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Since the advent of lucha libre, there has always been El Grande Americano. A stranger from a strange land who, through hard work and perseverance, became an icon to the people of Mexico. Never giving up, never missing a bout, taking on any and all challengers from the best of the best like El Santo and Blue Demon, to the new up and comers hoping to prove themselves against the American legend. Everyone who has made a name for themselves has competed against El Grande Americano; though the years tick on, he endures, long life spent in dedication to the fine art of lucha libre. El Grande Americano always fights with forceful thunder and bravery at his side, stunning his enemies and rivals with ferocity and the unimaginable on a regular basis, overwhelming those who underestimate the hero. He will continue to do so until there are no more luchadores in the world, until he can rest his mask and take the peaceful sunset that has eluded him for a hundred years. Until then, as long as there is an El Grande Americano, he will fight with the power of a thunderbolt and the bravery of a dozen men on his side, no matter what awaits.
- Canticulum of El Grande Americano (1981)
[C’mon, c’mon, push it, man!]
[Oh fuck you!] the yell of exasperation came at him.
Grande didn’t let the anger faze him. It was expected and even encouraged. He was standing in front of the leg extension machine, dressed in a tank top and sweats, and he was spotting Rayo, who was sitting on the machine, legs shaking and expression harsh underneath his mask as he raised his legs against the weights holding the bar. The weights were fairly light for the machine, not really an indepth workout, but perfect for starting back into the routine, as Rayo was now that he had been given the clearance to work out the knee that had been fucked up by Gunther months before. He had done what he could to keep up with his routine in other ways – working his upper body and going for walks – but hadn’t been able to return to a proper leg day until recently.
And his knee hurt as he was making it do the things that it hadn’t been asked to do in some time.
Anger would get him through it.
[Just three more,] Grande pushed, carefully keeping an eye on the weights, hands out in front of him so that he could step in and hold the weight if he needed to, [don’t flake out on me like a bitch.]
[You’re the bitch!] Rayo hissed through gritted teeth, but lowered his legs again to prepare for the next rep.
Grande hid his smile. [Then prove it,] he challenged. [Now push! Two... there you go – one...good!]
Rayo let out a heavy grunt as he stopped the pressure against his legs, and Grande helped take some of the weight off of them, assisting to lower the machine back down to its resting position. Rayo looked exhausted, and Grande didn’t blame him. Getting back to routine after an injury was rough – something Ludwig knew himself from experience. It was painful, tiring, and rage inducing, often at the same time. That was why he was here to help Los Americanos. He was going to be the support, the aid, the push, and the target of their rage so they could get through it.
He passed a towel over to Rayo along with his bottle of water, as Rayo sank back against the seat of the machine to rest, breathing hard.
[How does it feel?]
Rayo pulled the bottom of the mask up his face and wiped the sweat from his jaw and neck with the towel. Grande never suggested Los Americanos work out in their masks like he often did (he preferred to keep the added challenge for himself because it mirrored how it would be in a match; it was all about pushing past limits and not bringing himself disadvantages in the ring) but they took after his lead on their own, most of the time.
[Sore,] Rayo admitted, with the tone of voice that sounded like he was in a funeral procession. He shifted the leg of his shorts and flexed his leg a few more times, watching the bare muscles around the knee move and contort; his knee was moving much better than it had been a few weeks ago, even after being subjugated to the workout.
[I’d be much more worried if it felt nothing at all,] Bravo chimed in, his own voice tight. [Because then we’d have evidence your brain – ngh – isn’t working. Well, more evidence.]
Grande looked over, watching the blue masked man work with small, light hand weights. It was definitely not anything that looked like a hard workout, unless you were curling three recently broken fingers around a dumbbell and putting pressure on them. He was just flexing his wrist, working on simply holding the weight with his weakened fingers, deciding to take a break from the glove like contraption which used resistance to strengthen the individual fingers. Even with the small amount of pressure, Bravo’s pale fingers were shaking as he kept them curled around the weight. One of them still needed a cleanup procedure to remove a bone chip that was stuck in an unfortunate place near one of his knuckles and would cause some persistent pain without treatment, but nothing was stopping him from finally getting them strengthened before that time.
[Funny,] Rayo said dryly after taking a long swig of water. [Where’s my phone? I want to take a picture of the baby weight and send it to Sol Ruca.]
There was a loud gasp and a clunk as Bravo put the weight down. [You wouldn’t dare! Not Miss Ruca!] he hissed.
