With a voice that demanded attention, Ronan Black said, "Alright, folks, we're back at it. This is it, the final weigh-in for Kofi Clarke and Damon Cross."
With their eyes locked in silence, the fighters stood opposite one another.
"Damon Cross, you're up first," the official called, motioning for Damon to step forward.
Damon moved to the front, taking off his shirt and stepping onto the scale in his light training pants.
He stood still, calm but focused, as the official adjusted the scale, eyes flicking to the numbers.
"185, right on the mark," the official announced.
A round of applause followed, along with approving nods from the officials and coaches.
Damon stepped off the scale, pulling his shirt back on with a calm expression.
He glanced over at Kofi, already thinking ahead to their fight.
"Kofi Clarke, step up," the official called next.
Kofi walked up slowly, his demeanor as relaxed as ever.
He peeled off his shirt and stepped onto the scale, eyes straight ahead.
The official quickly checked the numbers, but after a moment of hesitation, the news dropped.
"185.5."
For a brief moment, the room was silent as Kofi realized he had lost weight by half a pound.
Kofi's team tensed up immediately.
Stepping forward, Balim Chemasov spoke with firmness in his voice and a composed expression. "We'll get him on weight."
Ronan Black, observing from the side, sighed with a hint of impatience, but he stayed professional.
"Alright, you've got an hour to make weight," he said flatly, not missing a beat.
Kofi didn't show any signs of panic, though his team began strategizing immediately.
A towel, the sauna, whatever they needed to do, it was a routine situation in these kinds of high-stakes tournaments.
Damon, standing off to the side, couldn't help but smirk at the small advantage.
"Alright," Kofi said, nodding, his jaw clenched. "Let's do it. I'll lose the hair."
Balim clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. You no need hair to win fight."
One of the coaches quickly grabbed a pair of clippers, and within minutes, the buzzing sound filled the room as Kofi's hair began to fall to the floor in small piles.
Kofi sat still, focused, not caring about the hair, his eyes were set on making weight and getting into that cage.
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When the last of the hair was shaved off, Balim gave Kofi an approving nod. "Now you ready. You strong. You fight hard."
Kofi stood up, rubbing his now bald head and smirking. "I'm more than ready."
Balim chuckled, patting Kofi's back. "We go back now. You make weight, and we smash them."
With that, they left the room, ready to return to the weigh-in area.
Kofi stepped out, bald and visibly irritated, his expression hard as he approached the scale.
Damon stood with Miles nearby, who immediately started whispering jokes under his breath the moment he saw Kofi's shaved head.
"Man, he lost more than just weight," Miles chuckled quietly, nudging Damon.
Damon didn't laugh, but a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He could tell Kofi wasn't happy about the situation, and the intensity in Kofi's eyes made it clear.
Kofi stepped onto the scale, his face set in a scowl as the official checked the reading.
"185," the official announced.
Some in the room clapped, while others stayed quiet.
Kofi stepped off the scale, not acknowledging the crowd, just focused.
Ronan Black stepped forward, clapping his hands together. "Alright, that's good, we're all set now. You guys have done the hard part. Now go prepare, gear up, and come back to put on a hell of a show for everyone watching."
Both sides nodded, understanding the importance of the next few hours.
As Team Chemasov and Team Whittier left the room, heading to their respective locker rooms, Damon kept his focus.
The weigh-in was done.
Now came the real fight.