MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 724: The Calm Before the Storm

The fighters arrived at the house late in the afternoon.

A black UFA van pulled into the driveway, and the doors slid open. One by one, the men stepped out, carrying duffel bags, backpacks, or just wearing fight gear and flip-flops.

Some took a few seconds to take in the building. It was big, bigger than most expected.

A place you’d rent for a film crew or a retreat. It had two floors, plenty of space inside, and enough open layout to keep cameras moving without interruption.

Most of the guys stayed quiet as they entered. A few whistled. Others just looked around and headed toward the nearest couch or kitchen counter.

There was a staircase on the right, an open living room on the left, and a long hallway that led toward the back of the house where the rooms were split up.

The first thing they all noticed was the space. It wasn’t cramped. There wasn’t much tension among the fighters..

At least not yet. Each team had been assigned their side of the house, but there were no locked doors or divided zones.

There was a single kitchen, one shared living area, and the same walkways to the back bedrooms. It meant interaction was unavoidable, even if you kept to your group.

Some of the fighters naturally stuck with their teammates. Ronny and Max walked together, tossing short comments back and forth as they picked beds.

Elias kept mostly to himself, choosing a corner bunk without saying much. Kenji followed close behind but didn’t speak unless someone asked him a direct question.

Others didn’t care much about the teams. José Alvarez greeted nearly everyone with a handshake.

He spoke to fighters on Ivan’s side without hesitation. He wasn’t trying to make friends, but he didn’t see the point in acting cold on the first night.

A few others followed that approach. They talked while setting up their things, walked around the house freely, and treated the first night like a neutral zone.

Dorian Vega was one of the louder ones. He joked around in the kitchen and claimed the biggest room before anyone else could argue.

No one challenged him yet. His attitude didn’t come off aggressive, just bold. Chase Dunham and Thami Zulu were more reserved.

They took their time finding beds and didn’t say much unless approached. Arman Petrov barely spoke at all. He went straight to the back, claimed a bunk, and sat down to stretch his legs.

Despite the variety of personalities, everything stayed respectful. Everyone knew the cameras were rolling, but no one played to them, at least not yet.

It was the first day, and the real stress hadn’t started. They had just met each other, and none of the matchups had been announced.

Still, tension existed. Not in the form of arguments or shoving, but in the silence that came after introductions.

Each man in the house knew that only one of them would leave with a contract. Even if you didn’t say it, you felt it.

Every casual laugh or friendly conversation had a quiet understanding behind it. They were all opponents, just not yet.

In the kitchen, a few lightweights from different teams sat around the island counter.

Someone started boiling pasta. Another tossed a pack of frozen chicken into the sink to thaw. They talked about training, their last fights, and what they thought of the coaches.

Ronny made a quick joke about Ivan being built like a boulder, and it got a few laughs.

José Alvarez leaned back against the fridge, listening more than speaking. He glanced around the room, watching how everyone interacted.

Damon’s team mostly stayed composed. They spoke when needed, asked basic questions about sleep time and food.

Ivan’s team was more spread out. Some unpacked. Others hovered near the hallway.

A few tested out the backyard setup, which had a pool and space to move around, though it wasn’t meant for training.

So far, there were no issues.

But that wouldn’t last.

Everyone knew how this worked. It only took one thing to flip the atmosphere. A stolen meal.

A loud argument over something small. One guy saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Living under the same roof wasn’t just about proximity, it was about pressure. And pressure always showed up, one way or another.

Right now, things were calm. That was normal. Fighters had been through camps before.

They knew how to play it cool when nothing was on the line yet. But this wasn’t an ordinary camp. They weren’t training for separate opponents.

They were living in a house where anyone could be your next fight, where the man you laughed with at dinner could be the same guy trying to elbow your jaw loose by the end of the week.

For now, there was food being cooked, bunks being sorted, and casual talk filling the gaps.

But even as the night rolled in and everyone got comfortable, there was one unspoken truth that lingered in every corner of the house.

Soon, someone would be picked to fight. And that would change everything.

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Damon sat alone. The fighters had been dropped off at the house hours ago.

His coaches had gone to their rooms for the night, but Damon stayed back to review notes and think through what came next.

He had already spoken with the assistant coaches about the general plan.

Tomorrow would be a light technical session, drills, movement, and a little sparring at low intensity to get a feel for everyone in live speed.

But Damon wasn’t just thinking about the session. He was already planning for individual growth.

Ronny McGregor came to mind first. He was already composed, clean in the pocket, and understood how to set traps.

Damon didn’t see the need to change his style. He just needed to sharpen the way Ronny handled pressure and fine-tune how he moved off the cage.

That could be done with focused drilling and pressure-based sparring partners.

Then there was Max Taylor. Damon saw potential there, but Max had a habit of resetting too often during exchanges.

He moved well, but his timing felt like it came from hesitation, not rhythm.

Damon wanted to pair him with someone like Kenji, someone steady and technical, to force Max to commit under fire.

Kaito Mori had good defensive habits. Almost too good. He stayed safe but didn’t take initiative.

Damon noted that he’d need to put Kaito in uncomfortable spots, bad positions in grappling or limited space striking drills, to see how he responded when he wasn’t in control.

Elias Murad had solid top control and a patient approach, but Damon wanted to test his pace.

If Elias could keep his pressure through longer rounds without fading, he’d be dangerous. If not, they’d build that engine fast.

Damon reviewed the rest of the list briefly. He didn’t need every fighter to be perfect.

He just needed each of them to show up ready to work, to be honest about their flaws, and to improve fast.

He closed the folder on the desk, stood up, and headed for the exit.

Training started tomorrow. From that point forward, it would be about progress and performance, nothing else.

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