Yogan took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if releasing all the tension that had been coiled inside his body like a tightly wound spring. Weeks of relentless combat, preparation, and mental focus had worn him down more than he wanted to admit. But after a month of indulgence, rest, and true recovery, his body no longer felt like an exhausted shell—it was vibrant again, alive with a surging current of energy.
He was fully recharged.
And deep down, he knew—
It was time.
Time to return to the battlefield.
With steady hands, Yogan pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number. On the other end, Coach Javier answered almost instantly, as though he had been expecting this call all along.
"Rested enough?" Javier's calm, low voice carried a hint of amusement.
"More than enough, Coach," Yogan replied, his tone sharp and decisive, his words carrying the weight of conviction.
"Good." Javier's brief pause held an unmistakable seriousness. "Then be at the gym tomorrow. It's time to work."
---
The next day, when Yogan pushed open the heavy iron doors of the AKA Training Gym, a wave of familiar scents struck him at once—a blend of sweat, leather, and faint disinfectant. To anyone else, it might have seemed unpleasant, but to him, this was a perfume stronger than any luxury brand. This was the fragrance of war, of sacrifice, of growth.
This was home.
It was here that his blood, sweat, and pain had been forged into victories. It was here that his throne had been built—one battle at a time.
"Look who's back! The Dragon Slayer himself!"
The booming, cheerful voice of Daniel Cormier—better known as DC—echoed across the gym. Like an overexcited bear, DC charged forward and wrapped Yogan in a rib-crushing embrace that nearly made his bones creak.
"Welcome home, Champ," said Luke Rockhold, clapping Yogan on the shoulder with a wide, genuine smile.
Their warmth and camaraderie instantly ignited the atmosphere of the entire gym. Every fighter training there felt an added spark of energy simply from Yogan's return.
---
Perhaps it was because of the vacation.
Perhaps it was because he no longer tortured his body with brutal weight cuts.
Or perhaps it was simply because he had evolved.
Whatever the reason, Yogan felt better than ever. His speed hadn't diminished despite adding muscle mass. In fact, with stronger legs and a reinforced core, his movements had gained terrifying explosiveness—like a cannonball being fired at full force. His strength too was climbing steadily, layer by layer, as though his ceiling had vanished.
During a five-round simulated sparring session with Luke Rockhold, Yogan's body felt like a finely tuned machine. He kept up lightning-fast footwork, his strikes coming in relentless combinations, his rhythm unbroken.
By the time the bell rang at the end of the fifth round, Luke was sprawled on the mat, gasping for air like a drowning man, completely drained of energy. Meanwhile, Yogan stood tall, sweat glistening lightly across his forehead, his breathing calm and steady, his body still humming with power.
"You… monster…" Luke muttered between heavy breaths, staring up at him with disbelief. "Do you even have a limit? Your stamina feels… infinite."
Yogan simply smiled and handed Luke a bottle of water. He knew the truth—it wasn't magic, nor some genetic gift. It was the inevitable outcome of relentless, scientific training combined with a healthy body no longer sabotaged by starvation and dehydration.
He had transformed.
---
Training at AKA was never easy—it was like living in a military camp. But this time, Yogan didn't feel the grind as much. New faces had joined, and their presence injected a refreshing energy into his daily routine.
Thanks to his "Chinese Power Fighting Development Fund," two rising stars—Zhang Weili and Song Yadong—had officially become part of the AKA training family. To the rest of the world, they were just promising fighters. But to Yogan, who remembered their destinies from his previous life, they were future legends—names that would shine across MMA history.
Zhang Weili, in particular, impressed him. She was a force of nature in the strawweight division. Despite her smaller frame, she trained with ferocious intensity, often sparring with heavier male fighters and holding her ground. She wasn't just strong—she was relentless.
But Yogan knew her true weapon wasn't just her physical toughness. It was her mentality—unyielding, adaptive, and razor-sharp.
