John Cena's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

John Cena had three weeks left before his retirement match, and a councilman who hated entertainers stood between him and the last thing he wanted. He sat on a bench across from Pinehaven's wooden archway, the one carved with the names of every champion the town had ever honored. Forty-two names ran down the pillars. None of them were wrestlers. A single blank stone waited in the path beneath the arch, and Cena had decided that stone was his. The problem was the vote. Five council members would decide it, and Cena already knew Councilman Harris would say no. Harris had told him to his face that entertainers were a distraction from real achievement. Cena had written those words down in a notebook he still carried. Since then he had read every public arts decision Harris had touched since 2018, hunting for the swing voter Harris always leaned on. He had the record with him now, a heavy stone slab a clerk had let him borrow from the council archive, its tally marks worn soft by weather and thumbs. Four other names appeared beside Harris's across hundreds of votes. Cena could not tell which one mattered. "You are studying the wrong document, civilian." Cena looked up. A man in a navy suit stood at the edge of the path, hands in his pockets, a small gold star pinned to his lapel. Cena knew the face. Gunther. Another wrestler, younger, still climbing. Cena had heard he was in town but had not believed it until now. Gunther stepped closer and tapped the tablet with one knuckle. "I submitted my petition for the empty stone six days ago. The council will vote on mine the same night they vote on yours. Only one name goes in." He smiled without warmth. "I do not lose campaigns to retiring men." Cena stood up. He was taller, but Gunther did not move. "You came here to take it from me." "I came here because greatness belongs to greatness itself," Gunther said. "You have been shaking hands at bake sales. I have been winning. The deciding vote is already mine." He turned and walked off down the path without looking back. Cena sat down again and stared at the tablet until the tally marks blurred. Gunther had said deciding vote, singular. He knew which one it was. That meant the answer existed and someone in Pinehaven had already found it. Cena ran his finger along the rows until he reached the arts decisions from the last two years. In every close vote, Harris had spoken second. Someone else had spoken first and set the room. The same mark appeared beside that first speaker each time. Cena did not yet know the name attached to it. But he knew, now, that there was only one name to learn, and that Gunther was already courting them.