《MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat》


 Chapter 1: Some Quick Cash

    <h4>Chapter 1: Some Quick Cash</h4>


    In a busy city, the skyscrapers mirrored the morning light, and the sounds of people talking and car horns mixed


    As city life came to life in the morning, people rushed back and forth, each with their own daily tasks toplete.


    But within the the busy city, a small alleyway, hiding away between tworge buildings was quiet.


    It was very quiet. The only things you could hear were trash bags rustling and the garbage truck making its rounds.


    Behind arge garbage skip bin, a figureid there motionless, covered by the shadows.


    The young man''s dirty medium ck hair was dirty and messy, his face covered with dirt and grime.


    His ripped up clothes showing the hardships of life he had faced, and with his skinny frame you would think he was malnourished.


    His eyes, even though closed, had dark rings, and showed exhaustion, the hard times in the streets catching up to him.


    This was Damon.


    Despite his youthful age, Damon''s rugged appearance made him look decades older.


    This was the true reality of hunger and homelessness, a truth that many in the city chose to ignore.


    As dawn broke and light crept into the alleyway, Damon moved, and his eyes flickered open to show that he was still alive.


    He sat up slowly, his movements stiff from the cold, hard ground.


    He groaned and got to his feet, looking around the alley as if he was searching for something.


    As he stood up, his bright blue eyes reflected the morning light, leaving wonder to what face was hidden under theyer of dirt, pimples, and imperfections that covered his face.


    He searched the garbage bin, his hands going through the trash in desperation.


    After a long time of dumpster diving, he came out with a dejected look, mumbling "fucking hell" under his breath.


    But he didn''t drown in his disappointment.


    He had long learned that the streets were unforgiving, and no one was going tofort or help him.


    So, he understood well, he left the alley, heading to another spot in search of something to eat.


    As he walked, he bumped into a man wearing a ck suit, who was deeply focused in a phone call and walking in a rush.


    Damon tried to sidestep, but they collided, and the man looked at him with fury, clicking his phone shut and ring at Damon with disgust.


    "What the fuck are you doing, you dirty bum?" the man spat, looking at Damon with a contempt re. "Can''t you see where you''re walking? You fucking..." He turned and stormed off, not finishing his thought.


    The man''s rude words didn''t bother Damon. He was used to being insulted and had built up a thick skin over time.


    The fact that it wasn''t even the worst thing he had ever experienced led him to simply forget about it.


    He carried on, his eyes looking for any indication of a possibility across the streets.


    The road got wider as he walked. It seemed like the tall buildings and busy streets made him feel small and unimportant.


    .


    .


    .


    .


    .


    .


    ...


    .


    .


    .


    .


    .


    In a backyard, surrounded by an octagon steel fence, a middle-aged man, Chris, was yelling at a young man, Joey. "What the hell, Joey? I thought I told you to fill the card. Now you''re saying we''re missing a guy? What the hell is wrong with you?" Chris roared, his cheeks flushed with anger, as his voice grew higher.


    Joey looked away from Chris''s eyes. "Man, you did. Chris, I''m sorry. This Friday, I lost myself. Don''t worry, I''ll try to find someone to fill the void." He spoke quickly and shakily, and his hands were a little shaking.


    Chris got a little calmer, but he was still upset. "How are you going to get them to fight? With such little time to prepare, no one will want to fight." He kept his eyes on Joey as he paced back and forth.


    Joey thought fast, trying to figure out what to do. "Listen, I''ll just say the prize for the winner. That should make some sucker want to fight. He''s gonna be a filler anyway, not great." He spoke with confidence to try to persuade Chris.


    Chris raised an eyebrow and looked doubtful. "You think that''ll work?"


    Joey nodded. "Yeah, I''m sure of it. I''ll just post it online, and we''ll get some desperate guy who needs the money. He won''t care that he''s going to lose."


    Chris sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Okay, dude, we need a fighter soon. People will get here quickly, and the seats will start to fill up. "Go!" He turned around and told Joey to go.


    Joey nodded, quickly took out his phone, and began typing. "I''ll get someone, Chris, don''t worry."


    As Joey left, Chris couldn''t help but feel uneasy about what was going on.


    He knew it would be hard to find a fighter so quickly, but they had no other choice.


    The show must go on, and he needed a fighter to fill the card.


    Damon saw that he was now in the housing area as he walked.


    People in this area were known to be poor, and anyone who seemed to be rich was often looked at with suspicion.


    You either did something illegal or you did something illegal.


    Damon knew people here watched out for one another; he had be used to this way of life.


    As he continued walking, he saw a guy walking straight towards him, eyes glued on his phone.


    Damon shook his head, thinking to himself, ''Not another one.''


    He was about to step around the other guy, but they bumped into each other. The other guy turned around, his face twisted in anger.


    "Watch where you''re going, you fucking..." When the guy looked up and saw Damon''s face, he stopped talking.


    They just looked at each other for a short time, and Damon noticed the excitement on the man''s face, which made him ufortable.


    After that, the guy''s face changed. He smiled and put out his hand. "Ayy man, you wanna make a quick buck?"


    And these were the words of that sparked the killer Machine.

 Chapter 2: The Desperation of Survival

    <h4>Chapter 2: The Desperation of Survival</h4>


    When Damon followed the guy, he couldn''t stop thinking of questions. Why did he say yes to this offer? He didn''t like fights.


    It went against everything he believed in. He had to eat, though, because his stomach wasn''t going to go along with him.


    He might be able to change his life around if he won some money. Buy some new clothes, get a haircut, and finally apply for a job.


    People always seemed to think that being homeless was a choice, that all someone needed to do was "get a job," and everything would be okay. But it wasn''t that simple.


    Would you hire a poor person if you owned a business? That was the question that everyone had to ask.


    As a homeless person, Damon knew that people looked at him with disgust, like he was less than human.


    They didn''t see how hard it was for him every day to find food and a ce to live. They didn''t see how painful and scary it was to live on the streets.


    And they definitely didn''t see the desperation that drove him to ept this fight.


    The guy was still on his phone when they got to the house, and he led Damon to the back of the house.


    Damon saw that the yard wasrge, veryrge, and it was grassy, with an octagon cage made of fence gates.


    There were some people sitting on benches, chatting. Damon saw a bulky middle-aged maning straight to him. Well, he was going to the guy that brought him here.


    "Joey! You came back soon. Did you finally find him? I mean, the fighter, and who''s that guy behind you? Wait, don''t tell me he''s the fighter," the man pulled the young man away from Damon.


    "What are you doing, man? I brought the fighter, like I said," Joey said, annoyed, as he pulled his shoulder away from the man''s hold.


    The man didn''t seem happy; he looked at Damon in a weird way, then back at Joey. "Do you even see what you brought? This guy is like a twig; he also stinks. No one will want to fight with him."


    Damon heard all the names they just called him; it didn''t affect him. He had heard way worse from his father.


    Thinking of his father, his heart raced in fear, then calmed, remembering what happened.


    Joey, the young man, walked up to him. "Ayy, man, you can just wait here; we''ll call you when it''s your turn to fight."


    He then turned and went back to the man as they walked off.


    After that, he turned around and followed the man as he walked away.


    Damon was left standing by himself and felt ufortable and out of ce.


    He turned around and saw that everyone was looking at him with curious and disgusted looks on their faces.


    As more people arrived, the yard became busy. When it was really full, Joey went inside the made-up cage.


    He screamed, introducing the event with a loud, energetic voice that sent chills down Damon''s spine.


    The way he did it reminded him of the show his father used to beat him to watch. It was UF... no, was it UFF? No, it was UFA - Ultimate Fighting Association.


    The fights began, and Damon noticed the fighters seemed to be wearing fingerless gloves for protection.


    He got closer to the fight, people made way for him, and not because of some respectful reason, it was rather his dirty and stinky appearance that made them want to avoid him.


    There was a lot of hitting and grunting as he got closer to the cage. With his eyes glued on the fighters, Damon''s heart pounded with eagerness.


    He noticed the fighters were all wearing simr gloves, their hands wrapped in tape, their eyes fixed on each other with a fierce determination.


    It made Damon feel uneasy to know that he was about to enter that world.


    He watched as the blonde guy threw a powerful right hook at the brte.


    The brte barely avoided the hook and tried to push it away, but it stillnded on him and knocked him back a few steps.


    Surprisingly, the blonde guy didn''t take advantage of his short-term edge. Instead, he chose to get closer to his opponent.


    The brte straightened himself fast and started a barrage of punches, some of whichnded solidly on the face of the blonde guy.


    The blonde guy stumbled back, his eyes widening in shock as the brte kept pushing for the attack.


    In a bizarre disy, the brte threw a wild kick that missed the blonde guy by mere inches.


    He didn''t give up and kept attacking with a number of overhand punches, one of which went off with a loud "BANG!"


    The blonde guy gave on and fell to the ground, beaten.


    The brte stood tall and proud, his arms raised in victory as the crowd cheered.


    Damon could feel the excitement in the yard, and his heart was beating hard and fast.


    He quickly looked at the knocked-out blonde man and then turned to face Joey, who was motioning for him to enter the cage.


    "Ayy, man, it''s your turn," Joey said in a low, urgent voice. "Just get in there and do your best... yeah." Damon took a big breath.


    He was next.

 Chapter 3: The Unlikely Opponent

    <h4>Chapter 3: The Unlikely Opponent</h4>


    After the fighters got out of the cage, one of them was dragged out, and another guy entered.


    He looked like someone''s dad, with a beer belly and a stubble beard.


    Damon was about to get in when Joey pulled him back. "What are you doing? Take off that jacket," Joey said.


    Staring at his jacked, he realized he hadn''t taken off his worn-out jacket in years when he looked down at it.


    He slowly took it off, showing off his skinny, unhealthy arms. Joey was shocked and his eyes got really big, how can someone be this skinny?


    Damon got in the cage, and the moment the crowd saw him, they broke into chatter. "The fuck? Did Chris and Joey get some sick kid to fight? I didn''t pay for this shit." One of the people in the crowd shouted. Damon looked around, feeling self-conscious.


    Unlike the others, he saw the man he was going to fight didn''t have on any gloves. "Where are the fighting gloves?" Damon asked ring at the bare hands.


    The man looked at him smiling. "I don''t need them. You can wear them if you want, but don''t expect me to. Now, boy, let''s fight."


    A lot of peopleughed and jeered. For that reason, Damon''s face got hot with shame.


    He looked at his opponent, who had a confident smile on his face.


    Damon realized he was in for a tough fight.


    After they rang a small bell, Damon stepped back and put up his fist as a weak defense.


    He looked like the most non-intimidating person in the cage, with his skinny arms and frail frame, and... stance, if you even wanted to call it a stance.


    The man didn''t even spare a moment to size him up; he went straight for the attack, throwing punches like a maniac.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he struggled to block the punches, his hands shaking with fear. He couldn''t help but get shbacks of his dad''s brutal beatings.


    He put his hands in front of his face to block the punch, but the man''s fistnded squarely on his chin.


    Everyone was surprised when Damon stayed upright. He staggered back, tears welling up from the pain.


    Cheers and jeers broke out from the audience, their voices full of excitement and thirst for blood.


    Not slowing down, Damon''s opponent delivered another punch that knocked him staggered backward.


    With his limbs flinging wildly as he attempted to keep on his feet, resembling a rag doll.


    Damon looked quickly around the cage, wanting to get out.


    He spotted an opening and threw a kick, but the moment his shin hit the guy''s leg, he felt a searing pain.


    The man used Damon''s short-lived attention to throw another poorly nned punch.


    This onended squarely on Damon''s cheek, sending him stumbling back.


    There was blood everywhere, and everyone went crazy. Someone yelled, "He''s not even blocking, this motherfucker!"


    "No one blocks here anyway, but he''s eating those punches away. That kid can take a punch for real!"


    Damon didn''t want to give up, even though his face was covered in blood and cuts.


    He threw a wild punch, but his opponent caught it and countered with a vicious uppercut. Damon''s head snapped back, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.


    The crowd was on its feet, screaming for more.


    The man hit Damon again, and he stumbled backwards, his eyes going cloudy.


    He stood his ground and wouldn''t budge. Each of the man''s punches sent a painful thud through the air.


    Joey and Chris were watching the fight with wide eyes from a nearby corner.


    It was hard for Chris to believe what Joey was telling him. "What the fuck kind of crackhead did you get me? This guy is crazy!" It shocked Joey too, and he asked himself, "Am I a natural scout?" I told you I''ll find the right guy, and I''m sure this will work out well."


    Chris nodded in agreement, his eyes looking on the fight. "Don''t get it twisted, the guy is bad at fighting, Well everyone here is bad at fighting, but this guy is worse. However, to eat punches from a guy triple his size is insane." He nced at the crowd, cheering and chanting for more.


    Chris wondered if he brought the guy to fight again, maybe he might make even more money off the entrance fee.


    The crowd was crazy and excited, and you could feel it. Both Joey and Chris looked at each other and agreed: this was a goldmine.


    The fact that this guy is willing to take a beating could make them a lot of money.


    As the fight went on, Damon stumbled around the cage, blood all over his face.


    Joey leaned in, but it was hard to hear him. "We need to get him to fight again," he said. " This will make us a lot of bag."


    Chris nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You talk to him, see if we can set up another fight." Joey grinned, his mind already going over the possibilities. "This is going to be big, Chris. Really big."


    Back in the fight, Damon''s mind was shot as he tried to throw his own punch.


    But when he hit the guy on the chin, he didn''t move. He just ate the punch like he had one of his before.


    Damon''s body shook with fear as his eyes grew wide in shock.


    With a look of frustration on his face, the guy snatched him up and hurled him to the ground before he could react.


    The guy''s punches came raining down on Damon''s face, each onending with disturbing sounf.


    There was blood everywhere, turning the grass red. The hits to Damon''s head made his mind spin.


    He felt himself being pulled back into the darkness, the same darkness he had experienced countless times before.


    The guy had to be pulled off of him by other people.


    But not before he took a few more swings. Damon''s head rang, his vision blurry.


    He was back in the living room, on the floor, and his father was hitting him hard.


    It was the same hopelessness and fear that felt he was going to die that hit him.


    Suddenly, he heard a sound -


    [EMMAC SYSTEM ACTIVATED]


    Everything went ck, and Damon was out.


    People in the crowd gasped and kept quiet in shock. Joey and Chris looked at each other with worry. What had just happened? Was the guy okay?


    They didn''t want death on their hands

 Chapter 4: The Stern Lecture

    <h4>Chapter 4: The Stern Lecture</h4>


    Damon''s vision became hazy and unfocused as his eyes slowly open


    The dull pain in his head that throbbed like a bass drum making a beat was the first thing he noticed.


    He winced, and it felt like a thousand pins were poking at his skin on his face. He sighed as a familiar hand rubbed his back.


    He knew he had to exin why his face looked so battered.


    "Ah, you''re awake, are you?" A sharp voice with a clear Irish brogue asked.


    Leaning back against the alley wall, Damon sat up and looked down. He couldn''t bear to look at her.


    "Boy, I asked if you''re okay or not," she finally said, her voice forceful but full of worry.


    With a voice hardly audible above a whisper, Damon nodded. "I''m fine, mom."


    She quickly responded, her ent deepening with irritation. "Good, then you''ll tell me what got you looking like that, ain''t you? Since you''re fine, that means you can talk well."


    Damon didn''t say anything and kept his eyes on the dirty floor of the alley.


    He said mumbling, "Ah, its nothing, mom," but she stopped him.


    She stood up, and her eyes were burning with anger. "It''s feckin nothing, Damon! You leave, don''te home for the night, and then yee back lookin'' like you''ve been through a war! Are you pullin'' me leg, Damon?"


    Her voice got higher, and every word had a bit of doubt and worry in it.


    Damon felt bad because he knew he had to tell the truth.


    Damon paused, his mind working on a reason. The silence from him didn''t end.


    Finally taking a big breath, Damon spoke, but his voice was so low it was almost a whisper. "Mom, I...I fought."


    Her eyes got narrow and her face turned serious. "A fight? What kind of fight, Damon?"


    Damon hesitated, knowing he had to reveal the truth. "A backyard fight, mom. I was desperate, and We need the money."


    Her face fell, her eyes wide with shock. "Damon, what have you gotten yourself into?"


    He knew he had to exin so she could get it. But where did he even start?


    Aoife fixed her eyes on Damon''s, and her look was sharp and eager. . "Promise me, Damon. Promise me you won''t go there again." Her voice trembled, her hands shaking as she grasped his neck.


    Damon''s eyes slid away from hers, his gaze faltered. He couldn''t guarantee her that.


    He would not lie to her. They also desperately needed the money.


    The pain in Aoife''s face made her eyes well up with tears. "Damon, my baby boy. "I don''t want to lose you."


    Damon felt his chest tighten with feeling as his heart twisted.


    He felt as if he had a lump in his mouth as he looked at his mother. Her face brimmed with fear and worry.


    His voice cracked, "I''m sorry, mom," he said in a whisper. "I didn''t mean to worry you."