[Watch me!]
Grande fought the urge to laugh at the pair of them bickering, because that just meant things were getting back to normal. [Alright, alright, that’s enough, children,] he interjected, hands out, one levelled at each of them, index and middle fingers out straight to point. [Rayo, two sets of leg curls, Bravo take a break from the hand and do four sets of the leg press, since you’re just sitting on it anyways.] He put his hands on both of their shoulders and patted them firmly. [That should hopefully shut you both up for a few minutes and give me a modicum of peace, right?]
[Fat chance,] they both chorused in unison. Grande lost the fight and he chuckled, rubbing his hand on the back of his mask, even as the two in front of him tapped the backs of their fingers together, all brotherly animosity between them forgotten while they shifted positions to do the next part of their workout.
[Yeah, I know,] Grande agreed, crossing his arms over his chest, hands gripping onto his bare elbows, and starting to keep an eagle eye on the both of them so he could step in and help if necessary. [The more things change, the more they stay the same.]
Rayo and Bravo shared a look with each other and gave each other a sharp nod. It was in a place just like this where everything had started. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, indeed.
July 18, 2025.
The truth was El Grande Americano didn’t trust Dominik Mysterio.
Sure, the man spoke a good game, promised assistance, promised favours as ‘king of the luchadores’ if Grande helped him, but Grande knew who Dominik was because he had watched him for years, which was something that the young Mysterio didn’t realize, thinking that El Grande Americano was the same man he had helped out at the start of the year by directing him to Mexico to find the mask in the first place. In short, he was an idiot, and helping out an idiot enraged Ludwig Kaiser.
Ludwig helped him to keep up appearances, but he didn’t trust the man. He didn’t trust The Judgement Day behind him. Gunther’s teachings were always in his mind, outlining every single problem with Dirty Dom, every issue and every fault. Not that they were hard to see; the man’s ridiculous hair and moustache really told the entire story. Ludwig’s core beliefs were insulted by working with him, but on top of it, his personal aesthetic distaste of the man made it harder than anything else to keep up the pretense. He swallowed his pride and did, though – there was little other option at this point.
Allying with Dominik, while necessary to ensure stability, was worrying, because when, not if, the turn on him came, it would be swift and it could be with the expected assistance of his friends. Grande was a strong man but four on one odds were never in the one’s favour. Besides, there was no way in hell he was going to rely on Mysterio forever.
He needed numbers, he needed real allies.
El Grande Americano always fights with forceful thunder and bravery at his side, stunning his enemies and rivals with ferocity and the unimaginable on a regular basis, overwhelming those who underestimate the hero.
...At least according to the history that Gable had committed to. But Ludwig knew he could make that real. More real than Gable even thought.
He had an idea.
Imperium had taught him the benefit of having a group of like minded individuals sharing the same goals. They rose in influence and power, and learned important lessons along the way. Most importantly, they watched out for each other. Gunther knew that the world was against them and promoted the unity that pushed them against everyone else, together. It had worked, it was proven; it just had to be with the right people. Wolfe, Vinci, they eventually failed, the pressure too much for them, but when they had held strong, nothing could have stopped them.
The right people in the wrong place could make all the difference in the world.
That was why Grande was waiting on a bench in the locker room of the gym, left ankle with his black Chelsea bot resting elegantly on his right knee, sitting straight, back rigid against the wall. He pushed up the cuff of his black blazer with his index and middle fingers so he could glance at the watch on his wrist, frowning just a little bit as the seconds swept by smoothly. Readjusting the sleeve of the blazer, letting it sit evenly and comfortably against him, he straightened up once more, chin going high in the air. He supposed he couldn’t get irritated by the dilatoriness if he wasn’t expected, but it was still something that made him clench his jaw; an old habit. Imperium ran like clockwork.
But...he no longer had Imperium.
He pushed the thought out of his mind and reached up, drawing his fingers over the new design of the mask on his face. Taking Gable’s mask had been easy, but the design and fit had been horrid; it wouldn’t do in the long run. That was why he had gotten his own, talking with renowned costureros to get a few designs in place, and they turned out better than he could have thought. They were based on the original design, but were far higher quality, and had a better aesthetic design to properly balance the red, white and blue colours and the various patterned elements. He had another one in the works, with the colours of the Mexican flag, but it wouldn’t be ready for a little while. This would do fine in the meantime.
The problem was that the ‘meantime’ was dragging. Uncouth.
