Ciampa is old. He's set in his ways, he's not sure how long he'll be able to keep himself afloat in this new generation of NXT. But he's champion, and it... it feels like home to be sitting here, Goldy in his arms once more, the title that had held him together through the months of nervousness when he wasn't sure how he would be as a father, before he got to look in the eyes of his daughter and just know. The brand is different, the roster is ever changing, he knows soon more changes will come- he will lose pivotal parts of himself, he may not even recognize the building when he walks inside of it once that happens.

But for now, he has to stare at the roster list, and he has to think about who he may trust enough to put on this list for Luke, and honestly. Truthfully. He doesn't trust anyone, barely trusts himself sometimes. He doesn't want to do any such thing for Luke, isn't sure why the man didn't push this off on Wade, who does commentary and has to know all of them, to talk them up and make them seem special week in and week out, but maybe because Wade is just as jaded and bitter as him, and is separated from it all by sitting at a table for two hours a week just to talk, whereas Ciampa's elbow deep in it and knows most of the roster fairly well, rapidly getting a handle on the newer wrestlers starting to crowd the locker rooms and act like they honestly have any sort of a clue what they're doing.

But this is more than him, it's more than the belt leaning off his elbow. It's more than the roster he's forced to pick and choose from. This is the world, this is Willow Bell's future, this is... this is the safety of pretty much everyone he cares about, resting right here in his hands, needing him to do this the right way. So he takes a deep breath, he sticks his tongue between his teeth, and he begins to write.