    Aoife''s grip on his neck tightened, her fingers digging into his skin. "You''re all I have, Damon. You''re all that matters to me. Please, promise me you won''t go back to that ce."


    Tears pricked Damon''s eyes and clouded his vision.


    His throat constricted with emotion as he experienced a stinging sensation in his nostrils..


    He wanted to promise her, he wanted to reassure her, but just he couldn''t. He couldn''t lie to her.


    "I...I can''t, mom," he stammered, his voice barely audible.


    When Aoife sobbed, her face got scrunched up and her body shook. He felt bad about what he did, he knew he''d let her down and disappointed her.


    But he couldn''t promise her something he knew he couldn''t keep.


    He couldn''t promise her he wouldn''t go back to the fights, not when they needed the money so desperately.


    As Aoife''s sobs rang through the alley, his resolve grew stronger.


    He would and will do anything to keep his mother safe and take care of her. Even if it put himself in danger.


    Damon''s eyes blinked and his attention fell to the ground. For the sake of his mother, he had to be strong.


    He took a deep breath as his mind worked quickly to find a way out.


    "Mom, I..." he started, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Aoife''s sobs slowly subsided, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "What, Damon? What do you have to say for yourself?"


    Damon swallowed hard, and his throat got tight. "Whatever it takes, mom, I''ll take care of you. I promise."


    Aoife''s eyes scanned his face as her expression softened. "Damon, you are my only child. I can''t lose you, my one and only family."


    Damon felt a lump form in his throat, his vision blurring. "I know, mom. I''ll be careful, I promise."


    Aoife''s grip on his neck rxed, her fingers sliding down to his shoulder. "See that you are, Damon. See that you are."


    As they sat there in silence, Damon knew he had to find a way to make things right. He had to find a way to take care of his mom without putting himself in danger.


    Still, he chose to enjoy the warmth of her touch and the love in her eyes for now.


    Aoife looked at Damon with amused sparkles in her eyes, her expression half yful, half affectionate.


    With a thick and sweet Irish brogue, she remarked, "And you''re starting to sound more and more like a feckin American day by day."


    Damon nodded in agreement andughed, crinkling the corners of his eyes.


    His ent was as heavy as his mother''s when they had first moved here, but now it only appeared when he was emotional, especially angry.


    As he stood up, Aoife rose with him, her brown hair still beautiful despite being dry.


    Damon turned to her, his eyes locking onto hers, and said, "I''m just going to get the money I won, mom. It''s fine. I''ll be back real soon, okay?"


    Aoife sat back down on the ground and nodded. Her face showed that she trusted the man. She believed her son would never lie to her, so she always believed what he said.

 Chapter 5: Activation

    <h4>Chapter 5: Activation</h4>


    Damon''s feet hit the ground in a steady beat, and as he walked, he looked around at all the people on the streets.


    He could hear the sounds of the city all around him, people talking, car horns honking, and rm noises in the distance.


    He had been walking for minutes, and he was lost in thought, when suddenly, a strange message shed before his eyes.


    [EMMAC SYSTEM HAS FULLY ACTIVATED]


    Damon''s heart skipped a beat as he stopped dead in his tracks, looking around in confusion.


    The people passing by seemed oblivious to the strange text hovering in front of him.


    He quickened his pace, his eyes darting back and forth, as if searching for an escape.


    He hid behind a big bin and ducked into a little alley, his feet ringing off the walls.


    Panting, he sat down and his head whirled. What the fuck is happening here? Do i schizophrenia? His voice shook as he murmured to himself.


    Slowly, Damon''s eyes got used to the dark. He kept his eyes on the ground as he tried to figure out what the strange message meant.


    [EMMAC SYSTEM: ELITE MIXED MARTIAL ARTS CHAMPIONSHIP SYSTEM, A SYSTEM THAT WILL HELP HOST BECOME THE BEST FIGHTER IN THE WORLD]


    Damon stared at the words, his mind racing with questions. EMMAC System: Elite Mixed Martial Arts Championship System? A system that would help him be the best fighter in the world?


    He froze for some time, not believing what he was seeing.


    Was his schizophrenia this bad, that his nightmare of fighting was haunting him?


    He looked around, wondering if anyone was ying a prank on him, but he was alone in the alley.


    He looked back at the screen, and saw another message:


    [Do you ept the Beginners Package]


    [Y / N]


    Damon hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should y along.


    But his curiosity got the better of him, and he chose yes.


    He saw no reason to say no, even if it was just a hallucination. He wanted to see where this would go.


    [Beginners Package has been opened]


    [?MMA FLEXIBLE GLOVES?


    ?STAYGAURD?


    ?1¡Á Submission move?


    ? Body-Training enhancer F-rank ]


    Damon''s eyes widened as he saw what was in the package. He couldn''t believe it. Was this really happening?


    Suddenly, there was a box in front of him. Damon began to wonder if he was really seeing things.


    But then he saw the box and slowly opened it to see what was inside.


    As he opened it, he saw a pair of MMA gloves, a stayguard. Damon''s mind was racing with questions. What was this technology? How did it work?


    He experienced doubt as well as enthusiasm. Though he was ready to find out, he had no idea what he was getting into.


    Realising the Stayguard was a mouthguard, Damon grabbed it. He touched it and once more a message showed up on his face.


    [Mouthpiece Stayguard- A mouth piece that will stay in your mouth no matter how many shots you take, it is stable providing good protection for not only the teeth but the entire mouth]


    He had wondered if this was what fighters used, and it seemed he was right.


    He put the Stayguard in his pocket, feeling excited and interested about this system thing.


    What were some other things about it? When he touched the gloves, it sent another message:


    [MMA Flexible gloves- these gloves can change from boxing gloves to mma fingerless gloves, giving the user a single pair, they provide protection for the knuckles, while also making sure that the users hits are not limited by the glove]


    Intrigued, Damon put on the gloves and felt a connection form between them.


    He could switch between boxing and MMA gloves seamlessly.


    He tested them, punching the air, and felt a surge of power and flexibility. The gloves were amazing!


    After testing them, he removed the gloves and stored them in his jacket.


    However, he noticed the other items were not there, leaving him wondering how to ess them.


    He thought about it, trying to figure out the next step.


    As he pondered, a panel appeared before him, filled with words. He stared at it, unsure what to do next. The panel seemed to be waiting for him to make a move, but he was hesitant.


    [STATUS]


    [SHOP](Locked)


    "******* "


    "******"


    Damon looked at the screen, wondering what in the world it all meant. He moved his finger to press the panel, but it just passed through it like it was made of air.


    "Then how the feck am I supposed to use the bloody thing?" he eximed, his Irish brogue getting thicker by the minute.


    He calmed down by taking a deep breath. As he thought of how he could use it, he tried to figure it out until he cracked.


    He might be crazy, but he was now interested. He yelled in his head, "Open the feckin status then!"


    But nothing happened. The panel just sat there, mocking him with its nk screen.


    Damon''s mind filled with questions. What was this thing? How did it work? And what did it want from him?


    He stared at the panel, his eyes burning with intensity. He was determined to figure it out, no matter what it took.


    And then, just as he was about to give up, the panel flickered to life. The words "STATUS" and "SHOP" started shing like mad, and Damon felt a surge of excitement.


    That''s when a long panel of numbers and words appeared.

 Chapter 6: The Mysterious Profile

    <h4>Chapter 6: The Mysterious Profile</h4>


    As Damon looked at the screen in front of him, his eyes got bigger and his mind tried to make sense of all the information that was there.


    The information on the screen seemed to go on and on, with information about every part of his life, from his personal life to how he fights.


    <strong><i>Personal Information: </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Name: Damon Cross </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Age: 19 </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Nationality: Irnd-Japan</i></strong>


    He read aloud, but his voice was fraught with doubt. "What the fuck is this?"


    As he scrolled through the profile, his eyes scanned the


    <strong><i>physical information:</i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Weight: 50 kg / 110 lbs </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Height: 6''2" </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Reach: - Arm: 74" </i></strong>


    <strong><i> - Leg: 34" </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Weight ss: Flyweight (Underweight for this ss)."</i></strong>


    It made Damon''s face scrunch up in disgust. "Underweight? What does that even mean?"


    He kept reading, and his brow wrinkled in concentration.


    <strong><i>- Fights: </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Total Fights: 0</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Fighting Style: </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Style: Freestyle</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes got very dark. "Freestyle? I don''t even know what that means."


    He winced when he read the part about physical stats.


    <strong><i>Physical Stats:</i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Strength: F-</i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Speed: F-</i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Stamina: F-</i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Endurance: C+ </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Agility: F-</i></strong>


    Damon was so embarrassed that his face turned bright red. "F-? What kind of grade is that?"


    It wasn''t much better on the mental stats part.


    <strong><i>Mental Stats:</i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Tactical Awareness: F+ </i></strong>


    <strong><i>- Focus: F</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes rolled. "Great, just what I need. More criticism."


    When Damon got to the part about training progress, he stopped being confused and started being frustrated.


    <strong><i>[Details on current training focus, skill development, and any notable improvements or setbacks.]</i></strong>


    What was he supposed to do with that?


    He grimaced when he read the health section.


    <strong><i>Health:</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Current Health: Malnourished</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Injury Status: Disfigured Face </i></strong>


    Damon''s hand went straight to his face and traced the scars and bruises that made him look bad.


    Achievements, title wins, knockouts, submissions - the list went on and on, each section a reminder of Damon''s inadequacies.


    <strong><i>Current Ranking: </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Division: </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Rank: </i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes scanned the page, but there was nothing. No ranking, no division, no nothing.


    The notes section at the end seemed to mock him. "Damon''s a bit of a mystery in the Flyweight division, mostly because he''s too light to be a real contender yet. With his physical stats in the basement and mental stats not far behind, he''s definitely got some room for improvement. But hey, at least he''s got the reach to make up for theck of strength, if only he could reach the gym more often!"


    Damon''s face twisted in a scowl. "What the fuck is this? Some kind of joke?" He looked around, half-expecting someone to pop out and yell "Gotcha!" But he was alone.


    Something felt off to him as he stared at the screen.


    Who had created this profile? And why? The questions in Damon''s mind were rushing, and his eyes got narrow.


    He was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, no matter what it took.


    Damon, fed up with the mysterious and unsettling encounter, stood up and abruptly left the narrow alley, continuing on his way to his intended destination.


    .


    .


    .


    His mind was fixed on the promised money as he walked back to the house where he had fought.


    But as he walked, the sky turned a deep blue color and the air got cooler.


    He stood in front of the front door when he got to the house and knocked. There was no sound at all.


    Knock!! Knock!!


    There was no answer when he knocked again.


    Dejected, he turned to leave, but as he reached the small gate, he heard the door creak open.


    He turned to see a girl, d in a stunning nightdress, her hair disheveled, and her eyes shining with a blend of irritation and interest.


    When Damon looked into her eyes, he felt a sudden wave of desire.


    He went back to the door, and the sound of his steps crunching on the ground of grass and concrete reached their ears.


    "Hey," he said, trying to sound casual, but the girl''s scowl deepened.


    "The fuck? What are you doing here? We''re not a charity. Get out of here before my boyfriend shoots you," she snapped, her voice venomous.


    Damon''s eyes widened, taken aback by her hostility. Before he could respond, a voice boomed from inside the house.


    "Ayy, babe, who''s at the door?"


    The girl yelled back, "Just some bum!" She pulled the door close, but not before Damon caught a glimpse of her disgusted expression. "It seems these crackheads are getting more conceited day by day," she muttered.


    Suddenly, footsteps echoed from inside the house, growing louder with each passing moment. "Hey, what are you doing?" The girl looked back inside the house, and a head poked outside. Damon''s eyes locked onto the familiar face - Joey, the guy who had offered him the fight.


    "Ayy, man, what are you doing here?" With a smile spreading on his face, Joey asked.


    Damon''s eyes kept moving back and forth between Joey and the girl, who was now staring at him with disgust and disappointment.


    After clicking her tongue, she mmed the door shut behind her and went back inside.


    Joey chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry about that, man. She''s just a little...passionate."


    The look in Damon''s eyes was intense as they locked on Joey''s. "What do you need, man?" Joey put his back against the doorframe.


    Damon didn''t waste time. "You said I''d get money if I fought, so where''s the money?" He looked at Joey dead in the eye, his tone firm but polite.


    Joey''s face went from being curious to being startled. "Wait, man, when I said you''d get money, I meant if you won the tournament. You didn''t win the tournament, let alone your fight."


    Damon''s face fell as realization dawned on him. He thought about it, and it made sense.


    Why hadn''t he thought of that?


    He looked at Joey with an apologetic expression. "Sorry, I didn''t mean to disturb you. Can Ie fight tomorrow? I promise I''ll win the tournament."


    Joey chuckled. "No, not tomorrow. We only hold fights on Saturdays. You cane next Saturday, that cool?" Damon nodded, and ns for the next fight were already going through his head.


    As Damon turned to leave, Joey called out, "Hold up, man, I''ll be right back." Damon looked back, curious, as Joey disappeared into the house.


    He returned with a rush, carrying some bananas and a full loaf of bread. "Take this, I know it''s not enough, but you can get some food, okay?"


    Damon''s eyes widened as he stared at Joey''s outstretched hand, his mind frozen in disbelief.


    No one had ever shown him such kindness before.


    He looked at Joey''s face, wondering if he was joking, but Joey''s smile was genuine.


    Damon''s hand trembled as he reached out and took the offerings, his voice croaked but shaking slightly. "Thank you."


    Joey smiled. "No problem, man. Saturday morning, youe here, there''s always fights." Damon nodded, still in shock, and walked away.


    As he disappeared, Joey watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face.

 Chapter 7: Sleeping With A Meal For Once

    <h4>Chapter 7: Sleeping With A Meal For Once</h4>


    As Damon ran back to the alley, his feet hit the ground hard. He was so tired that he could barely breathe.


    He was aware that he had been gone for for too long and that his mother would be very worried.


    He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of her yelling at him.


    The darkness wrapped around him like a cloud as he turned into the alley.


    The only sounds were the buzzing of a generator far away and the soft rustling of trash in the wind.


    As Damon''s eyes slowly got used to the dim light, he kept his focus on the spot where they usually slept.


    His mother was still awake, and when she saw himing, her eyes lit up with fear and relief.


    She grasped his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. "You''re fine, You''re fine," She spoke in a low voice, her Irish ent full of emotion. "You''re went out all day, leaving me here worried sick."


    As Damon hugged her back, the loaf of bread and fruit stuck out of his hands. He felt bad aboutingte.


    He knew he''d caused her unnecessary worry, but he hoped the food would make up for it.


    Aoife pulled back, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the bread and bananas. "What''s this, boy? You went out to steal, are you mental?" Her voice rose, looking at Damon with a stern look that only mother''s could do.


    Damon shook his head, feeling a defensive surge. "No, mom, I didn''t steal it. Joey, the guy who organized the fight, he gave it to me."


    Aoife''s expression softened slightly, but her eyes still sparkled with skepticism. "Joey, is it? And what''s this Joey''s business, eh?"


    Damon took a deep breath, exining the situation, leaving out no details.


    Aoife listened intently. As he finished, she sighed, her shoulders sagging in relief.


    "Ah, thank the saints you''re safe, Damon. But next time, you''ll be telling me before you go off on some night adventure, got it?"


    Damon nodded. He knew he''d put his mother through hell, but he also knew she loved him unconditionally.


    Aoife''s eyes locked onto the bread and bananas, a small smile ying on her lips. "Well, I suppose we can''tin about the provisions. Let''s get some rest, and we''ll figure out what to do next."


    As they got ready for ''bed'', Damon felt calm. He knew he had a lot of work to do.


    When Damon sat down, the worn pavement felt familiar with its ufortable feeling.


    Aoife went after them, her eyes fixed on the loaf of bread like it was a treasure chest.


    A sweet smell came up as soon as Damon opened it.


    The first bite was like abination of vors on their tongues, a short break from the hard times they''d been through.


    But while they were eating, Damon''s thoughts went back to Limerick, Irnd, the ce where all of their problems and traumas started.


    His father, Taro Saito, a towering figure with a temper to match, had once been a loving husband and father.


    Even though Damon''s early memories were fuzzy, he still remembered the kind and gentle person.


    However, as the years passed, Taro''s demons consumed him ¨C alcohol, gambling, and a penchant for UFA fights. The losses piled up, and with them, his rage.


    Damon''s eyes clouded as he remembered the first time his father''s anger turned on Aoife.


    He was six, and the image of his mother''s battered face, the sound of her cries, still haunted him. The beatings kept happening, and each one left a scar on Damon''s young mind.


    Because of the stress, he had a hard time in school and his grades dropped.


    As he grew older, Taro''s attention shifted from Aoife to Damon.


    The memories of those days were still there, like an open wound.


    Taro would watch mixed martial arts fights, study every move and trick, who would then use them on him.


    The pain, the fear, the helplessness.


    Aoife, oblivious to the extent of Taro''s cruelty, began to notice the scars on Damon''s body during their baths.


