you back. But you and I both know that’s never going to happen, don’t we? Because the moment you ran from him after he found you, the moment you decided he was a ghost you didn’t want haunting your life… you put him in a grave he’s never climbing out of.
And Harold – now I’m talking to you again, keep up – that’s why you hate me, isn’t it? Not because I’ve done anything to you personally, but because I’ve given her something you never could. Not love. Not trust. Oh no, I gave her a stage. I gave her a place where her scars are the main attraction, where her pain makes people cheer.
And you can’t stand it.
You were Zeus’ cleaner, the man who made problems disappear. But the problem is, I’m not going anywhere. I am the dirt under Arcadia’s nails. I am the grease in the gears that keep the circus turning. I am the man who turns your tragedy into my curtain call.
When we step into the ring, Harold, you’re not facing a mere man. You’re stepping into my big top, my spotlight, my rules. And while you’re swinging fists and grinding your teeth, I’ll be playing to the crowd. I’ll be looking right past you, right into your daughter’s eyes as she watches me dismantle you piece by piece.
Because I want her to see.
I want her to see that the man who’s been chasing her ghost isn’t a saviour – he’s just another act, bleeding out under the tent lights while the world moves on. I want her to hear the crowd cheer my name while you fade into the background where you belong.
You want Michaela back? Here’s the truth, Harold: she’s already mine. Not because she loves me, not because she likes me – but because I’ve taken up more space in her story than you ever will again.
When you lose to me, it won’t just be a match. It’ll be the last time she ever sees you as anything but the man who couldn’t keep her, and couldn’t beat me.
And that…
That’s the real main event.
Welcome to the freak show! Let us show you The Way!