Chapter 75 - Chapter 74 – Incredible Evolution

"Unless… there is a major deviation from the historical trajectory…"Yogan's eyelids twitched almost imperceptibly. Across the conference table Coach Javier was hunched over a laptop, studying Rafael Anjos' latest training footage frame by frame. On-screen the Brazilian lightweight roared at the camera during pad work, a feral sound that made even the room's air seem to vibrate.If that's really the case, Yogan thought, then things are going to get interesting. It doesn't matter who stands across from me, but if I can plant the right seeds now, victory might come faster—and cleaner.He kept these thoughts locked behind a neutral expression. Guessing his opponents' moves so accurately, every time, might spook his own team or even make them suspicious. Better to let them believe he was simply training harder than ever.Because Yogan had learned one lesson above all: when true, overwhelming power is involved, the identity of the opponent almost doesn't matter. But proper preparation can still make an already inevitable outcome far more efficient.And so, even while he drew up a meticulous plan for Anjos, he quietly began shaping a second, hidden plan for a completely different kind of war—one that no one else around him even suspected might be coming.---A Two-Sided PreparationFrom that day forward, Yogan's preparation entered what looked, to outsiders, like a new level of obsessive focus. Journalists and fans saw only an athlete locked in on a single goal. In truth, he was running two overlapping training programs at once.By day he was at the sprawling training site in San Jose—formally named the Saints Laboratory, though most people just called it "the Lab." AKA had poured millions into its renovation after Pangu Capital's strategic investment, transforming it into something that resembled the set of a Hollywood science-fiction blockbuster more than an MMA gym.At the Lab's core stood an octagonal motion-capture arena ringed by dozens of high-speed cameras, pressure sensors, and holographic projectors. Yogan donned a tight, sensor-covered suit dotted with electromagnetic markers and stepped into the arena. Around him, on 360-degree projection walls, a perfect "digital twin" of Anjos moved, attacked, and defended in real time, responding to Yogan's feints and counters.That twin was no mere video game avatar. Over weeks the team had fed in tens of thousands of data points—punch frequency, kicking angles, takedown success rates, recovery curves under stress, even subtle changes in heart rate and footwork timing. The virtual Anjos behaved like the real fighter down to the twitch of a supporting ankle.Dr. Remy Colbourne, once senior adviser and Director of Strength & Conditioning for the U.S. Olympic Track and Field Team, hovered near a bank of monitors. Streams of biomechanical graphs rolled across the screens as he called out to Yogan:> "Data shows that when Anjos throws a low left kick, the ankle of his supporting leg stiffens for 0.12 seconds. That's your window to drop a counter right hand!But you're still firing your glutes 0.05 seconds ahead of your shoulder transmission. At this level, that's a missed opportunity."Every movement was scrutinized and refined.Meanwhile, in a separate chamber, sports-psychology master George Mumford was constructing an entirely different battlefield. Using VR headsets, directional speakers, and a surround-sound system, he immersed Yogan in a simulation of a raucous Brazilian arena—chants, drums, boos, and all."Feel it, Yogan. Don't fight it," Mumford intoned in his calm, Zen-like voice. "Let every surge of noise become a wave for your counterattack. Your heart is the eye of the storm; the fiercer the outside, the calmer you must be within."Under these conditions Yogan rehearsed every possible scenario, from first-round blitzes to desperate fifth-round scrambles, until his nervous system reacted automatically.---The Secret NightsWhen night fell and he returned to his villa—a minimalist modern home outfitted with a high-end private gym—the other half of his program began.Officially, he told his team:> "Anjos is incredibly durable; his stamina feels bottomless. Normal preparation won't cut it. I need asymmetric pressure tests to mimic five-round bloodbaths, especially against different southpaw looks."The explanation was perfect, especially for Isabella, who handled public relations. She packaged his nocturnal sessions as "the champion's ultimate self-discipline," leaking a few artfully blurred photos of Yogan training past midnight. Fans ate it up, posting hashtags about "midnight grind" and "warrior mode."Only Yogan knew the truth: he was simulating an entirely different predator. Through Pangu Capital's quiet channels, David Chen had flown in two secret sparring partners from opposite ends of the country. Both signed ironclad NDAs.The first was a tall, rangy southpaw boxer from NCAA Division I—a man whose movement, reach, and rhythm echoed Nate Diaz. His job was not to knock Yogan out but to become Diaz for thirty minutes at a time: the rolling shoulders, the languid yet relentless jab, the "Stockton Zombie Walk" pressure, even the trash talk delivered in a nasal imitation of Diaz's accent.Yogan forced himself to stay composed inside that storm, searching for micro-openings, practicing how to unbalance a foe who looked relaxed but struck like a metronome, and how to regain distance instantly after being clipped.After the boxing rounds came the second sparring partner, a grappler steeped in Eddie Bravo's 10th Planet Jiu-Jitsu system. This man specialized in odd angles, rubber-guard transitions, and unpredictable sweeps—the kind of ground game Diaz loved. His task was to drag a depleted Yogan into the mat and test every ounce of his defense and escape repertoire.Night after night Yogan wove this secret web, like a chess master preparing a counter-game that might never be played. He didn't know if the network would ever be activated. He only believed, as always, that fortune favored the prepared.