MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 721: Welcome to the Show

Ronan stood at the center of the gym, hands on his hips, surrounded by the fighters who had made it through the qualifiers.

His eyes scanned the group, taking in every face, nervous ones, cocky ones, focused ones.

Some stood tall with chests out. Others kept their heads low, letting their presence speak for itself.

He clapped his hands, loud and sharp. The sound echoed through the gym and drew full silence.

"Alright, listen up."

He gave it a second, just to let the room settle.

"You made it here. That means something. Not just to you, but to the sport. Out of the hundreds that tried to get into this season, you’re the ones who got through. Some of you blew people away in your fights. Some of you just gritted it out and found a way to win. Doesn’t matter how you did it. You’re here now."

He paced slowly as he spoke, never raising his voice too much, but commanding attention with every word.

"Now let me be real with you, this ain’t a vacation. This ain’t a game show. This is a fight show. You’re going to train, you’re going to cut weight, and you’re going to go through hell in this gym. Then you’re going to fight in front of the world."

He paused and looked around the group.

"You’re not just representing yourselves anymore. You’re representing your coaches. Your team. This show. Everything you do from this point forward is going to be on camera, and everyone’s watching. That includes the fans, the other fighters, the UFA brass... and yeah, me too."

A few of the fighters smirked or nodded, but most just listened.

"There’s no easy fight this season. Every single guy in this room wants the same thing: a contract, a title shot down the line, and to prove they belong in the UFA. But only one of you is walking out of here with the big win. You don’t get to vote. You don’t get to pick. You earn it. Inside that cage."

He turned toward the center, stopping just in front of them.

"And I’m going to tell you right now, if you’re here to coast, if you’re here to hide behind a good performance in the qualifiers, you’re already done. There’s no hiding here. You’re going to be seen. Win or lose, the world is going to know your name. How they know it is up to you."

Another beat passed before he clapped his hands again.

"Coaches will be in soon. You’ll be split into teams. Some of you are already thinking about who you want to train under. Doesn’t matter. Once you’re picked, that’s it. You ride with them. You fight for them. You listen to them."

He stepped back and gave the room a final look.

"Make this season count. That’s all I’ll say. Some of you won’t make it to the end. Most of you won’t. That’s just the truth. But if you want it bad enough, if you’re really that guy, you’ll show it."

A long silence followed.

"Alright," Ronan said finally. "Let’s get to work."

He turned, walked toward the office, and left the fighters to think.

The real show was about to begin.

Ronan remained in place, facing the fighters, letting the silence sit for a few more seconds. Then he looked up and clapped again, twice this time.

"Alright," he said. "Now let’s introduce your coaches."

A door off to the side opened.

The fighters turned their heads as footsteps echoed through the space.

First came Damon Cross.

He walked in calmly, hands behind his back, wearing the UFA training gear. There was no swagger, no need for it. His presence was enough.

The room shifted instantly, shoulders straightened, eyes widened. A few whispered to each other. One of the lightweights muttered, "Holy shit," under his breath.

Damon didn’t look at them. Not yet. He just walked forward and stood next to Ronan, eyes straight ahead.

Ronan nodded. "Undefeated. Champion in two divisions. You know who he is."

Then came the second door.

Ivan Novak entered.

The room felt heavier the second he stepped in. Built like a wall, with a scowl that never changed, Ivan marched forward with purpose.

He stood beside Damon, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room like he was already judging each fighter.

If Damon brought pressure through legacy and skill, Ivan brought fear through intensity.

One of the middleweights leaned back slightly. Another clenched his jaw and stood taller, like he was already being evaluated. No one dared speak now.

Ronan looked at the fighters again. "These are your coaches for the season. Two of the best to ever do it. They’ve made it to the top, and now it’s your turn to prove you deserve their time."

He stepped back, giving the stage to the two men.

"This is where the games stop. Selections start soon. Make sure you’re ready."

All that was left now... was the picking.

Ronan lingered just a moment longer before turning toward the two men beside him.

"Now," he said, voice carrying through the gym again, "we settle the first decision."

He faced Damon and Ivan directly.

"You both know how this works. We don’t draw straws. We don’t vote. This is the fairest way we’ve got. Simple coin flip. Winner chooses whether to pick first... or pick the first fight."

The fighters behind him stayed silent, watching closely. For many of them, this was the real start of the season.

The beginning of how teams would be shaped, and which direction their fates would turn.

Ronan reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver coin. Clean, round, slightly scuffed from use, but heavy enough to flip without question.

He looked at Damon. "Call it in the air."

Damon gave a small nod. "Heads."

Ronan gave them both one last glance, then flicked the coin up high.

It spun fast, glinting in the overhead lights. All eyes followed it.

The coin came down. Ronan caught it in one hand, slapped it onto the back of the other, and held it there.

Silence.

He lifted his hand.

"Tails."

Ivan smirked, just barely, but enough to be seen.

Damon didn’t flinch.

Ronan turned to Ivan. "You win the toss. You want first fighter, or first fight?"

Ivan looked out at the group of fighters. He didn’t hesitate.

"First fighter."

Ronan nodded, as if he already expected that.

"Alright then," he said, turning back to the fighters. "We’re moving straight into selections. Coach Ivan picks first. Damon, you’re second, then we alternate."

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