MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

"Okay then, let's fucking do this," Ronan said, his voice loud and commanding as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it up for everyone to see.

Ronan turned to the two coaches, Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier, his eyes flicking between them. "Heads or tails?" he asked.

Balim was the first to speak. His deep voice was cool and sure. "Heads."

Ronan then turned to Donald, who gave a half-smirk, glancing at the fighters before cracking a joke. "Well, guess I don't have much of a choice, do I? It's tails then," he said with a chuckle.

Some of the fighters couldn't help but laugh, which took their minds off of things for a moment.

Ronan let out a laugh himself, shaking his head before flipping the coin into the air.

Everyone's eyes followed it as it spun in the air before Ronan caught it and slapped it onto the back of his hand.

Damon stood in line, his eyes locked on the coin as it flipped in the air. His heart raced in sync with the spinning coin.

He watched closely as Ronan caught it and slapped it onto the back of his hand with a sharp "pah."

Ronan glanced around the room, the suspense building with every second.

He lifted his hand slowly, revealing the coin's result, but it slipped and spun off balance.

"Aw, fuck," Ronan cursed, shaking his head. "Alright, here's what we'll do. I'll throw it down this time."

Everyone nodded, the stress rose again. With his attention fixed on the coin, Damon felt a rush of excitement.

Ronan tossed the coin into the air again, and it spun rapidly before finally hitting the floor with a metallic clink.

All eyes followed its descent as it rolled for a second, before landing flat.

Everyone held their breath, waiting for the result.

Ronan and the coaches stepped closer, leaning in to get a better look at the coin on the floor.

The fighters stood still, their eyes darting between the coaches, waiting for a reaction.

Whittier's face slowly turned into a smile that was easy to see.

Some of his fighters looked at each other with excitement, but the tension stayed high.

Meanwhile, Balim had a grin on his face too, making it hard for anyone to tell what the result actually was.

His expression was as calm as ever, giving nothing away.

The whole room was tense for a moment because no one knew who had won the coin toss.

But they didn't have to wait long. Ronan's smile widened as he announced, "Team Whittier gets to pick. Donald Whittier, it's your call."

Damon's heart was beating fast, and he couldn't help but smile.

He looked at Whittier and begged in his head to be picked.

He could feel his energy rising, and he was dying to finally get those brothers, especially Logan.

But Damon knew it wasn't his choice to make, so he stood there, forcing himself to stay composed. He clenched his fists, hoping Whittier saw the hunger in him.

Whittier stood in silence for what felt like an eternity, his eyes scanning over the fighters. Finally, he broke the tension.

"We'll choose Damon Cross," he said.

Damon's heart fluttered, and his thoughts immediately screamed, ' thank fucking you.'

He stepped forward as the other fighters clapped, the sound filling the room.

Ivan smiled beside him, giving Damon a firm pat on the back. "Good luck, brother," Ivan said in his thick accent.

Damon nodded, stepping forward with renewed determination.

The anxiety in the room was high as everyone looked at Ronan.

Everyone wanted to know who Damon would be paired with.

Damon's heart raced, hoping for a matchup that would let him prove himself.

Ronan stood tall and looked very pleased with how things were going. He smiled as he soaked up the excitement.

He lived for these moments, where the drama brewed, and tension built.

Though Ronan had given the fighters plenty of speeches about professionalism, he knew the truth. Drama sold.

Ronan wasn't just a businessman; he was a showman, and this was his stage.

Even now, he could almost taste the views rolling in.

If the media had gone wild over Damon spearing Logan through a table, a sanctioned fight between them would blow up, so he expected Whittier to match them up.

Ronan's mind was already working. If two top fighters had been involved in something like this, the fight would be a goldmine, and if there was one thing Ronan loved, it was his bag.

Whittier smiled, his gaze drifting slowly across Team Chemasov. The room fell dead silent, and every fighter held their breath.

Logan stood there, cocky and ready, assuming he'd be passed over or that Damon wasn't even a thought.

But Whittier didn't look his way. Instead, his eyes landed on Kevin, Damon's friend from the other team.

A gasps went through the fighters as a whole. Was Whittier about to throw in a curveball?

Ronan's eyes narrowed, his irritation evident.

He looked like he wanted to strangle Whittier for dragging this out.

The anticipation was building, and Ronan could sense the tension going through the roof.

Whittier paused for just a second longer, then with a slight smirk, he finally spoke, "I'll take Logan."

Logan straightened, a smug smirk already forming across his face.

Damon's pulse quickened. This was it.

The fight everyone wanted was happening.

Logan marched up to Damon, his chest puffed out as he got in his face.

Damon turned slowly, eyeing him with that cool, detached stare.

Logan leaned in, his voice dripping with cockiness. "I'm gonna beat you, and show you who's daddy."

Damon smirked, not taking a single step back, just staring into Logan's eyes before giving him a light shove.

Logan's face twisted in anger, but before he could react, someone grabbed his arm, holding him back.

Damon moved forward, smiling and leaning in closer, his voice low yet piercing. "Better keep that same energy in the ring, you little shit. I'm gonna dance around your sorry ass, turn your head into a fuckin basketball."

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