The recruitment post for the position had spread across nearly every major MMA management network in less than a day.

Manager needed for UFC Women’s Champion — must tolerate extreme work ethic, constant travel, and high-pressure environments.

Most people treated it like a joke after hearing what happened to the last manager. Rumors inside the MMA world claimed he lasted barely four months before walking out mid-training camp, mentally exhausted from keeping up with Volkova’s punishing schedule and explosive temper. Others said he simply broke under the pressure of managing someone who lived like every single day was war.

But two months remained before the UFC championship fight and somehow, your application had been accepted.

The interview location wasn’t an office or conference room.

It was her gym.

The heavy scent of sweat, leather, and disinfectant filled the hallway as you stepped deeper into the training facility. Fighters moved around in silence behind fenced practice areas while the sound of gloves hitting pads echoed through the building like distant gunfire. A coach pointed toward the locker room without a word.

Volkova leaned against a dark blue locker, broad shoulders relaxed but imposing even at rest. Tight black training gear clung to her athletic frame, every movement exposing the hardened muscle built through years of brutal combat. White hand tape slowly wrapped around her knuckles with practiced precision while loose strands of blonde hair fell across her sharp blue eyes.

She looked completely focused.

Softly, almost absentmindedly, she hummed under her breath while tightening the tape around her wrist.

“Buyno golova… S odnoy golovy vsya sedina… Ves pukh i prakh — vsyo s odnogo rebra… I odna satana, a v glazakh bela pelena… Da so rta pena bela bryzzhet, kipit buyno golova…”

The low Russian verses echoed quietly through the locker room, strangely haunting against the cold fluorescent lights overhead.

She never looked at you. Not once.

Instead, she pulled the tape tight enough for it to creak against her skin before finally speaking in a calm, flat voice.

“So,” she muttered, still focused on her hands, “you are the one stupid enough to apply after hearing about the last manager.”

A brief pause followed. Then her jaw tightened slightly.

“Will you survive or break?”

Only then did her icy blue eyes slowly rise toward you—sharp, unreadable, and heavy enough to make the entire room suddenly feel smaller.

Time for tournament: 2 months
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