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"Damon Cross, you\'re up first," the official called, motioning for Damon to step forward.

Damon moved to the front, taking off his shirt and stepping onto the scale in his light training pants.

He stood still, calm but focused, as the official adjusted the scale, eyes flicking to the numbers.

"185, right on the mark," the official announced.

A round of applause followed, along with approving nods from the officials and coaches.

Damon stepped off the scale, pulling his shirt back on with a calm expression.

He glanced over at Kofi, already thinking ahead to their fight.

"Kofi Clarke, step up," the official called next.

Kofi walked up slowly, his demeanor as relaxed as ever.

He peeled off his shirt and stepped onto the scale, eyes straight ahead.

The official quickly checked the numbers, but after a moment of hesitation, the news dropped.

"185.5."

For a brief moment, the room was silent as Kofi realized he had lost weight by half a pound.

Kofi\'s team tensed up immediately.

Stepping forward, Balim Chemasov spoke with firmness in his voice and a composed expression. "We\'ll get him on weight."

Ronan Black, observing from the side, sighed with a hint of impatience, but he stayed professional.

"Alright, you\'ve got an hour to make weight," he said flatly, not missing a beat.

Kofi didn\'t show any signs of panic, though his team began strategizing immediately.

A towel, the sauna, whatever they needed to do, it was a routine situation in these kinds of high-stakes tournaments.

Damon, standing off to the side, couldn\'t help but smirk at the small advantage.

He crossed his arms and watched as Kofi\'s team began to scramble, knowing that any extra time Kofi spent cutting weight could drain his energy for the upcoming fight.

For Damon, this was just another crack in Kofi\'s armor.

In the back, tension was thick as Team Chemasov worked quickly to figure out a way for Kofi to make weight.

The assistant coach, pacing back and forth, wiped sweat from his brow, looking worried.

Missing weight this close to the fight was not an option.

Kofi was wrapped in towels, his body drenched in sweat, sitting under a portable heater to push out the last bit of water weight.

The assistant coaches frantically tried to find a way to help him drop the weight quickly and safely without sacrificing too much energy.

"Jog in place!" one of the assistant coaches barked. Kofi forced himself to stand, his legs shaky, and started jogging.

After about twenty minutes, the team had him step on the scale in the back room.

"Still needs 0.20 pounds," the official called out.

Balim Chemasov leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes never leaving Kofi, who sat nearby, wiping off the sweat from the attempt to cut weight.

Balim\'s face remained calm, but inside, he knew they had to act fast.

"Kofi," He said, standing up straight and walking over to his fighter. His tone was direct but steady. "Come here."

Kofi stood up, his body still tense from the weight cut struggle. "What\'s up?"

Balim looked him square in the eyes, then nodded toward his assistant coach. "Listen. We not doing more weight cut, okay? You cut more weight, you will lose power in fight. You want to go in weak?"

Kofi frowned, shaking his head. "No way. I need my strength."

Balim smiled, but it was a serious smile. "Good. You no need to lose more weight from body. But there is one thing we can do, yeah?"

Kofi raised an eyebrow. "What\'s that?"

With equal intensity, but a lower tone, Balim leaned closer. "Hair, brother. You lose the needed, easy. You still strong for fight."

Kofi\'s eyes widened in surprise, and he ran his hand over his head. "My hair?"

"Yes, hair," Balim said with a small grin. "Unless you want to miss weight and no fight. But I know you want this, so... your choice. We cut the hair, you make weight, keep energy."

Kofi took a deep breath, thinking it over for a second. But there wasn\'t really a decision to be made.

The fight was too important, and half a pound of hair wasn\'t worth risking everything he had worked for.

"Alright," Kofi said, nodding, his jaw clenched. "Let\'s do it. I\'ll lose the hair."

Balim clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. You no need hair to win fight."

One of the coaches quickly grabbed a pair of clippers, and within minutes, the buzzing sound filled the room as Kofi\'s hair began to fall to the floor in small piles.

Kofi sat still, focused, not caring about the hair, his eyes were set on making weight and getting into that cage.

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When the last of the hair was shaved off, Balim gave Kofi an approving nod. "Now you ready. You strong. You fight hard."

Kofi stood up, rubbing his now bald head and smirking. "I\'m more than ready."

Balim chuckled, patting Kofi\'s back. "We go back now. You make weight, and we smash them."

With that, they left the room, ready to return to the weigh-in area.

Kofi stepped out, bald and visibly irritated, his expression hard as he approached the scale.

Damon stood with Miles nearby, who immediately started whispering jokes under his breath the moment he saw Kofi\'s shaved head.

"Man, he lost more than just weight," Miles chuckled quietly, nudging Damon.

Damon didn\'t laugh, but a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He could tell Kofi wasn\'t happy about the situation, and the intensity in Kofi\'s eyes made it clear.

Kofi stepped onto the scale, his face set in a scowl as the official checked the reading.

"185," the official announced.

Some in the room clapped, while others stayed quiet.

Kofi stepped off the scale, not acknowledging the crowd, just focused.

Ronan Black stepped forward, clapping his hands together. "Alright, that\'s good, we\'re all set now. You guys have done the hard part. Now go prepare, gear up, and come back to put on a hell of a show for everyone watching."

Both sides nodded, understanding the importance of the next few hours.

As Team Chemasov and Team Whittier left the room, heading to their respective locker rooms, Damon kept his focus.

The weigh-in was done.

Now came the real fight.