    She''d ask no questions, but her eyes would fill with a deep sadness, a silent understanding that something was amiss.


    And until she snapped.


    The bread, once a simple pleasure, now seemed like a luxury, as he was reminded of the life they''d left behind.


    As they ate, Damon felt a small feeling of hope.


    Maybe, just maybe, they could leave the past behind and forge a new path, one where the scars would slowly fade, and the memories would lose their hold.


    The thought was a fragile thing, but it was enough to keep him going, to keep him fighting, even if it haunted him.


    As they finished their meager meal, Aoife''s eyes met Damon''s, her gaze was full of love, happy to have her son here with her.


    She kissed his cheek, her lips barely grazing his skin, and whispered, "Don''t worry, boy, everything will start looking up." Her smile was a thin veil, she didn''t want worry Damom, so even if she doubted her statement she hid it.


    She knew the truth ¨C their situation was dire, and the future uncertain. But she couldn''t let Damon see that, not yet.


    He was still young, with dreams and aspirations that she couldn''t let wither away like the trash that surrounded them.


    As shey down, her eyes fluttered closed, and her chest rose and fell with a slow, steady rhythm.


    Damon watched her, as she fell asleep


    He knew what she was doing, trying to shield him from the harsh realities of their life.


    But he also knew that he couldn''t be shielded forever, nor should be.


    With a sigh, he turned his gaze to the wall opposite him.


    His mind wandered, lost in thoughts of what could be, what should be.


    But before he could drift off into the abyss of his own thoughts, the screen flickered to life in front of him.


    Damon''s eyes locked onto the words.


    [MATCH DETECTED ON SATURDAY]


    The words seemed to sear themselves into his retina.


    [ANALYSIS HAS BEEN TAKEN, HEALTH CONDITIONS TAKEN INTO CONSIDERATION]


    Damon''s mind was spinning as he tried to understand the massage.


    [DAILY CHALLENGE ISSUED]


    The screen flickered once more, and then went dark, leaving Damon staring into the dark.


    He nced at his mother, still fast asleep, oblivious to the sudden turn of events, was it going to help him train?

 Chapter 8: Mixed Martial Arts

    <h4>Chapter 8: Mixed Martial Arts</h4>


    Damon''s eyes locked onto the screen as it flickered back to life. The message was brief.


    <strong><i>[User must choose martial arts before beginning training]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[EMMAC SYSTEM focuses on Mixed Martial Arts]</i></strong>


    He read through the description, his heart beating faster in excitement.


    <strong><i>[Mixed Martial Arts is a full-contactbat sport thatbined elements from various martial arts andbat disciplines. It is designed to be aprehensive and versatile fighting system.]</i></strong>


    The night sounds, like crickets singing, were all around him as he read.


    They were annoying, but he had already learned how to block them out.


    Damon''s thoughts turned to his father, Taro, and the memories he had tried to suppress.


    Taro''s anger and violence had left scars, both physical and emotional.


    But now, Damon saw an opportunity to take control, to learn how to defend himself and protect his mother.


    The screen went dark, leaving Damon to ponder his decision.


    He knew that this choice would change his life forever. He took a deep breath, his mind made up.


    He would persue this fighting thing, he had too, not only for him, but for his mother.


    Damon''s eyes scanned the screen, taking in the lists of martial arts and their descriptions. He read through each one.


    <strong><i>[The system will help User with ,Striking and Grappling/Ground-Work ]</i></strong>


    He focused on the striking martial arts, knowing that''s where he needed to start. His gaze lingered on each option, weighing the pros and cons.


    <strong><i>[STRIKING MARTIAL ARTS </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Muay Thai: Known for its use of elbows, knees, kicks, and clinch work.(Rmended)</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Kickboxing: Focuses on punches and kicks, oftenbined with some clinch techniques.(Rmended) </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Boxing: Specializes in punches, footwork, and head movement. </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Karate: Includes a variety of strikes, including punches, kicks, and sometimes elbows and knees. </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Taekwondo: Emphasizes high, fast kicks and dynamic kicking techniques. </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Savate: A French martial art known for its sophisticated kicking techniques and street fighting origins. </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Kali (Eskrima/Arnis): Filipino martial arts that include striking with sticks, knives, and empty-hand techniques.]</i></strong>


    He deliberated. Which one would be best for him? Which one would help him achieve his goals?


    Damon''s eyes returned to the two rmended options: Muay Thai and Kickboxing. Hepared them, trying to decide which one suited him better.


    Muay Thai seemed to offer more, with its emphasis on using elbows, knees, and clinch work.


    It appeared to be a moreprehensive martial art, one that would teach him how to utilize more of his body.


    With a deep breath, Damon made his decision. He clicked on Muay Thai, feeling a sense of determination wash over him.


    The screen flickered, and a new message appeared.


    <strong><i>[Muay Thai selected. Training willmence soon. Please prepare yourself.]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes widened as a sudden, searing headache struck him. He felt like his mind was being flooded with information, memories, and knowledge. He tried to focus, but it was like trying to drink from a firehose.


    The basic knowledge of Muay Thai poured into his mind like a tidal wave. He felt his brain expanding, trying to amodate the influx of data.


    He gritted his teeth, determined not to make a sound and wake his mother.


    The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Damon''s mind reeled as he tried to process the sheer amount of information.


    He felt like he was being rewritten, his brain cells rearranging themselves to amodate the new knowledge.


    Finally, the headache subsided, leaving Damon feeling drained but strangely exhrated.


    He stood up, his legs trembling slightly as he made his way to the open space in the alley.


    He looked around, taking in the familiar sights and sounds. The trash-filled bins, the graffiti-covered walls, the distant hum of the city. But now, everything seemed different. He felt like he saw the world through new eyes.


    Damon tried to stand in a Muay Thai stance, spreading his legs and raising his hands. But it felt awkward, unnatural. He couldn''t shake the feeling that he was doing it all wrong.


    He walked back to the bin, leaning against it as he tried to process his thoughts. He had gained knowledge, but not proficiency. He knew the theory, but not the practice.


    The night air was cool against his skin, a gentle breeze rustling his hair. Damon closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing mind.


    <strong><i>[Striking knowledge has been imparted, now pick a ground work and grappling martial art]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes widened as another message popped up on the screen. He felt a sense of nervousness wash over him as he read the options. How was he supposed to choose a groundwork martial art when he had no knowledge of any of them?


    He scanned the list again, trying to absorb as much information as possible.


    [


    <strong><i>1. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ): Focuses on submissions, positional control, and grappling on the ground.(Rmended)</i></strong>


    <strong><i>2. Wrestling: Includes various styles like freestyle and folkstyle, focusing on takedowns, control, and groundwork.(Rmended)</i></strong>


    <strong><i>3. Submission Wrestling: Emphasizes submissions and positional control, simr to BJJ but often without the gi.</i></strong>


    <strong><i>4. Judo: Focuses on throws and groundwork, including pinning and submission techniques.</i></strong>


    <strong><i>5. Sambo: A Russian martial artbining wrestling and judo, with a focus on throws, ground control, and submissions.(Rmended)</i></strong>


    <strong><i>6. Catch Wrestling: Known for its emphasis on submission holds and ground control, blending traditional wrestling with submission techniques.</i></strong>


    ]


    Damon massaged his temples, feeling a headacheing on. He had to choose carefully, but how could he when he didn''t know the first thing about any of these martial arts?


    He looked around the alley, hoping to find some inspiration.


    Damon''s eyes returned to the screen, his mind racing with questions.


    What was the difference between Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Submission Wrestling? Was Judo simr to Sambo? And what exactly was Catch Wrestling?


    He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He had to make a decision, but he couldn''t shake the feeling that he was making a blind choice.


    The screen seemed to mock him, the options staring back like a challenge. Damon''s heart pounded in his chest as he hesitated, his finger hovering over the screen.


    And then, just as he was about to make a decision, his mind went nk. He couldn''t choose. Not yet.


    Damon slumped against the bin, his eyes fixed on the screen as he struggled to make a decision that would change his life forever.

 Chapter 9: Grappling with Uncertainty

    <h4>Chapter 9: Grappling with Uncertainty</h4>


    Damon''s eyes scanned the screen, his gaze lingering on the rmended martial arts for grappling and groundwork. He was stuck.


    He looked at wrestling, his brow furrowed in skepticism. "Wasn''t wrestling fake?" he wondered, his voice barely above a whisper.


    He mped his hand over his mouth, remembering that his mother was sleeping just a few feet away.


    Damon''s stomach growled, a gentle protest against the meager meal they had shared earlier.


    He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.


    Wrestling being fake, he wondered, but he was sure the System wouldn''t rmend something useless.


    They wouldn''t give him a fake martial art. He looked at Sambo, his eyes narrowing as he considered the option.


    It seemed intriguing, but something inside him told him to pick the first one, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.


    Maybe it was his gut feeling. He didn''t know why. Maybe because he chose the first martial art for striking on the list, he should do the same with grappling and groundwork. The thought echoed in his mind like a mantra, urging him to make a decision.


    Damon''s fingers hovered over the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath.


    Damon made his choice with some worry in his heart. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu A new message showed up after the screen flickered.


    He got very excited when he read the confirmation.


    He had made up his mind.


    He could no longer do anything but wait and see what would happen.


    Damon''s head throbbed again, the familiar ache spreading through his skull like a dull hum. He gritted his teeth, bracing himself against the difort.


    Though it was slightly less intense than before, the sensation still made his eyes water.


    He closed them, taking slow, deep breaths as the memories poured into his brain like a steady stream.


    The basics of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu imprinted on his mind, each technique and concept etching itself into his consciousness.


    He felt like a sponge, soaking up the knowledge, but struggling to retain it all.


    The pain subsided, leaving behind a dull, fuzzy feeling, like the echoes of a distant bell.


    Damon leaned back, his head hitting the bin with a soft thud.


    He winced, the sound echoing through the alley like a small crack.


    A small, subtle smile yed on his mouth.


    He didn''t know how to execute these moves, but he was determined to learn.


    The knowledge was there, locked in his mind like a book of moves, but hecked the physical ability to perform them.


    It was like having a recipe without the ingredients or a map without a destination.


    But Damon was undeterred. He knew that with practice, he could master these techniques and start winning those backyard tournaments.


    The thought sent a surge of excitement through him, followed by a wave of exhaustion.


    He looked at his mom, her peaceful face illuminated by the faint light of the alley. He mumbled, his voice barely audible, "I''ll do it for mum." These words, a promise to both himself and her.


    Damon took a deep breath and felt the weight of his choice fall on his shoulders.


    Responsibility.


    As he was about to rx and rest his eyes, another message appeared on the screen.


    Damon''s gaze snapped back to the disy, his mind racing with the new information.


    <strong><i>[Martial arts have been chosen, host is free to learn any additional martial arts themselves, and the system will focus on the two chosen, which are Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu]</i></strong>


    He nodded, understanding, feeling gratitude towards the system.


    He was already grateful enough to have a "cheat" that could help him learn faster, and now he had the freedom to explore other martial arts on his own.


    <strong><i>[Information has been processed, and martial arts have been synchronized with the training]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, his mind foggy with fatigue. What training? He was already tired and wanted to sleep, his body craving rest after the intense mental upload.


    But before he could even process the thought, another message shed on the screen.


    <strong><i>[Daily Challenge has been issued]</i></strong>


    Damon''s heart skipped a beat as he read the words.


    <strong><i>[4 hours left before midnight,plete today''s exercise challenge, failure toplete - Electronic death shock]</i></strong>


    His eyes widened in shock, the words mming into him like a physical blow. What the hell? Electronic death shock? That sounded like something out of a sci-fi horror movie.


    Damon''s mind reeled as he tried to process the information, his heart racing with fear. He was already tired, and now he had toplete some kind of exercise challenge or face...what? Death?


    He thought about the training, his mind still reeling from the previous message. When the screen flickered to life again, he was ready.


    <strong><i>[Focusing on one martial art per week is more beneficial, which martial art do you want to start with]</i></strong>


    Damon didn''t hesitate, his mind already made up.


    <strong><i>[Muay Thai / Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu]</i></strong>


    He chose Muay Thai, his fingers flying across the screen.


    It contained punches and kicks, the fundamental building blocks of any fighter''s arsenal.


    He needed to master these basics before moving on to moreplex techniques.


    <strong><i>[Muay Thai has been chosen]</i></strong>


    The screen shed, confirming his selection. Damon felt a surge of excitement, his heart racing with anticipation.


    <strong><i>[Training n dedicated to Muay Thai produced]</i></strong>


    The words appeared on the screen, followed by a detailed schedule.


    <strong><i>[Daily challenge until fight day]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[EMMAC Mission]</i></strong>


    The title seemed ominous, but Damon was undaunted.


    <strong><i>[Saturday </i></strong>


    <strong><i> - 10 minutes jog (COMPLETED) </i></strong>


    <strong><i> - 10 push-ups, sit-ups, squats. </i></strong>


    <strong><i> - Shadow boxing 3 rounds of 3 minutes each. </i></strong>


    <strong><i> - Basic strikes (punches, elbows, knees, and kicks)]</i></strong>

 Chapter 10: Weak

    <h4>Chapter 10: Weak</h4>


    Damon wondered when he hadpleted the 10-minute jog.


    But he remembered running back to the alley, trying to avoid beingte.


    He had probably ran more than 10 minutes, but he wasn''t sure.


    He was d he didn''t have to run thiste at night in Stockton.


    The city wasn''t known for its kindness, especially after dark.


    Damon had four hours toplete his tasks. He stood up, walking to the open space in the alley. He decided to start with the next exercise: push-ups.


    He had never done them before, but he knew what they looked like. Damon dropped down, cing his hands on the ground.


    His arms were very skinny, and he wasn''t sure if he could even do five push-ups.


    As he began, Damon felt the rough pavement beneath his hands.


    His shoulders felt weak, but he kept going. Damon did one push-up, then another. He was getting tired, but he didn''t stop.


    Damon''s arms started to shake, his muscles burning with fatigue. He did five push-ups, then paused to catch his breath. He was sweating, his heart racing with exertion.


    But he didn''t give up. Damon did five more push-ups, his body screaming in protest. He was getting tired, but he refused to stop.


    As he finished thest push-up, Damon copsed onto the ground. He was exhausted, his arms trembling with fatigue. But he felt a sense of pride, knowing he hadpleted the exercise.


    Damony there, catching his breath, his body slowly recovering from the exertion.


    He knew he had to keep going, toplete the rest of the tasks. But for now, he justy there, feeling the rough pavement beneath him.


    He began doing the sit-ups, his body slowly lifting off the ground as he curled up towards his knees.


    The first one wasn''t hard, but he felt a gentle tension in his abdominal muscles as he lifted up.


    He did the second one, and his core began to warm up, the muscles starting to engage as he sat up again.


    He felt like he could continue, so he did.


    As he did the third, fourth, and fifth sit-ups, the tension in his stomach grew, but he pushed on.


    His muscles were starting to burn, but he kept going, determined to finish.


    He did six sit-ups, and then paused, his abdominal muscles burning with fatigue.


    Damon took a deep breath, his chest heaving with exertion, and continued.


    His face turned red as he strained to lift himself up again and again.


    Sweat dripped from his brow, falling onto the pavement below him.


    He reached nine sit-ups, and as he started to lift himself up for the tenth and final one, his body protested.


    The sounds he had been holding back - the grunts and groans of effort - finally escaped his lips as he groaned in exertion.


    "Just one more. Onest," he muttered to himself, his stomach burning with fatigue.


    He felt like he couldn''t do it, but he pushed on, his body screaming in protest.


    Finally, he lifted himself up for the tenth time, his muscles screaming in agony.


    He was able to finish it, but he was left breathing very deeply, his chest heaving with exertion.


    Damony back on the ground, his body trembling with fatigue.


    He felt like he had given it his all, and he had.


    Hey there, catching his breath, his muscles slowly recovering from the exertion.


    He stayedying down, not moving an inch, his body exhausted from the previous exercises.


    He knew he was not done, he had toplete the rest of the workout, he couldn''t give up now.


    Breathing was beginning to hurt, his lungs burning from the exhaustion.


    As his stomach moved, he slowly stood up, his upper body aching, his core and arms.


    It was time for squats, and he knew his physique was a liability. If he ever wanted to make money off fighting, he had to improve it.


    Damon stretched his shirt, wiping the sweat from his face.


    He felt like he had done 100 push-ups instead of 10, 100 sit-ups instead of 10. His muscles ached.


    But he wouldn''t let pain bring him down. After all, pain wasn''t anything new to him. It was his friend, his constantpanion. He had grown ustomed to it, learned to live with it.


    Damon took a deep breath, preparing himself for the next exercise. He knew it wouldn''t be easy, but he was determined to push through. He wouldplete the squats, no matter how much it hurt.


    The cool night air hit him, refreshing him slightly. But he knew it was only temporary, that the pain would soon return.


    He took another deep breath, preparing himself for the agony toe.


