Chapter 74 - Chapter 73: I Suggest You Go Together

The internet exploded. Fans from both sides battled furiously online as the hashtag #UFC196 rocketed past a million mentions in less than twenty-four hours. Debate threads stretched hundreds of comments long, emojis flew like bullets, and memes mocked each fighter in turn.Some fans even joked, "The hottest topic right now isn't Anjos versus Yogan. It's Conor and Nate—our two 'unofficial contenders.'"The UFC could feel the electricity. Sensing the unprecedented hype, the promotion decided to do something it had never done before: a single, global, multi-party media conference connecting hundreds of outlets at once.When the call began and reporters from every time zone logged on, the quiet conference line instantly transformed into a loud, sweaty, virtual marketplace. Hormones, egos, and camera flashes collided through the speakers. Every major MMA journalist—from ESPN to Brazilian cable news—was there.And then came the fighters. Conor McGregor. Nate Diaz. Rafael dos Anjos. All three at once, their voices sharp as knives.> "Hey, Brazil boy," Conor barked, dripping disdain. "When that Chinese kid knocks you out, I'm going to swoop in, take my revenge, and snatch that stupid belt!"A ripple of laughter and gasps ran through the press.> "Shut up, Irish leprechaun!"This time it was Nate Diaz, his tone pure Stockton—lazy, mocking, and deadly.> "You couldn't even beat that Chinese kid, and you're here yappin'? You're the one who deserves to get slapped the most!"Anjos, usually the most disciplined, finally snapped. His heavy-accented English cut through the noise like a machete:> "You two poor wretches—what right do you even have to talk here? When I finish Yogan, it's your turn. I'll tear you all to pieces!"While chaos reigned on the other end of the line, Yogan sat in the office of the AKA training gym in California, listening through a speakerphone. The conference room smelled faintly of sweat and coffee. His team—Daniel Cormier, Luke Rockhold, Coach Javier—watched him for a reaction.Yogan's lips curved into a slow, cold sneer. He hated pointless trash talk, but that didn't mean he would shy away from a counter-attack. If someone threw fire at him, he would return an ice storm.A reporter's voice broke through:> "Yogan, what do you think of these three fighters' words? Which one do you consider the biggest threat?"The entire room seemed to hold its breath.Yogan picked up the microphone with calm precision. He didn't need to roar. His voice alone—low, smooth, and sharp—rolled across the phone lines like a Siberian cold front.> "Your question?" he said softly, then chuckled.His laughter carried pure contempt.> "I don't have any thoughts. Honestly, it's an insult to put my name alongside theirs. You're comparing a true martial artist to three street thugs who only know how to flap their mouths."On the far side of the call, all three fighters went silent. Reporters glanced at one another, sensing a power shift.Yogan continued, voice steady but oppressive, like a king passing judgment on his vassals:> "Threats? Are you talking about threats against me? Rafael—have you even looked at your own fights? Your style is as dull as a second-rate wrestler's routine. Your punches are soft. Your movements are like a buffalo crawling out of a mud pit. Fight me? I won't even break a sweat. With just my footwork, I can leave you panting like a dog in the Octagon."Gasps filled the conference line. He didn't stop.Turning his verbal blade, he pointed it at Diaz:> "Diaz, you brag about your so-called street spirit, waving around that ridiculous Stockton slap. Listen—it's not about being a tough guy. It's about being a world-class human punching bag. Your chin is your only asset, because it lets you take more punishment and lets the audience see more blood."Reporters began furiously typing quotes.> "You're a moving target, nothing more. Your only value is testing how much my new moves can make you bleed. You talk to me about the streets? Whether in the Octagon or on the actual streets of Stockton, I can break your leg and drain your courage in one strike."Then, finally, he turned to his oldest, most bitter rival.> "And you, Conor…"Yogan's tone shifted, almost playful.> "You're the most pathetic loser I've ever seen. After I knocked you out, you didn't dare ask for a rematch. You just waved your fists and screamed like a clown. All that arrogance was a mask for the fear in your heart. And that 'powerful' left hand? Looking back now, it was nothing but a joke."The words landed like poisoned iron hammers, denting the pride of all three men simultaneously.Then Yogan delivered his finishing strike—a declaration so arrogant it threatened to set the martial arts world on fire:> "Listen up, everyone. I don't care if my opponent is Anjos, that punching bag who only absorbs shots, or the Irish clown who only talks. It makes no difference to me. Fighting you is as simple as an adult fighting a child. You don't even need to line up one by one; that would waste too much of my time. I suggest you all come at once. I can take out all three of you in a single night."He leaned forward, voice like steel:> "I promise the entire world—one round. Just one round. I'll knock all three of you out and have you lying at my feet like three dead dogs."With that, Yogan dropped the microphone onto the table. The thud echoed. He leaned back, eyes closing as if even one more word would be a waste of oxygen.For a heartbeat the AKA office was frozen. Then DC Cormier and Luke Rockhold shot out of their chairs, fists pumping, faces flushed. They had just witnessed the lion in their camp show his fangs.Coach Javier crossed his arms and allowed himself a rare smile. The sleeping predator was awake.On the other end of the line, there was a stunned ten-second silence. Then the explosion came.> "Damn it!""What did you say, you goddamned Chinese kid?""I'll kill you! I swear I'll bend your neck inside the cage!"The roars of Conor, Diaz, and Anjos nearly blew out the speakers. For the first time, their animosity toward each other evaporated and focused entirely on Yogan.Yet no matter how much they screamed, Yogan said nothing more. His silence, heavy with disdain, was a sharper weapon than any insult.Reporters scrambled to update headlines: "Yogan Calls Out All Three: 'I'll Knock Them Out in One Round.'" Social media went nuclear. Within minutes, clips of his calm tirade were trending in every major language.As the frenzy built, Yogan thought briefly of history. He remembered how Conor McGregor's first scheduled opponent at lightweight had been Anjos—but the Brazilian withdrew due to injury at the last minute. Nate Diaz had stepped in, choking Conor out via rear-naked choke and setting up their brutal rematch.Now, Yogan was on the brink of rewriting that storyline. Instead of one opponent stepping aside for another, all three were circling him at once, like sharks scenting blood—except he was the one promising to kill the sharks.The atmosphere around UFC 196 had become combustible. Fans didn't just want a fight; they wanted a war. Forums filled with fantasy scenarios: three men entering the cage against Yogan at once, a true street brawl under the bright lights of Las Vegas. Even mainstream outlets like SportsCenter and Good Morning America played Yogan's quote on loop, inviting non-MMA viewers into the spectacle.For Yogan, though, the noise faded once the microphone left his hand. All he felt was the quiet hum of training ahead. Every morning at AKA began with hours of wrestling drills, boxing sparring, and new Muay Thai combinations. He pictured each of his three rivals—their rhythms, their weaknesses—and visualized how to dismantle them.The press conference had been a game of words. The Octagon would be a game of survival.And Yogan had already decided: it wouldn't matter whether they came one by one or all together. In his mind, they were already lying on the canvas.---