Damon swished the water around in his mouth and then spit it out into a bucket. Although one of the coaches wiped him off, his sharp, calculating eyes stayed on Victor.
Victor leaned in, his voice calm and probing. "So? What do you think? First round, anything new you noticed?"
Damon nodded. He kept his breathing steady and his face was calm and focused. "Yeah, a few things," he said as he mentally went over the round. He tilted his head a little.
"First," Damon raised a finger, "his footwork. It's good, but he overcommits when he tries to close the distance. He steps too heavy on his lead foot, especially when he throws that left hook. It leaves him open to counters if I time it right."
Victor nodded, leaning closer. "Good, what else?"
Damon smirked faintly, holding up a second finger. "His aggression. He's too reliant on that forward pressure. It works against fighters who retreat, but if I sidestep or circle out, it forces him to reset. He hates that. You saw how he hesitated when I countered his hook with that elbow."
Victor's lips curved into a proud smile. "Smart. Keep going."
"Third," Damon continued, a hint of amusement in his tone, "his wrestling. He's strong, sure, but he doesn't chain his takedowns well. When he shot in, he expected me to panic or give up position. If I keep sprawling and staying technical, I can tire him out."
Victor nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "And?"
Damon held up a fourth finger, his eyes narrowing. "His defense is sloppy when he's on offense. He leaves his right side wide open when he throws his left. If I feint and bait him, I can land clean shots all day."
Victor clapped Damon on the shoulder, his voice firm. "That's what I like to hear. You've got this. Keep exploiting those openings, stay patient, and stick to the game plan."
Damon drank some more water and looked across the cage at Cellan.
The man was pacing, his corner frantically giving instructions.
Damon could see it, the frustration in his opponent's body language.
"I've got him figured out," Damon said, his tone confident but not cocky. "Now it's just about execution."
Victor smiled, his confidence in Damon unwavering. "Then let's go finish the job."
The arena rang with the sound of the bell, which meant the second round had begun.
Damon took a step forward.
His body was relaxed but ready, and his eyes were clear and focused.
From across the cage, Cellan looked a little more calm.
He stood more straight and jumped on his toes to hide how frustrated he was.
At the edge of the cage, Edward was still processing what he had just heard. His jaw was slightly slack as he turned to Victor. "Is this normal? One week and he already knows the guy inside out?"
It looked less like a retreat and more like a last-ditch effort to stay standing with each step backward.
His chest was heaving as he tried to calm down, and his breathing was all over the place.
Victor's voice was like a blade cutting through the loud crowd from the corner. "End it!" "Now!" he yelled, his normally calm voice suddenly filled with a sense of urgency.
Edward leaned over the cage and clenched his hands tight. "End this, Damon!" he yelled, his voice rough from excitement.
The other coaches joined in, and their voices worked like a battle cry to push Damon forward.
Damon didn't hesitate.
He moved slowly but steadily, each step forward planned, and his breathing stayed steady even though everything was going on around him.
He stalked Cellan, cutting off his angles, forcing him closer to the fence. Cellan's back was against the metaphorical wall, and Damon knew it.
Cellan tried to create space, throwing a sluggish jab out of instinct, but his movements were slow, betraying his rattled state.
Damon slipped the jab effortlessly, his upper body twisting just enough to avoid the punch, unleashing a sharp left hook that snapped Cellan's head to the side.
The crowd roared as Cellan's legs wobbled. Damon didn't give him a moment to breathe.
He charged forward in a calculated burst of anger and hit Cellan's guard with a clean one-two combo.
The impact forced Cellan further back, his shoulders slamming into the fence.
With his arms raised high, he looked like he was desperate, but Damon kept hitting him, and his protection broke.
Damon slowly moved his weight and took a step to the side to change the way he was attacking.
He dipped his knees a little, turned his hips, and threw a powerful right uppercut that Cellan didn't see coming.
Cellan's head snapped up when the punch hit with a painful thud. A fine mist of sweat flew off his forehead and sparkled in the bright lights.
Cellan's knees buckled, but he clung to consciousness, swaying like a broken marionette.
Damon's sharp eyes caught the momentary lull in Cellan's resistance, and he moved in for the finish. With a subtle shift in stance, he fainted a right hand, drawing Cellan's guard high.
Damon then sprang upward, his knee slicing through the air like a missile.
The switch knee landed clean on Cellan's chin, the audible crack of the impact causing the crowd to erupt in unison.
Cellan's head snapped back abruptly, and his eyes rolled. In the middle of his stumble, his body went limp. Like a ragdoll, he fell backwards onto the canvas.