    He spread his legs apart, his feet shoulder-width apart, and stretched his arms forward, his hands extended in front of him.


    He began to lower himself down, his knees slowly bending as he descended into the squat.


    As he went down, he felt the strain in his legs, his quadriceps and hamstrings stretching and contracting.


    His muscles trembled with effort, his knees creaking softly as he lowered himself further.


    Damon''s arms remained straight, his hands still extended in front of him, as he continued to lower himself down.


    His back straightened, his core muscles engaging to support his body.


    He felt the burn in his legs intensify, the pain growing as he reached the bottom of the squat.


    His lungs burning, his breathing in short gasps as he struggled to maintain control.


    The world around him narrowed to a single point, his focus solely on the exercise.


    He was aware of nothing else, only the sensation of his body moving, the strain in his muscles, and that was it.


    As he paused for a moment at the bottom of the squat,


    Damon felt the sweat dripping down his face, the salty liquid stinging his eyes. He blinked slowly.


    Then, with slow movements, he began to rise, his legs straightening as he stood up, his arms still extended in front of him.

 Chapter 11: Finishing Workout

    <h4>Chapter 11: Finishing Workout</h4>


    Damon''s legs trembled as he lowered himself into the fifth squat, his thin thighs straining to support his body.


    He felt the familiar burn in his quadriceps and hamstrings, the muscles screaming in protest as he descended further.


    His knees creaked softly, the sound echoing through the quiet alley like a faint whisper.


    As he reached the bottom of the squat, Damon''s bnce wavered, his body swaying precariously to one side.


    He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched in determination, and forced himself to steady.


    His arms extended in front of him, his hands syed wide, as he struggled to maintain control.


    He felt the rough texture of the pavement beneath him, the slight grittiness of the asphalt digging into his skin through his thin pants.


    Sweat dripped down his face, the salty liquid stinging his eyes, but he refused to blink.


    Damon knew thest rep would be the hardest.


    So he didn''t dy, didn''t hesitate. He dropped down, his body sinking into the squat like a stone.


    His muscles screamed in agony, the pain intensifying as he reached the bottom.


    He felt the strain in his legs, the burn spreading through his muscles like wildfire. His knees creaked again, the sound louder this time, as he struggled to rise.


    Damon''s arms trembled, his hands shaking, as he pushed himself up, his body slowly ascending from the squat.


    Finally, he stood, his legs trembling beneath him, his body swaying slightly.


    He rested for some time. He didn''t know how far midnight was, he hoped not too far.


    He opened the tab again to recheck what was next, the blue holographic screen appeared in front of him.


    <strong><i>"Saturday </i></strong>


    <strong><i> - 10 minutes jog (COMPLETED) </i></strong>


    <strong><i> - 10 push-ups, sit-ups, squats. (COMPLETED)</i></strong>


    <strong><i> - Shadow boxing 3 rounds of 3 minutes each. </i></strong>


    <strong><i> - Basic strikes (punches, elbows, knees, and kicks)"</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the holographic screen, his mind racing with questions.


    What was shadow boxing? He had never heard of it before.


    Was it some sort of martial arts technique? He tried pressing on the option, hoping to find an exnation.


    The screen flickered, and a new window opened, disying a detailed description of shadow boxing. Damon''s eyes scanned the text, his brow furrowed in concentration.


    <strong><i>[Shadow boxing is a training method used to practice hand-eye coordination, footwork, and punching technique,It involves throwing punches at an imaginary opponent, mimicking the movements of a real fight.]</i></strong>


    Damon''s gaze lingered on the words, his mind struggling toprehend the concept.


    He had never practiced anything like this before. He only knew of physicalbor, not imaginary fights.


    Damon''s thoughts returned to the task at hand. He had toplete the shadow boxing exercise. But how? He had no experience, no guidance.


    He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. He would have to figure it out himself.


    Damon raised his fists, his arms trembling slightly. He began to throw punches, his movements awkward and uncoordinated.


    The sound of his fists slicing through the air echoed through the alley, a soft whooshing noise that seemed to reverberate off the walls.


    Damon''s eyes darted back and forth, his gaze fixed on some invisible opponent.


    He threw another punch, his arm extending in front of him. His hand trembled, his fingers syed wide.


    Damon''s movements were slow and clumsy, but he persisted. He threw punch after punch, his arms aching with fatigue.


    The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Damon''s breathing grew heavier, his chest heaving with exertion.


    Finally, the first round was over. Damon lowered his arms, his fists still clenched. He took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the screen.


    Two more rounds to go.


    He steeled himself, his mind focused on the task ahead. He wouldplete the shadow boxing exercise, no matter how difficult it seemed.


    Eight minutes had passed, and Damon hadpleted two more shadow spars of three minutes each.


    He stood up, his tired smirk still stered on his face, and gazed at the panel again.


    His blue eyes sparkled with a hint of determination.


    The system message appeared, and Damon''s eyes scanned the text.


    <strong><i>[Muay Thai is the art of Eight Limbs]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[Fists: Traditional boxing punches such as the jab, cross, hook, and uppercut. </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Elbows: Elbow strikes that can be used in close-rangebat. </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Knees: Knee strikes, often used in clinch fighting. </i></strong>


    <strong><i>Shins: Kicks delivered with the shin, including roundhouse kicks, teep (push kicks), and low kicks.]</i></strong>


    Damon understood what he had to do. He would train each limb, just like he did during shadow fighting, but with a specific goal in mind.


    He decided to set a goal for himself: 100 strikes for each limb. He smiled, confident he could do it. After all, he had nothing to lose - except for his life, if he failed.


    Damon started with the fists. He threw a jab, the punch slicing through the air with a soft whooshing noise.


    He followed it with a cross, the movement smooth and fluid. His eyes focused on an invisible target, his gaze fixed intently. He threw hook after hook, his arms aching with fatigue.


    As he reached 50 jabs, Damon''s arms began to tremble. His breathing grew heavier, his chest heaving with exertion.


    But he persisted, his mind fixed on the goal. Hepleted the 100 jabs, his arms dropping to his sides. He took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the screen.


    Next were the elbows. Damon raised his arms, his elbows bent at a 90-degree angle. He struck the air with his elbow, the movement swift and precise.


    The sound of his elbow striking the air was different from his fists, a sharper, more muted noise.

 Chapter 12: Survival Mode

    <h4>Chapter 12: Survival Mode</h4>


    The morning light crept over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city of Stockton, California.


    A family of twoy huddled together in a small alley between two run-down buildings.


    They rested next to a trash can. Their temporary bed was made of old nkets and cardboard boxes.


    Damon woke up to the sound of his own groaning.


    His body ached from the exercise he did the night before.


    He slowly opened his eyes to find himself in the same alley where he slept. He was lying on a piece of cardboard, and his mother was sleeping next to him.


    He carefully got up, trying not to wake his mother. His muscles hurt, and his stomach felt empty.


    He hadn''t eaten since yesterday. Damon looked around and saw the alley was still quiet.


    He stood up and stretched. His joints cracked, and his legs felt weak. Damon took a deep breath and started to move.


    He walked around the alley, trying to get his blood flowing.


    The system''s message fromst night was still on his mind.


    He had to do another exercise today.


    Damon didn''t know what it would be.


    Damon chuckled, "At this point, I won''t even make it to the fight." The sound of his own voice was hoarse from fatigue.


    He heard a rustling behind him and turned around to see his mother waking up.


    He straightened up, trying to ignore the aching in his muscles.


    Aoife woke up from her slumber, stretching her arms above her head. She felt refreshed, especially after having a mealst night for the first time in a long time.


    Her stomach no longer growled with hunger, and her mind felt clearer.


    She saw her son standing weirdly, his posture stiff, and his face scrunched up in difort.


    She stood up, her movements slow.


    "Morning, Damon, you''re up early today," she said. Her voice was husky from sleep, but her eyes sparkled with warmth.


    She looked at her son, taking in his disheveled appearance. His ck hair was messy, and his clothes were rumpled. His eyes looked sunken, and his skin was pale.


    Damon didn''t respond. he just kept standing there, trying to muster up the energy to move.


    Aoife took a step closer to him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Damon, are you okay? You look like you''ve been through a war." It was a soft voice that was filled with worry.


    Damon''s gaze drifted to his mother, taking in her worn face, her tired eyes, and her gentle smile.


    "I was exercisingst night, but it''s fine, I''ll soon get used to it, don''t worry," Damon said, trying to reassure his mother. He didn''t want her to worry about him, so he downyed the intensity of the workout.


    Aoife''s eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed in concern. "What do ye mean ye were exercisin''? Look at you, this is not healthy! Don''t be forcing your body like that," she eximed, her Irish ent thick with worry.


    She grasped his face, her hands cool and gentle. She pulled his body into a hug, her arms wrapping tightly around him.


    Damon cried out, "Ow, ow, mom, that hurts!" His muscles protested the sudden movement, and he winced in pain.


    Aoifeughed, a warm, throaty sound, and said, "You deserve it,e on boy, stop hurting yourself like that." Her voice was stern, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.


    As she hugged him, Damon felt his mother''s warmth, her softness, and her gentle strength.


    The smell of her skin was like the alley, with sweat and dirt on it.


    Damon''s face was pressed against her shoulder, and he felt her heartbeat, steady and strong.


    Aoife held him at arm''s length, examining his face, her eyes scanning his features. "You need to take care of yerself, Damon. You can''t keep pushing yourself like this." Her voice was firm, but her eyes were soft.


    Damon looked away, not wanting to meet her gaze, knowing she could see the pain and exhaustion etched on his face.


    ....


    The day passed in a blur of fatigue and determination. Despite his mother''s protests, Damon went for a run, his legs aching and his lungs burning.


    As he ran, the system suddenly appeared before him,He looked around, finding a quiet spot between two dumpsters, and opened the system panel.


    The message on the screen was unexpected, but wee.


    <strong><i>[Due to certain circumstances, the system shop will be partially unlocked to ensure host survival. The items, Necessary Consumptions, has been given ess.]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes widened as he opened the shop panel, scanning the list of items. Fresh fruit, bottled water, and energy bars lined the virtual shelves.


    His gaze lingered on the apples and bananas, but his eyes widened when he saw the price tag - 1 coin per item.


    Damon''s gaze shot to the top of the screen, where his coin bnce was disyed.


    He had 1 coin, and he wondered if it was a reward forpleting the daily challenge.


    Emotions swirled inside him - frustration, sadness, and a hint of hope.


    As he scrolled through the list, one item caught his eye - water. It was essential, especially with his new exercise routine.


    He pressed the purchase button, and the system responded,


    <strong><i>[5 liters of water have been purchased. Remove the item from the shop inventory when ready to take it.]</i></strong>


    Damon didn''t retrieve the water yet. He realized he needed an excuse to exin to his mother where he got it.


    He couldn''t just produce 5 liters of water out of thin air. He thought about hiding it, but where?


    Their makeshift home was too small, and his mother would surely notice.


    Damon knew he couldn''t hide the water from his mother.


    She needed it just as much as he did. He thought for a moment, then a n formed in his mind.


    He would tell her he found it in a nearby abandoned building or that someone gave it to him.


    It wasn''t a perfect excuse, but it would have to do.

 Chapter 13: Guillotine Choke

    <h4>Chapter 13: Guillotine Choke</h4>


    While jogging back to the alley, Damon''s feet hit the cracked concrete hard.


    His lungs were burning and breathing was hard.


    He was so tired that the cool morning air didn''t help much. It was like a wet shroud around him.


    Every step he took and every shaky gasp of air made him feel even more tired.


    He turned the corner into thene and saw his mother getting up from her makeshift bed.


    She was looking at the big bottle of water he was holding.


    There were lines of confusion her face, and she took a slow, determined step forward.


    When Damon looked into her eyes, he felt a little anxious. He had been thinking about what to say in preparation for this moment, but now that it was here, he wasn''t sure what to do.


    When he stopped in front of his mother, he slowed down and his feet hit the ground together.


    He could feel the water bottle being heavy in his hands. The stic was cool and smooth against his skin.


    He could feel the beads of water on the outside, which showed that there was a cold water inside.


    His mom''s eyes never left his face; she was looking for answers.


    A fly buzzed around Damon''s head, making a loud, annoying noise. He hit it half-heartedly, but his eyes never left his mother''s.


    Aoife''s voice broke the silence, her Irish ent thick with concern. "Damon, where did you get that water?" Her eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze intense.


    Damon took a deep breath, working hard enough to make his chest heave.


    He could feel sweat running down his face, and the thought of the cool water made him very thirsty.


    He knew he had to be careful ande up with a good reason for why the water had appeared out of nowhere.


    Damon''s eyes darted to the ground.


    His mother was the only person he didn''t like to lie to, but the system''s secret seemed too dangerous to share.


    The uncertainty of its origins and purpose made him hesitant to involve Aoife, fearing potential consequences.


    His mother interrupted him as he was about to tell the story, her voice full of caution mixed with worry. "Am fecken sure you didn''t steal the water, am right Damon, you know what would happen if we got caught."


    Damon''s hands tightened around the water container, his palms growing sweaty.


    He intercepted his mother''s sentence, his voice firm but cautious. "No mum, I didn''t steal the water, it was those guys that own the backyard fight, I asked for it, they told me I could take it whenever I want, so there''s no need to worry, I didn''t steal anything, I promise you."


    He saw his mother''s look, and the words came out well crafted. Her stare scanned his face with her deep brown eyes.


    Aoife let her shoulders drop, and her sigh was like a soft breeze. She seemed to believe what he said.


    She might have trusted her son too much, or she didn''t have had any other choice.


    She lowered her voice. "Then sit down, I''m sure you''re very tired from your exercise, so make sure to drink the water."


    Damon nodded, his eyes never leaving his mother''s face.


    It made him feel bad that he lied to her, but the system''s secret stayed safe, hidden behind a thin veil of lies.


    He took a slow seat on the ground and put the water bottle next to him. Its presence reminded them of the strange forces that were affecting their lives.


    Damon''s mind wandered to how nice it was to have a steady flow of water, which was something they hadn''t had in a long time.


    They still had bananas that Joey had gifted Damon.


    But now, with the system''s promise of rewards for exercise, Damon felt a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could break free from the cycle of scrounging for food.


    The system panel appeared in front of him as he was thinking about it; its vivid blue color stood out against the surroundings.


    The message shed on the screen,


    <strong><i>[SYSTEM RECOMMENDATION : DRINK THE F-RANK BODY TRAINING ENHANCEMENT, TO MAKE TRAINING EASIER]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes widened as he remembered the item, previously inessible due to hisck of understanding.


    He slowly looked around and then his eyes fell on his mother, who was looking through a dumpster nearby.


    Her steps were measured, and the way she looked at the trash was like she had practiced.


    He recalled the drink''s description, a supposed aid to make training easier. Damon''s curiosity was piqued, and he wondered if it would genuinely help.


    His eyes darted back to his mother, ensuring she was still distracted. Satisfied, he focused on the panel, his fingers hovering over the screen.


    Damon''s eyes fixed on the system panel, his fingers hovering over the icons. He clicked on the bottle-like container, and the message shed before him:


    <strong><i>[Are you sure you want to take out the BODY TRAINING ENHANCER, once you take it out you have 24 hours before expiration which will turn into water]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[Y/N]</i></strong>


    He kept looking at the text for a while, thinking about what to do.


    He was going to trainter tonight, but the enhancer''s time limit made him think twice.


    Damon''s thoughts went to the other things he had gotten from the system and then to the submission move.


    He opened the gift inventory and skimmed the list until he found the card with the lock icon.


    The card''s surface was covered in borate patterns that gave it an unearthly energy that seemed to pulse.


    With some hesitation, Damon reached out and touched the card.


    The lock shattered, exploding into a burst of blue light that seemed to sear itself into Damon''s retina.


    His mind recoiled, struggling to process the influx of information.


    The blue light dissipated, leaving behind a faint sound that resonated through his skull.


    <strong><i>[GUILLOTINE CHOKE SKILL CARD UNLOCKED]</i></strong>


    The message shed, a stark contrast to the sensory overload Damon had just experienced.


    His eyes felt dry, his vision blurry from the intensity of the blue light.


    The sounds of the alley muffled by the ringing in his ears.


    Demon''s thoughts swirled, trying to make sense of the new information flooding his mind.


    Demon''s vision cleared, and a new system panel appeared before him. The text on the screen was crisp and clear


    <strong><i>[SKILL CARD PROFECIENCY GUILLOTINE CHOKE - 0.99%]</i></strong>


    He felt a sense of excitement, a thrill that came with learning something new. Another message appeared


    <strong><i>[SKILL CARD PROFECIENCY, ARE SKILLS/MOVES GIVEN BY THE SYSTEM, TO SHOW THE HOST MASTERY ON IT, THEY ARE EASIER TO LEARN]</i></strong>


    Damon''s gaze lingered on the screen, absorbing the information. A third message shed


    <strong><i>[SELF LEARNED SKILLS WONT BE PUT ON THE CATAGORY AND HOST WILL HAVE TO LEARN FROM SCRATCH UNLESS GIVEN SOMETHING THAT CAN HELP IMPROVE]</i></strong>


    Demon''s vision got fuzzy, and his thoughts got lost in the system''s digital fog.


