MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 719: Scouting the Field

They watched in silence as the footage began to roll. The first clip featured a middleweight bout.

The quality of production was crisp, multiple angles, slow-motion replays, clean overlays with names and stats, but the fight itself left little impression.

Damon leaned back slightly, arms crossed, eyes sharp. The two fighters moved well enough, but something was missing.

The pace was moderate, the exchanges cautious. One fighter clearly had the edge, but it was hard to tell if it came from skill or if his opponent simply didn’t belong in the cage.

He noted the distance management, how slow their resets were after exchanges. Footwork wasn’t tight. Takedown attempts were too telegraphed.

Neither fighter had the kind of pressure or presence that stood out. The winner had done enough, but that was all. Enough.

Next bout loaded up on screen. Again, middleweights. There was more urgency here.

Sharper kicks, better feints. But still, nothing new. Damon kept watching, not reacting. He didn’t blink much, didn’t shift. Just focused. Calculating. Judging.

Each match rolled in after the next, some with fighters pushing hard, others looking hesitant under the pressure.

None yet had sparked the kind of instinct that made Damon sit up.

Across the room, Ivan sat similarly quiet, but his eyes were different. Focused, yes, but with a subtle tension in his jaw, like he was waiting for someone to slip up on screen.

They watched as contender after contender swung for their place in the house. Damon didn’t need commentary. The footage said enough. So far, no one had impressed him.

The final middleweight bout began.

The screen flashed the names: Eric London vs. Jose Alvarez.

Both men stood in their corners, bouncing lightly. The moment the referee signaled the start, Jose burst forward like a switch had been flipped.

Eric circled, hands up, trying to find range, but Jose didn’t give him the chance.

Within seconds, he was inside, tight hooks, body shots, and a perfectly timed low kick that swept Eric’s lead leg just enough to force a stumble.

Jose didn’t overcommit, but every movement had weight behind it. He was sharp and aggressive, but not reckless.

Eric tried to clinch, but Jose broke it with a brutal elbow on the break that drew a reaction even in the viewing room.

The replay would later show the cut it opened across Eric’s brow, but in the moment, the fight didn’t stop.

Jose stepped in again with a lead uppercut that landed flush, snapping Eric’s head back.

He followed it with a left hook, then a straight right that sent Eric reeling toward the cage. The pace didn’t slow.

Jose stayed on him, but his strikes were measured, every shot thrown with precision.

Then it came.

As Eric tried to circle out, hands still high but movements delayed, Jose feinted low, and Eric bit on it.

Jose launched a spinning heel kick that was just smooth and devastating. It landed directly on the side of Eric’s jaw. His body stiffened before he hit the canvas.

The referee rushed in immediately.

It was over.

Jose Alvarez stood over his opponent, arms slightly lifted, no celebration, just steady breathing and a calm step back as his corner exploded in cheers behind the camera.

The room watching went still.

Damon leaned slightly forward now, arms still folded, expression unreadable.

For the first time during the entire round of scouting, someone had done more than win.

The screen faded to black, ready to cue the next division.

The screen shifted. The label read: Lightweight Qualifier – Ryan Coleman vs. Zabit Khabanovic.

From the start, Ryan came forward fast. He didn’t give Zabit time to settle.

He shot for a double-leg within seconds. Zabit sprawled late, and Ryan lifted him off the mat and slammed him hard onto his back.

Ryan moved quick, tight control, good posture. He trapped the hips and began dropping short elbows from inside the guard.

Zabit tried to tie him up, but Ryan postured again, passed into half guard, and then full mount in one sharp movement.

Zabit twisted, trying to buck him off, but Ryan stayed low, balanced, and kept firing shots.

A left elbow cut Zabit just above the eyebrow. Blood started running down the side of his face.

The ref circled in, watching close, but Zabit showed enough defense to avoid a stoppage.

Ryan kept grinding.

Zabit bridged and turned, giving up his back. Ryan slid his arm under the chin but couldn’t get the choke yet.

He adjusted. Hooks in. Flattened him out. He went palm-to-palm for a short choke attempt, Zabit tucked his chin. Ryan switched again.

Then the moment came.

Zabit tried to explode and turn, and in doing so, opened a gap.

Ryan snatched it.

He sank the rear-naked choke deep this time, both arms locked. Zabit reached, clawed, fought it for a few seconds, but it was tight.

Tap.

It was over.

Ryan let go and stood up quickly. His breathing was steady. Not wild. Not cocky. Just calm.

The ref raised his hand, while Zabit rolled to his side, gasping, wiping blood from his eye.

The room watching stayed quiet, but the energy had shifted. That was the first real statement performance of the day.

Clean wrestling, relentless control, sharp finishing. Damon leaned forward slightly. That one stood out.

Both Ivan and Damon looked at each other for a few seconds. Neither said a word, but the moment was clear.

They had seen the same thing. Out of all the footage so far, two fighters stood out.

The last middleweight had a different presence, measured, but violent when needed.

He fought with a level of composure that didn’t belong in the qualifiers. Each strike had purpose, each step controlled. freewёbnoνel-com

Damon noticed how the fighter didn’t chase, didn’t waste movement. He broke his opponent down, round by round, until the finish came naturally.

Then came the first lightweight fight. It was a blur of speed and precision. The winner was relentless, shifting angles, cutting off the cage, and staying two moves ahead.

Even when he got hit, he reset like nothing happened and answered back twice as hard.

Damon leaned forward slightly during that fight. Ivan didn’t move, but his hand tightened on the armrest.

They knew what they were looking at.

Both of them.

Top-tier potential. Fighters with the kind of instinct and presence you couldn’t teach.

They glanced at each other again. It was quick, but not meaningless.

They both wanted them.

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