He eventually did hear voices, and ensured he was straightened up. The door to the room pushed open, snorted laughter coming behind it, and the two men he was waiting for came in. Their gym bags were slung over their shoulders, casually dressed in their street clothes. The New Catch Republic. Pete Dunne had his dark brown hair tied back, Tyler Bate not needing to with a recent hair cut. They both stopped in their tracks, staring at Grande with confusion. It was to be expected – it wasn’t every day that a masked, suited individual was sitting with perfect posture, waiting in silence.
“You lost, mate?” Bate asked, arching an eyebrow.
“No, I’ve been expecting you,” Grande drawled in return.
“...Bit creepy,” Dunne said, glancing at Tyler.
Grande ignored that comment and just crossed his arms. “I wanted to talk to the pair of you. I believe we can help each other.”
“Uh huh.” The disbelieving comment came out of the pair of them at roughly the same time. Grande supposed it was strange, all things considered, but he had no way of reliably getting in touch with them.
The New Catch Republic were perfect. They were already high fliers, accustomed to the fast cruiserweight style that fit well into lucha libre, but they also had a strength that Grande respected, fighting above their stature just for the challenge and desire of the fight itself. And they could help Grande learn new techniques and styles – something he had started to improve on through analysis of his opponents and practice, but it could be done much more rapidly through having allies to assist. Always seeking self improvement, Ludwig would not be satisfied by halfassing this - he would not allow himself to. Thus the new mask. The elegance he was bringing to this compared to the ridiculous joke offered by Gable.
“I would like to offer a...team up,” Grande continued, blue eyes shifting between them. “I can offer you the chance to grab opportunities beyond what you’ve had recently, and in return, you watch my back.”
“’Watch your back’?” Pete said incredulously. “I think we’re fine, thanks...coffee man.”
“Are you?” Grande asked slowly, tilting his head slightly and fighting the irritation at the insult, which cut to the quick. “You’ve had...one match since your partner has returned from his injury, months ago? Which you lost? To The New Day?”
(Even the name was enough to make him sneer; few people pissed him off more than Woods and Kingston. Most of Imperium’s rivalries had been beneath him, forgotten as soon as the European team was inevitably victorious, but The New Day remained under Ludwig’s skin for many reasons, many years later. Gunther’s vengeance against him for those failures against The New Day would stay with him for many additional years to come, no matter how much he retreated into this new persona.)
“If you can honestly tell me that you’re fine with that result, then I can leave right now,” Grande offered, his voice very tightly controlled, gesturing with one hand in a sharp motion towards the door. “But if you are who I know you are, you aren’t satisfied...you’re meant for more. You want the fight and the challenge, and it’s being wasted right now. I...will help with that. My enemies will be numerous, my purpose...victory.”
Tyler waved a hand out in front of him, fingers moving quickly. “Hold on, I’m not just going to blindly accept the word of...well, whoever you are. Because no matter what the hell people think, I know that you’re not Chad Gable.”
“Not that we would blindly follow you even if you were – he’s a fucking prick,” Dunne added immediately.
Grande hid a smile, pursing his lips and nodding in acquiescence. It was perhaps a damning indictment of the general intelligence of his ‘coworkers’ that he could take a mask that really didn’t fit his face, raise a few peace signs in the air, say ‘Gracias’, and people would assume that he was still Gable, who was recovering from injury. Either that, or didn’t even realize that the predecessor was Gable in the first place and just accepted that Kaiser was who it had always been despite the incredibly obvious differences between the El Grande Americano that was, and the one that is.
This was proof that he was looking at the right people to bring into the fold.
He already had weighed the risks. If he made a misstep here, things would be over faster than he could handle the aftermath, and this gambit of his in wearing the mask of El Grande Americano would have been an even bigger failure than everything he had experienced leading up to it. The weight of that would crush him; Der Ringgeneral being unable to look at him with pride had sent him on this path, and he was just starting to get his feet underneath him. One wrong step and he would fall like a foal, and break his neck. There was no coming back from this.
But he wasn’t going to get New Catch Republic on his side with coy games and empty promises. This was something he had known going into this. They wouldn’t accept being blindly asked to do things by an anonymous stranger.
He reached to the back of his newly designed mask and pulled the knot out of the white laces holding it taut, loosening the bottom eyelets. With that done, he drew his long fingers under the edge of the neck of the mask and slowly pulled it up his face until it was visible. He didn’t take it off entirely, just enough to show the two men who he was, sharp jaw and cheekbones in stark relief in the open air, the unmistakable visage of Ludwig Kaiser with all the haughty pride that accompanied it.
