Zero to Hero

Zero to Hero

Chapter One: Button Mashing & Body Slams

Leo Alvarez had never seen the inside of a locker room—at least, not outside of WWE 2K23.

He was more comfortable with thumbsticks than jockstraps. While other kids practiced takedowns, Leo was perfecting pixel-perfect combos on his Xbox. So when he was called to the principal’s office on a Tuesday morning, he was 100% sure it was about his latest “late homework” excuse involving a malfunctioning toaster and a raccoon.

It wasn’t.

“Leo,” Principal Harris said, folding her arms, “congratulations. You’ve been accepted onto the wrestling team!”

He blinked. “I think there’s been a horrible mistake. I don’t wrestle. I sprain ankles tying my shoes.”

She smiled as if that was adorable. “Your name was submitted on the sign-up sheet. You start today.”

He glanced at the sheet. Written in bold, unmistakable Sharpie: LEO ALVAREZ. Next to it, in terrible handwriting: By Mom.

Leo internally screamed.

Chapter Two: The Human Pancake

Coach Briggs was a walking protein shake with a voice that could shatter brick.

He looked Leo up and down like he’d ordered a steak and got tofu instead. “You ever wrestled, Alvarez?”

“In a video game,” Leo offered.

Coach blinked. “We’re doomed.”

The team consisted of people who looked like they were carved from granite. And then there was Leo—five foot six, allergic to sunlight, and shaped like a cinnamon stick.

Day one was a disaster.

Leo tripped over his own shoelaces, got flattened by a guy named Tank (who lived up to his name), and somehow managed to pin himself during practice.

By the end of the day, he was sore in muscles he didn’t know existed. Even his eyelashes hurt.

Chapter Three: The Unlikely Mentor

He was ready to quit. Fully prepared to fake an injury or flee the country.

Then came Jonas.

Jonas was a senior with a man-bun, a tattoo of a ferret on his calf, and a mysterious Zen calm. He also happened to be the best wrestler on the team.

“Dude,” Jonas said, handing Leo a bag of frozen peas for his elbow. “You’ve got potential.”

Leo stared at him like he’d just grown a second head

“No, really,” Jonas continued. “You move like a weasel in a maze. Totally unpredictable.”

“That’s... not a compliment.”

“It is in wrestling.”

Over the next few weeks, Jonas took Leo under his wing. His training style was... unorthodox.

They practiced dodging attacks using Nerf guns, learned balance by walking across cafeteria tables during lunch (which got them banned for a week), and worked on flexibility with interpretive dance in the park. People stared. A lot.

But something strange happened: Leo started getting better.

Not stronger, exactly—but slipperier. He didn’t overpower his opponents. He confused them.

He used quick dodges, unexpected flips, even mimicked video game move sets (his “Hurricane Leo” spin became a team meme)

Chapter Four: The First Win

The first match Leo didn’t completely fail in was against a kid named Troy “The Tractor” Miller.

Everyone expected Leo to be reduced to a pancake by round one. Even the cheerleaders looked away during the match, assuming it was too sad to watch.

But Leo ducked every grab. Twisted out of every hold. Troy became so frustrated he lunged—and Leo sidestepped, sending Troy face-first into the mat.

The gym went silent.

Then: a single clap from Jonas.

Then another. Then the whole team exploded in cheers. Leo had won.

By accident. But it still counted.

Chapter Five: The Hero Moment

By the time regionals rolled around, Leo had become the team’s secret weapon.

He still lost matches. Plenty of them. But he also brought unpredictability, energy, and laughter.

More importantly, he’d changed the team itself. The intimidating, win-at-all-costs vibe had shifted. People were helping each other. Training felt more like Mario Kart than military drills.

Even Coach Briggs started using phrases like “controlled chaos” and “channel your inner spaghetti.”

In the final match, the team was tied.

Jonas had injured his shoulder earlier and couldn’t wrestle. That meant the final round would go to Leo.

“Coach,” Leo whispered, panicked. “I’m not ready.”

Coach Briggs gave him a rare, toothy grin. “Kid, you’ve been ready since you tripped on your own shoelace. Now go confuse the heck outta them.”

Leo stepped onto the mat.

His opponent was built like a vending machine.

But Leo didn’t need strength.

He needed strategy.

He bounced lightly, faked left, spun right. He ducked, rolled, dodged. He took a hit—but laughed it off, which weirded the guy out.

Then, in a final moment of pure chaos, Leo feinted a fall—then used his favorite game move: the "spin-grab-flip" (unofficial name)—and pinned the guy in one fluid, miraculous movement.

The buzzer sounded.

Match over.

Epilogue: From Zero to Hero

They didn’t win the championship. But they won that match. And more importantly, they gained something better: spirit.

Leo became a legend. Not because he was the best—but because he reminded everyone that greatness comes in different forms.

He still played video games. Still wore mismatched socks. Still tripped sometimes.

But now?

He was also a wrestler.

A hero.

Even if he occasionally pinned himself.