Chapter 38 - Chapter 38 – Withdrawn

The video ended.Silence filled the living room.Isabella and David Chen watched Yogan wordlessly.The man whom the outside world saw as immovable as a mountain, as calm as a deity, now sat with eyes slightly red.He said nothing; he only closed his eyes slowly.On one side lay the cold, strategic world of business and public opinion—numbers, calculations, victories.On the other lay the simplest, warmest hopes and the plainest concerns from thousands of kilometres away—anxiety, pride, love from his homeland and his family.That extreme contrast caused a tiny crack to appear in Yogan's "God of War" shell.He was no longer just a cold-blooded fighting machine driven by victory.He was also a Chinese son.He was a flesh-and-blood eighteen-year-old with emotions and responsibilities.After a long pause he opened his eyes again.The faint wetness had vanished, replaced by something deeper—a hard, steady determination.He now knew exactly what he was fighting for.Not only for the glittering golden belt.Not only to fulfil the destiny promised by his rebirth.But also for the curious gaze of his parents on the other side of the screen,and for the expectant faces of countless citizens back home.He rose and walked to the giant projection screen.He pressed "play."Conor McGregor's arrogant face filled the room again.But in Yogan's eyes, along with calm analysis there now burned an icy killing intent.This moment lit the deepest source of motivation inside him.If his previous preparation had been guided by mere desire for victory and execution of a plan,from now on every breath he drew, every punch he threw, every bead of sweat he shed carried a far heavier weight.He was no longer fighting just for himself.---Molten FocusEarly the next morning, as the first rays of sun pierced the thin fog over San Jose,Yogan was already at the AKA Training Gym.His gaze had changed.The calm cliff was now a volcano with molten lava at its base.He gathered his core coaching team—Javier, DC and Luke."The plan needs further adjustment," he said.His voice was deeper than usual, yet more forceful."From today we put eighty percent of our energy into the 'Mad Man's Shadow' plan."DC hesitated. "But Yogan… Aldo—""The probability of Aldo fighting is less than ten percent," Yogan cut him off.His tone allowed no argument.He couldn't explain why he was so sure. It was his greatest secret.He could only convince his brothers-in-arms with action."We have only one opponent: Conor McGregor."Javier met Yogan's unblinking eyes.After a moment he nodded."Okay. If there's only one goal, then our training must be completely goal-oriented."And so an unprecedented "Hunt Conor" plan—accurate to ninety-nine percent—began in full at AKA.---Tactical BoardCoach Javier drew Conor's silhouette on the whiteboard and stabbed red marks across it."First: distance control."He pointed to the figure's feet."All of Conor's attacks start from his unique bouncing footwork and his sense of distance. Luke, from today your duties double."Luke Rockhold—the "Conor impersonator-in-chief"—entered the most painful stretch of his career.During sparring he had to keep his toes springing just like Conor, mimicking that energy-intensive style.Meanwhile Yogan's job was to break that rhythm, not merely evade but apply pressure.Javier designed "forced stop" drills:when Luke began his jump Yogan had three seconds to halt his footwork—either by a brutal low kick or by pinning him to the cage.It demanded attacks faster and more explosive than Conor's reactions.Luke collapsed more than once with calf cramps, yet rose again, teeth clenched, staring at Yogan's expressionless face."Second: the left hand," Javier continued, circling the figure's arm in red."This is his killing weapon—the fuse we must neutralize."Targeted training became even harsher.DC Cormier tied a long resistance band from Yogan's waist to the Octagon fence.It allowed free movement at medium range but yanked him back whenever he tried to slip too far to the right."You can't always run to the safe zone!" DC roared."Conor will predict it! You must learn to move left—into the line of his punch—then counter with your right!"Dangerous but effective: attack for attack, speed for speed.Yogan's torso bore scratches and bruises from Luke's shots, but his right straight grew faster, sharper—approaching true "firepower.""Third: endurance and willpower," Javier finished, tapping the figure's chest and head."Conor is emotional and mismanages his energy. We drag him into deep water—fourth, fifth round—then choke him."For this, Dr. Phil devised a near-suicidal conditioning plan.After the team's