MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 729: A Different Kind of Fight

Days passed quickly.

Training never slowed, and both Damon and Ivan were locked in. Each coach pushed their fighters with everything they had, drilling, adjusting and watching closely.

Damon, especially, had been feeling the weight of the role more with each day.

He had always respected coaches, but now he truly understood how hard it was.

Being a fighter was demanding, but coaching was a different kind of responsibility. You weren’t just thinking for yourself.

You had to plan for someone else. You had to see their weaknesses, find ways to cover them, and still bring out what they did best, all in a short window of time.

For Damon, this was even harder because he was new to it. He hadn’t trained José Alvarez for years.

He’d barely known the man a week. There was no deep trust built yet, no full familiarity with his habits.

And yet he was expected to guide him into the biggest fight of the season so far.

Some nights, Damon thought about how much easier it would be if he could drop his fighters into his system’s simulation.

When he used it, it allowed full breakdowns, opponent tendencies, counter setups and movement patterns.

You could fight someone at their best over and over until you learned exactly how to beat them.

He would’ve given anything to put José in that kind of environment. A place where he could study Dorian Vega’s strengths without the risk. A way to fight Dorian a hundred times before the real thing.

But that wasn’t possible.

The system was his. And it wasn’t something he could share, not just because it was private, but because even if he wanted to, he didn’t know if it could simulate someone else. It had always responded to him.

Damon would never say a word about it. Not to his team. Not to the UFA. Not even to his family. It was his edge, but it wasn’t part of this job.

This week, he had to coach the old-fashioned way, watch, prepare, and trust. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

And that’s exactly what he was doing.

And finally, it was time to see how much the training actually mattered.

Fight day had arrived.

The fight was only minutes away.

Back in the locker room, the usual buzz of activity filled the space.

Coaches moved between corners, wrapping gloves, checking pads, adjusting hand tape.

Fighters were shadowboxing, stretching, or sitting in silence with towels draped over their heads.

Damon stayed focused.

He sat across from José Alvarez, who was already wrapped, gloved, and fully warmed up.

José sat calmly on the bench, his back straight, eyes fixed on the floor ahead. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

There was no panic, no anxious twitching. He was locked in.

Damon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, speaking directly and clearly.

"Stay off the cage. You don’t need to force anything. If he wants to push forward, let him, but control the angles."

José nodded. He didn’t talk much, but Damon didn’t need him to. He could tell José was listening.

One of Damon’s assistant coaches, Rafael, stood nearby. Fluent in Portuguese, he translated the details as needed, keeping the language tight and simple.

Damon continued. "If he goes heavy with the right, you know what to do. You saw it on tape. Keep your lead hand up, keep your chin tucked, and make him miss first. You’ll get the counter."

Rafael translated again. José’s expression didn’t change, but he gave another nod. It wasn’t the kind of nod that came from pressure, it came from understanding.

Damon stood up and held his palms out. "Touch," he said.

José rose without hesitation and began lightly tapping the pads, working through short combinations.

No power. Just rhythm. Jab, low kick, high guard, circle out. Damon didn’t speak much during it. He just watched the spacing, the timing, and the focus.

After a few minutes, they stopped. José stepped back and started bouncing in place, loosening his shoulders.

Rafael patted him lightly on the back and said something in Portuguese, which made José crack a small smile.

Damon took a breath, then spoke once more, steady, serious.

"This fight is yours. Stick to what we drilled. Don’t let the crowd or the cameras pull your attention. When it’s time to explode, explode. But don’t waste energy chasing."

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t give a motivational speech.

Everything José needed had already been said over the last few days. Now, it was just about execution.

A knock hit the door.

One of the UFA staff leaned in. "You’re up next. Walkout starts in two."

Damon turned to José and gave him one last nod. "Let’s go."

José pulled on his walkout shirt, adjusted his gloves, and followed Damon and Rafael toward the tunnel.

It was time to fight.

Teammates were gathered around the cage. The cameras were rolling, and the whole team was locked in. They just watched, waiting for the first fight of the season to begin.

Music played softly over the speakers, not flashy or dramatic, just enough to signal the start.

The camera panned to the tunnel as the double doors opened wide.

José Alvarez appeared under the lights, his walkout shirt still on, head down, focused.

Behind him walked Damon and the assistant coaches. None of them said anything. There was no need.

José walked steadily, eyes forward. As he reached the center of the walkway, he pulled off the shirt and handed it back without breaking stride.

His body was loose but ready. Shoulders rolled. Hands clenched and unclenched as he got closer to the cage.

Damon gave him one more pat on the back. "Control the pace early. Make him work."

José nodded once, eyes still locked on the cage ahead.

Damon broke off and moved to the coach’s corner, slipping behind the barrier to take his seat. Rafael followed and sat beside him with the clipboard.

At the cage door, one of the officials met José.

He raised his arms and let the staff do their job, pat-down from the ankles to the shoulders, quick check of the gloves, mouthguard, and cup.

The official dipped two fingers in Vaseline and rubbed a light layer across José’s cheekbones, under his eyes, and over his eyebrows.

José didn’t blink. He stared through the cage.

The door swung open. He stepped in.