“Well, shit.”
The reaction was immediate, as the face was revealed. Bate’s eyebrows went up as close to the hairline as was physically possible, and Dunne bared his sharp teeth. That was what Ludwig had been worried about. He and Dunne had nearly killed each other during the war between Gunther and Sheamus a few years ago and there was no love lost between the two of them. Ludwig knew it had been business; they were both under orders from their leaders, and those orders were absolute. Sure, he hadn’t liked Pete Dunne, right down to his ridiculous monniker of ‘Butch’ – boorish right to the last - but he actually respected the hell out of Pete Dunne, which was why he was here in the first place...but he wasn’t sure if Dunne had come to the same viewpoint yet. Apparently not.
“So Gunther’s pulling the strings?” Dunne asked viciously, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping his bag to the side, spoiling for a fight. Bate’s hand went to his shoulder to keep him back from an immediate brawl.
Ludwig pulled the mask back down his face and re-secured it with hands that were getting more practiced with the motion every day. His blue eyes darkened. “No,” came his harsh retort. “Der Ringgeneral is not involved. Do you really think he would allow his interests to be represented underneath a mask?” He took a deep breath, calming himself and avoiding picturing the idea of what Gunther would think this whole thing was.
(“This is cowardly, Ludwig. This is beneath you. You can’t really be serious.”)
The thought was unbidden and Ludwig’s back straightened up involuntarily as it played in his head. Thankfully it was easy enough to play off as straightening his posture to go along with his explanation; he just had to have the words now...which was the hardest part. He stayed silent for a moment, looking at Pete and Tyler in turn.
“This is...me, and me alone. This is me, knowing I can bring infinitely more respect to this mask than whatever the hell Gable was doing. This is me, talking to you independently because I know you, Dunne. I know you’re a fighter who doesn’t belong on the shelf. And Bate, I know you want to prove yourself after your injury and you haven’t been able to.”
Grande stood gracefully, lowering his leg to the floor and rising, buttoning his black blazer with a single button. The two shorter men were glancing at each other, silently communicating in the way that only tried and true blood tag teams could; the same way Ludwig could communicate with Vinci.
(It made it all the more disappointing that Vinci hadn’t seen Ludwig’s actions coming – he should have known the fury of European Excellence before Ludwig threw him against the side of the ring--)
“This is me, offering a chance for growth and respect. For laying out our own paths instead of staying beholden to the whims of others or the tides of change. This is me, acknowledging your strength and abilities and asking you to join with me.”
“So what, you can ‘lead’ like Gunther?” Tyler asked dryly, knowing the question was also on Pete’s mind. “Because no thanks, man. We’ve seen what that does to a guy and how pathetic it can make them,” He gestured vaguely at Grande with a dramatic air, almost dismissively.
Grande took a breath and closed his eyes. Could he even lead like Gunther did, with the ferocity of an iron fist that was accepted from pride borne from the aura of success and the confidence of victory? What kind of success did Ludwig have? Nothing. It was why he was here in the first place, retreating under a vacant mask. How could he lead with that? It would be sacrilege to try; it would be impossible to succeed.
“No,” he said firmly, a voice that surprised the two of them. “Not like Gunther. Not even like Sheamus. I am my own man. I’m not asking to lead you. I’m asking to stand beside you.”
Whatever they expected him to say, it was not that.
Taking a step towards them, Grande looked them both in the eye seriously, his voice quiet and surprisingly honest, “You have incredible talent that can flourish...here, and in Mexico, Pete...your ferocity is exceptional, it always has been,” Grande continued, looking at the ‘Bruiserweight’, who seemed to perk up just a little bit at the complement about his brutality; if anyone should know the truth of it, it was the man behind this mask. “Your attack is as quick, as dangerous, and as uncompromising as rayo.” The blank look he got in return made him smile, just a little. It wasn’t a smug smile or a half smirk, like he might have given in the past, but an honest one. “As a thunderbolt. And you, Tyler.” He nodded at the other member of New Catch Republic, his blue eyes regarding him with a little less wariness than Dunne. “Always taking risks, always doing whatever needs to be done to win, consequences be damned, standing up to anything in front of you, the epitome of bravo – bravery.”
