**An Unforgettable Video Experience!**
In the preparation room, Ye Chen was knee-deep in his training, warming up and mentally gearing up for the monumental night ahead. Meanwhile, he kept a keen eye on the buzz flooding the internet. As anticipated, this fight night was turning into one for the history books.
An astonishing 40 million viewers were tuning in to the live broadcast, with the domestic audience surpassing 10 million. According to the UFC's official stats, more than 100 million fans worldwide were glued to their screens as the event kicked off. And the atmosphere in the venue? Electric! The presence of female celebrities had drawn in a massive crowd, prompting Dana to take extra precautions by arranging special seating for Haise Wei. After all, the excitement—and potential madness—of fan adoration could easily spiral out of control.
In the heart of the "VIP" section, Catwoman sat surrounded by a fortress of UFC security guards, a barrier that kept the curious at bay. For once, she didn't need to don a disguise. But tonight was far from a glamorous gala; it was something more primal and raw. As she glanced at the clock, she couldn't help but ask the nearby staff, "How much longer until the main event?"
"If we're lucky, about fifteen minutes. If not, up to thirty," came the response.
She nodded, her mind racing with thoughts. "I wonder if he'll remember me?" The uncertainty gnawed at her—did she hope he would recognize her, or was she relieved at the thought that he might not?
Time ticked on, and before long, it was nearly time for the penultimate co-main event. The two fighters stepping into the cage were fan favorites, and the heat in the venue was palpable. Anticipation for the main event soared as the staff helped gear Ye Chen up with his wristbands.
The attendant from the last event was back, and Ye Chen couldn't resist teasing, "Did you put your money on me this time?"
With a shy smile, the staff member admitted, "I'm afraid I bet on Mike this time."
Ye Chen raised an eyebrow, surprised. This was a first for him; it meant the crowd and betting houses were placing their faith in him as the underdog. A fact that carried weight, especially given that Lao Qian had made a name for himself as the dark horse in previous matches. His style was raw but passionate—perfect for fans eager for excitement.
Seeing Ye Chen's puzzled look, the attendant explained, "A dog that wins pulls in massive payouts. It's how I earn my keep."
With a chuckle, Ye Chen replied, "You might want to rethink that bet; it's not too late to back out." With that, he stepped out, the anticipation hanging in the air like electricity.
Custom dictated that the champion would take to the octagon last. Ye Chen's voice rang through the venue, confident and loud, challenging the precedence of the reigning champion, Chandler—who also didn't miss a chance to rally the crowd with his own increased volume.
As the lights dimmed, the atmosphere thickened with electrifying excitement. The reception was fit for a champion. A roaring crowd, many shouting the name of their home country, welcomed Chandler, who entered with a national flag billowing behind him, muscles rippling with raw energy. He was a human tank—fierce and ready to dominate.
With a dramatic backflip off the ring's edge, he let out a howl, revving up the crowd before waving toward Catwoman—mistaking her for a supporter of his fight. Ye Chen caught a glimpse of her too, admiring her captivating silhouette and natural beauty, albeit a bit confused by the situation.
In the audience, Catwoman saw Ye Chen and waved, caught up in the thrill of the moment. However, in a twist, neither of the two esteemed fighters truly knew to whom they were waving. Chandler returned her gesture, while Ye Chen simply nodded, deducing she was likely there for the celebrated fighter in front of them.
"The fighter in the red corner, Ye Chen from Daxia! He's shattered expectations with four consecutive victories—all finished with style. The latest data? A mind-boggling 0.36 effective hits received per minute—breaking Makhachev's record!"
As the enthusiastic announcer, the Eight Buddhas, stood front and center, the crowd exploded in applause. Ye Chen exchanged a fist bump with the host, feeling the warmth of the audience's disbelief at his accomplishments. His near-perfect defensive skills showcased not only his prowess but also how he dominated each matchup, leaving his opponents flailing.
In the realm of UFC legends, Makhachev had set the bar high with his defensive capabilities, making even titans like Oliveira strive to tread lightly. But before Makhachev, the record belonged to the Wolf King—who managed a mere two effective hits over countless bouts. Imagine the intensity of such numbers!
Back at center stage, with palpable anticipation, the mic turned to Chandler: "Mike Chandler, with an MMA record of 23 wins and 8 losses—a former B lightweight world champion, a dynamic fighter that leaves the crowd in awe with each match-up!"
With the stage set and tempers flaring, the referee stepped into the ring, "You know the rules. No dirty moves. You can fist bump now, or retreat and prepare."
Neither fighter punched the air; they locked eyes instead. Ye Chen leaned into the cage, muscles coiled like a spring, focused intently on Chandler.
"Begin!"
With a sharp command, both fighters surged forward as if propelled by the sheer force of the audience's energy. Chandler's explosive speed was on full display the moment he entered striking distance, immediately delivering a powerful jab aimed to dismantle.
The night was just beginning, and as the tension crescendoed, only one thing was certain—every blow, every audience cheer, would be etched into the annals of history. Would Ye Chen continue to defy the odds, or would Chandler assert his dominance as the battle raged on?