As expected, Greenberg, humiliated in public, launched a furious counterattack.
The very next day, major entertainment outlets—led by The Hollywood Reporter—published a series of scathing articles.
> "Arrogant Champion: Yogan's Sky-High Demands Scare Off Warner Bros.!"
"Big-Shot Fighter Turns Down S-Tier Blockbuster, Acting Career in Jeopardy!"
"Just a Brute Who Can Fight? Yogan's Superstar Dream May End Because of His Low Emotional Intelligence!"
These articles, supported by paid trolls and manipulative Western media, spread fabricated stories like wildfire. Headlines screamed that Yogan was "acting like a diva," "disrespecting Hollywood," and "demanding $50 million for a movie role."
Within hours, the uninformed Western audience began to turn against him. The once-celebrated UFC hero from the East was now portrayed as a greedy, arrogant fighter with delusions of grandeur.
But just as the storm of public opinion reached its peak, an unexpected ally appeared.
---
An Unexpected Ally
Yogan attended a charity gala hosted by UNICEF as a special guest. Under the soft glow of chandeliers and camera flashes, he encountered a legend he had admired since childhood—Jackie Chan.
The martial arts icon arrived wearing a simple Tang suit, exuding vitality and humility. As soon as he spotted Yogan, he walked over with a broad smile and open arms.
"Good kid! That was a brilliant fight!" Jackie's booming laughter filled the room as he hugged Yogan tightly. "I saw the news about you rejecting Greenberg. Well done! You really made us Chinese proud!"
The warmth in his voice instantly broke the tension surrounding Yogan. The two struck up a conversation as if they had known each other for years.
Jackie shared stories from his early days in Hollywood—about the prejudice, cultural misunderstandings, and countless moments of frustration he faced when he tried to introduce true Eastern action to Western audiences.
"Those people in Hollywood," Jackie said with a sigh, "they never really understood how to create a genuine Eastern hero. They wanted me to play a smiling, obedient sidekick—someone who makes their white protagonists look good."
His eyes gleamed with intensity as he continued, "They just wanted a tool. But we're not tools—we're artists, fighters, dreamers."
After a moment of reflection, Jackie leaned forward, his tone turning sincere.
"Yogan, they'll never understand us. So let's make something that belongs to us. I want to create a film that tells our story—about a fighter who uses his fists to break prejudice and earn respect on the world stage."
His offer was heartfelt and passionate. It was everything Yogan had ever dreamed of—a chance to work alongside one of his childhood idols and redefine how the East was represented globally.
Yogan felt a surge of emotion but forced himself to stay calm. After a brief pause, he smiled gratefully and said, "Big Brother Jackie, I'm deeply honored by your invitation. But right now, my battlefield is still inside the Octagon. I have goals left to achieve. Once I retire, I promise—I'll come to you first."
Jackie studied the firmness in Yogan's gaze and nodded approvingly. "Good! That's the spirit of a true warrior. I'll be waiting for you. And if you ever need help, you call me anytime."
The two men shook hands, sealing not a business deal, but a bond of mutual respect.
For the first time in weeks, Yogan felt the weight on his chest ease. The chaos of public scrutiny seemed to quiet down—if only for a moment.
But beneath the surface, a far more dangerous conspiracy was brewing.
---
In the Shadows of Dublin
Across the ocean, in Dublin, Ireland, Conor McGregor was deep in the middle of brutal training.
Since Yogan had crushed him both physically and mentally in their last fight, Conor had changed dramatically. The loudmouthed showman was gone. No more wild parties, no more boasts. His life now revolved around training, discipline, and revenge.
His once cocky eyes now burned with a cold, focused madness—a hunger to reclaim his pride.
While lifting a heavy barbell, his agent entered the gym and casually mentioned the headlines: Yogan's falling reputation, his refusal of a Hollywood deal, and his meeting with Jackie Chan.
Conor froze mid-rep, then slowly set the barbell down. A sharp, venomous glint flashed in his emerald eyes.
