Ronan Black stepped onto the small platform at the front of the press conference room, wearing a dark UFA-branded jacket and jeans.
His presence shifted the room immediately. Cameras clicked. Reporters straightened. Phones lifted.
"Alright, let's get this thing started," he said, voice blunt and energized, like the adrenaline of the night hadn't worn off him yet. "Hell of a card, huh?"
No one answered, but they didn't have to. The buzz in the room said enough.
"We've got fighters comin' in, so let's keep it respectful, let's keep it tight. Don't ask dumb shit. You know the drill."
He gave a quick nod to the media staff behind him, who began calling in fighters one by one.
"You guys can start with the prelims and early main card," Ronan added, stepping to the side. "We'll get to the double champ in a bit."
The press began their rounds. A young featherweight, still flushed from his decision win, took a seat behind the table and leaned into the mic.
