Chapter 63 - Chapter 62: Thirteen Seconds

Every member of the team sat in tense silence, their faces serious. The "AKA Choke" tactic they had been perfecting for months was considered the pinnacle of their collective strategy—the most stable, reliable, and devastating plan they had devised.But now, in front of them, Yogan seemed to doubt it.Finally, after a long silence, Yogan spoke. His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of stone thrown into a still lake, making everyone's hearts tremble."Coach… this plan isn't going to work."The room froze. Javier stopped mid-sentence, and every team member turned toward Yogan, shock written on their faces.Yogan rose slowly from the sofa. After a night of hydration and supplements, his skin had regained some color, but the sunken shadows under his eyes and the paleness of his lips betrayed his exhaustion.He walked toward the window, staring at the bright city lights outside—a world that felt distant, almost unreal—and calmly spoke a harsh truth."In my current condition, fighting five rounds would be suicide."He paused, letting the words sink in."My muscles can handle two rounds of high-intensity exertion at most. My cardio… no more than three. If I follow the original plan and try to fight a war of attrition, I'll be torn apart like a sacrificial lamb after the third round."A deadly silence filled the room.This was the first time Yogan had openly admitted weakness in front of his team. Dr. Phil closed his eyes, pained, knowing every word Yogan spoke was rooted in cold, scientific fact. Their team could perform miracles, but restoring a body that had been pushed past its limits to Peak state in just twenty-four hours was impossible."Then… what do you propose?" Javier asked, his voice trembling slightly for the first time.Yogan turned, his expression devoid of fear or despair. Instead, his eyes gleamed with a wild, almost predatory intensity—a confidence born of desperation and absolute determination."Our only chance… is to finish him before he even realizes what's happening," he said. "We strike immediately, while he's at his peak, while he's confident, emotional, and full of rage."The team exchanged glances. This was reckless—bordering on insane.Yogan continued, his voice calm but deadly:"What's Aldo's current mindset? He's a king, humiliated by the world, burning with vengeance. Who does he hate most? Conor. What does he want to prove above all else? That he can crush Conor's arrogance without breaking a sweat."His gaze sharpened, eyes glowing like a predator circling its prey."So," Yogan said, "I'll provoke him. I'll make him treat me as he would Conor—fueling his anger, his desire to dominate, right from the opening bell. I'll force him to throw everything he has at me in the first seconds of the fight."He paused, letting the magnitude of his plan settle in. Then he delivered the final, chilling statement."I'll knock him out in the first round."The room froze again.Daniel Cormier's mouth dropped open. Khabib's brow furrowed in disbelief. Coach Javier stared at Yogan, his mind racing. Attacking full force from the start against Jose Aldo—the ten-year reigning king known for defensive mastery and lethal counters—was the definition of insanity.But then Javier looked into Yogan's eyes and saw unwavering resolve. A plan with ninety-nine percent risk might have a one percent chance of survival. And in that one percent, lay everything."How confident are you?" Javier asked, his voice low, heavy with gravity."One hundred percent," Yogan replied, unflinching.He didn't explain why. He couldn't. This wasn't confidence built in the gym or from hours of strategy—it came from the memories of a past life, from the certainty that history itself would not fail him.---That night, the MGM Grand Garden Arena had become a living, breathing ocean of energy. Two colors dominated the venue, splitting the space as sharply as fire and ice.On one side, Aldo strode out in the yellow and green of the Brazilian flag, his loyal followers roaring for their king. On the other, the red of Yogan's banner blazed across the arena, carried by an international army of supporters who refused to let him face this battle alone.Backstage, a heavy, tense atmosphere lingered. Yogan closed his eyes briefly as Javier meticulously wrapped his hands with thick bandages. The final piece of tape secured, he opened his eyes.All emotions had been stripped away, leaving only absolute calm and an unrelenting, chilling killing intent.He rose and walked with his team down the long corridor toward the bright lights, the cheers, the glory—and the inevitable blood and fire.The arena lights dimmed. Aldo's entrance video played across massive screens, accompanied by Brazilian martial dance music. The king, undefeated for a decade, emerged from the tunnel, exuding cold authority. Each step was measured, each gaze regal, surveying his domain as if daring anyone to challenge him.Then, abruptly, the music stopped. A searchlight cut through the darkness, illuminating Yogan's path. The urgent, solemn notes of "Ambush from Ten Sides" echoed through the arena, each rapid, violent strike of the Pipa piercing the previously heated atmosphere like a blade.Yogan appeared at the tunnel entrance, dressed in black dragon-patterned shorts, his face a mask of icy determination. His gaunt appearance only added to his dangerous aura.But instead of walking toward the Octagon, he stopped. His eyes locked on the man seated at the commentary table, a figure whose mere presence carried power and infamy: Conor McGregor.The arena seemed to hold its breath.The opening seconds of the fight would decide everything. Not five rounds of attrition, not careful maneuvering, but a singular, decisive strike aimed at the very heart of the king.Yogan's gaze hardened, his resolve unshakeable. He wasn't merely fighting for victory—he was rewriting history, fueled by memories, strategy, and an unbreakable will.Every step he took toward the cage was deliberate, measured, radiating danger. The chants of his supporters and Aldo's loyalists collided in a chaotic symphony, but Yogan's focus remained unwavering. He was a predator in a cage full of lions, yet he was ready to strike first, hard, and without mercy.The first round would last thirteen seconds.Thirteen seconds to carve a place in history, to prove that even kings could fall in the face of absolute resolve.And Yogan, with the weight of destiny on his shoulders, was ready.---