"Oh? Our 'Eastern Emperor' wants to be a Hollywood star now?" he said with a cold smirk. "Interesting. Very interesting."
In that instant, an idea sparked in his mind—a new kind of attack. Not in the ring, but in the arena of public opinion. He would destroy Yogan's reputation before ever throwing a punch.
He picked up his phone and called Warner Bros. producer Greenberg, the very man Yogan had publicly humiliated.
"Mr. Greenberg," Conor began smoothly, his Irish accent laced with mockery, "I hear you've got a grudge against that Chinese kid. So do I. Maybe we can help each other… stir things up a bit. Make his life miserable before I finish him in the ring."
The two men—one an egotistical producer, the other a wounded warrior—found common ground in hatred. Their conversation lasted only minutes, but it set off a chain reaction that would soon engulf Yogan.
---
The Storm Returns
Within days, coordinated attacks began across major Western platforms.
Dozens of gossip websites, sports blogs, and entertainment accounts suddenly posted "exclusive scoops" about Yogan. Greenberg supplied the fake stories; Conor fueled them with subtle provocations, interviews, and "offhand" remarks.
> "An Ungrateful Champion? Why Yogan Rejected Hollywood's Olive Branch."
"Big Ego, Bigger Demands: Did Yogan Really Ask for $50 Million?"
"Racism in Reverse? Yogan Only Wants to Work With Chinese Directors!"
Each headline was more toxic than the last. Troll farms, influencers, and fan pages repeated the lies until they began to sound like truth.
The damage was swift and brutal. To many Western fans who didn't know the full story, Yogan suddenly seemed like a greedy, arrogant fighter who looked down on others.
Brand partnerships began to waver. Some companies quietly delayed endorsement deals. Others paused negotiations entirely. The image of the "humble warrior" that Yogan had built over years was being shredded overnight.
---
The Invisible Battle
For the first time, Yogan felt helpless.
Inside the Octagon, every strike, every block, every drop of sweat meant something. There was logic, fairness—even beauty—in combat. But this? This was chaos. An invisible war fought with rumors and manipulation. No matter how hard he trained, he couldn't fight words with fists.
As he scrolled through the endless flood of hateful comments and misleading articles, frustration tightened in his chest. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm.
Just then, his phone rang. The name flashing on the screen made him smile slightly—Jackie Chan.
"Yogan, have you seen these damn reports?" Jackie's voice boomed through the phone. "These Hollywood bastards can't beat you, so they're smearing your name! It's outrageous!"
Yogan chuckled wearily. "Big Brother, it's fine. I'll handle it."
"Handle it?" Jackie snapped. "And how exactly? Are you going to argue with trolls on social media? You'll only sink into the swamp they built for you! The best way to deal with lies isn't by explaining—it's by proving them wrong!"
Jackie's tone shifted from anger to inspiration.
"They say you don't understand movies? Then we'll make one so good that it shuts them up! They say you only work with Chinese people? Fine—then we'll build the most international, diverse team in history! They say you're arrogant? Then we'll show them what true superstar grace looks like!"
Yogan was silent for a long moment, listening. Each word hit him like a punch—not one that hurt, but one that reignited his fighting spirit.
"Thank you, Big Brother," he finally said quietly. "I understand."
Jackie's voice softened. "Remember, Yogan—the louder the world shouts against you, the more it means you're standing in the light. Keep moving forward. Let your victories speak for themselves."
As the call ended, Yogan stared out the hotel window. The city lights of Los Angeles shimmered below, cold and distant. Somewhere out there, powerful people were plotting his downfall. But he had faced worse—inside the cage and beyond.
He clenched his fists.
"They want to play with public opinion?" he murmured to himself. "Fine. Let's see who breaks first."
What he didn't yet know was that this was only the beginning. Behind the media circus, capital forces and personal vendettas were intertw
ining like dark vines, preparing to drag him into a larger storm—one that could shake both the sports world and Hollywood to its core.