Ronan stood in front of everyone, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning both teams.
They were all there, coaches, fighters, and caras ready.
The fighters sat on benches lined against the wall, grouped by team, their posture straight, attention focused.
So leaned forward, arms resting on their knees. Others sat back and watched closely. The room was quiet but not exactly tense. Everyone knew what was coming.
Ronan nodded once and got straight to it.
"Alright. You all know why we’re here," he said. "It’s ti to pick the first fight."
He let the sentence settle.
"This is how it works. Each coach will choose one of their own fighters. One pick. Once both nas are called, that’s the matchup. That fight will happen soon. You don’t get a rematch. You don’t get to switch after. You step into the cage, and you show why you’re here."
He looked to the side toward the middleweights.
"This first fight will be in the middleweight division. That ans only the middleweights from both teams are eligible today. Coaches, choose wisely."
He gave a small nod, then stepped back.
"All yours."
Everyone turned toward the coaches.
Damon was up first.
Damon stepped forward and looked across the room, eyes locked on the fighters.
"José Alvarez."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
José took a slow breath and stood up from the bench. He didn’t rush or overplay the mont.
He walked calmly to the front, stepped beside Damon, and stood tall. His expression didn’t change, steady, focused, locked in.
He kept his arms loose at his sides, eyes forward, waiting.
Everyone turned to Ivan.
Ivan stepped forward a few seconds later, hands behind his back. He took his ti, looking across his own middleweights, eyes moving from Arman to Chase, then finally landing on one.
"Dorian Vega."
Dorian stood up from the bench and rolled his shoulders once. He looked like he was in his early thirties, rugged, broad build, short hair with a thin scar over his left brow. He nodded to Ivan without a word and walked up to the front.
He stopped beside his coach, then stepped forward, squaring up opposite José.
Ronan stepped back in between them.
"Alright. First fight of the season, José Alvarez vs. Dorian Vega."
He turned slightly and motioned between them.
"Face off."
Both n took a few steps forward, standing eye to eye now. José stood tall, calm, his jaw set and hands behind his back.
Dorian kept a slight smirk, but didn’t say anything. He stared José down, shoulders squared, arms relaxed.
They didn’t shake hands. They didn’t need to.
It was just a quiet mont between two professionals.
Ronan waited a few seconds, then stepped between them and gave a nod.
"That’s it. You two fight soon. Be ready."
The tension had arrived. The first fight was locked in.
Damon looked at Dorian Vega as the fighters stepped back to their teams.
He didn’t miss anything about the choice.
Ivan hadn’t picked based on matchups. Neither had he. There was no deep strategy here, no calculated setup.
This was the first fight. All they had were qualifier clips and one day of light training.
That wasn’t enough to truly know who matched up well with who. They were guessing. Testing instincts.
And in doing so, one of them might’ve just sent ho a strong fighter too early.
Damon accepted that. It was the reality of the format. No tournant seeding. No protection. One fight, and you’re either staying or you’re out.
He didn’t believe in sheltering talent anyway.
If a fighter couldn’t adjust, they weren’t ready.
Dorian was aggressive, that much was clear. Damon had picked José not because of a perfect matchup, but because of how he carried himself, how composed he stayed during sparring, how little energy he wasted, how clear his decisions were. That kind of control mattered.
But control only worked if you could make adjustnts.
Damon believed in the phrase styles make fights, but he believed sothing else more, that good fighters evolve.
You don’t get to dominate every matchup. Sotis you face a guy who walks through your best shots. Sotis you’re the smaller man.
Sotis your timing is off, or your range is wrong, or you’re up against soone who breaks rhythm on purpose.
In those monts, you either adapt or you lose.
That’s what he wanted his team to understand.
José was up first. The tone would be set through him.
Now, it was ti to prepare.
And of course, Damon wasn’t going to pretend otherwise, he picked José for a reason.
He didn’t flip a coin or throw a na out for balance. José had real striking talent. Not just good hands, but a full understanding of distance, timing, and pressure.
His pedigree was clear. Damon saw the experience in how he moved, how he reacted, and how he stayed composed when sparring partners tried to push the pace.
That mattered.
He hadn’t seen anything spectacular from Dorian Vega.
The man was strong, aggressive, and clearly tough, but nothing in his style jumped off the footage. Damon expected José to win. And not by luck or split decision, by execution.
Still, this wasn’t a walkthrough.
The mont the matchup was made, the clock started ticking. They had a few days. No more.
After that, the show moved on. The next fight would be picked, the caras would shift, and soone would be packing their bags.
So now it was ti to prepare.
Damon would spend the night going over every second of footage they had on Dorian Vega. Every qualifier clip. Every training segnt.
Anything that showed his tendencies, how he entered, how he reacted when pressed, and whether he gassed when pushed late.
Then they’d train.
He wasn’t going to overload José with dozens of instructions. That never worked.
Instead, he’d pick two or three key things and drill them until they were sharp. Pressure counters, exit angles, and cage control. That would be the focus.
First win or first loss, it would co down to who made better use of the ti.
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