    So, he felt clear and had a feeling of purpose. He was aware that if he really got good at the guillotine choke.


    He might have a better chance of winning this fight.


    He removed the system panel, Damon''s eyes widened in surprise as he took in the sight before him.


    His mother, Aoife, was on the ground, her body moving in a slow, awkward rhythm.


    She was trying to do push-ups, and each timid press made her arms shake.


    Even though she wasn''t in great shape, her back was sagging and her legs were shaking, she kept going, her face set in a determined frown.


    As Damon looked at his mother, his confusion grew. He couldn''t figure out how to connect this new picture with the woman he thought he knew.


    The woman who had always seemed so fragile, so worn down by the hardships of their life, was now exerting herself in a way he had never seen before.


    He stood up, his movements slow and quiet, as if he feared startling her into stopping. "Mom, what are you doing?" he asked, his voiceced with a mix of confusion and concern.


    Aoife paused, her chest heaving with exertion, and looked up at her son.


    A sly smirk spread across her face, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. "Since you''re exercising I thought I should too," she said, "I don''t want my bones to kill me with arthritis for sitting so idle so much."


    Damon''s jaw hung open, his mouth agape in shock, as he stared at his mother in utter bewilderment.

 Chapter 14: Development

    <h4>Chapter 14: Development</h4>


    Night fell swiftly, casting a dark shadow over the alley. The only sound was the distant hum of traffic and the asional scurrying of rodents through the trash.


    Damon and his mother finished their meager dinner of bananas and bread, the dry crust scratching the roof of Damon''s mouth.


    He savored the sweet taste of the bananas, the texture soft and slightly grainy. The bread was stale, but it filled his stomach.


    As his mother drifted off to sleep, Damon stood up, his joints cracking softly. He stretched his arms over his head, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles. He had only started training the day before, but his body already felt the strain.


    Damon opened the gift inventory, the screen glowing with a soft blue light. His eyes scanned the list until theynded on the F-Rank Body Training Enhancer. He had been waiting for this moment, wondering if the enhancer would really make a difference.


    He clicked on it, and a message appeared in front of him.


    <strong><i>[ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO TAKE IT OUT...]</i></strong>


    <strong><i> [Y/N]</i></strong>


    Damon''s finger hovered over the screen for a moment before clicking yes. He felt a thrill of excitement mixed with a little fear.


    A small, blue bottle materialized in his hand, the stic cool and smooth against his skin. The cap was slightly indented, making it easy to grip. Damon turned the bottle over, feeling the weight of it. It was small, about the size of his palm, and weighed almost nothing.


    Another message appeared.


    <strong><i>[F RANK BODY TRAINING ENHANCER > IT IS DRINK THAT ENHANCES THE GAINS ATTAINED THROUGH TRAINING, INCREASING DEVELOPMENT, LESSENS THE PAIN, THE EFFECT LAST THROUGH A WEEK]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes scanned the message, his mind processing the information. He looked at the bottle, the blue liquid inside glowing slightly in the dim light.


    He smiled, feeling a sense of excitement and trepidation. A week of enhanced training could make all the difference. He thought about his uing fight, his heart racing with anticipation. Damon''s grip on the bottle tightened, his determination growing.


    Damon''s fingers wrapped around the small, blue bottle, feeling the smooth, cool surface. He brought it to his nose, inhaling the scent of the liquid inside. It was sweet, with a hint of bitterness, like a mix of fruit juice and medicine.


    He unscrewed the cap, and a faint hiss escaped, releasing a puff of air that carried the same sweet-bitter aroma.


    Damon''s eyes locked onto the liquid inside, its surface reflecting the dim light of the alley like a tiny mirror.


    He tilted the bottle, pouring the liquid into his mouth. It was thick, like syrup, and it coated his tongue with its sweet-bitter taste. Damon swallowed, feeling the liquid slide down his throat, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.


    As soon as the liquid hit his stomach, Damon felt a surge of energy, like a spark had been lit inside him.


    His muscles seemed to hum, his heart beating faster, pumping blood through his veins with renewed vigor.


    The air in the alley seemed to vibrate, the sounds of the city taking on a sharper quality, like his senses had been heightened.


    Damon''s skin tingled, his nerves alive with the sensation of the enhancer coursing through his body.


    He stood up, feeling the energy build in his muscles, his joints loosening, his tendons stretching.


    His feet seemed to lift off the ground, as if he was floating, his movements bing lighter, more fluid.


    Damon''s eyes locked onto the system panel, still open in front of him. The message shed,


    <strong><i>[EFFECTS OF F RANK BODY TRAINING ENHANCER ACTIVATED]</i></strong>


    He felt the effects, his body transformed, his senses heightened, his muscles empowered.


    With a sense of excitement, Damon closed the system panel, his eyes scanning the alley.


    The shadows seemed to pulse with energy, the darkness taking on a life of its own. He knew it was time to train, to push his body to its limits, to see what he was capable of.


    The night stretched out before him, a canvas waiting to be filled with the brushstrokes of his determination.


    Damon took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs, and began to move, his body a blur of motion, his spirit afire with the thrill of discovery.


    Damon''s arms moved in a smooth, fluid motion as he dropped down to do push-ups. He counted out loud, "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10," his voice steady and calm. He continued, his body moving in a rhythmic motion, his muscles flexing with each repetition.


    As he reached 20, 30, 40, he began to feel a slight tingling sensation in his arms, a gentle warmth spreading through his muscles. He pushed on, his breathing steady, his focus solely on the exercise.


    At 50, 60, 70, the tingling sensation grew, bing a gentle buzzing, like a vibration humming through his muscles. Damon''s smile grew wider, his excitement building.


    He lost count, his focus solely on the sensation in his muscles. He felt a slight strain, a gentle tension, but it was nothingpared to what he had experienced before. He pushed on, his body moving with a newfound ease.


    As he reached the end of the exercise, Damon stopped, his arms trembling slightly with fatigue.


    His smile spread wide across his face, "hahahaaha, this is it," he eximed, forgetting his mother was sleeping.


    He felt a rush of excitement, a sense of aplishment. He had never felt so alive, so energized. He continued with the exercises, his body moving with a newfound fluidity.


    He did squats, lunges, nks, each exercise feeling easier than thest. He overdid them, passing the number, his body moving with a newfound strength.


    Sweat dripped from his brow, his muscles trembling with fatigue, but he didn''t stop. He kept pushing, his body moving with a newfound power.


    As he finished thest exercise, Damon stood up, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He felt a sense of pride, of aplishment. He had never felt so strong, so capable.


    His mother stirred, waking up from her sleep. Damon froze, his heart racing with excitement. He had forgotten she was there, forgotten everything except the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.


    Damon''s mother, Aoife, looked at him with a mix of concern and curiosity. Her eyes scanned his face, taking in the sweat-drenched skin, the flushed cheeks, and the bright, shining eyes. She had never seen him like this before, so full of energy and life.


    "Damon,e here, boy," she said, her voice firm but gentle. Damon cursed under his breath, realizing he should have been quieter. He didn''t want to raise her suspicions.


    He walked closer, his feet heavy with exhaustion, but his heart still racing with excitement. Aoife grabbed his face, her hands cool and gentle, and looked into his eyes. She opened them wide, examining them like a doctor searching for signs of illness.


    "Are you on gear(drugs), you know the stuff is not good for you," she asked, her voiceced with worry. Damon defended himself, feeling a surge of indignation.


    "No, mom, I''m not on anything," he said, trying to sound calm. "I''ve just been working out, that''s all."


    Aoife looked at him skeptically, her eyes narrowing. She had seen the signs before, the energy, the excitement, the sweat-drenched skin. She had seen it in his father, before he had fallen into the abyss of addiction.


    Damon knew what she was thinking, and he knew he had to convince her. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, trying to reassure her.


    "Mom, I swear, I''m not on anything. I''ve just been training, really hard. This is just...this is just the result of my hard work."


    Aoife looked at him, her eyes searching for the truth. She wanted to believe him, she really did. But she had been burned before, and she couldn''t shake off the feeling that something was off.


    For the next seven days, Damon''s routine remained unchanged. He woke up every morning, his muscles aching with a familiar soreness, and began his workout.


    His mother, Aoife, watched him with a hawk''s eye, monitoring his every move, every sweat drop, everybored breath.


    As the days passed, Damon felt his body transform. His skinny frame remained, but it was no longer weak. He felt a newfound strength coursing through his veins, a power that he couldn''t quite exin.


    His muscles grew, slowly but surely, his biceps bulging slightly, his triceps toning, his legs strengthening. He could feel the changes, small but significant, like a whisper in his ear.


    Aoife saw it too, her eyes narrowing as she watched her son''s transformation. She saw the sweat dripping from his brow.


    But as the days turned into a week, Aoife''s vignce began to wane. She grew tired of watching, tired of worrying, tired of wondering if her son was sumbing to the same demons that had consumed his father.


    So she stopped watching, stopped monitoring, stopped worrying. She let Damon be, let him continue his workout routine without her hawk''s eye scrutinizing his every move.


    Damon felt the freedom, the ability to push himself without his mother''s watchful gaze. He worked out harder, faster, stronger, his body responding to the newfound intensity.


    He felt strong, like he could definitely beat his past self. He felt like he could take on the world, like nothing could stop him. And he knew, deep down, that he owed it all to the mysterious system.

 Chapter 15: Rest and Preparation

    <h4>Chapter 15: Rest and Preparation</h4>


    Damon slowly opened his eyes, the dim light of the alley graduallying into focus. He was lying on a makeshift bed of old boxes and discarded clothes, his body feeling a mix of fatigue and anticipation.


    He had grown ustomed to the hard, rough surface beneath him, but today was different. Today was the day before the fight.


    As he sat up, a message appeared in front of him, the soft glow of the system''s screen illuminating the dark alley.


    <strong><i>[PRE-MATCH DAY, NO EXCESSIVE EXERCISING, THIS IS THE DAY OF REST AND PREPARATION]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, his mind racing with questions. No exercising? But he had grown to enjoy the rush of endorphins, the feeling of his muscles working together in harmony.


    He wondered if he should go against the system''s advice, push himself to new limits, but something held him back.


    <strong><i>[STRETCH FOR 30 MINUTES]</i></strong>


    He sighed, deciding to trust the system''s guidance. He slowly stood up, his joints cracking softly, and began to stretch. His muscles lengthened, his tendons flexing, as he moved slowly, deliberately.


    The alley was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic, the asional scurrying of rodents through the trash. Damon''s movements were the only disturbance, his breathing steady, his focus solely on the stretch.


    As he stretched, Damon''s mind wandered to the fight ahead. He thought about his opponent, wondered what he would be like, how he would move. He thought about his own strategy, his strengths and weaknesses.


    The 30 minutes passed slowly, but Damon didn''t rush. He savored the feeling of rxation, the calmness that settled over him like a nket.


    When he finished, Damon stood up, his body feeling loose, his mind clear. He knew what he had to do today - rest, prepare, and focus. He would visualize the fight, think about every possible scenario, every move he could make.


    He walked over to the wall, leaning against it, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance. He knew tomorrow would be different, but for now, he just rested.


    <strong><i>[SYSTEM WILL BEGIN BODY, SCAN, ANY DRUG OR ENHANCEMENT WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE BODY]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes widened as he read the message, his mind racing with concern. He stood up straight, his back against the alley wall, and protested, "Wait, what? What about the enhancement you gave me?"


    <strong><i>[ENHANCEMENTS PROVIDED BY THE SYSTEM ARE TEMPORARY AND WILL BE REMOVED BEFORE THE FIGHT. THIS IS TO ENSURE A FAIR MATCH.]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes scanned the message, his brow furrowed in worry. He had grown reliant on the F-Rank Body Training Enhancer, and the thought of it being removed from his system made him anxious.


    He thought about the fight ahead, his opponent, and his own abilities. Without the enhancer, would he still have an edge? Or would he be on the same level as the others, fighting with nothing but his raw skills?


    Damon''s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He felt a surge of frustration, his mind racing with questions and doubts. But the system remained silent, its message clear: any enhancements would be removed.


    He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He thought about his training, his skills, and his strategy. He could still win without the enhancer, he told himself. He just had to focus.


    <strong><i>[BODY SCAN INITIATED. ANY DRUGS OR ENHANCEMENTS WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE BODY.]</i></strong>


    As he stood there, trying to reassure himself, Damon felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was as if his body was being scanned, his cells and tissues examined. He felt a slight tingling, a gentle buzzing, like his body was being prodded and poked from the inside out.


    The sensation was ufortable, but Damon tried to rx. He knew it was the system''s doing, its way of removing any enhancements from his body. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and waited for the process to finish.


    The minutes ticked by, slow and agonizing. Damon''s mind raced with thoughts and doubts, but he tried to stay focused. He knew what he had to do, what he had to aplish.


    Finally, the sensation stopped. Damon opened his eyes, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding, and let it out slowly.


    Damon felt a sudden urge to pee, a pressing sensation that couldn''t be ignored. Luckily, the alley where he and his mother stayed wasn''t far from a public restroom.


    He nced over at his mother, who was still sleeping, her body exhausted from the intense exercise routine she had been following. Damon was happy to see her pushing herself, knowing it was good for her health.


    He quickly got up and made his way to the restroom, his feet carrying him swiftly across the short distance. As he entered the men''s restroom, he was hit with the familiar smell of urine and grime.


    The air was thick with the stench, but Damon was used to it. He had grown ustomed to the unpleasant odors that came with living on the streets.


    He made his way to the cubicle, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of trouble. The restroom was quiet, with only a few peopleing and going. Damon entered the cubicle, locking the door behind him.


    As he stood there, he let loose, feeling the relief wash over him. But as the minutes ticked by, he began to feel a growing sense of unease. 1 minute turned into 2, 2 turned into 4, and still, he was peeing. The stream showed no signs of slowing, no signs of stopping.


    People began to filter in and out of the restroom, casting curious nces his way as they waited for the other stalls to open up.


    They would nce at him, then quickly look away, their faces scrunched up in confusion and disgust.


    Damon was shocked too. He had never experienced anything like this before. Was this healthy? Was this normal? He didn''t know, but he knew it had to be rted to the system''s clearing process.


    As the minutes continued to tick by - 6, 8, 10 - Damon started to feel a sense of embarrassment. He was the only one in the restroom still peeing, and the stares were bing more and more ufortable.


    He shifted his weight, trying to will the stream to stop, but it just kept going. He felt like he was going to be stuck there forever, a never-ending fountain of urine.


    The smell in the restroom was bad enough, but now Damon was adding his own unique aroma to the mix.


    He felt a wave of humiliation wash over him as he realized he was bing the source of the stench.


    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the stream began to slow, then trickle, then stop. Damon let out a sigh of relief as he shook himself off, feeling a mix of emotions: embarrassment, confusion, and a hint of fear.

 Chapter 16: Arrived

    <h4>Chapter 16: Arrived</h4>


    The rest of the day passed in a blur of rxation and quiet contemtion. Damon returned to the alley, his mind still reeling from the strange experience in the restroom. He didn''t even think about exercising, his body feeling drained from the morning''s events.


    His mother, on the other hand, was a different story. She continued to push herself, her determination and grit evident in every rep and every set.


    Damon watched her with a mix of admiration and concern, hoping that she wouldn''t overdo it.


    As the day wore on, Damon''s thoughts turned to the fight ahead. He hoped that he could win, that he could emerge victorious and take the first step towards a better life.


    He knew that a backyard fight was just the beginning, that if he could seed, he would have the chance topete on a bigger stage.


    He imagined himself on TV, his name and face known to millions. He pictured the crowd cheering, thementators praising his skills. He saw himself standing in the ring, his hand raised in victory.


    But for now, that was just a dream. Damon knew that he had to focus on the present, on the fight ahead. He had to stay calm, stay focused, and trust in his training.


    As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow over the alley, Damon felt a sense of peace wash over him.


    He knew that tomorrow would be a big day, but for now, he just rxed, enjoying the quiet moment with his mother.


    The sound of her heavy breathing, the creaking of the old boxes beneath her feet, the distant hum of traffic - it was all so familiar, soforting.


    Damon closed his eyes, letting the sounds wash over him, and let himself drift off into a state of calm, focused anticipation.


    Night fell swiftly, casting a dark shadow over the alley. Damon and his mother sumbed to exhaustion, their bodies surrendering to the allure of sleep.


    The sound of their gentle snores filled the air, a soothing melody that echoed off the walls.


    ...


    Morning arrived with ease, the sun peeking through the narrow alleyway like a curious eye. Damon stirred, his body stretching as he sat up. He gently shook his mother awake, "Mom."


    Her eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused. She gazed at her son, her voiceced with sleep, "Damon, what''s wrong?"


    Damon''s voice was low and even, "I''m leaving. I thought I should let you know. I''ll be backte."


