"184 for Robert Rein Daneur!"
RDD flexed on stage, arms wide, face cold.
The crowd roared, some cheering, others booing, but all reacting. He stood tall and confident, clearly fueled by the attention.
His body looked healthy, with no signs of strain from the cut. He hadn't killed himself to make weight, and it showed.
He stepped down with a smirk, nodding to his corner.
Then came the real silence.
Ivan Novak walked up slow, calm, pulling off his shirt. The noise didn't matter. He wasn't here for the crowd. His physique spoke loud enough shredded, broad, every muscle defined with terrifying sharpness.
He stepped on the scale.
"185 on the mark for Ivan Novak!"
Some fans lost it. Others held their breath. Ivan didn't react. He simply stepped down, locked eyes with RDD across the stage, and nodded once.
Just two monsters, both in peak form, stepping toward the collision.
And backstage, Damon Cross watched it on a monitor, arms crossed.