There was fire in his eyes now, because he believed in what he was saying. This wasn’t a ploy, this wasn’t pandering, it was the unequivocal truth. It was the same kind of belief that Gunther had when he spoke, the same conviction behind the words. Auf Gedeih und Verderb. No one could doubt it, not even the skeptical or unbelievers.
[El Grande Americano always fights with thunder and bravery,] he fired off in Spanish, [and you two are the living embodiment of those ideals.]
“We don’t understand Spanish, so whatever you just said--” Pete pointed out grumpily.
But it was Tyler who pursed his lips, “I don’t think we have to, Pete,” he murmured. “I mean, that passion...” The man crossed his arms over his chest and watched Grande with an analytical eye. He pursed his lip, moustache (far classier than Dominik’s, though that wasn’t difficult) twitching. “You’re way different now, Kaiser.”
“El Grande Americano,” he corrected haughtily.
Dunne snorted, rolling his eyes with irritation. “Maybe not too different.”
Grande raised an eyebrow at the Bruiserweight and just waited. Sometimes, silence was exactly what was necessary; filling the air with pointless additions could undermine the point he had tried to make. He was not Gunther, that forceful cult of personality was not his to control; he had to swallow the bitter pill of acknowledging he would never live up to those ideals. But he could do this. He had said his peace, and had to accept that the rest was out out of his hands. It wasn’t a realization Ludwig liked, but one he came to; all the preparation in the world, the study, the analysis, the practice could lead to certainty, but sometimes people were true variables and would act in the stupidest, most ridiculous way imaginable. That was where contingencies came into place, but Ludwig didn’t think he’d need to resort to those.
New Catch Republic looked at each other again, once more communicating without a word. It was true that they weren’t doing much right now; even with taking it slowly to ease Tyler back into the scene after his long absence, there wasn’t a lot of opportunity right now. They would have to make their own. And...the offer was in front of them to do exactly that. Perhaps it was a case of fortuitous timing, perhaps it was a case of the unexpected becoming reality. Or maybe it was just someone making their own path, asking others to take that same leap.
After some silence, they looked back at the new masked man in front of them.
“We wouldn’t have to dress like you, would we?” Dunne asked suspiciously. His voice clearly conveyed that the level of trust he had in Kaiser – in El Grande Americano – was about on the same level that Ludwig had in Dominik Mysterio, as was his distaste.
Turnabout was fair play, even if it was annoying.
Grande actually laughed freely – surprising both of them – as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“No. I wouldn’t want you pretending to be something that you’re not. I want you exactly how you are, because that is your strength - rayo and bravo.” Grande lifted his chin and gave a sharp nod. Then he pursed his lips, and amended, “Though I would suggest adhering to masks; they can...be freeing in many ways.”
Tyler arched an eyebrow. “Can we design them ourselves?”
Who would have thought that just over a year later that they would be here, far from the distrust and the distaste of discovering that El Grande Americano was Ludwig Kaiser, to now accepting as Grande supported them through their workouts, holding the bars when they needed him to, and offering his shoulders to help bear their burdens as he pushed them to their peaks?
Neither of them would have figured that they would put themselves on the line for El Grande Americano but they had, willingly and without a thought against it. Because they had both learned that he would be there, like this, supporting them, wrapping an ice pack around Rayo’s leg and helping tape up Bravo’s fingers after taking many angry words in his direction and letting them slide off like he was teflon. Their assumption that he would just be ‘Gunther-lite’ had suffered a rather quick death:
It had been proven early on that he was their brother before their leader.
The men who followed under great leaders who were terrible men learned to be better men themselves.
Grande sat between them on a bench at the edge of the gym, looking out at the others who were using machines in the distance. He still had to do his own workout, but he was ensuring that his hermanos were taken care of before he did.
[All good?] he asked, holding his hand out to Bravo, who tapped fingers with his good hand, and then Rayo, who did the same.
With small, tired nods, they chorused agreeably.
[Now go do your thing, so we can talk shit about you behind your back,] Rayo added with a smirk, shifting to get comfortable and let the cold of the ice permeate his sore knee.
[Asshole,] Grande said fondly, gripping Rayo’s shoulder and clapping it it as he stood. [This is why Bravo’s better than you.]
Bravo brightened immediately, drawing his bad hand across his chest and holding the other arm out towards Rayo, fingers curled down into his palm to gesture at him. Rayo rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, and slapping Bravo’s hand away from his face.
[Hell knows why I stick around,] he complained. But the answer was obvious to all.
As long as there was an El Grande Americano, he would fight with Rayo and Bravo at his side.