    His mother''s eyes drooped, her lids heavy with fatigue. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, "Okay, be safe... break bones."


    A faint smile yed on her lips as she drifted off to sleep once more. Damon watched her for a moment, his expression softening. He knew she was still tired from the previous day''s exercise.


    He turned his attention to therge bin behind which he had stashed his gear. He moved quietly, not wanting to disturb his mother''s sleep. As he reached behind the bin, his fingers closed around the stic bag containing his gear.


    The stic crinkled softly as he pulled it out, the sound echoing through the stillness of the alley. Damon''s hands moved deftly, unzipping the bag and revealing the contents.


    The gloves and mouthguardy nestled within, their sleek surfaces glinting in the morning light. Damon''s eyes narrowed, his focus intensifying as he prepared for the fight ahead.


    Damon emerged from the alley, his feet carrying him away from the familiar surroundings. He broke into a run, his legs pumping furiously as he devoured the distance. However, he quickly realized that running wasn''t the best idea - his stamina wasn''t exactly top-notch, and he needed to preserve his energy for the fight ahead.


    He slowed to a walk, his feet falling into a steady rhythm on the pavement. The walk was surprisingly pleasant, with a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and the warm sun casting aforting glow over everything.


    People passed him on the street, but unlike before, he didn''t bump into anyone. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, his nerves steadying as he approached his destination.


    As he turned the corner onto the street where the house was located, Damon''s heart began to beat a little faster.


    He could feel a thrill of excitement building in his chest, his senses heightening as he took in the sights and sounds around him.


    The houses seemed to loomrger, their windows and doors taking on a sense of importance.


    Finally, he arrived at the house, its backyard the venue for the fight. Damon''s eyes locked onto the building, his mind focusing intently on the task ahead.


    He couldn''t help but smile, a sense of determination and anticipation spreading across his face.


    This was it - the moment he had been training for. He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of readiness wash over him. Bring it on.


    Damon entered the house and made his way to the backyard, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of the event.


    There were a few people milling about, but it seemed that the fight hadn''t started yet. He spotted a bench in the corner, partially shaded by a tree, and made his way over.


    As he approached, he noticed that there were already a few girls sitting on the bench, their ages simr to his.


    They seemed to be engrossed in their own conversation, but their eyes flicked towards him as he drew near.


    Damon didn''t hesitate, taking a seat beside them on the bench. The girls immediately turned their attention to him, their eyes narrowing as if trying to intimidate him.


    One of them raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on his worn clothes and messy hair.


    The girls slid away from him, their movements almost synchronized. One of them wrinkled her nose in distaste, whispering "creep" under her breath. Another chimed in with a soft "ew", their voices barely audible but their disdain clear.


    Damon didn''t react, his expression neutral. He wasn''t here to make friends or impress anyone, especially not these girls. He had more important things on his mind, like the fight ahead.


    He settled into the bench, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. The girls'' whispers and giggles continued, but Damon tuned them out, focusing on his own thoughts.


    He wasn''t bothered by their behavior; he was used to being ignored or dismissed. His mind was already on the fight, his strategy, and his opponent.

 Chapter 17: Confrontation

    <h4>Chapter 17: Confrontation</h4>


    The ce was filled with the murmur of conversations, a constant hum of voices that seemed to grow louder by the minute.


    Damon remained seated on the bench, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. He was aware of the people around him, but he didn''t acknowledge their presence.


    Most of them seemed to be avoiding him, casting curious nces his way before quickly looking away.


    A group of people approached the bench, their eyes scanning the area before settling on Damon.


    One of them, a tall, muscr boy with a messy mop of hair, spoke up. "Hey, can you move? We wanna sit."


    Damon didn''t lift his head, his gaze remaining fixed on the ground. He pointed to therge empty space beside him, his finger jabbing at the air. "There''s space."


    The boy''s voice took on a slightly aggressive tone. "Seems you didn''t hear me, I said move." He took a step closer to Damon, his eyes narrowing.


    Damon''s expression remained neutral, his eyes still fixed on the ground. He didn''t flinch, didn''t react. He simply sat there, his presence seeming to shrink into the background.


    The boy''s friends shifted ufortably, their eyes darting back and forth between Damon and their friend. One of them ced a hand on the boy''s arm, whispering something in his ear.


    The boy''s smirk grew wider as he spoke, his voice dripping with condescension. "Ohh, so you''re the crackhead Joey said I''m gonna face, huh?" The words hung in the air, a challenge and an insult wrapped in one.


    Damon''s interest was piqued, his gaze locking onto the boy''s face. He lifted his head, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of his opponent.


    The boy''s muscles rippled beneath his skin, a testament to his dedication to his physique. Damon''s eyes narrowed, his mind working overtime to assess the situation.


    The boy''s face was a map of confidence, his eyes gleaming with a fierce intensity. Damon''s gaze met his, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Damon''s expression remained neutral, his eyes giving away nothing.


    The boy took a step closer, "What do you want?" Damon asked, his voice firm and even.


    The boy sneered, his lips curling up in a snarl. "What, you wanna go now? Come on, let''s do it." He took another step closer, his bodynguage aggressive and confrontational.


    As he spoke, he pushed Damon, his hands shoving against Damon''s chest. Damon stumbled backward, his feet tangling with the bench behind him. He almost tripped, his arms iling wildly as he struggled to regain his bnce.


    Themotion attracted attention, people''s heads turning to see what was happening. The air was electric with tension, the atmosphere charged with anticipation.


    Damon''s eyes never left the boy''s face, his gaze locked onto his opponent with an unnerving intensity. The boy''s eyes gleamed with excitement, his pupils dted with adrenaline.


    The scene was set, the stage primed for a confrontation.


    The bystanders watched with interest, their voices filled with amusement. "Who''s that guy arguing with Matt?" one of them asked, chuckling. "Why start one? I mean, the guy''s been popping roids since he came out of the womb," another joked, snickering.


    The group around themughed, their voices carrying through the air. "Don''t you know, Matt is fighting today," someone said, grinning. "For real, for real? Damn, well someone''s getting their face smashed," another chimed in.


    The jokes continued, the crowd growingrger as people stopped to watch themotion.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, his mind racing with the possibility of a fight. He thought about throwing a punch, but before he could react, someone ran over, inserting themselves between him and Matt.


    It was Joey, his voice calm and authoritative. "Whoa, hold up boys, let''s not start one fight here outside." He ced a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart.


    Damon''s eyes locked onto Joey''s, a mixture of frustration and relief washing over him. He picked up his stic bag, moving back to create some distance between himself and Matt.


    The crowd began to disperse, their attention span waning now that the confrontation had been defused. Joey turned to Matt, his voice low and even. "Let''s save it for the ring, okay?"


    Matt nodded, his expression still aggressive, but his bodynguage easing slightly. Damon watched them, his mind still racing with the possibility of a fight. He knew it wasing, and he was ready.


    The air was thick with tension, the atmosphere charged with anticipation. The fight was looming, and Damon could feel it in his bones. He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Joey''s face. It was time to focus.


    Joey''s expression transformed, his serious demeanor giving way to a jovial grin. "Well, fortunately for you guys, you''re the ones who get to open this tournament," he said, his voice booming through the air.


    The crowdughed and cheered, their excitement palpable. Joey turned to the onlookers, his eyes scanning the sea of faces. "Okay, guys, let''s move around the fences, as usual, we have eight fights, so let''s begin the first fight, shall we?"


    The crowd surged forward, their footsteps thundering against the ground. Damon watched as they formed a semi-circle around the makeshift ring, their faces eager with anticipation.


    Joey moved aside, his attention focused on a girl who was standing nearby, chatting with him. Damon''s eyes narrowed, his mind working overtime to ce her.


    She wasn''t the same girl he had seenst time, the one who had been with Joey. He shrugged, his thoughts fleeting. It seemed Joey was around.


    The girl''s dark hair cascaded down her back, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she talked to Joey. She was one of the watchers.


    Joey''s voice cut through the noise, his words clear and concise. "Alright, let''s get this started! Our first fight is between Matt and... Damon!"


    Damon''s eyes locked onto Matt''s, his mind focused on the task ahead. It was time to put everything on the line.

 Chapter 18: David And Goliath I

    <h4>Chapter 18: David And Goliath I</h4>


    Matt was already standing in the makeshift octagon ring, his eyes fixed intently on Damon as he prepared for the fight.


    Damon pulled out a mouthguard from his stic bag and inserted it into his mouth, the rubbery texture conforming to his teeth.


    He then retrieved a pair of new gloves, their bright color and sleek design drawing attention from the crowd.


    As Damon began to put on the gloves, the onlookers exchanged skeptical nces. "Does he think this is some pro match or something?" someone whispered, their voiceced with amusement.


    "Well, it''s not like he''s going to win, so let him put on his show," another person chimed in, their tone dripping with condescension.


    The crowd''s murmurs grew louder, their voices filled with a mix of curiosity and ridicule.


    Damon''s choice of gear was unusual, as most fights in this setting didn''t involve such borate equipment.


    The gloves, in particr, seemed out of ce, their padding and wrist support a far cry from the thin, worn-out gloves or old boxing gloves typically used in these informal matches.


    As Damon finished securing the gloves, he gave his hands a few test flexes, the leather creaking softly.


    His eyes never left Matt''s face, his gaze burning with a quiet intensity.


    Damon stepped into the ring, his eyes scanning the makeshift enclosure.


    His shirt was baggy, proof to his skinny physique.


    As he entered the ring, a wave of nervousness washed over him.


    His heart rate quickened, and his palms grew moist.


    He recognized the sensation, acknowledging the fear that came with knowing whaty ahead.


    Yet, he controlled his breathing, drawing slow, deliberate inhales through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.


    "OKAY, SO FIGHT!!" Joey''s voice boomed, echoing off the surrounding fences.


    Damon''s gaze snapped to Matt, his opponent, as he assumed his Muay Thai stance.


    He spread his feet shoulder-width apart, aligning his hips and shoulders.


    His right foot slid back, weight transferring onto his left leg, while his hands rose to guard his face in a banucr shape, resembling goggles.


    His fingers were spread, and his palms faced outward, protecting his head and face from iing strikes.


    Matt snorted, approaching Damon with a mix of amusement and disdain.


    "Come on, bish, let''s do this," he taunted, his voice dripping with condescension.


    The air was heavy with tension as the two fighters faced off, their bodies poised forbat.


    The crowd''s murmurs grew louder, their excitement palpable.


    Damon''s focus remained fixed on Matt, his eyes locked onto his opponent''s, his mind centered on the task ahead.


    The two fighters circled each other, their eyes locked in a fierce stare. Matt, eager to close the distance, took a step forward, but Damon was quick to react.


    With a swift motion, he threw a low right kick, aiming for Matt''s thigh. The kick connected with a solid thud, the impact resonating through the air.


    Matt smirked, seemingly unphased by the kick. He continued to move closer, his eyes fixed on Damon''s face.


    Damon, anticipating the iing attack, tried to move out of the way, but Matt''s punch was too fast. It grazed Damon''s face, the knuckles barely missing his nose. The punch stillnded, however, and Damon felt a surge of pain.


    But Damon didn''t waste the opportunity. Matt had put his whole body into the punch, leaving himself open to a counterattack.


    Damon seized the moment, throwing a sloppy hook with his right hand. The punch was far from perfect, but it stillnded squarely on Matt''s face. The impact was audible, and Matt''s head snapped back slightly.


    Damon''s eyes locked onto Matt''s, sensing a shift in his demeanor. The punch hadnded, and Matt''s expression betrayed a flicker of annoyance.


    The crowd''s collective "ohhh" echoed through the air, a symphony of surprise and excitement. Damon''s small frame stumbled backward, his feet struggling to maintain bnce as Matt''s push sent him off-kilter.


    Matt''s massive body loomed closer, his front kick aimed squarely at Damon''s midsection. Damon''s instincts screamed at him to avoid the kick at all costs.


    He stumbled back further, exaggerating his movement to evade the kick''s full force. The fence behind him pressed into his back, a cold, unforgiving barrier that halted his retreat.


    Matt closed in, his eyes zing with intensity. Damon''s Muay Thai stance began to falter, his movements bing sloppy and uncoordinated.


    His training was limited, and the pressure of the fight was taking its toll. He shifted to the side, his feet shuffling awkwardly as he tried to regain his footing.


    Damon''s heart beat fast, struggling to maintain hisposure.


    Matt''s presence was overwhelming, his sheer size and strength making Damon feel like a fragile, vulnerable target.


    The fence behind him seemed to be closing in, trapping him in a desperate bid for survival.


    Damonunched a front kick, aiming for Matt''s stomach, hoping to push him back and create some distance.


    But Matt was too quick, and his massive hands closed around Damon''s foot like a vice. Damon''s eyes widened as Matt pulled him forward, his body stretching out like a rubber band.


    Damon''s hands grasped the fence behind him, his fingers digging into the metal as he tried to anchor himself.


    But Matt''s strength was too much, and Damon felt himself being pulled off bnce. He kicked out with his legs, trying tond a hit, but Matt''s grip was too strong.


    Damon''s chest was exposed, and Matt''s face was inches from his, their hot breath mingling in the air.


    Damon''s kicks kept missing Matt''s face, but he managed tond a few ncing blows on his chest. The crowd erupted into cheers andughter, their jokes and jeers filling the air.


    "Hey, someone open up and let him out!" one of the watchers yelled, chuckling.


    "Yeah, he''s stuck!" another voice chimed in, as the crowd continued to mock Damon''s predicament.


    Damon''s face reddened with effort, his muscles straining as he tried to break free from Matt''s grip.


    But Matt''s hold was unyielding, his fingers wrapped tightly around Damon''s foot like a trap.


    The fence creaked and groaned under Damon''s weight, the metal digging into his back as he struggled to escape.

 Chapter 19: David And Goliath II

    <h4>Chapter 19: David And Goliath II</h4>


    Damon''s fingers screamed in protest as he clung to the fence, his MMA gloves too bulky to fit through the narrow openings.


    His grip was tenuous at best, his fingers straining to maintain their hold. Panic threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced himself to calm down, to think clearly.


    He gazed straight at Matt, who was trying to avoid his iling foot while still holding onto the other leg.


    Damon''s eyes locked onto Matt''s, his focus intensifying. He realized that his wild kicking was getting him nowhere, so he changed tactics.


    With a sudden burst of strength, Damon pulled the leg that Matt was holding. Matt didn''t expect the move, and his grip faltered for a split second.


    Damon seized the opportunity, pulling his free leg back and unleashing a powerful kick. His heel shot forward, connecting with a sickening crunch on the bridge of Matt''s nose.


    The impact sent a shockwave through the air, the sound of the kick echoing off the surrounding fences. Matt''s head snapped back, his eyes widening in surprise and pain.


    Damon''s leg rebounded from the kick, his foot tingling from the force of the impact. He hung there, suspended by his fingers, his chest heaving with exertion.


    The crowd''s cheers and chants grew louder, their voices a deafening roar in Damon''s ears.


    Matt released Damon''s leg, stumbling backward as his eyes widened in shock. Damon let go of the fence, his fingers leaving behind deep indentations in the metal.


    The marks were proof to the desperation of his grip, the ridges of the fence etched into his skin like a temporary tattoo.


    Matt''s voice echoed through the air, a loud, anguished "Fuck!" that sent a ripple through the crowd. He dropped to his knees, his hands grasping for his nose as if trying to stem the flow of blood.


    Damon watched, his eyes fixed on Matt''s face, as he touched his nose and then looked at his hand in horror.


    The blood was a deep, rich red, glistening in the light. It dripped down Matt''s chin, onto his chest, and onto the ground, forming a small puddle that seemed to spread with an eerie slowness.


    The crowd took a collective step back, their voices dying down as they took in the scene before them.


    Damon saw his chance, his mind racing with the possibilities. He could press his advantage, try to finish the fight with a flourish. Or he could y it safe, try to wear Matt down with careful, precise strikes. The choice was his, and his alone.


    Damon cursed under his breath, "Fuck it," as he charged forward, closing the distance between him and Matt. But in that moment of hesitation, Matt had managed to regain his footing, his eyes zing with determination as he stood up.


    Damon''s eyes widened in panic as he saw Matt rise, his mind racing with the sudden change in circumstances. He stared at Matt''s legs, his face hardening as he focused on his target.


    With a fierce battle cry, Damonunched himself at Matt, his legs pumping furiously as he built up momentum. His foot connected with Matt''s inner thigh, the impact sending a shockwave through the air.


    The sound of the kick was like a loud crack, the force of it causing Matt to lose his footing once again. He let out a quiet, short scream, his voice strained as he struggled to maintain his bnce.


    Matt''s leg slid out from under him, his body stretching into an involuntary lunge. Damon saw another chance, his eyes locking onto Matt''s exposed head.


    He quickly took a step back, his weight transferring onto his back leg as he loaded up for the kick.


    The crowd held its collective breath, their voices whispering in anticipation. "Wait, is he going to kick his head?" someone whispered, the words hanging in the air like a challenge.


