The camera fades in backstage. The hallway is dimly lit, echoing with distant chatter and the occasional clatter of a locker door. Susanita Ybanez sits alone on a bench, still in her gear, hair damp with sweat, a towel draped over her shoulders. Her eyes are lowered, her expression conflicted — the sting of the loss still fresh.

Susanita Ybanez (quietly at first):
You know… it’s one thing to lose. That’s part of this game. We lace up our boots knowing we could fall. But getting pinned… in that match? That doesn’t sit right with me.

She exhales sharply, trying to steady the emotion in her voice.

I trained too hard. I fought too long. I came too far just to be the one with her shoulders down while Amy Harrison walks around calling herself champion.

Her eyes finally meet the camera — intense, focused.

Amy Harrison… really? That’s who UTA is calling the face of the Women’s Division now? She’s not a champion. She’s a moment. A glitch. A placeholder with a belt.

But me? I’m more than that. I’m not down for good. I’m not broken. I’m burning. Fueled by every second of that three count.

So Amy, hold that championship real tight. Sleep with it. Clutch it like it’s slipping through your fingers — because it is.

Susanita stands now, tossing the towel aside. She walks a step closer to the camera.

Susanita (stern, now in Spanish):
Agarra bien ese campeonato, Amy… porque muy pronto, te lo voy a quitar de las manos. Y esta vez, no me vas a volver a pisotear.

She pauses, her tone soft but razor-sharp.

La próxima vez… yo te pongo de espaldas.

Susanita walks off-screen with purpose, leaving the camera lingering on the empty bench before fading to black.