MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 599: Adjustments in the Fire

In the opposite corner, the energy was tense but focused.

Joren Edlen sat on the stool, his chest rising with steady breaths, sweat already starting to form on his shoulders.

He wiped his mouth with a towel as his head coach crouched in front of him, voice sharp and fast.

"Alright, Joren, you gotta stop reacting to every feint. He's baiting you, and you're giving him everything he needs."

Another coach leaned over his shoulder. "You dipped right into it thar uppercut. He's setting traps and you're falling for them."

The wrestling coach tapped Joren's thigh, voice calm but firm. "You're too upright in the break. If you clinch, commit. Ride the position or bail out fast. But don't hang there, he's killing you on the exit."

Joren nodded, rinsing his mouth and spitting into the bucket beside him.

"He's reading your level changes," the first coach continued. "So don't shoot unless you've landed first. Touch the legs, make him bite, then pull him high. Get him thinking up before you go under."

One of the assistants handed him ice for his neck. "He's circling too clean. You need to cut him off—not follow. Step outside his lead foot and punch through the line."

Joren looked up, focused but not shaken.

"I can get him," he said quietly. "I just need a clean corner."

The head coach nodded once. "You've seen him now. You've felt him. This round, you crowd the space. Don't let him reset. Push, touch, force him to fire early, and we'll break the rhythm."

The clapper echoed—ten seconds left.

Everyone backed away.

Joren stood up, rolled his shoulders once, and tightened his gloves.

"Time to fight smart," his coach said. "Let's go."

They cleared the stool as Joren stepped forward again. Round 2 was about to begin, and his corner knew he couldn't let Damon dictate everything a second time.

The round finally began, and the two met in the middle again, touching gloves—brief, respectful, but sharp.

Damon took the center without delay, his stance firm, lead foot pressing forward with calculated pressure.

His eyes scanned Joren's posture, watching for the same small cues that had fed him in round one.

He fired a calf kick without commitment, just to see if the reaction had changed.

It had.

Joren lifted his leg slightly this time, checking it.

His stance was narrower now, more disciplined, with less of the bounce that had made him readable earlier.

Damon noted the change without reacting outwardly. He kept feinting with subtle shoulder dips and hip shifts, but Joren wasn't biting as easily.

"He's adjusting," Damon thought.

Still, Damon advanced behind a series of feints, mixing in level changes and probing jabs—not trying to land, but to herd Joren toward the cage.

When he did strike, it was sharp: a low kick, a stiff jab to the body, a sneaky rear uppercut that grazed the chin.

Joren didn't fall for the same setups.

He kept his hands tighter, moved laterally instead of back, and circled off the cage early when Damon tried to cut the angle.

When Damon shot in hard with a jab-cross-hook sequence, Joren slipped inside the last hook and clinched instantly.

The crowd buzzed.

Joren locked in double underhooks and drove Damon backward.

Damon stayed calm, framing on the collarbone and dropping his hips to keep balance.

They wrestled briefly against the fence. Joren went for a trip, but Damon rotated out quickly, breaking the grip with a sharp elbow on the exit.

"Beautiful exit," one of the commentators said. "And that's what they worked on—baiting the clinch and punishing the break."

Back in open space, Damon let Joren lead. The American feinted a jab, then stepped in deep with a rear leg kick. Damon checked it clean, then countered with a tight left hook that clipped the cheek.

This round wasn't one-sided. Joren was showing life and reacting, and adapting to Damon.

But Damon was still in control.

He fired another jab to the body and drew out the reaction, Joren reached low, instinctive, trying to parry.

That was the moment Damon struck. He snapped a left hook upstairs, then followed with a right calf kick, chewing the leg that had just absorbed too much weight.

Joren winced but kept moving, retreating laterally and resetting.

The commentators picked it up immediately.

"That calf is starting to add up! Damon's chewing at the base early—classic setup work here."

Joren fired back, snapping out a double jab and diving into a clean level change, this time with real commitment.

Damon sprawled, hips heavy, but Joren kept driving, chaining into a single leg. They hit the fence hard.

Joren started climbing up the body, trying to lock the hands.

Damon posted on the head, hips dropped, but his base was wide and solid.

Joren adjusted, tried to switch to a body lock—and Damon rotated again, digging for a whizzer.

For a few seconds, it looked like a real scramble was coming.

But Damon didn't force the break. He baited it.

The moment Joren started posturing for wrist control, Damon stepped off the cage and used the underhook to spin him.

He separated with a short elbow again—this one cracked flush.

The crowd popped.

Joren stumbled a half-step, blinking. Damon moved in, but didn't chase.

He stayed just outside of range, right hand twitching faintly, showing Joren he wasn't desperate. freewebnσvel.cøm

Joren tried to recover the distance and jabbed, but Damon slipped and countered with a rear straight to the gut, then rolled under the hook that followed.

"Goddamn, this is tight," one of the commentators said. "Joren's not making big mistakes—but Damon's punishing the margins."

The pace slowed for a few beats.

Both men respected what had just happened.

Damon cut the cage again. Joren didn't retreat. He circled tight, eyes locked in, sweat dripping now.

He fired a kick to the body, Damon caught it on the elbow and fired back with a snapping leg kick.

The Irishman stepped in deep after the exchange, faking the jab, then launched a heavy overhand right.

It missed, but barely.

But the point wasn't to land, it was to move Joren again. And it worked.

Joren circled toward his power side, right into the path of Damon's inside low kick. The strike landed again with a loud slap. That leg was starting to redden.

Thirty seconds left in the round.

Damon touched him with another jab. Joren fired a counter but missed wide.

Damon shot low, then came up with a tight lead elbow that cracked into Joren's temple.

The American clinched again to slow it down, chest to chest, slowing the pressure.

The round closed with them briefly fighting for wrist control near the fence, both breathing hard but composed.

As the horn sounded, they separated slowly.