PLEASANT HILL, Calif. -- "One more, Cesar, please," Nick Diaz (Pictures) says softly from a kneeling position inside the ring at Cesar Gracie (Pictures)'s gym. The lanky, gritty fighter has already done what was asked of him. But he just wants one more round.

A handful of minutes can seem like an eternity against Gilbert Melendez (Pictures), yet Diaz wants the extra time with his training partner in another full-throttle, all-encompassing sparring session. Wearing MMA gloves, the two were tearing at each other moments ago. They only went soft -- for fighters that is -- when striking to the head.

Now they're replenishing, ready to go home and sitting in lightweight chairs across the gym. Cesar Gracie (Pictures) swings his corvette yellow timer at his side as he walks past fighters sprawled on the grappling mat. The stopwatch moves in big, tight circles, mimicking the rhythm of a cop twirling a baton.

"One more?" he asks, stepping into earshot.

The fighters -- two of his top students in one of the sport's most highly regarded camps -- nod and vocalize agreement behind fading breaths.

Gracie had frequently turned his back during their sparring. They know what to do. This time, however, he sits on the edge of a homey leather couch on the other side of the facility. He has a perfect view of the ring, of Diaz stuffing Melendez's takedowns and Melendez persisting at the pace of a bullet, but Gracie misses most of the final round due to breezy conversation floating around the hard work.

Wooden planks rumble under the ring. Gracie looks up. Diaz bounces against the mat. Perhaps Melendez elevated him too high, but it's part of the process. It's training. It's where the real work occurs.

The UFC veteran immediately works off his back and soon rolls out, back to his feet. He stalks forward, shoots and ends up halfway behind Melendez before dragging him down like he was breaking the law.

Back and forth, they bring out the best in each other as their trainer glances down at his timer, slowly works his way to his feet and starts toward the ring.

"Time," Gracie says to no one in particular. Diaz and Melendez turn off their adrenaline immediately, stopping mid-stride.

Judging by Gracie's cargo shorts and relaxed demeanor, it would be difficult to peg him as the top-flight instructor he is daily. He seems more ready for the beach than he does for a fight night. However, it's clear when he shifts from instructing gi jiu-jitsu to MMA to weight cutting merely by taking a few steps, he is completely tuned in. He is the man who inspires the work ethic of a tireless athlete like Diaz.

Finding Brazilian jiu-jitsu in his teen years, Diaz became a staple of the fight camp that is tucked away between lively trees and eerily silent shops. Now a black belt, he is known as much for his resilience in MMA as he is for his vocal, diehard attitude outside of combat.

But as he peels off his shirt and rests against the padded blue wall next to Gracie, Diaz is as subdued as they come. He is quiet while Melendez shoots smiles and jokes across the gym, contemplating Kanye West's favorable fashion choices. Diaz begins talking technique with his mentor, who waves me over to speak to the 23-fight veteran.

Before I can introduce myself, Diaz asks if I saw the slam. No need to specify; I tell him I did. He is eyeing his knees and implores me to assess his performance. I offer my take: He sprawled well and had more kicks and knees, never finding himself in truly bad spots, but "El Nino" had hands and takedowns to spare.

The 24-year-old engages more, speaking up and establishing eye contact as he analyzes the round. I have nothing more to add.

He falls silent, reluctantly realizing his training is done for the day -- although he might join his brother Nate Diaz boxing later in the night -- and it is time to speak to the media.

The 160-pound division feels right for him, Diaz says in a faint tone. He has a size advantage and is feeling more explosive these days.

It takes coaxing for Diaz to speak about subjects that have made him a controversial figure.

K.J. Noons won their November title bout on a cut that shouldn't have ended the fight and has denied him a rematch, Diaz says. His scar tissue surgery had nothing to do with that fight -- it was scheduled before. He'd fight Yves Edwards (Pictures), who is scheduled to challenge Noons, if he was the champion, but he'd rather not because he knows him. He doesn't like fighting people he knows. Subjects like Sean Sherk (Pictures) and Karo Parisyan (Pictures), he's said it before, "What am I going to do?"

The native of Stockton, Calif., attributes his four decision losses in the UFC to inexperience. Three of the four defeats were ruled unanimous decisions -- a fact that bothers him.

"I wouldn't have complained if they were splits," he says. "They were good fights. In some ways I could have won. In some ways they could have won. I guess it was just who was watching and who you wanted to win pretty much, you know what I mean?"