    Damon''s face was a mask of focus, his eyes zing with intensity. He threw the kick with every ounce of strength he had, his foot connecting with Matt''s temple in a sickening crunch.


    The sound of the kick was like a loud crack, the impact sending a shockwave through the air. Matt''s head snapped to the side, his eyes rolling back in his head as he crumpled to the ground. The crowd erupted into chaos, their voices screaming in a mix of horror and excitement.


    Damon stood over Matt, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes fixed on his opponent''s prone form.


    Damon felt the primal urge to mount Matt and unleash a flurry of punches, to continue the punishment until his opponent was nothing more than a battered, broken shell. But just as he was about to act on his instincts, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder, pulling him back.


    "Whoa, he''s down, dude, stop!" a voice shouted in his ear.


    Damon turned to see a random guy, his face a blur, his words a distant echo. He nodded, his breathing slowing, as he hit shoulders with the guy in a gesture of acknowledgement.


    As he stepped out of the cage, Damon''s eyes scanned the crowd, his mind still reeling from the adrenaline-fueled fight. Joey approached him, a wide grin spreading across his face.


    "Damn, man, I didn''t know you could fight like that!" Joey eximed, patting Damon''s back. "Last week, you got your ass handed to you. Now you''re kicking one!"


    Joey''s words were a distant hum, a background noise that barely registered in Damon''s mind. His thoughts were still consumed by the fight, his body craving more. He wanted to hurt more of them, to feel the rush of power and control that came with victory.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, his gaze scanning the crowd for his next opponent. His heart still raced, his fists still clenched, as he walked away from the cage, ready to take on the next challenger.


    As Damon walked towards the bench, his eyes fixed on the row of seats, the people sitting there suddenly shifted ufortably, their bodies tensing as they gazed up at him.


    They exchanged nervous nces, their faces pale, before quickly scrambling to move out of his way.


    The bench creaked as they hastily vacated their seats, their footsteps echoing through the air as they distanced themselves from Damon.


    The sound of their murmured conversations and shuffling feet filled the space, a symphony of avoidance.


    Damon''s gaze swept across the now-empty bench, his eyes lingering on the vacant seats before he finally sat down.

 Chapter 20: Quest And BJJ

    <h4>Chapter 20: Quest And BJJ</h4>


    As Damon''s breathing slowed and his mind cleared, he gazed out towards the cage, but his view was obstructed by the crowd of people standing around him.


    He had no concept of time, unsure how long he had been sitting on the bench, lost in thought.


    When he finally stood up, his joints creaked in protest, a reminder of the intense physical exertion he had just endured.


    As he stretched his arms over his head, he couldn''t help but feel a sense of pride and aplishment.


    He had fought a whole match without sustaining any significant injuries, just a minor graze on his face from a stray punch.


    A small, wry smile crept onto his face as he thought about it. Justst week, he had been brutally beaten, left sleeping on the grass, his body battered and bruised.


    But now, he had emerged victorious, his skills honed, his confidence boosted.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, his focus intensifying as he thought about the system that had helped him achieve this transformation.


    He felt a deep sense of gratitude towards it, knowing that he still had so much to learn, so much to improve.


    He was determined to utilize the system to its full potential, to hone his skills, to be the best fighter he could be.


    As Damon moved closer to the ring, he navigated through the crowd to get a better view of the fight.


    What he saw made his eyes widen in concern - one fighter was mounting the other, throwing punches with abandon. Damon scanned the area, wondering why no one was intervening to stop the fight.


    Just as he was about to step in himself, a figure emerged from the crowd. The moment the boy entered the cage, the atmosphere changed.


    The murmurs of the crowd ceased, and the only sound was the thud of the fighter''s punches.


    The boy, who appeared to be around Damon''s age, quickly moved to separate the fighters. But before he could even react, a punch flew towards him, connecting with a loud "Bam!" The boy crumpled to the ground, unconscious.


    The fighter, still fueled by adrenaline, clicked his tongue in annoyance and stepped out of the ring, leaving the boy lying there.


    The crowd remained silent, shocked by the sudden turn of events.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the unspoken rules that governed this world.


    As Damon turned to walk away from the ring, the sound of his own footsteps echoed in his ears. He didn''t feelpelled to intervene or y hero, not when it could put him in harm''s way for someone he didn''t even know.


    His eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the sea of faces, before focusing on the path ahead.


    Just as he was about to reach his bench, a sudden "DING!" resonated in his mind, like a sharp, metallic ping.


    The familiar blue interface materialized before his eyes, its bright hue stark against the duller tones of the surroundings.


    Damon''s gaze locked onto the text, his mind processing the words with a mix of curiosity and wariness.


    <strong><i>[QUEST ISSUED]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[WIN ALL THE FIGHTS]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[REWARD: 10 coins]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[PUNISHMENT:???]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[NOTE > if you can''t even win against untrained fighters with your knowledge then give up]</i></strong>


    He felt a shiver run down his spine as he read the message, his heart rate increasing slightly. The uncertainty of the punishment was unsettling, but the promise of 10 coins was tantalizing.


    Damon quickened his pace, his feet carrying him swiftly back to the bench. He sat down, his eyes fixed intently on the blue interface, devouring every detail. The sounds of the crowd receded into the background as he focused on the quest.


    Damon took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, and gazed up to see a shadow looming over him.


    The figure''s presence was imposing, casting a dark silhouette against the bright surroundings.


    As he looked up, he saw it was the same guy who had pulled him out of the cage earlier, his rugged features and imposing build unmistakable.


    "It''s your turn again, Joey said to call you," the guy said, his voice deep and firm, before turning to leave without another word.


    He felt a sense of determination wash over him - he had to win this fight, and the next, if he didn''t want to face some mysterious punishment.


    The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.


    He made his way to the cage again, the warm sun beating down on him, its peak now directly overhead. The light illuminated the entire area, casting a golden glow over the crowd and the fighters.


    When he entered the cage, people cheered, their voices a deafening roar that echoed off the metal walls.


    Damon smiled slightly, feeling a sense of excitement and nervousness build up inside him. Maybe this wasn''t so bad after all, he thought, as he began to prepare for the fight ahead.


    Damon''s eyes locked onto the figure entering the cage, his gaze narrowing as he took in the details.


    The guy was almost his size, but slightly bigger, with a lean, athletic build that spoke of healthy skinny, unlike Damon''s own unhealthy skinny frame.


    He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the guy was shirtless, his chest and stomach on full disy.


    Damon didn''t understand why someone would choose to fight without clothes, it would only make the impact of the hits more painful, and there wasn''t any rule against wearing clothes.


    He shrugged his shoulders, a small smirk ying on his lips. He was eager to try out his Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu skills, and he knew that he might fail a couple of times, but he was confident in his endurance.


    Damon lowered his back, his right foot leading, and his hands up in a defensive position, attempting to protect his face.


    However, his stance looked awkward and unpolished, like a amateurish imitation of some trying out a move home after watching a movie.


    The onlookers couldn''t help but notice his strange stance, and one of them, a guy holding a beer bottle, jeered loudly.


    "What the fuck is this guy doing, karate or something? Damn!" he slurred, his voice dripping with disdain.


    Everything felt unfamiliar, like he was navigating uncharted territory, but he was determined to experiment and learn.


    The sound of the jeering crowd, the feeling of his own ragged breathing, and the sight of his opponent''s confident smirk all blended together to create a sense of uunease.

 Chapter 21: The Brawl Begins

    <h4>Chapter 21: The Brawl Begins</h4>


    The air was filled with excitement as the crowd''s chant of "Fight! Fight! Fight!" reached a fever pitch. Damon''s eyes locked onto his opponent, his gaze burning with intensity.


    He saw the faintest glimmer of overconfidence in his opponent''s eyes, a slight smirk ying on his lips. Damon''s jaw clenched, his mind racing with the desire to end this fight quickly.


    His opponent stood tall, his feet shoulder-width apart in a ssic boxing stance. His hands were wrapped tightly in gloves, his fingers curled into fists.


    The sun beat down on his shirtless torso, highlighting the lean muscles rippling beneath his skin.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, his focus intensifying as he took in every detail of his opponent''s stance.


    He noticed the way his opponent''s weight was evenly distributed between both legs, the slight bounce in his knees as he prepared to spring into action.


    The crowd''s roar grew louder, a deafening cacophony of cheers and shouts that threatened to consume Damon whole. He tuned it out, his senses honed to the singr task at hand.


    His opponent''s eyes shed with excitement, his pupils dting as he began to circle Damon.


    Damon''s breathing slowed, his heart rate dropping as he entered a state ofplete focus.


    He was aware of every muscle in his body, every fiber of his being tensed and ready to spring into action.


    Damon''s legs propelled him forward, his feet carrying him swiftly across the grass as he attempted to close the distance between himself and his opponent.


    But before he could even get within arm''s length, a straight punch shot out, connecting with a loud thud on his chin.


    The impact sent a shockwave through Damon''s skull, his teeth rattling from the force of the blow.


    His head snapped back, his eyes widening in surprise as he struggled to maintain his bnce.


    But to the amazement of the onlookers, Damon didn''t crumple to the ground. Instead, he stumbled backward, his hands flying up to his face as if to shield himself from further damage.


    The punch had been a wake-up call, a harsh reminder that Damon was in over his head. He didn''t know what he was doing, and he shouldn''t be risking his safety like this. Panic set in, his mind racing with the realization that he needed to protect himself.


    Damon''s hands covered his face, his fingers interlocking as he tried to shield his nose, mouth, and eyes from the iing blows.


    His elbows tucked in close to his body, his shoulders hunching up in a defensive posture.


    The opponent''s eyes lit up with excitement, his face twisted in a snarl as he sensed Damon''s vulnerability.


    He unleashed a flurry of punches, each one aimed at Damon''s head and body with precision and power.


    Damon''s hands remained raised, his arms absorbing the impact of each blow, but he knew he couldn''t keep this up for much longer. The punches wereing too fast, too hard, and he was running out of options.


    As he backed away, his feet scraping against the grass, Damon felt the cold metal of the cage against his back.


    He was trapped, wedged between the aggressive fighter and the unforgiving steel.


    The opponent saw his chance and closed in, his fists flying in a blur of motion. Damon''s eyes widened as he tried to track the punches, his head jerking from side to side as he attempted to avoid the blows.


    The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the air, a sickening thud that echoed off the cage walls. Damon''s arms felt like lead, his muscles screaming in protest as he tried to block the punches.


    Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes as he struggled to maintain his defense. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with exertion as he fought to stay upright.


    The opponent''s punches showed no signs of slowing, each onending with precision and power. Damon''s vision began to blur, his senses reeling from the relentless onught.


    Damon''s hand shot out, his fingers stretching like tentacles, searching for any part of his opponent''s body to grasp.


    His palm finally made contact with the guy''s sweaty back, and he pulled him in, his arm wrapping around the guy''s neck like a vice.


    The opponent''s punches ceased, his arms trapped against his body as Damon held him in a tight clinch.


    The guy''s face was inches from Damon''s, their noses almost touching, as they stood there, locked in a awkward embrace.


    The crowd erupted intoughter and jeers, their voices echoing off the cage walls. "What the heck is going on? I came here to watch people fight, not see men hug while sweaty!" someone yelled, prompting a chorus of guffaws and snickers.


    Even the opponent couldn''t help but curse, his voice muffled against Damon''s shoulder. "What the fuck, dude, stop hugging me!" he growled, trying to wriggle free, but Damon held tight.


    As they stood there, swaying slightly, their feet slid on the grass, their bodies locked in a strange, intimate dance.


    Damon''s hand remained mped on the guy''s neck, his other hand slipping under the guy''s arm, his fingers digging into the guy''s side.


    The air was thick with tension, the only sound the heavy breathing of the two fighters, their chests heaving against each other.


    The crowd''sughter and catcalls receded into the background, reced by the sound of grunting and scuffling feet.


    Damon''s face was set in a fierce grimace, his eyes fixed intently on the guy''s face, his jaw clenched in determination.


    He knew what he was doing, this was a clinch, a tactical move to neutralize his opponent''s offense and create an opening for a takedown.


    As they stood there, locked in their awkward embrace, the oue of the fight hung in the bnce, waiting to see who would emerge victorious from this strange, sweaty hug.


    Damon''s knee jerked upward, his leg unfolding like a coiled spring, as he aimed a precise strike at the opponent''s side. The impact was loud and sharp, a sickening thud that echoed through the air.


    The opponent''s body flinched, his muscles tensing as the knee connected with his ribcage. A faint grimace crossed his face, his eyes widening in surprise and pain.


    Damon''s knee seemed to sink into the opponent''s side, the force of the blowpressing the flesh and muscle beneath.


    The sound of the impact was followed by a faint crunch, the sound of bones and cartge protesting the sudden trauma.


    The opponent''s breath caught in his throat, his lungs momentarily stunned by the blow. His mouth opened, a faint gasp escaping his lips as he struggled to draw air.


    Damon''s leg recoiled, his knee returning to its original position, but the damage was done. The opponent''s body began to sag, his strength waning as the pain and shock took hold.

 Chapter 22: The Power Of The Clinch

    <h4>Chapter 22: The Power Of The Clinch</h4>


    Damon''s arms remained wrapped around his opponent''s body, his hand still sped together at the base of the guy''s neck.


    He felt the opponent''s muscles rx, his body sagging slightly after the knee strike.


    The crowd''s jeers and catcalls grew louder, their voices echoing off the cage walls. "Come on, knuckleheads! Fight like real men! Even I can do that!" someone yelled, prompting a chorus ofughter and snickers.


    Damon tuned out the crowd''s taunts, his focus solely on his opponent''s bodynguage. He felt the guy''s weight shift, his legs trembling slightly as he struggled to maintain his bnce.


    The opponent''s eyes darted back and forth, his pupils constricting as he tried to think of a way to escape the clinch. His mouth was open, his lips curled into a snarl, as he struggled to catch his breath.


    Damon''s grip remained firm, his arms like a vice around his opponent''s body. He could feel the guy''s heart racing, his pulse pounding against Damon''s forearm.


    The crowd''sughter and jeers receded into the background, reced by the sound of grunting and scuffling feet. Damon''s feet slid slightly on the grass, his weight shifting as he adjusted his grip.


    Damon''s knee jerked upward again, connecting with a loud "PAHH" that echoed through the air. The impact was louder and more forceful than before, causing his opponent''s body to shiver and tremble.


    The opponent''s grip on Damon''s arms began to slip, his fingers loosening as he struggled to maintain his hold. But in a sudden surge of adrenaline, he tried to rally, his face contorted in a snarl.


    "I''ll show you how it feels to be kicked," he growled, his voice strained and pained. He tried to speak, but the words came out in a ragged gasp, his breathingbored.


    With a sudden burst of energy, he threw his own knee strike, aiming for Damon''s side. But unfortunately, it was the same side where Damon''s arm was wrapped under his opponent''s, and Damon caught the leg easily.


    Damon''s hand closed around the opponent''s calf, his fingers digging deep into the muscle. He held the leg in ce, his arm still mped around the opponent''s neck with his other hand.


    The opponent''s eyes widened in shock and pain, his face reddening as he struggled to free himself. But Damon held firm, his grip unyielding.


    Damon''s face remained expressionless, his eyes fixed intently on his opponent. He didn''t say a single word, his silence a stark contrast to the opponent''s ragged gasps and grunts.


    Damon''s body felt warm with exertion, his muscles tense and strained. He could feel the sweat dripping down his face, his skin slick with moisture.


    Damon''s fingers dug deeper into the opponent''s neck, his grip tightening as he sensed his opponent''s strength waning.


    Damon''s eyes scanned the position they were in, his mind racing with the possibilities. He saw the opponent''s leg in his hand, the guy''s neck trapped in his other hand, and knew it was time to make his move.


    With a swift and precise motion, Damon lifted the opponent''s leg up, causing him to lose bnce. The guy''s eyes widened in surprise as he felt himself being lifted off the ground.


    Damon moved around, his feet shuffling on the grass, causing the opponent to start hopping on one leg. The guy''s arms iled wildly, trying to regain bnce, but Damon held tight, his grip unyielding.


    The opponent''s face contorted in a mixture of pain and fear as he realized he was going down. Damon''s hands remained locked in ce, his fingers digging deep into the guy''s neck and leg.


    As the opponent hopped, Damon pushed through, using his body weight to drive them both down to the ground.


    The impact was loud and forceful, the sound of their bodies hitting the grass echoing through the air.


    The opponent''s back hit the ground with a thud, his body bouncing slightly from the impact. He cried out in pain, his voice hoarse and ragged.


    Damon''s body followed, his chest pressing down on the opponent''s, his weight pinning him to the ground. The air was forced out of the opponent''s lungs, his body struggling to catch a breath.


    Damon began to mount his opponent, carefully positioning himself to avoid being caught in a leg lock.


    He sat on the guy''s stomach, his weight pinning him to the ground.


    Damon''s fists clenched, he started throwing punch after punch, each onending with a loud thud.


