MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Chapter 423: Judge Decision I: Fate Of Two Nations

The Irish fans were standing, singing, waving flags, and cheering passionately.

The Polish fans matched the energy, determined to support their fighter and not let anything take away from his performance.

The whole arena was filled with excitement and people were eager for what was about to happen.

No one knew how the judges would score this war.

The camera panned to the commentary desk, where the two analysts, an Irish commentator and a Polish commentator, were deep in discussion.

The Irishman adjusted his headset and leaned forward.

"I tell ye what, lads, that was one hell of a scrap. We knew these young fellas weren’t as experienced as some of the other names in this tournament, but by God, they left it all in there. That last round? Madness. Absolute madness."

The Polish commentator, a former coach turned analyst, nodded, tapping his fingers against the table as he considered his words.

"Yes, it was wild, but let’s break it down properly. Niklas had the better start. He controlled the first round, had the knockdown, dictated the exchanges. But the second? That was Demaien’s round. He took over, almost finished the fight with that submission attempt. And the third..." He exhaled. "That was as close as it gets."

The Irish commentator nodded, rubbing his beard.

"Exactly! It depends on how much the judges weigh that first knockdown, yeah? But if they’re scoring it as a whole fight, Demaien had more control when it mattered.

He did more damage, and let’s not forget that brutal kimura that nearly ended the fight. If he had ten more seconds, that arm might’ve been gone."

The Polish commentator raised a finger, countering.

"But Niklas popped his shoulder back in and fought like a madman. That has to count for something. His striking was more polished. He was landing cleaner shots even in that last round. The judges might see that as more effective work."

The Irish commentator scoffed.

"Ah, come on! More effective? Demaien had him crushed at the end there. It was a dogfight, but I reckon the Irish lad takes it."

The Polish commentator chuckled, shaking his head.

"I wouldn’t be so sure. The judges may favor Niklas’s striking. And let’s not ignore the fact that these are international judges. no home bias."

The officials stood in position, their expressions unreadable as they gathered the scorecards.

The judges, selected from neutral territories under the MMA Governing Body, ensured that no country had any influence over the decision.

Whatever the outcome, it would be fair.

Online, fans were already buzzing. Clips of the fight were spreading.

Fans were calling for both men to be signed by a major promotion, whether it be UFA or elsewhere.

These two had something special.

But now, the moment everyone was waiting for, the decision.

The officials stood in position, their expressions unreadable as they gathered the scorecards.

The arena remained tense, the energy pulsing through the air.

Fans were on edge, some clutching their flags, others murmuring in anticipation.

Demaien stood with his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

He had given everything.

Win or lose, he had no regrets.

Niklas, on the other side, was still rolling his shoulder, shifting his stance slightly as if testing his arm.

His face was a mess of swelling and dried blood, but he held his chin high.

The referee moved to the center, calling both fighters to join him.

The announcer stepped forward, holding the microphone, his voice cutting through the deafening noise.

"Ladies and gentlemen, after three rounds of war, we go to the judges’ scorecards for a decision."

The crowd erupted again, voices clashing in chants of "IRELAND! IRELAND!" while Polish fans responded just as passionately with "POLSKA! POLSKA!"

The chants roared through the arena, rolling like waves, a constant, unrelenting force.

It didn’t feel like an MMA match anymore, it felt like a football stadium in full voice.

The announcer glanced at the referee, who nodded as he received the final tally.

"The judges score the contest... 28-29... 29-28... and..."

A brief pause.