It didn't take long for fight day to arrive.

The final bout of the first round. The fighters, the staff, and a few cameras watching quietly from the corners of the gym.

Everyone knew what this fight meant. One more win and the middleweight semifinals would be locked in.

And for Damon, it was his last shot to even the playing field. If Theo lost, Ivan would take control of the division.

Inside the prep room, Damon paced slowly, hands on his hips as he spoke through the plan again.

Theo Brunner stood with a towel draped over his shoulders, gloves already on, mouthguard tucked behind his ear. He wasn't nervous, but his mind was racing.

Petrov wasn't just strong, he was suffocating. The kind of grappler who didn't leave room for mistakes.

Damon stopped in front of him and crouched slightly, tapping his chest with two fingers.

"Listen," he said. "This guy isn't flashy. He's not gonna spin, jump, or surprise you. He wants to grab you and grind you down. Cage, mat, fence, whatever. He needs control."

Theo nodded once.

"That means we don't give it to him. You circle, you jab, and if he shoots, sprawl early, stuff it with hips. You don't stand tall, you don't wait for contact. You reset every time."

"Right."

"And if he gets the clinch, we go back to what we drilled. No panic. Head position, inside frame, underhooks. You don't need to throw him, you just don't let him settle."

Theo bounced on his toes a few times, then rolled his neck out.

Damon stood up again. "And when you get the chance, don't wait. You've got power. If he leans on you, you punish him."

Theo exhaled through his nose, focused.

"I'm not losing this one," he said.

Damon gave him a nod. "Good. Then walk in there like it."

Behind them, the gym was being prepped. Ivan was already in the other corner, standing near Petrov, who shadowboxed with tight, efficient movements.

He didn't waste energy moving too much he just took sharp steps and short strikes. He didn't look around. Didn't speak. Just focused on the cage.

Ronan Black stood near the officials, arms crossed. He gave both corners a quick glance but didn't say a word.

The cameras started rolling.

Fight day had begun. And the last door to the semifinals was about to open.

Theo Brunner stepped into the cage and locked eyes with Arman Petrov.

There was no emotion on the Russian's face. Just stillness, like he had already run the fight a hundred times in his head and knew exactly how it would go.

Theo held the stare for a moment before turning away to jog the perimeter. His arms felt light, but there was a tightness in his chest he hadn't expected.

He'd been in fights before. Hard ones. But this felt different.

Not because of Petrov. Because of what Petrov represented.

In the last few years, even with all of Damon Cross's rise, Russian fighters still held a chokehold on many divisions.

They weren't always champions, but they were feared. They were expected to be dominant. Even unknown names drew respect. Or caution.

Sometimes, a Russian didn't need hype or wins, just the flag next to his name was enough to raise eyebrows.

Analysts would say he's got that Russian style, and that was that. The fear was built in.

And that weight sat on Theo's shoulders now.

He hadn't admitted it out loud, but he'd felt it when the bracket dropped. When they saw Petrov's name. It lingered in the corners of his thoughts. That quiet doubt.

What if he's one of those guys? One of the real ones?

But now, inside the cage, Theo reminded himself why he was here.

He wasn't handpicked. He fought to get here. Trained every day. Earned his spot.

So no matter what Petrov brought, Theo had to believe he could handle it.

Because if he didn't, if he didn't trust in his own preparation, then stepping into the cage was pointless.

Damon stood outside the cage wall, arms crossed, watching closely. He didn't shout. He didn't need to. Theo knew what to do.

The ref called them forward.

Petrov stepped up without hesitation, his hands loose, his jaw set.

Theo followed, keeping his breath even, forcing his nerves down.

The ref gave final instructions. Both men nodded.

Then the bell rang.

And the last middleweight quarterfinal began.

Theo took his stance, left foot forward, hands up, chin tucked.

He didn't rush in.

This wasn't a brawl, and he knew better than to chase a Russian wrestler into his rhythm. He had to be patient. Smart. Let the fight show itself.

Petrov mirrored the stance. He didn't move much. Just enough. His feet stayed planted, but his eyes scanned. Calm. Calculating. Like he was waiting for Theo to flinch.

Theo didn't give him one.

Instead, he focused on the details.

The way Petrov shifted weight ever so slightly to his lead foot. The way his shoulders leaned forward, ready to explode. The way he kept his hands low, not cocky, just efficient.

Theo watched the body language, but he watched the eyes more.

They flickered once toward his leg. Low kick bait. He didn't bite.

A few seconds passed. Still no strike.

Just faint foot movement. Just breath.

Theo exhaled slowly, resetting his stance. He gave a half feint, just a hip twitch, and saw Petrov's head pull back slightly. Not much, but enough to register.

He reacts fast. Tight defense. Not easily drawn out.

Theo knew that type. Measured. Slow starter. Built to read first, then dominate.

He kept circling, staying just outside range, but close enough to tempt a reaction.

Petrov took a small step in.

Theo adjusted.

And just like that, Petrov jabbed.

Sharp. Snappy. Not hard, but fast.

Theo blocked it, but felt the speed.

Then came the second one, a jab that turned into a level change.

Theo sprawled fast, dropping his hips and stuffing the attempt, but Petrov didn't fully commit. He popped right back up, already resetting the distance.

It was a read.

'He's not going to shoot blind. He wants to see how I react first.'

Theo stayed composed. He didn't follow. He didn't swing wild.

He just stood tall again and reset.

Damon, outside the cage, gave a subtle nod.

The first minute passed.

No major strikes.

No big exchanges.

But the fight had started. Not physically, but mentally.

Each man was probing, testing, watching.

And Theo, despite the nervesz was still in it.