Chapter 66 - Episode 65 — Behind the Scenes Game

Bang!The heavy iron door of the locker room slammed shut, cutting off the ocean of flashbulbs and roars outside. Silence dropped like a curtain.The UFC's official ringside doctor, Albert — a white-haired veteran who had seen every bloody scene imaginable — immediately stepped forward. Pulling on latex gloves, he moved toward Yogan with a grave expression.He clicked on his penlight and leaned in close, checking Yogan's pupils for signs of concussion. He pressed along the fighter's cheekbones, ribs, and joints, probing for hidden injuries.At first Albert's face was blank. Then disbelief crept in. By the end of the exam he was openly shocked.He peeled off his gloves and turned to Coach Javier, who was standing nearby. His voice was low but edged with awe:> "Javier, I've been in this business for twenty years. I've handled thousands of fighters. I've never seen someone finish a unification bout without a single bruise. His heart rate and blood pressure are stable — like he just jogged five kilometers. My God, your fighter… he looks like he just took a walk in the park."The statement rippled through the cramped room like a stone tossed into a still pond. Within minutes it would become a new legend: Yogan's victory hadn't only been dominant; it had been effortless.No sooner had the doctor stepped away than two USADA officials entered, their navy jackets crisp, their faces set. They supervised Yogan through the mandatory post-fight urine and blood collection, making sure every protocol was airtight.Yogan complied calmly, as though the routine were part of his training. Yet when his fingertips brushed the cold plastic of the sample container, a strange emptiness welled inside him — a deep-sea chill of loneliness.Is this what it's like to be a champion? he wondered, staring at his scarred but steady fists.Those six seconds of lightning, world-shifting violence in the Octagon had cost a price almost no one could fathom. He remembered the dizziness during the final stage of weight cut, the room spinning every time he stood. He remembered shaving off every hair to lose the last ounces. He remembered standing on the scale, holding his breath, tiptoeing for a secret fraction of a pound.All that pain and torture had been compressed into a single perfect punch that ended a decade-long dynasty. Now, in the quiet of the locker room, victory and exhaustion mixed into a tearing sensation so sharp it nearly frightened him. For the first time he reflected on his professional path as if it were a Dao, a way of life.The dressing-room door burst open again, banging so hard it rattled on its hinges.UFC President Dana White stormed in like an excited bull breaking a fence. Her expensive dress was wrinkled from the chaos outside, and she radiated an aura of money, power and adrenaline.> "Kid! You're a monster!"Ignoring the solemn USADA officials, she wrapped Yogan in a bear hug so fierce he felt the hardness of her chest muscles through the shirt.> "Six seconds! Oh my God, six seconds! You made history! The PPV backend data is about to explode!"Dana's eyes gleamed like Columbus sighting a new continent — a merchant's hunger and excitement rolled into one.> "Did you say Rafael dos Anjos? Perfect! The UFC needs stories like this. A double champion! Just thinking about it drives me crazy!"On the other side of the room, David Chen and Isabella exchanged a quick look. They saw their opening.Isabella stepped forward gracefully, a professional yet alluring smile curving her lips.> "Dana," she said smoothly, "we're just as excited. Which is why we think it's time to discuss a new contract worthy of a new king."David Chen followed with a firm voice. Yogan's six-second knockout and uninjured post-fight exam were now the sharpest bargaining chips on the table:> "Our demands are simple. First, Rafael dos Anjos for the double title next. Second, a brand-new champion contract with a super-fight clause and the highest PPV share in the industry."For a moment the enthusiasm on Dana's face flickered, replaced by the sly gleam of an old fox. She knew exactly how much Yogan's market value had just skyrocketed.> "Of course, of course," she chuckled in her insider's tone. "A champion should be treated like a champion. I'll have Sean contact Rafael's team right away. As long as they're on board, I'm fine with it. Let's make history together, babies."Nothing was written yet, but the UFC leader's verbal promise had already mapped out Yogan's next journey.---An hour later — the post-fight press conferenceFloodlights blazed like midday sun. Camera shutters clattered like a downpour.José Aldo sat stiffly at the podium, giant sunglasses covering half his face. But even the dark lenses couldn't hide the heavy loss weighing on him. His dynasty had collapsed in the most humiliating way, a way he'd never imagined.When journalists hurled questions like stones, he spoke briefly, his voice hoarse as if scraped by sandpaper.> "It… wasn't a real fight," he muttered through clenched teeth."It was an accident. My anger got the best of me. I made the stupidest mistake of my career. My decade of dominance shouldn't have ended like this. I demand an immediate rematch. I need to prove to the world those six seconds were just a goddamned accident."Flashbulbs flared. The room buzzed. Outside, in another part of the arena, Yogan's team was already plotting the next step.Back in the private locker room, the new champion sat with the belt across his lap. Sweat had dried to salt on his skin. Around him his coaches murmured, phones buzzed, and media requests poured in.He lifted the belt once more, feeling its weight. The fight was over, but the real game — the behind-the-scenes game of contracts, politics, and legacy — had only just begun.---