CHAPTER 759: CHAPTER 759: COUNTDOWN TO THE NEXT MOVE

The team board was thinning out.

Damon leaned back in his chair, looking over the profiles of who was left. Only four fights remained, and he was done playing reactive. The moment called for precision.

Lightweight: Ronny McGregor (Ireland)

Middleweight: Elias Murad (Lebanon)

His choices were locked. Both men were sharp, healthy, and mentally dialed in.

Ronny had been itching to represent his country and hadn’t stopped asking when his time would come. Elias was calm, cold, and methodical, exactly what this stage required.

Now came the question of who Ivan would send.

Only three middleweights had entered the cage from Ivan’s camp.

Chase Dunham had already fought, and won.

That left Thami Zulu, the silent striker from South Africa, and Arman Petrov, the Russian powerhouse.

Petrov was explosive, dangerous in the first two minutes. Zulu was unpredictable, with a striking style rooted in kickboxing and range management.

For lightweights, Ivan had two bullets left in the chamber.

Ryan Coleman, the gritty American wrestler, and Leo Varga, the Hungarian with dangerous low kicks and awkward timing.

Damon didn’t know who Ivan would pick, but he knew who he wanted them to pick.

Ronny could break Varga’s rhythm, and Elias had the control to neutralize Petrov’s power.

But he also knew Ivan was no fool.

He’d likely send Ryan in to wrestle Ronny down and test his get-ups. And if he was feeling bold, throw Zulu at Elias and let the hometown pressure do the rest.

Either way, Damon was ready. His fighters were ready.

And if Ivan thought one upset win had shifted the tide, he was about to be reminded who they were dealing with.

Team Cross wasn’t done. Not even close.

They all gathered in the gym. Just like every other time, the air shifted when both teams were lined up on opposite sides. Coaches at the front. Fighters behind them.

Ivan stood with his arms crossed, chin up. Damon didn’t say much. He kept his eyes on the mat and waited for Ronan to begin.

The camera crew got into position. A few production staff gave the all-clear. Then Ronan stepped forward.

"Alright gentlemen, we’re down to the final four fights," he said, voice sharp. "Damon, since your team had the most recent win before the last fight, you’ll be picking the first matchup. Lightweights are up."

Damon nodded once.

"I’m sending in Ronny McGregor," he said, glancing back.

Ronny took one step forward. Calm face. Gloves on. No smile. Just locked in.

Ronan turned to Ivan. "And his opponent?"

Ivan barely took a second.

"Ryan Coleman," he said flatly.

Ryan stepped forward, cracking his neck once as he moved. He didn’t look at Ronny. Ronny looked straight at him.

"Alright. That’s settled," Ronan said. "Next, middleweight."

Now it was Ivan’s turn to make the first move.

"Thami Zulu," Ivan said, and there was a slight shift on the Damon side. Everyone expected it.

Zulu stepped forward, still silent as usual. Hands behind his back. He looked more relaxed than the others.

Damon gave his reply without hesitation.

"Elias Murad."

Elias stepped forward without a word. Focused. Balanced posture, chin slightly tucked.

The four fighters stood shoulder to shoulder now. Two on each side.

Ronan gave a short nod.

"These fights go down at the end of this week. Ronny vs. Ryan. Elias vs. Zulu. Good luck to both sides."

As the host walked off, the camera crew stayed locked in for any tension.

There wasn’t any drama, but the looks said enough. Ryan and Ronny held eye contact a bit longer than normal. Zulu gave one look to Elias, then walked off. Elias didn’t flinch.

Once the picks were done, both teams separated. Damon brought his side back toward their half of the house. Ivan did the same.

In the hallway, Ronny leaned over to Max and whispered, "He’s gonna shoot first thing. I’m telling you."

Max smirked. "Then break his ribs with a knee."

Damon waited until they were all inside the team room before speaking.

"Ronny, Elias, you know what’s next," he said. "The rest of you, lock in. No loose talk, no drama. We’ve got four fights left. Let’s finish strong."

No one responded. They didn’t need to. The focus was back.

Ronny cracked his knuckles as he took a seat on the bench. Elias remained standing, arms folded, eyes already narrowing as he ran through mental reps.

Damon gave them space. He didn’t need to over-coach. They had the tools.

.

.

.

Training resumed the moment they got back from the announcement. He didn’t waste time.

Everyone had tasks, conditioning drills, film study, pad rounds, even partner-specific sparring. But his full attention stayed locked on two people, Ronny and Elias.

He had one day. Just one to get them mentally and physically dialed in.

Ronny’s game plan was clear. Ryan Coleman was a wrestler. A grinder. The kind of fighter who would push a slow pace, shoot early, and drag the fight into deep water. Damon needed Ronny ready to sprawl, strike, and punish.

They worked short, violent bursts on the pads. Sprawl, uppercut, knee. Frame, pivot, dig to the liver. Footwork drills between each set, just to make sure Ronny never stayed planted too long.

"Every time he breathes heavy, punish him," Damon said, as Ronny moved. "Wrestlers stall when they get tired. Don’t let him hide. Don’t give him room."

Ronny kept nodding, breathing through his nose. Calm, but sharp. The Irishman didn’t talk much during camp, but Damon liked that. It meant he was focused.

On the other side of the mat, Elias was working in tight circles with a Muay Thai coach Damon brought in for the day. Zulu was a range striker.

South African style, long kicks, patient movement, then sudden violence. Elias had to keep the fight inside the pocket. Elbows, clinch, body work.

Damon eventually joined him, bumping gloves and sliding into pad work.

"Your job isn’t to chase," Damon said. "It’s to corner him. Step left, step in. He wants space, cut it. No spinning shitb or any lunges. Elbows, knees, short hooks. Stay tight."

Elias nodded once, rolled under a hook, and came back with a slick right elbow that cracked clean on the pad.

"That’s it. Touch him until he breaks."

Between drills, Damon kept both men moving. There were no long speeches. hard reps, clean advice, and sharp corrections.

Around them, the rest of the team trained too, but they stayed out of the way. They knew how Damon got before a fight. Intense, focused, fully locked in.

By evening, sweat had soaked through Ronny’s shirt. Elias’s hands were wrapped again after burning through the first set.