MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat - Chapter 802

Chapter 802: Chapter 802: The Finalist

The referee waved off the fight, his arms crossed. José Alvarez backed away, breathing heavy, sweat pouring down his face as he raised his gloves in victory.

Theo Brunner sat slumped against the fence, his corner rushing in to check on him, holding a towel to his brow while a medic crouched beside him.

His chest rose and fell hard, the fight still written across his body, but his eyes were clear enough to show he was still present.

The referee called José to the center. He gestured for Theo too, and with some help from his corner, Theo got to his feet.

His jaw was swollen, his eyes glassy, but he still walked forward, stubborn pride refusing to let him stay down.

Both fighters stood in the middle, wrists caught by the ref’s grip. Sweat dripped onto the canvas between them.

The announcer stepped up behind them, microphone in hand, his voice cutting sharp through the quiet arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen, referee has called a stop to this contest, at three minutes and forty-one seconds of the very first round… declaring the winner by knockout… and advancing to the finals of the middleweight tournament…”

He turned slightly, gesturing.

“José Alvarez!”

The ref hoisted José’s wrist into the air. The Brazilian threw his other fist up high, chest heaving as he roared into the lights. His face cracked into a grin, every ounce of pride spilling out.

Theo dropped his gaze, nodding once before patting José’s shoulder as a final show of respect. Then he turned back to his corner, the medics already reaching for him.

José stayed in the center, fists raised, shouting in Portuguese as his corner rushed in to hug him. The emotion was clear, he had earned his spot in the final.

From the side of the cage, Damon leaned forward, eyes fixed on José. A clean knockout, calculated and sharp.

Against Chase Dunham, this was going to be a striking battle worthy of the finals.

With the semifinals wrapped up, Damon could finally step back and call his job as a coach done. What was left now wasn’t drilling or adjusting, it was waiting.

The bracket had delivered two incredible matchups.

On the lightweight side, Max Taylor vs. Ronny McGregor.

Both men were his own fighters, trained under his roof, each carrying a stubborn, aggressive style that guaranteed a violent clash.

Damon expected a striking war. Neither of them knew how to quit, and when they met in the cage, it would be grit against grit until someone broke.

On the middleweight side, the final was José Alvarez vs. Chase Dunham.

This was the one Damon had circled in his mind. Both were sharp strikers, but Chase had shown flashes of grappling to mix it up.

José, though, was a pure technician on the feet, measured, calm, and with knockout power when it mattered.

Damon wanted him to close it off, to make a statement, and put an end to Chase’s theatrics once and for all.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, thinking it through.

The lightweight final was already his. No matter who won, Damon’s side would hold the honor title and secure the UFA contract. That was proof of dominance in itself.

But middleweight was the real battle. If José pulled it off, Damon’s team would sweep both divisions.

And then there was Ivan.

With finals set, Damon would enter his own camp, preparing for the main event against him.

His champion belt was on the line, but more than that, it was pride. Ivan had been a thorn in his side since the beginning of the show.

Winning the lightweight, winning the middleweight, and then burying Ivan under the weight of his own defeat, that was Damon’s vision.

Total domination.

He smirked at the thought. The finals would settle the fighters’ stories.After that, it would be time for his.

The fighters sat scattered across the mats, their bodies still carrying the marks of battle but their energy lighter now. Damon stood in front of them, arms crossed, his expression softer than usual.

“Alright, guys. We’ve done it,” he said, his voice steady. “You took the stage, you shined. This might be the last time we’re all here together before the live event, so I want to thank you. Coaching isn’t easy, hell, most days it feels like work that never ends. But you three? You made it worth it. You listened, you pushed yourselves, and you made my job easier than it should’ve been.”

He paused, scanning their faces. Ronny leaned back against the wall, arms draped over his knees, Max sat forward with his elbows on his thighs, and José rested quietly, chin tilted, watching Damon closely.

“I know not everyone’s going to walk away with the win,” Damon continued. “But at this stage? We already proved we belong here. That’s what matters. So… thank you, man. All of you.”

The room was quiet for a moment until Max broke it with a smirk.

“What, trying to make us cry, coach? No way.”

Damon barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, I’ll leave that to you after the finals.”

The tension eased, the fighters chuckling. For once, it didn’t feel like Damon was their coach barking orders. It felt like he was one of them, talking fighter to fighter.

“You’ve earned it,” he said finally. “No matter what happens next, remember that. You earned it.”

Max tapped Ronny’s shoulder, José gave a small nod of agreement, and for the first time since the tournament began, it felt less like a team divided by brackets and more like brothers sharing the same fire.

Damon leaned back against the cage wall, arms folded, watching the three fighters as they laughed and joked among themselves.

Max was still teasing about his “speech,” Ronny had that cocky grin like he already knew what he was about to do in the finals, and José sat quiet but sharp-eyed, the kind of silence that spoke more than words.

For a moment, Damon just let it sink in. Weeks of pressure, endless training sessions, late nights, early mornings, all of it had led to this. His job was basically done. They were ready.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he felt it. As much as he wanted to leave, he might actually miss this.

Not the cameras, not the chaos of running a team in this environment, but the process.

The grind. Watching young fighters come in, raw and hungry, then leave sharper, more dangerous, carrying the lessons forward.

Still, he knew it was time. Time to go back, train himself, and step into his own fight camp.

Time to be with his family, with Svetlana and Ava. This had been a long journey, but real life was waiting outside these walls.

Damon pushed off the cage and clapped his hands once. “Alright, that’s it for tonight. Get your rest. Finals are next. You’ve all done your part, now finish strong.”

The three fighters nodded, heading toward the locker room. Damon lingered behind, the gym suddenly quiet. He exhaled slowly, wiping his face with his palm.

Back to reality.