Damon looked at Ronan. "What's the issue?"
Before Ronan could speak, the man with glasses stepped forward. He looked neat, serious, holding a tablet in one hand.
"I'm Dr. Lang," he said. "Tournant physician."
He didn't waste ti. "Earlier today, Leo Varga reported pain in his right knee. After a full examination and scans, we confird an MCL tear. It's not a full rupture, but it's enough to rule him out of competition. He won't be able to fight."
Damon stayed quiet, letting that settle. He glanced toward Ivan, who sat with his arms crossed, jaw tight.
Ronan leaned forward then, fingers tapped lightly on the desk.
"That ans we're down one lightweight," he said. "Leo was scheduled to fight Ayo Fasusi this week. With him injured, that matchup is off."
Damon frowned. "So what happens now?"
"We're looking into possible replacents," Ronan said. "If we find soone from the standby pool who's dically cleared, we'll slot them in. But that's not guaranteed."
"If not?" Damon asked.
"Then Ivan's team forfeits the match," Ronan answered. "Ayo moves to the semifinals automatically."
Damon sat back, exhaling once through his nose. It wasn't how he wanted it. He was sure Ayo didn't either.
"And Leo?" Damon asked.
"Pulled from the house today," the doctor said. "He'll recover back ho. We're arranging transport."
Ivan finally spoke, calm but short. "I told Leo to get checked the second he felt sothing off. He pushed too far."
Ronan nodded. "It happens. It's part of the ga."
There was a silence.
Damon folded his arms. "Let know if a replacent cos through. But if not, I'll prepare Ayo to stay sharp for whoever cos next."
Ronan gave a small nod. "That's all we needed to tell you."
Damon turned toward the door. "Alright. Hope Leo gets right."
He walked out without saying more, already adjusting the week's plan in his head. One fight was gone. The bracket had shifted.
As Damon stepped out of the office, he adjusted the strap on his training bag and took a breath.
The hallway was quiet, the sound of pads hitting in the gym faint in the distance.
Ivan ca out right after him.
They hadn't interacted much since the season began. Not directly.
They spoke in etings, stood near each other during events, but kept their distance. Damon always thought it was strange.
On other seasons, coaches argued, even brawled. So made shows of it. But here, things stayed cold and quiet.
Ivan stepped beside him and gave a small smile.
"Great job out there," he said.
Damon raised an eyebrow, not expecting that. He paused, then shook Ivan's hand.
"You too, man," Damon said. "I'm looking forward to our fighters clashing. Hopefully it's a real war."
Ivan nodded. "I think it will be."
Damon glanced at him again. "Also... your English. It's gotten really good."
Ivan chuckled, the sound low and brief. "Thank you. I've been working on it."
He used to have a much heavier accent. The kind that made you listen twice to catch the aning.
Now, his words were clear, paced, and confident. You could still tell English wasn't his first language, but barely. Most people wouldn't notice.
Damon gave a small nod. "You could fool half the crowd now."
Ivan smiled again. "I still ss up sotis. But not as much."
Damon grinned slightly. "Yeah, well... you've improved. Just don't start beating at smack talk. That's where I draw the line."
Ivan laughed once. "I'll leave that to you."
They walked down the hall in silence for a mont, then parted ways, each heading back to their teams, to training, to war prep.
The semifinals were coming. And now, it felt real.
Damon left the hallway and made his way back to the gym, his steps steady but his mind already thinking through how to approach it.
He didn't plan to make a big announcent in front of everyone. The only person this really affected was Ayo.
The other fight between Theo and Arman was still on, so nothing needed to change there.
As he pushed the gym door open, the sound of pads, grunts, and sneakers on the mat returned.
Most of the fighters were drilling in pairs. Ayo was off to the side, shadowboxing near the cage with headphones in.
Damon walked over and gave a short wave. Ayo noticed him, pulled his headphones off, and raised his eyebrows.
"Coach?"
Damon crossed his arms. "We need to talk real quick."
Ayo wiped his face with a towel, then followed Damon a few steps away from the others.
"Sothing happen?"
"Yeah," Damon said. "Leo's out."
Ayo blinked. "Injured?"
"Yeah. Docs confird it this morning. Team Ivan doesn't have a backup lightweight, so... unless sothing changes in the next day, the fight's off."
Ayo's mouth tightened, and he nodded slowly. "So...?"
"You move on to the semifinals."
Ayo exhaled, but it wasn't relief. He shook his head slightly. "That's not how I wanted it."
"I know," Damon said. "But that's how it goes sotis. Not every win's in the cage."
Ayo stayed quiet, then gave a small nod. "So what now?"
"Now we shift. This camp was built around Leo, so we adjust. Your next opponent'll be tougher. Different style, different problems."
Ayo didn't argue. He just nodded again.
Damon clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Still need you sharp. Still need you improving. This isn't a break."
"Got it," Ayo said.
Damon looked around the room, then back at him. "Take a few minutes, then co find . We'll start rewiring the plan."
Ayo slid his headphones back on, not starting his shadowboxing again yet, just standing there, thinking.
Damon walked off, heading back toward the coaches' corner. One fight had just been decided off-paper. But the real battles were still ahead.
Damon moved back across the gym, his focus shifting from Ayo to the next task, Theo's prep.
Theo was by the wall, adjusting his shin pads, sweat clinging to his arms. Damon walked straight to him.
"Alright," he said. "Back to it."
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