---A Body TransformedThe transformation wasn't only strategic. The Lab's instruments soon revealed that Yogan's body itself was changing in extraordinary ways.Moving up to lightweight had freed him from the hellish weight cuts of his featherweight days—cuts that had stripped muscle and strength. Under Dr. Phil's "muscle-building and sculpting" diet plan, Yogan's physique began evolving like some mythic beast finally released from chains.His daily walking weight stabilized around 86 kilograms (180 pounds), a number that astonished Dr. Phil. To his knowledge only Khabib Nurmagomedov maintained such a mass while competing at lightweight; no other fighter came close. And Yogan wasn't just heavier—he was denser, faster, more explosive.Even more impressive, precision scans showed his body-fat percentage locked at 9.5 percent. In other words, virtually all the new weight was lean mass—functional muscle, not bulk.What the public saw was a dedicated athlete sculpting himself for a title shot. What few realized was that Yogan, a former featherweight, now possessed the frame and power of a top-tier welterweight while moving with the speed of someone a full division lighter.It was, in every sense, an incredible evolution.---Layers of DisciplineMorning after morning, the Lab buzzed like a research facility preparing a space launch. Yogan would step into the octagon-shaped capture zone, sensors lighting up across his body like a constellation. Coaches murmured, laptops clicked, holograms flickered. Data streamed in columns: strike timing, force vectors, lactic-acid curves.Dr. Colbourne compared him to an Olympic decathlete rather than a prizefighter. "You're not just preparing for one contest," he told Yogan. "You're building an entire ecosystem of performance."Mumford layered in mental exercises: meditation between rounds, controlled breathing during simulated knockdowns, visualization of hostile crowds turning into a neutral blur. The aim was to ensure that no situation—cut, knockdown, illegal strike, referee error—could crack his composure.At night, the villa echoed with the thud of gloves and the squeak of mats. The southpaw boxer murmured endless streams of insults in his faux-Stockton drawl. The 10th-Planet grappler knotted Yogan into pretzel-like holds until he wriggled free through sheer will and technique.Sometimes Yogan collapsed onto the canvas gasping, muscles trembling. He would lie there for exactly sixty seconds, eyes closed, visualizing calm, then spring up for another round. It was brutal, but behind the brutality was a precise plan: to hard-wire adaptability into his nervous system so deeply that, in a real fight, he would act without thought.---The Public FaceMeanwhile Isabella's media campaign turned these grueling nights into myth. Blurred photos of sweat-drenched midnight training sessions went viral. Analysts on talk shows praised his "legendary discipline" and "relentless grind." Sponsors lined up. Hashtags trended. No one guessed that the man in those photos wasn't preparing only for Anjos but also for a hypothetical, radically different opponent.Fans debated his weight gain, speculating whether he'd lost speed. Slow-motion clips from open workouts silenced them: Yogan's combinations looked sharper than ever, his movement eerily efficient for someone so large.A few insiders whispered comparisons to Khabib's size advantage at lightweight. Others argued that Yogan's approach was more sophisticated—less about bullying, more about leveraging every biomechanical edge.Yogan ignored the chatter. He had learned long ago that external noise is just another opponent to outlast.---Chess Beyond the BoardHe thought often of chess. Most fighters prepared one opening, one strategy, and drilled it until fight night. He was building layers of strategy, like a grandmaster memorizing entire branches of an opening tree. Even if he never faced Diaz, even if the "Plan B" sparring partners turned out to be unnecessary, he would step into the cage knowing he had already lived through every possible nightmare scenario."Fate always favors those who prepare for every eventuality," he told himself during midnight cool-downs, a towel draped over his head like a monk's cowl.Each day he felt the twin currents of his preparation—scientific precision by daylight, secret chaos at night—braiding together into something new. He wasn't just a fighter anymore; he was an experiment in human adaptation.---The Threshold of Something NewBy the final week before the fight announcement, even his own team was astonished at the metamorphosis. Coaches whispered about his power in clinch drills. Training partners compared the impact of his body shots to being hit with a baseball bat. Dr. Phil shook his head at the numbers. Mumford smiled faintly, sensing the calm at Yogan's center grow deeper each day.Yogan kept his own counsel. Whether the future brought Anjos, Diaz, or an entirely different opponent, he knew he would enter the cage already having fought them all—in holograms, in VR, in secret midnight wars.What the world saw was a disciplined contender. What they would meet on fight night was something rarer: a man who had evolved himself beyond any single style, ready for any timeline the sport might throw at him.And so the countdown continued, each sunrise and midnight rep forging the shape of a fighter no one had yet truly faced.---