MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

In the room where Team Whittier gathered, the fighters stood in front of their new coach, Donald Whittier.

His demeanor was calm yet focused, much like how he carried himself in the octagon.

He looked around the room, making eye contact with each fighter before speaking.

"Alright, boys," Donald started, his tone direct but approachable, "First things first, we're here to win. That's the goal. But I want you to know, this isn't just about going hard for the sake of it. We're going to be smart. We're going to train efficiently, with purpose."

He paused, his eyes scanning the room, gauging the reactions of the fighters. "I've seen how each of you fought, and I know there's talent in this room. But there's always room to improve. We're not just going to train your bodies, we're training your minds. In this sport, it's as much mental as it is physical.

You have to stay sharp, make the right decisions under pressure, and most importantly, keep pushing no matter what."

Donald folded his arms, stepping forward slightly. "I'm here to guide you through it. I've been where you are. I know what it takes to fight at the highest level, to grind through the toughest situations. We'll train hard, but we'll train smart. You'll work on everything, technique, strategy, conditioning, so when you step in that cage, you're prepared for anything."

He gave a slight smile, easing some of the tension in the room. "At the end of the day, it's about heart. You give everything you've got, and I'll give you everything I've learned. We're in this together, as a team. Let's make sure we're the last ones standing."

The fighters seemed to relax slightly, appreciating Donald's calm and collected approach.

They could feel his experience and leadership through his words.

Damon stood at the front, smiling and nodding at every word Donald spoke.

As the meeting wrapped up, Donald spoke again. "Alright, that's it for now. You all head to the houses, get to know each other, and settle in. We'll meet here soon to start training. Go on."

The fighters began to file out of the room, ready to head to their new living quarters.

As they stepped out the room, almost simultaneously, the fighters from Balim's team exited their room as well.

For a brief moment, both teams mixed together, forming one large group.

But instinctively, the fighters gravitated toward their respective teammates, naturally separating themselves.

Soon enough, the fighters lined up again, unsure of who or what they were waiting for.

They stood quietlyl. Suddenly, the door swung open, and in walked a man.

A wave of murmurs spread through the group. It was Ronan Black, the CEO of the UFA, and no one had expected to meet him so soon.

The whispers continued, as the fighters exchanged glances.

Ronan strode in confidently, a slight smirk on his face.

His presence alone commanded the room. Without missing a beat, he greeted everyone, "Alright, listen up!"

His voice was sharp, direct, and full of energy. "I know you're all excited, nervous, whatever, but let me tell you something, you're here because you earned it. You didn't get here by luck."

He paused, looking over the fighters, his eyes intense. "This is The Supreme Fighter. This is where you separate the boys from the men,You're in the big leagues now, and if you think you're gonna coast through, you're dead fucking wrong. I don't care how badass you thought you looked in your last fight. You're all starting scratch here."

Ronan continued pacing in front of the fighters. "You think the fans are watching now? Wait until they see what's coming. Every single one of you has a target on your back. These people wanna see who's got what it takes to be the next big thing, and I'm here to tell you, this isn't for the weak. This is where you show the world why you're here."

"You got two of the best fing coaches in the business, but none of that matters if you don't have the balls to step up and prove why you're here. This isn't just about talent, it's about how fucking bad you want this. You gotta eat, sleep, and breathe this shit."

He stopped, pointing to the group. "You're not just fighting for yourself. You're fighting for your future, for a career. You wanna be a superstar? You gotta act like one, train like one, and fight like one."

Ronan then glanced at Damon and a few others. "I don't give a shit if you knocked someone out or barely scraped by, you're all back to fing zero. Next fight could make or break your ass, so you better be ready to bring it. No fucking around. You don't bring it, you're gone. Simple as that."

He clapped his hands together, signaling the end of his speech. "Alright, that's it. Get your heads on straight, get ready to work, and don't waste this shot. You've got a hell of a journey ahead. Let's see who's gonna rise to the top."

As Ronan finished up, he gave one last look at the fighters before turning to the two coaches, signaling them to follow him out.

Without saying a word, Ronan walked, with Balim and Donald by his side.

In the distance, the fighters could hear Balim's voice. "Eyy, Ronan! When do I get my title fight, brother? I smash everyone, give me fight!"

Ronan laughed in response, their conversation fading as they walked away.

The fighters mostly minded their own business, though a few couldn't help but wonder how that conversation would go.

Soon after, they were led to their buses, ready to be taken to the house.

There were two minibuses waiting outside.

Team Whittier made their way to one, while Team Chemasov headed to the other.

The fighters went along in quietly, each lost in their own thoughts.

The separation between the teams now felt real, with each group sticking to their own.