The two fighters returned to their corners, breathing hard but refusing to show weakness.

Both had taken shots, both had landed clean, and the pace of the fight was already heavier than most lightweights could handle.

Damon stayed still, arms folded, watching. He let the assistant coaches lean in and give instructions, towels pressed against shoulders, voices sharp with urgency. His role wasn't to yell,his role was to see. To study.

And what he saw was dangerous.

Ayo carried a kind of power that didn't belong in his weight class.

Every hook cracked like it came from a man two divisions above, and when his right hand missed, the air still shifted.

Damon noticed how his opponent, Ronny, had felt that power too.

Ronny was sharper now, twitchier, relying more on timing and angles, just as he always did when he respected someone's hands.

Damon narrowed his eyes. Ayo's footwork was rough, sometimes heavy, but he didn't need perfection.

His sheer explosiveness carried him into range faster than expected, and when he threw, it wasn't a punch to score, it was a punch to finish.

"Monster power in a lightweight's frame," Damon thought, expression unreadable.

The ten-second clapper snapped the arena back to life. Both corners scrambled to leave, the referee moving in.

Damon didn't shout, didn't clap, didn't call. He simply kept his eyes on Ayo, breaking down every inch of the fighter's style.

Because for Damon, this wasn't just a fight to watch. It was a study of something raw, something unpolished but terrifying.

And he knew, if Ayo ever learned to sharpen his tools, there weren't many lightweights alive who could survive that storm.

The horn sounded. The second round was about to begin.

The second round began with both men standing tall, their eyes locked with that same dangerous intensity.

Ronny flicked his lead hand, testing the distance, his movements sharp and calculated.

Ayo didn't bite, just stood there with his shoulders loose and his chin tucked, waiting for the opening.

Ronny darted in, snapping a stiff jab to the body, then pulled back quick.

Ayo shifted with him, cutting off the cage with calm, heavy steps.

When Ronny circled right, Ayo's left hook whipped out, grazing his guard but carrying enough weight to make Ronny step back with his hands up.

Ronny smirked, shaking his head as if to say it didn't hurt, but his body language told a different story.

He darted in again, this time snapping a one-two, but Ayo rolled under and countered with a thunderous right uppercut.

It didn't land flush, just clipped Ronny's jaw, but the sound of it cracked across the arena. The crowd gasped, half of them rising to their feet.

Ronny stumbled a step back, reset, and instantly fired back with a spinning back kick that slammed into Ayo's ribs.

Ayo absorbed it with a grunt, barely flinching. Instead of retreating, he stepped forward, unloading a straight left that grazed Ronny's temple and forced him toward the fence.

The pace was shifting.

Ronny bounced on his toes, flicking his jab high, trying to create space, but Ayo read it, slipping low and firing a shovel hook to the body.

The thud echoed. Ronny's elbow dropped instinctively, leaving his head open, and Ayo swung a looping right.

It glanced off Ronny's cheek, sending sweat spraying into the lights.

Ronny laughed, but it was that kind of laugh fighters used when they knew they'd just been caught. He waved Ayo in, daring him.

Ayo didn't rush. He feinted high, then dug another body shot.

Ronny staggered back, trying to regain space, but his feet betrayed him, he overstepped, gave up his angle, and Ayo closed the gap.

The Nigerian fired a massive right hand that barely missed as Ronny ducked under and spun away.

In the chaos, Ronny launched a counter left that cracked Ayo on the chin, forcing him to take a step back for the first time.

Momentum was swinging like a pendulum.

Damon's eyes narrowed from the corner. He could see it.

Ayo's raw power was frightening, but his defense had holes. Every time he committed, he left himself wide open.

Ronny was starting to see the patterns too, touching him with shots just enough to keep him honest.

Ronny pushed forward now, hands low, chin slightly lifted, taunting.

He flicked his front kick to the body, then used it to set up a darting left hand. It smacked Ayo clean, snapping his head back.

Ayo's response was grin. He planted his feet, took the shot, and fired a monstrous overhand right that Ronny barely avoided, the glove brushing past his ear.

If it landed, the fight would've been over right there.

The pace had slowed for just a moment, but the danger hadn't. Every movement carried risk. Every strike had the potential to end the night.

And they weren't even halfway through the round.

Ronny circled to his left, gloves loose, his chin tilted high in that familiar swagger. Ayo tracked him with small steps, his shoulders rolling, ready to explode at any second.

Ronny snapped a jab, then doubled it, sharp and quick. The first landed on the guard, the second skimmed Ayo's forehead.

Ayo answered immediately with a short right hook. Ronny slipped it, stepped back, then lunged in with a straight left that landed flush on the nose.

Ayo didn't back up. He grunted, reset his feet, and came forward with a heavy right hand.

It whistled past Ronny's head and crashed into the fence as Ronny slid out on the angle. Sweat and spit flew from both men as they turned again to the center.

Ronny used his kicks now. A low calf kick cracked against Ayo's lead leg, then another, turning his shin red.

Ayo flinched for the first time, lifting his leg to check, but Ronny used that moment to dart in with a left cross that smacked clean.

Ayo's response was immediate. He launched a right uppercut that grazed the chest, then followed with a left hook that clipped Ronny on the cheek.

Ronny stumbled, his balance broken, and Ayo smelled blood.