Chapter 53 - Chapter 52: Building a Stronger Special Team

The recording ended with a faint click. For a long moment Yogan stared at the frozen image on the giant screen—the last frame of the "God Wars" fight he had just watched. His own reflection looked back at him from the darkened screen: a champion, yes, but a champion still asking questions of himself.In his victory over Conor he had felt untouchable. Yet watching from the cool distance of an objective spectator, he saw things he had missed inside the Octagon. Conor's textbook-perfect left hand, his seamless distance control, his ability to shift angles and strike with surgical precision—these things looked even more dangerous from the outside."He's incredibly strong," Yogan admitted under his breath. "If my Heaven-Defying Godlike Reflexes hadn't anticipated and slipped those punches, I would've been hit clean three, maybe four times. And with his power, one of those strikes could have changed the entire fight."He rewound and slowed the footage, scrutinizing every exchange like a scientist examining rare footage of a predator. He noticed that while his own boxing combinations were fluid, they lacked the blunt destructive power of top welterweights like Robbie Lawler. His footwork was agile but not as naturally precise as Conor's at creating attack angles and denying counters."I can't focus on wrestling and ground fighting alone anymore," he murmured, almost surprised by the thought. It was his first clear conclusion after this uncomfortable self-review. His future was not going to be confined to featherweight; he would eventually climb to heavier divisions. The skills that had brought him here would not be enough to keep him there.He thought about his greatest asset—his Godlike Reflexes. They had given him a defensive shield few fighters could match. But even this had limits. When an opponent's speed and power exceeded a certain threshold, simply "seeing" an attack wasn't enough if the body couldn't physically respond in time.Images of future adversaries flashed through his mind. At lightweight: monsters like the Eagle Khabib, the unpredictable Boogeyman Ferguson, prodigies with flying knees and freakish endurance. At welterweight: heavy-handed wrestlers like Lawler, Usman, Woodley—men who could grind you against the cage and still knock you out with one punch."Can my reflexes really save me every time?" he wondered. He did not want to be a "run-and-gun" counter-fighter forever. Deep down, like Robbie Lawler, he yearned to destroy opponents in the purest, most undeniable way—to impose his will, not merely evade and reply."I must evolve." His voice, low but firm, filled the quiet study. His eyes sharpened with a new light. "Wrestling and ground fighting will always be important, but my striking—my foundation—must be rebuilt to a level where I can challenge any stand-up fighter in the world."A name surfaced in his mind: Yodsanklai Fairtex, the "Computer Warrior" of Muay Thai, a living legend. AKA had shaped him into a complete MMA fighter; perhaps only Thailand's Fairtex Gym could forge him into the ultimate striker.The plan began to crystallize. Before the inevitable showdown with José Aldo, he would go to Thailand. There he would sharpen his spear until it could pierce anything.But not yet. His vacation had just begun, and he had promised his family time away from the noise.For the next month Yogan disappeared from the fight world's high-intensity orbit. With his parents he embarked on a luxurious tour across America: cruising California's Highway 1 with ocean spray misting the windows; standing beneath the neon billboards of Times Square; relaxing on a private beach in Hawaii where the sunsets burned red over the Pacific. He kept his training light, focusing on recovery and joy.During this period he also fulfilled the demands of his growing fame without letting them swallow him. He appeared at exclusive business galas in tailored suits, cracked jokes on "The Ellen Show," and posed for a "GQ" magazine cover shoot that highlighted his blend of Eastern mystique and Western power. His commercial value soared day by day, yet he remained grounded, reminding himself that all of it—every endorsement, every invitation—sprang from his dominance inside the cage. Lose that and everything would evaporate.Six weeks passed quickly. When his parents boarded their flight back to China, their smiles were satisfied, their arms full of gift boxes and souvenirs. Watching them disappear through security, Yogan felt both grateful and sharpened. The interlude was over.Back at his villa, the mood shifted. The warmth of family gave way to the crisp focus of preparation. Inside his study a whiteboard dominated one wall, covered with maps, schedules, and numbers. Several people stood before it, the nucleus of his current support structure: David Chen, his Chinese-American friend and logistics manager; Isabella, his charismatic representative and brand architect; and Dr. Phil, his trusted nutritionist.They formed the backbone of Team Yogan, but he knew he needed more.He sat at the head of the table, posture straight, voice steady. "Everyone, I called you here today to discuss our future. AKA is my home. Javier, DC—those guys are my strongest supporters. But as competition rises, I need something bigger. I need a professional, specialized, elite team that serves only me."He outlined his vision. "I want a full-time strength and conditioning coach, a dedicated sports physiotherapist, a resident nutritionist, even a sports psychologist. I need a professional media content manager so my brand is consistent without draining my time. I don't want to waste hours scheduling appointments or waiting in line. Every ounce of my time and energy must go to training and preparation."It was not arrogance but necessity. At the very top of combat sports, champions were no longer lone gladiators but the tip of a spear forged by entire teams of scientists and strategists.Isabella's eyes sparkled. "From a business perspective this is brilliant," she said. "We can frame you as the embodiment of elite, scientific, professional excellence. Sponsors will love it."Dr. Phil nodded. "From a performance standpoint, it's even more critical. Modern sport is a contest not just of athletes but of the science behind them."Excitement buzzed in the room—except for David Chen. Calm and methodical, he stepped to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and began writing figures in neat columns."I understand what you're saying," he said. "But let's see what it costs."He wrote as he spoke. "Senior strength and conditioning coach: starting salary $250,000. Lead sports physical therapist or physician: $300,000. Full-time nutritionist: $150,000. Sports psychologist: $100,000. Dedicated media team: $200,000. Logistics and administrative manager: $100,000."He underlined the subtotal. "That's $1.1 million just for the core staff each year."Next he listed infrastructure. "Equipment and venue improvements: $500,000. Worldwide travel and training camps: $300,000. Top-tier medical and nutritional supplements: $200,000. Legal and financial advisors: $100,000."At the bottom he drew a bold circle around the total. "Yogan, to build this team you'll need $2.2 million in seed capital for the first year. After that, maintaining it will cost about $1.8 million annually. That's more than the combined income of many UFC fighters over several years—and that's purely expenses."Silence settled over the room as everyone absorbed the numbers. The dream of a super-team suddenly had weight, mass, a price tag.Yogan studied the figures without flinching. He had risked far more than money to reach this point. If building such a team was what it took to stand at the summit, then so be it. He pictured Lawler's bloody smile, MacDonald's shattered nose, Conor's lightning-fast left hand. The next war would be harder than anything before. He needed weapons worthy of it.He set his glass of water on the table and looked each of them in the eye. "We'll find a way," he said quietly. "I didn't come this far to stop now. If we build this team right, it will pay for itself in victories—and in legacy."David nodded slowly, still holding the marker. Isabella smiled like a strategist glimpsing the outline of an empire. Dr. Phil tapped his notes thoughtfully.In that moment the room felt like the war council of a general before a great campaign. Outside, the California afternoon blazed bright. Inside, the first plans of Yogan's next transformation took shape—plans that would carry him from champion to legend.---