There’s a strange kind of power in the names we choose. They start as shields, things we hide behind, and somewhere along the line, they become the weight we have to carry. They define us, they shape the way people see us, and eventually, they test whether we can live up to them.

You called yourself Destructo Boy. I’ve always thought there was a kind of honesty in that. You never pretended to be subtle. You were a storm in human form, throwing yourself at everything until something broke. You made “Destruction” your mission, and “Boy” your excuse. Because as long as you could stay that boy – wild, reckless, untamed – you never had to grow into what came next.

But here’s the truth that’s chased you your whole career: destruction doesn’t last. It burns bright, it makes noise, and then it disappears. It doesn’t build legacies. It only ends them. You can tear down everything in your path, but once the dust settles, you’re left standing in silence, surrounded by what’s gone.

I’ve watched you live in that silence before, even if you don’t admit it. Every time the bell rings and the crowd fades, every time the chaos stops, you look for something to destroy again – because you don’t know what to do without it. You call it passion, drive, hunger. But it isn’t. It’s dependency. You don’t control destruction. It controls you.

And that’s where we’re different. I didn’t choose my name because it sounded cool, or dangerous, or loud. I chose it because I needed something that would remind me to keep moving. “Klaus Way” – it’s not a slogan. It’s a direction. A promise that I’ll never stop walking forward, no matter who tries to drag me back.

Every time we’ve faced each other, you’ve tried to drag me back into your world of chaos. You’ve tried to prove that destruction is stronger than direction, that rage can outrun reason. But the funny thing about roads, Destructo, is that they lead somewhere. And the funny thing about explosions is that they don’t. They just end.

You keep trying to repeat the past, to destroy the same thing over and over because it’s the only thing that ever made you feel powerful. But I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’ve evolved. And you – you’re still clinging to the name that keeps you from doing the same.

That’s the real difference between us. You destroy because you don’t know what else to do. I build because I refuse to be defined by what I’ve lost. You chase the moment everything collapses. I chase what comes after it.

When we step into that ring, you’ll bring destruction again – loud, wild, all fury and noise. And I’ll bring the Way – quiet, deliberate, inevitable. Because destruction might shake the ground, but the Way always finds its footing.

A boy can destroy. But only a man can rebuild.

And I’m done looking backward.