MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The fighters stood in the training center, their bodies still tired from a hard exercise.

Even though their bodies hurt and their breath was still heavy, they were focused on the decision that was about to made.

In front of them were their coaches, Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier, with UFA CEO Ronan Black standing between them.

Everyone was worried because they knew that with each round, the stakes would be higher.

"Alright, folks, you know what time it is," "Ronan Black," he said, making the whole room hear him.

He was in his element, relishing the intensity. "Team Chemasov won the last fight, which means Coach Chemasov gets the power to pick the next match."

All eyes turned to Balim Chemasov, who stood confidently with his arms crossed. The man exuded an aura of dominance.

His gaze slowly moved across his fighters, each of them standing tall, ready to be called into the fray.

Across the room, Team Whittier stood silently, knowing they were at the mercy of Chemasov's choice.

They had fought hard, but losses were piling up, and the pressure was on to turn things around.

Chemasov stepped forward, his sharp eyes narrowing as he assessed both teams. His grin was subtle but telling. "We choose…"

"Who's going to fight next?" one of the fighters murmured under his breath, barely audible in the quiet room.

"Bryan!" Chemasov called out, pronouncing the name wrong, his thick accent twisting the word.

Brian didn't even flinch. He stood there, jaw clenched, a fire burning behind his eyes.

He couldn't care less about the mispronunciation. One, he was ready to fight, and two, what could he do? This was Balim Chemasov.

Going against him wasn't an option unless Brian had a death wish.

He didn't say anything even though he was angry, it was just below the surface.

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Some of the fighters chuckled, clearly amused by Chemasov's mistake, but the laughter quickly died down when they saw Brian's expression.

The guy was focused, and anyone who saw him knew he was ready to step into that cage.

The tension in the room rose.

Most of the fighters already knew what was coming next. It wasn't hard to guess who Brian would be fighting.

All eyes shifted toward Damon.

Brian had wanted a shot at him ever since Logan's elimination. Now, it seemed like the stage was set.

But to everyone's surprise, at least to Team Whittier, Chemasov didn't call out Damon's name as expected. Instead, with his thick accent, Chemasov looked over at Felipe and said, "We choose to smesh... Felipe," pronouncing the name wrong, much to Felipe's amusement.

The room shifted. Team Chemasov didn't react with any surprise to the call.

It was clear they had already discussed this, leaving Team Whittier to process the unexpected choice.

Felipe blinked, taken aback for just a moment, before a grin spread across his face. "Guess I'm next," he muttered, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for the upcoming battle.

Whittier nodded at Felipe, giving him a confident look. "You've got this, just stick to the plan."

Felipe smirked. "Smesh me, huh? We'll see about that."

The other fighters exchanged glances. This wasn't the fight they had expected, but now all eyes were on Felipe.

Felipe and Brian stood at the front, locked in a silent face-off.

Their teammates watching closely, trying to gauge how this fight would go.

Felipe, always quick with his words, leaned in slightly, smirking. "I'll do to you what Damon did to your brother," he taunted, his voice was brimming with pride.

Brian didn't flinch. He didn't respond with words or even a look of anger.

He just stared at Felipe, his eyes cold, calculating, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Whittier, standing off to the side, narrowed his eyes as he watched Brian.

There was something different in his eyes, something dark, primal. Hunger.

This wasn't just about winning a fight for Brian. It was about revenge.

The way he held himself, the silence he kept, spoke volumes.

He wasn't going to let his emotions slip out just yet. He was saving it all for the cage.

Whittier's gaze moved over to Balim, who stood with his arms crossed, a knowing grin tugging at his lips.

Balim had seen it too. This wasn't just a fight; this was a strategy.

Instead of throwing Brian against Damon right away, they were fueling the fire, making Brian's desire for revenge burn hotter.

Whittier nodded subtly to himself. He had to admit, it was smart.

Chemasov wasn't just throwing Brian at Damon for a quick match-up. He was letting that desire build, letting it twist and grow.

By the time Brian got his hands on Damon, it wouldn't be a fight, it would be a war.

Balim met Whittier's gaze, his grin widening, as if saying, You see what I'm doing here, right?

Whittier understood the game, but he also knew his team was ready for whatever strategy Chemasov had in mind.

This was going to be one hell of a tournament.

Not everyone caught the fire in Brian's eyes, but Ronan Black did.

He leaned back, arms crossed, his face carrying the kind of grin only a man who thrived on drama could wear.

Things stayed interesting with this kind of moment, with the quiet strain and grudge building below the surface.

And Ronan could already see the numbers this episode would pull in.

Ronan knew better than anyone that audiences loved a good storyline, and this had all the ingredients.

It wasn't just about winning. This was personal.

Ronan smiled to himself, imagining the viewership spiking when the fight went live.

Sure, he loved the sport, but at the end of the day, it was about the bottom line.

The more intense the drama, the higher the ratings.

And with the hunger in Brian's eyes, this fight was going to be a goldmine.

As Felipe turned away from the face-off, Brian's gaze lingered on him a second too long, like he was already planning the fight in his head.