MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 720: Statement Made

The screen lit up with the next bout, lightweights this time. Ronny McGregor versus Tony Serrano.

From the opening bell, Ronny pressed forward with sharp intent. He wasn’t feeling out distance or waiting to gauge his opponent.

He already knew. His footwork was crisp, aggressive without being wild. Each jab was a marker, followed by tight combinations that landed flush.

Tony tried to move, tried to circle and create angles, but Ronny was on him constantly. He cut the cage down with precision, never giving him room to breathe.

Within the first minute, a clean right hand snapped Tony’s head back. The crowd on the footage stirred. Tony threw back out of instinct, but nothing landed with weight.

Ronny didn’t back off. He slipped, countered, and went to the body before landing another overhand that shook Tony again. A short elbow followed. Tony staggered. The ref watched closely.

Another flurry. Hooks to the body, then upstairs. A knee landed as Tony tried to tie up. It wasn’t a brawl, it was surgical.

Tony covered up and turned toward the cage. Ronny chased, pinned him, and unleashed three clean shots before the ref stepped in and waved it off.

Technical knockout.

The room stayed quiet as the footage ended. Damon and Ivan both watched the slow-motion replay, Ronny’s face calm even as his hands dropped post-finish.

They didn’t speak, but their eyes met again. That fight settled something. Ronny wasn’t just good. He was going to be the first lightweight pick, and both of them knew it.

The footage continued to play, fight after fight rolling across the screen. Both Damon and Ivan stayed focused, silent, and still. But every time a fighter stood out, clean footwork, confident striking, sharp reactions, both men would glance subtly at each other.

They didn’t speak to one another.

One particularly aggressive middleweight caught their attention with a knockout in under thirty seconds. Neither coach flinched, but the brief glance that passed between them said everything. They both wanted him.

It kept happening.

A well-rounded grappler. A pressure-heavy striker. A counter-fighter with timing. Each time a standout performance appeared, their eyes would meet. And behind their quiet demeanor, the tension grew. They both wanted every good pick. And they both knew they couldn’t have them all.

Ronan, seated off to the side, didn’t miss a thing. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded on his lap. His eyes bounced between the screen and the two fighters. He noticed every twitch, every look.

And he smiled.

Not a small smile either. It was the kind of grin only a fight promoter could wear, one born from knowing that the moment this season ended, these two men would collide. A double champion. An undefeated legacy. A hungry interim fighter ready to claim it all.

They were already fighting. Just not in the cage yet.

If Ronan could have his way with time, he would’ve fast-forwarded the entire show and jumped straight to the fight.

A year ago, when someone first mentioned Ivan in the same breath as Damon, he couldn’t even picture them in the same room. But now the rivalry made sense.

They didn’t argue. They didn’t glare or throw insults. But it was there, plain as day. They didn’t hate each other. In fact, that would’ve made it easier.

What they had was worse, two men who respected each other just enough to take everything personally. Every glance. Every pick. Every pause.

They both wanted to win. Not just the season.

They wanted everything.

And Ronan could already see it. When the show was over, when the picks were locked, and the final fight was set... those two would settle it the only way fighters know how.

Inside the cage.

Soon enough, the viewing ended.

Damon leaned back slightly. Both divisions had shown solid potential, but the lightweights stood out.

Clean technique, raw explosiveness, and a few fighters with the kind of composure that couldn’t be taught. He already had names in his head, guys he wouldn’t let slip to Ivan, no matter what.

He glanced at Ronan, who stood at the front of the room, hands clasped.

Ronan gave them a small nod. "Alright, now that’s done, I’m sure both of you have your picks lined up already. Probably even a few names you’re ready to fight over."

Neither coach responded, but the look in their eyes said plenty.

Ronan continued. "We’re heading into the next part now. You’ll each meet your coaching team. After that, we move straight to fighter selection."

He smiled, calm and composed, but there was a spark in his eyes. He knew exactly how much was riding on the picks to come.

And so did they.

Damon left the room and made his way to the locker room assigned to him.

When he stepped inside, a few familiar faces looked up, some from his usual training circle, others completely new.

Only a small portion of his personal team had been brought in. The rest had been provided by the UFA.

Victor wasn’t among them. He had made that clear before the season began.

Since Damon wasn’t fighting until the end, Victor decided to step back, saying this would be a good chance for Damon to gain coaching experience. Damon didn’t argue. He knew Victor would still be watching from a distance.

So now it was him, a couple of assistant coaches he trusted, and a group of professionals handpicked by the UFA. They were capable, no doubt, but they didn’t know him yet, and he didn’t know them.

He stepped forward and addressed the room.

"Alright," Damon said, keeping his tone steady. "I’m Damon Cross. You already know that. But for now, I’m your head coach. So let’s keep this simple."

He placed a file down on the bench, flipping it open.

"These are the fighters who qualified. We’re going to go through them and discuss who we want. I’ve already got names in mind, but I want to hear your thoughts too. We’re not here to play favorites. We’re here to win."

The room quieted as they gathered around, eyes scanning the list.

Now, the real work began.

This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