MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat
Chapter 657 - 657: Between Rounds

Damon sat on the stool, breathing evenly, his eyes locked on Victor. Sweat dripped down his face, but his mind was clear. Victor knelt in front of him, calm and focused, his voice steady.

"He's giving you that lead leg," Victor said, his tone measured. "He's heavy on it, and he's not checking those kicks. Keep going after it. Make him feel every shot."

Another coach leaned in, wiping sweat from Damon's forehead. "He's using that lead hand to frame and control distance, but he's leaving it out there too long," he said. "When he plants, he's exposed. Work around it. Keep him guessing."

Victor nodded in agreement. "He's not looking for takedowns. He's waiting for you to come to him, trying to time counters. Don't fall into it. Change your rhythm, give him different looks, mix in the levels. Keep him off-balance."

Damon nodded, listening. He could feel the energy in his muscles, the rhythm in his feet. This was his second light heavyweight fight, and he was in it, really in it. No hesitation, no second-guessing.

Victor leaned closer, his voice low but sharp. "You're faster than him. You're lighter on your feet. Keep using that. Don't stand in front of him. Make him move. Make him work."

Damon breathed out slowly, feeling the weight of the words settle in. He looked up at Victor and gave a small nod, the calm confidence in his eyes clear.

The horn sounded. Damon stood up, bouncing lightly on his toes as he moved back to the center of the cage. He was ready to put the plan in motion.

When they finished cleaning Damon up, he stood and moved forward again, ready to start. He settled into his stance, his footwork light and sharp, watching every movement from Nankalayev.

The commentators adjusted in their seats, their voices steady and clear. "This is where Damon's adjustments really matter," one said. "We've seen him working that lead leg, and it's already paying off, but Nankalayev isn't just going to stand there and let him have it."

Nankalayev showed that right away. When Damon threw his first low kick of the round, Nankalayev was ready, checking it with a quick turn of the shin. Damon didn't force it. He feinted low, then popped Nankalayev with a quick jab that snapped his head back.

"He's not going to abandon the low kicks," the second commentator noted, "but he's smart enough to mix it up when Nankalayev starts timing them."

Damon kept that rhythm, moving in and out. He stayed just out of range when Nankalayev tried to counter, using those short angles Victor had drilled into him.

He slipped a right hand, stepped in close, and buried a left hook to the ribs. Nankalayev covered up, but Damon was gone before he could answer.

Nankalayev didn't look flustered. He kept his eyes locked on Damon, adjusting his stance, his own footwork patient.

He fired a front kick to the body that thumped into Damon's guard, and he started using feints of his own, testing Damon's reactions.

"He's adjusting too," the first commentator said. "Nankalayev's not going to let Damon just eat up that lead leg all night. He's using that front kick now, trying to keep Damon honest."

Damon respected it, keeping his hands high and his head off the center line.

He circled and threw another low kick, but he didn't chase it when Nankalayev checked.

Instead, he flicked out a jab and then went to the body again, keeping Nankalayev guessing.

Nankalayev tried to counter with a hard hook, but Damon's footwork saved him. He was gone, already stepping out and throwing another short kick to the inside of the leg.

"That's good work from Damon," the second commentator said. "He's not falling in love with the same target, and he's not giving Nankalayev a clean shot to counter."

The round was tight. Nankalayev was still strong, still patient. He started to time Damon's movement, looking for moments to plant and fire.

A short right hand caught Damon on the shoulder, and Nankalayev used that to step in close, working a short elbow that scraped along Damon's forehead.

Damon felt it but stayed calm. He pushed Nankalayev back with a jab, then stepped in with a knee to the body that forced the bigger man to cover up again.

When Nankalayev reached to grab a clinch, Damon used his own control, he twisted his hips, using his judo balance to keep himself upright, and then he worked out of it.

The commentators saw it. "That's a champion's calm," the first one said. "Even when he's getting pressured, he's not panicking. He's making small adjustments, staying composed."

Nankalayev didn't let up, though. He threw a left hook that glanced off Damon's glove, then snapped a body kick that landed hard.

Damon answered with a fast jab and then a hook to the body, using those short, tight punches that had always been his signature.

Damon kept his pace, circling and using short bursts of strikes.

He worked the low kicks and the jabs, never giving Nankalayev a clean read. But he knew he needed more to really turn this around.

He saw a moment. Nankalayev stepped in, looking to land a heavy right hand.

Damon dipped under it, moving fast, and fired an uppercut that caught Nankalayev right on the chin. The shot was clean, and the sound of it echoed in the cage.

Nankalayev's eyes went wide as he stumbled back, trying to find his balance. Damon didn't let him recover.

He stepped in with a left hook to the temple, then a short, tight right hand that dropped Nankalayev to his knees.

The crowd exploded in noise. The commentators' voices rose with the shock of it.

"Wow! Damon Cross just rocked Nankalayev!"

Damon didn't give Nankalayev a chance to stand. As the bigger man pushed himself up, trying to clear his head, Damon timed it perfectly.

He dropped his level, shot in low, and wrapped his arms around Nankalayev's legs.

With a sharp twist and drive, he took Nankalayev down hard to the mat. The thud of it was heavy, the crowd's reaction just as loud.

Damon moved to half guard instantly, his hips tight, controlling the bigger man with clean pressure.

He was calm, working his breathing, his hands secure.

He felt Nankalayev's attempts to push off, to create space, but Damon stayed balanced and heavy, his face set with quiet focus. He had the control now, and he wasn't going to let it slip.

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