---
One afternoon, after finishing his own grueling set of physical conditioning, Yogan spotted Zhang Weili in the strength area. She was hammering away at a ground-and-pound session on a massive heavy bag, her fists slamming into it with thunderous bangs.
Each strike echoed through the gym, her face dripping with sweat, her expression fierce with determination.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Every blow carried not just power but raw emotion—like she wanted to tear the bag apart.
Yogan watched silently for a moment, then walked over and gently tapped her shoulder.
"Weili, take a break."
She looked up, confused for half a second. But when she saw it was Yogan, her eyes immediately softened with respect.
"Sheng Ge," she greeted—an affectionate title meaning "Brother Sheng," though now it carried the weight of admiration.
Yogan regarded her with genuine appreciation. He admired her, not only as a fellow fighter but also as someone whose future he already knew. His voice was gentle, almost brotherly.
"You've got plenty of strength," he began, "but remember—ground and pound isn't just about smashing with all your might. If you go all-out every time, you leave yourself vulnerable. The real purpose is to create opportunities or to finish the fight efficiently."
Picking up a focus mitt, Yogan crouched down and demonstrated.
"See, if you just hammer away recklessly, your opponent can catch your arm or counter with a reversal. But if you change your rhythm…"
His eyes narrowed, his body tightening with coiled energy.
"You disrupt their guard, mess with their breathing. Then—when they relax, when they think they've found your pattern—you strike hard."
"One light. Two light. Three—HEAVY!"
He slammed down a strike with controlled but explosive force. The mitt cracked with a deafening bang, the shock vibrating through Zhang Weili's arm.
Her eyes widened. She instantly understood.
This wasn't just a correction of technique. It was a new way of thinking. Tactical. Psychological. Strategic.
"Sheng Ge, I get it now!" she said, nodding eagerly, her face glowing with excitement. "It's not about blind power—it's about rhythm, deception, and using wisdom to control the fight!"
"Exactly." Yogan smiled, satisfied.
He had no doubt—given enough time and refinement, this fierce warrior from the East would roar atop the world stage. And if he could help her along the way, he would gladly do so.
---
Days passed in this cycle of sweat, drills, sparring, and strategy. The gym thrived like a barracks preparing for war. But outside, the MMA world was boiling with anticipation.
The UFC featherweight division was ablaze with media hype. Conor McGregor's much-anticipated title fight against Jose Aldo was drawing global attention. The storylines wrote themselves—striker versus striker, charisma versus legacy.
And yet, every conversation inevitably circled back to one question:
Could Conor McGregor do what Yogan had already done?
Could he finish Aldo faster?
Fans around the world remembered vividly how Yogan had shocked history with a six-second knockout of Aldo. It had become legend. Now, people speculated if Conor—famous for his left hand and bold predictions—could shatter that record.
During breaks in training, DC Cormier loved pulling out his phone, reading headlines aloud with theatrical excitement.
"'The Irishman Boasts: Six Seconds? I Only Need Three!' Hah! Can you believe this guy? He really said that!"
Another time, he read: "'Psychologically Scarred by Yogan? Aldo Plans to Go Ultra-Conservative!' Look at that, Champ—your victory has already seeped into their minds!"
The gym erupted with laughter. But beneath the humor, they all knew—the shadow Yogan had cast over the division was real. His presence shaped strategies, careers, and headlines.
---
Then, on a highly anticipated Friday, the UFC dropped a bombshell that silenced all speculation.
UFC President Dana White appeared live on ESPN's flagship program, SportsCenter. Standing tall, his expression serious, he gestured toward the massive electronic screen behind him.
And there it was.
The poster.
An epic design that sent chills racing down the spines of fans worldwide.
The dazzling nightscape of Las Vegas stretched across the background. In the center, two figures glared at each other, muscles sculpted like steel, eyes blazing with unspoken promises of war.
Yogan vs. Rafael dos Anjos.
Between them gleamed the golden Lightweight Championship belt, shining like a beacon.
The battlefield was set.
And Yogan was ready to return.