Stephen looked at the lined-up fighters, then turned his gaze toward the coaches. "Now that we have the coaches, Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier, welco," he greeted them with a nod of respect.
Both coaches gave a slight nod in return, their expressions calm.
He then shifted his attention back to the fighters. "With the coaches here, we move on to team selection. Here's how it will work: both coaches will take turns to select a fighter."
The fighters exchanged glances, so shifting nervously on their feet, others adjusting their stance, trying to appear calm.
Damon glanced down the line, seeing a few fighters with tense shoulders and clenched fists.
"Also," Stephen continued, "the coaches have been watching your matches closely, so your performance will have an impact on their decisions."
Damon stood still, his arms loose at his sides, his chest rising and falling steadily.
That didn't scare him. His match had gone well, and he had knocked out his opponent with a clean high kick.
He glanced over at the coaches, watching their eyes scan the line of fighters.
He shifted his weight slightly, glancing at Kevin out of the corner of his eye.
Kevin was bouncing on his feet, trying to stay loose, but Damon could see the tightness in his friend's face.
Damon smirked to himself. He knew Kevin was anxious, but he had no doubts about his own standing.
Damon's gaze drifted back to the coaches. Honestly, he didn't mind which team he ended up on.
Balim and Donald were both beasts in their own right, fighters with a wealth of experience.
Either way, he was going to learn from the best.
Stephen glanced at the coaches again, giving them a small nod. "Let's begin."
Balim and Donald exchanged glances as if silently deciding who would get the first pick.
Balim shrugged and nodded, looking sowhat disinterested. "You go first," he said, his voice calm, almost bored.
Donald nodded back, accepting the offer. "Sure," he replied. A staff mber handed him a sheet of paper with the nas of the remaining fighters and details of their victories.
He scanned the list quickly, his eyes locking onto a na. Without hesitation, he spoke. "I'll take Damon Cross."
Damon blinked in surprise. While he expected to be picked early, he hadn't anticipated being the first choice.
He glanced around at the other fighters, many of whom were as surprised as he was.
Kofi, with his dominating performance, had seed like the more obvious choice for first pick.
Still, Damon didn't waste ti. He stepped forward, the sound of the other fighters clapping filling the room.
His steps were confident as he moved toward Donald, standing behind his new coach.
He extended his hand, nodding respectfully. "Hello, coach."
Donald returned the nod, his expression calm. "Good to have you, Damon."
Balim glanced at the remaining fighters, not even bothering to look at the list.
He pointed toward Kofi, his expression relaxed yet confident. "I take him, what's the na... Kofi," he said, his voice carrying the sa casual, direct tone he was known for.
The fighters clapped for Kofi as he nodded and walked over to Balim.
It wasn't just a random pick.
Balim had noticed Kofi's wrestling background on his folder when he read at the back and knew he would be a strong addition to his team.
Kofi stood next to Balim, who gave him a quick nod, satisfied with his choice. "Good, we ssh together," Balim added, the hint of a grin on his face.
Everyone chuckled briefly at Balim's comnt, but the mont passed quickly as attention shifted back to the selection.
Donald looked around, taking his ti before making his next pick. "I'll take Ivan Novak," he said with a nod, his tone calm but decisive.
A guy with a clean-shaven face and short hair, Ivan had a rough, hardened look about him.
Without hesitation, he made his way over to Donald's side, his steps steady and purposeful.
Donald gave him a nod of acknowledgnt, and Ivan took his place among the growing team.
Stephen looked at everyone, raising his voice to get their attention. "Now that everyone is in place, your coaches will have a talk with all of you. Afterward, you'll head to the House."
The fighters all nodded, understanding what was next.
They were then led into separate rooms, Team Whittier to one room, and Team Chemasov to another.
The two teams were now officially divided, ready to hear from their coaches, and prepare for the challenges ahead.
In the room, Team Chemasov stood in a line, all eyes on Balim.
He paced in front of them, his intense gaze sweeping over each fighter. His presence was commanding, the room felt still under his control.
Balim stopped, crossing his arms as he faced the group. "Listen, guys," he started, his accent thick, his tone sharp, just like Khamzat. "We ssh. You understand? I don't care how you fought before, what matters is now. You are with , we train hard, we work hard, we beco champion.
No excuses."
He looked directly at Kevin, then Kofi, before scanning the rest. "You want to win? You fight. You train like animals. No soft training, no playing around. We fight hard every day.
You tired? Too bad. We ssh tired."
He pointed at the group, his voice growing more intense. "I don't care who stands in front of you, you break them. Every fighter, sa, doesn't matter who. You train with , you fight with heart, you fight with mind. We beco best team, or you go ho."
The room stayed silent, but the energy was undeniable. Balim stepped back, giving one last nod. "We ssh. Now, get ready."
Everyone seed pumped after Balim's speech.
The idea of hard work and relentless fighting excited them, and they nodded with determination.
But a few fighters stood at the back, visibly shaken. Balim's intense words had clearly hit them differently.
They understood the pressure now, this wasn't going to be an easy ride.
The expectations were high, and the reality of training with soone as relentless as Balim began to sink in.
Still, no one said a word. They knew what was ahead, and whether excited or nervous, they were ready to prove themselves if they wanted that contract
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