normal sessions—when everyone else lay sprawled in exhaustion—Yogan's "extra training" only began.Wearing a sweat-cutting suit he had to complete five sets of rope-and-tire-slam circuits at extreme intensity, with only thirty seconds rest.Sweat soaked him; his suit dripped like a faucet.Every breath was a rusty bellows; his chest burned.Several times he collapsed, unable to lift a finger.Yet whenever he wanted to quit he pictured his parents' worried faces and the fervent hopes of his countrymen.He clenched his fists, pushed himself upright, and kept going.This was no longer just physical work but slow, brutal torture of the will.Even Khabib Nurmagomedov—famed for his own savage training—watched and shook his head."He's crazy," Khabib muttered. "Crazier than me."With this almost self-destructive preparation the days slipped by like water—one day counted as two.---Breaking NewsUFC 189 was fifteen days away.A bright, ordinary morning in San Jose.After his run Yogan sat in AKA's ice bath, the freezing water numbing his overworked muscles and sharpening his mind.The door burst open.David Chen stumbled in, phone clutched tight, face a storm of emotions.He was panting, his eyes full of shock, excitement and a trace of "I knew it."He stared at the man in the ice bath—only shoulders and head visible, expression frighteningly calm."Yogan!" David's voice trembled. "The call… it was Dana White's personal assistant—personally!"He swallowed, then pronounced each word as if chiselling it into stone."Jose Aldo… violent collision with training partner yesterday at the Rio camp… preliminary diagnosis…""Rib, broken!""He… withdrew from the fight!"The four words split the cold therapy room like lightning.David still trembled, eyes fixed on Yogan, waiting for the reaction.---Destiny ConfirmsFor a heartbeat Yogan's heart stopped.He had rehearsed this scene again and again, convinced history's inertia could not be stopped.Yet when it truly arrived a jolt of electric tension shot through him.He was afraid—afraid that the butterfly wings of his rebirth had altered history.If Aldo hadn't been injured, all his meticulous "Hunt Conor" work would have become a joke.His fists clenched beneath the icy water.An awkward silence filled the room.All eyes on Yogan.Slowly he rose from the bath cold enough to freeze an ordinary man.Water streamed down his sculpted muscles—indistinguishable from the cold sweat of his palms.He drew a deep breath, calming the surge within him.Then the corners of his mouth lifted, uncontrollably.Finally a genuine smile—joy and relief blazing across the face worn thin by training.He had done it.His "open conspiracy," everything laid bare, had succeeded.He was not a god but a mortal, exultant at victory.Before he could speak, DC Cormier let out a roar like a charging bull."Oh yeah! I knew it! I knew this would happen!"He slapped Luke on the back so hard Luke nearly fell."Yogan! Are you a prophet sent by God?"Luke rubbed his back but excitement and shock eclipsed the pain."How did you know Aldo would definitely have a problem?""My God!"David almost jumped."Yogan, you're practically a god! You're destined to win! We've prepared for Conor for two weeks—every detail rehearsed hundreds of times! And Conor? All his plans were for Aldo. He doesn't know his real opponent is you!"Even the usually calm Javier punched the air, eyes shining."God help us! This is divine will! Yogan, this is your destiny!"The room erupted as if they'd already won."I'm betting everything on Yogan! Free money!" DC yelled."Conor's dead. He never imagined his real nightmare wasn't the king of Rio but the 'Flash' lurking in San Jose!" Luke added.Their excitement fanned Yogan's own joy like a spark on dry tinder.He took the towel DC offered and scrubbed his face.The old tension vanished from his deep eyes, replaced by flames of fighting spirit.He looked at David Chen, who was nearly speechless, and spoke in a calm but powerful voice:"David, it's mine."At once the noisy room fell silent."Tell him my weight is on point and I'm in better shape than ever."He tossed the towel aside, his gaze drifting toward the desert-ringed city of Las Vegas.It was no longer a distant goal but a real stage awaiting him.Excitement surged through him—the desire to step onto that battlefield and unleash months of sweat, pain and calculation on that Irishman.He spoke the sentence he had rehearsed a hundred times:"Ask whether the UFC booked our flight to Vegas or we book it ourselves."On the chessboard of his open conspiracy the final piece had fallen.Amid his team's enthusiasm and his own inner tumult, the time had come.Time to fight.Time to conquer.---