    The opponent''s arms iled wildly, his hands pping against Damon''s arms as he tried to defend himself. His face contorted in pain, he screamed "I quit! Stop!!" at the top of his lungs.


    Damon paused, his fists hovering above the opponent''s face. He looked up at the crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of faces to see if they had heard the opponent''s submission. The crowd''s murmurs and shouts confirmed they had.


    "What the hell is wrong with the guy? Why quit? He still had a chance of winning," someone in the crowd yelled.


    "What do you mean chance? He was getting battered on the ground!" another spectator countered.


    The crowd erupted into a heated argument, their voices echoing off the cage walls.


    Damon dismounted, standing up, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His lungs burned, his muscles ached, and his body screamed for rest. He was tired, he wanted nothing but sleep, but there was still one more match to go - the final.


    As he stood there, his eyes scanned the crowd, his gaze lingering on the faces of the spectators.


    He felt a sense of relief wash over him, knowing he had won the match, but his body told a different story.


    His legs trembled, his arms felt like lead, and his head spun with fatigue.


    He took a deep breath, his chest expanding, and let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart.


    Damon''s gaze fell upon the guy on the ground, his eyes scanning the opponent''s body. He noticed that the right side of the guy''s torso was a deep shade of red, a clear indication of the impact from the knee strikes.


    The skin was red, and Damon could see the faint outline of his own knee cap imprinted on the guy''s side.


    The sight of the redness seemed to confirm the effectiveness of Damon''s strategy.


    He felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that his knee strikes hadnded precisely and with significant force.


    The redness would likely turn into a nasty bruise, proof to the intensity of their battle.

 Chapter 23: Stockton Brothers

    <h4>Chapter 23: Stockton Brothers</h4>


    Damon watched the next match unfold before his eyes.


    The guy who had knocked out the kid in the previous fight, a towering figure with a menacing scowl, stepped into the cage with a confident swagger.


    But his confidence was short-lived, as his opponent, a lean and agile fighter named Tim, proved to be a formidable foe.


    The bell rang, and the two fighters began to circle each other, their eyes locked in a fierce stare.


    The crowd was on the edge of their seats, sensing that this was going to be a fight to remember.


    The first punch was thrown by the towering fighter, a powerful jab aimed straight at Tim''s face.


    But Tim was quick, dodging the punch with ease and countering with a swift kick to the stomach.


    The towering fighter doubled over, gasping for breath, as Tim seized the opportunity tond a series of rapid-fire punches.


    The crowd erupted into cheers as Tim''s fists flew through the air, each onending with precision and force.


    The towering fighter stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock, as Tim continued to press the attack.


    Finally, with a devastatingbination of punches and kicks, Tim sent the towering fighter crashing to the ground. The crowd went wild, cheering and chanting Tim''s name as he stood victorious over his defeated opponent.


    Damon watched in awe, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just seen.


    He had heard people talking around that Tim''s brother was friends with the Diego brothers, whoever they were.


    He didn''t know much about them, but he had a feeling that they were not people to be trifled with.


    Damon gazed at Tim, who was leaning against the cage, his chest heaving slightly as he caught his breath.


    Tim''s eyes seemed to gleam with a quiet confidence, his expression serene as he surveyed the crowd.


    Damon noticed the way Tim''s hair was damp with sweat, his skin glistening with a fine sheen of moisture.


    The air around them was thick with the smell of sweat and adrenaline, the sound of the crowd''s murmurs and the distant thud of music creating a constant hum of background noise.


    As Damon watched, Tim pushed off from the cage and began to pace back and forth, his movements fluid and rxed.


    His eyes never left Damon''s face, his gaze piercing as he seemed to size him up. Damon felt a shiver run down his spine as their eyes met, his heart beating just a little bit faster.


    "Come on, I beat thest fighters, what''s wrong with next," Damon said, trying to sound braver than he felt. His voice was steady, but he could feel the tension building inside him.


    Tim''s expression didn''t change, but he nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving Damon''s face. "Let''s do this," he said, his voice low and even.


    The crowd around them began to stir, sensing that the next match was about to begin.


    Damon stood up and walked to the octagon cage. He looked straight at the entrance, ready to face his next opponent.


    As he walked, Damon adjusted his gloves. He tightened the straps around his wrists, making sure they were secure.


    Next, Damon put in his mouthguard. It feltfortable in his mouth, and he bit down to make sure it was in ce.


    When he looked up, Damon saw Tim standing opposite him. Tim''s eyes were fixed intently on Damon''s face, and his gloves had the UFA logo on them.


    Damon felt a shiver run down his spine as he stepped into the octagon. The cool, damp grass beneath his feet was a contrast to the rough gloves on his hands.


    The cage loomed above him, making him feel trapped. The air was thick with tension, and Damon could smell the sweat and adrenaline.


    Damon felt the crowd''s eyes on him, watching his every move. He took a deep breath and focused on the moment.


    The people outside the cage began to murmur, their voices filled with uncertainty. "Hey, who do you think will win?" someone asked, their toneced with doubt. The question hung in the air, like a challenge waiting to be answered.


    Their friend, standing with arms crossed, responded with a confident smirk. "What''s that question? It''s obviously Tim. He''s probably been training with the Diego brothers, so I''m sure he can beat this... this... crackhead." The words spilled out of their mouth like a rapid-fire sequence, each onending with a sense of conviction.


    The person who asked the question raised an eyebrow, their expression skeptical. "I don''t know, man. But we''ll see." Their voice trailed off, like a slow-moving stream, as they gazed into the cage.


    The friend, still confident, shot back with a grin. "Wanna bet on it?" The words were like a dare, thrown down like a gauntlet, waiting to be picked up.


    But the person hesitated, their eyes darting back and forth, like a trapped animal searching for an escape. "Nope," they replied finally, their voice barely above a whisper.


    Joey walked into the cage, his voice booming across thewn. "OKAY EVERYONE, THIS MATCH DESERVES A PROPER INTRODUCTION, IT''S THE FINAL FOR TODAY!" He paused for dramatic effect, surveying the crowd gathered around the makeshift cage.


    His eyesnded on the cage, but he hesitated, realizing he didn''t see any color designating the corners. "UHH, BLUE CORNER!" he eximed, making it up on the spot. The crowd chuckled at the improvisation.


    "We have TIM!" Joey announced, his voice echoing off the surrounding houses. The crowd erupted into apuse, some people still chatting and cingst-minute bets. Tim stood calmly in the cage, his eyes fixed intently on his opponent.


    Joey turned to the other side of the cage. "ON THE RED SIDE, I MEAN CORNER, WE HAVE DAMON!" The crowd apuded again, their voices and whistles filling the evening air. Damon stood tall, his eyes locked on Tim with a fierce determination.


    Joey concluded the introduction with a flourish. "Okay dudes, this is it! Want the cash? Then get on to fighting!" He quickly exited the cage, leaving the two fighters to face off.

 Chapter 24: The Mind Game

    <h4>Chapter 24: The Mind Game</h4>


    <strong>[A teep kick, also known as a push kick in Muay Thai, is a straight, pushing kick typically aimed at the opponent''s midsection or legs.]</strong>


    Damon adopted the traditional Muay Thai stance, his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands up in a guard position.


    He gazed across the makeshift cage at Tim, who was standing with a rxed smile on his face.


    Tim''s hands were down by his sides, his arms loose and casual.


    Damon''s instincts told him that Tim''s stance was deliberate, a ploy to lull him into a false sense of security.


    He decided to test Tim''s defenses, closing in with a cautious step. The two fighters met in the middle of the cage, their eyes locked in a fierce stare.


    Damon threw a straight jab, his fist shooting out in a swift, precise motion. But instead of blocking or countering, Tim simply took a step back, his smile never wavering. It was as if he was saying, "Is that the best you''ve got?"


    Damon felt a surge of uncertainty. Was Tim trying to psyche him out, or was he genuinely underestimating him?


    The crowd seemed to sense the tension, their murmurs growing louder, this time, not making any jokes.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, his focus intensifying. He knew he had to keep his cool and wait for the perfect moment to strike.


    But Tim''s rxed demeanor was unnerving, making him wonder if he was in over his head.


    His mind raced, analyzing every movement, every breath of his opponent. Tim''s rxed posture was a puzzle, Damon knew there had to be more to it than simple overconfidence.


    Tim finally moved, his feet shuffling lightly as he closed the distance between them. Damon held his ground, hands still in the traditional Muay Thai guard, ready to defend.


    Tim threw a jab, a quick, snapping punch aimed at Damon''s face. Damon managed to slip the jab, leaning slightly to the side, but his counter, an instinctual right hook, was too slow.


    Tim effortlessly weaved out of the way, his movements fluid and seemingly effortless.


    Damon felt a twinge of frustration, realizing that while he knew the techniques, his execution was stillcking precision.


    Tim kept the pressure on, following up with a quick one-twobination.


    The first punchnded softly on Damon''s guard, but the second, a left cross, slipped through, catching Damon on the cheek.


    The impact was light, but it was enough to make Damon realize he couldn''t afford to be passive.


    Damon responded with a teep kick, aiming to push Tim back and create some distance. His foot shot out, but the kickcked the snap and power needed to make it effective.


    Tim sidestepped with ease, his footwork showing the influence of countless hours spent training with the said Diego brothers, but also a touch of inexperience that made him seem almost yful.


    Damon tried to reset, nting his feet firmly on the ground, but Tim was already on him.


    He ducked low, his shoulders rolling as he closed the distance and came up with a right uppercut, aiming for Damon''s jaw.


    Damon saw iting and managed to block it with his left forearm, but the force still rattled him, making him take a step back.


    Tim pressed the advantage, switching levels with a low kick aimed at Damon''s lead leg.


    The kick connected, sending a jolt of pain through Damon''s calf, but he gritted his teeth and fired back with a straight right.


    The punchnded on Tim''s chest, but it was more of a push than a strike,cking the power to do real damage.


    Tim grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. He was enjoying the fight, ying with Damon like a cat toying with a mouse.


    Damon knew he couldn''t let this continue, he had to find a way to turn the tide.


    Drawing on his training, Damon feinted a jab, then quickly stepped forward with a powerful knee strike, aiming for Tim''s midsection.


    This time, hemitted fully to the move, putting all his weight into it. The knee connected, sinking into Tim''s abdomen with a satisfying thud.


    Tim grunted, his body folding slightly from the impact, and Damon felt a surge of confidence.


    But Tim wasn''t done. He recovered quickly, slipping out to the side and throwing a quick overhand right.


    The punch grazed Damon''s temple, just enough to disorient him for a moment.


    Before Damon could react, Tim followed up with a Stockton p¡ªa wide, open-handed strike that cracked against Damon''s cheek, more a show of dominance than a damaging blow.


    The crowd erupted in cheers, recognizing the signature move." Damn he really has been training with Nathaniel"


    The p stung Damon''s pride more than his face, but he knew better than to let it rattle him. He shifted back, resetting his stance, and tried to shake off the growing frustration.


    Tim was fast, unpredictable, and clearly skilled¡ªbut he was also giving Damon openings.


    The problem was, Damon''s inexperience made it difficult to capitalize on them.


    Tim saw Damon hesitate and took advantage, stepping in with a flurry of punches¡ªquick jabs, crosses, and hooks that kept Damon on the defensive.


    Damon tried to block and parry, but the punches wereing too fast. One of Tim''s hooks slipped past Damon''s guard, connecting with his ribs.


    The pain was sharp, making Damon wince, but he couldn''t afford to let it slow him down.


    Desperate to turn the momentum, Damon threw a wild right hook, aiming for Tim''s jaw. But the punch was telegraphed, and Tim easily ducked under it.


    Damon''s fist sailed through empty air, leaving him momentarily off bnce. Tim saw his chance and pounced, stepping in with a left hook that caught Damon on the chin, sending him stumbling backward.


    Damon''s vision blurred for a moment as he tried to regain his footing. He felt the world tilt. But he fought through the disorientation, knowing that if he went down now, the fight could be over.


    Tim advanced, his movements almost casual as he closed in for what seemed like the finishing blow.


    But Damon, driven by sheer determination, managed to nt his feet and throw a desperate teep kick aimed at Tim''s torso.


    The kick connected, sending Tim stumbling back, surprise shing in his eyes. Damon could see the frustration in Tim''s expression¡ªhe wasn''t expecting such resilience.


    The two fighters paused for a brief moment, both breathing heavily, sweat dripping from their bodies.


    Damon''s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his mind racing with thoughts of how to survive the next exchange.


    Tim''s rxed demeanor had been reced with a more focused intensity, his eyes narrowing as he sized Damon up again.


    Damon knew he was at a disadvantage, but he also realized that Tim wasn''t invincible. The next move could be decisive, and both fighters seemed to sense it.


    With a burst of speed, Tim darted in, aiming low with a sudden takedown attempt.


    Damon saw iting a split second toote, his legs already buckling as Tim''s shoulder drove into his midsection.


    Damon hit the ground hard, the impact jarring him, but he instinctively wrapped his legs around Tim''s waist, trying to prevent him from advancing into a dominant position.


    Damon''sck of grappling experience became evident as he struggled to maintain control, his grip slipping as Tim began to maneuver for a better position.


    Tim managed to break free, rising slightly above Damon, his fists poised to rain down strikes.


    Damon braced himself, knowing he was in a bad situation. He tried to twist his body, to find some way to escape, but Tim''s weight kept him pinned.


    Tim''s first punch came down, a hammerfist aimed at Damon''s face. Damon barely managed to block it with his forearm, but the force of the blow still rattled him.


    Tim followed up with another, this one slipping through Damon''s defense and ncing off the side of his head.


    The world spun for Damon as he felt the cold, damp grass beneath him and the heavy weight of Tim pressing down.


    He knew he had to do something, anything, to turn the fight around.


    Summoning thest of his strength, Damon twisted his hips and managed to throw Tim off bnce just enough to create a small opening.


    He rolled to the side, trying to scramble back to his feet, but Tim was on him again, grabbing him by the waist and dragging him back down.


    The two fighters were locked in a desperate struggle, neither willing to give an inch. Damon knew he was running out of time, his energy fading with each passing second.

 Chapter 25: Submission

    <h4>Chapter 25: Submission</h4>


    Recalling a little bit of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Damon pushed Tim inside out of reflex, keeping him from getting the leverage he required tond a blow.


    Tim grunted in frustration, his attempts to break free bing more aggressive.


    Damon''s mind raced. He knew he had the knowledge, and the EMMAC System had provided him with the Guillotine Choke technique.


    But knowing it and executing it in the heat of the moment were two very different things.


    He had to time it perfectly, or Tim would slip away and gain the upper hand.


    Tim suddenly shifted his weight, trying to pass Damon''s guard.


    Damon felt the pressure on his hips, and in a split second, he knew this was the moment.


    As Tim moved to his side, Damon quickly wrapped his arms around Tim''s neck, locking in the Guillotine Choke.


    Damon''s heart pounded as he tightened the grip, pulling Tim''s head down toward his chest.


    Tim immediately realized the danger and thrashed wildly, trying to escape.


    Damon squeezed harder, every muscle in his body screaming in protest as he fought to maintain the hold.


    For a moment, it seemed like Tim might break free. He used his strength to push against Damon''s arms, creating just enough space to breathe.


    Damon felt the choke loosening, and panic surged through him. But he couldn''t afford to let go. He had tomit fully to the move.


    With a burst of effort, Damon adjusted his position, shifting his hips to increase the pressure.


    He arched his back, pulling Tim''s neck tighter into the choke. Tim''s movements became more frantic, his arms iling as he tried to pry Damon''s hands off. But Damon held firm, focusing all his energy on the Guillotine.


    Tim''s breathing became ragged, the strain evident in his eyes. Damon could feel the desperation in Tim''s attempts to escape, but he knew he had the advantage now. The choke was in deep, and Tim was running out of options.


    Suddenly, Tim managed to slip his arm between Damon''s and his own neck, alleviating some of the pressure.


    Damon cursed under his breath, feeling the grip weaken. Tim began to push up, trying to gain the upper hand once again.


    But Damon wasn''t done yet. He twisted his body, pulling Tim off bnce and tightening the choke again.


    This time, Damon adjusted his grip, threading his arm deeper under Tim''s neck. The choke was fully locked in now, and Damon could feel the fight leaving Tim''s body.


    Tim''s struggles grew weaker, his movements less coordinated as the oxygen supply to his brain was cut off.


    Damon knew he was close. He arched his back one final time, applying maximum pressure. Tim''s resistance faded, his arms dropping limply to the side.


    Damon could barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knew they were there, witnessing the moment.


    He tightened the choke for a few more seconds, ensuring that Tim was fully subdued.


    And then, with a final gasp, Tim''s body went ck, the fight drained out of him. Damon held the choke for another heartbeat, just to be sure, before finally releasing his grip.


    As Damon slowly rose to his feet, the crowd''s collective gaze followed him, their eyes wide with a mix of shock and awe.


    Each person turned to their neighbors, seeking answers, but none came. Instead, they were met with equally bewildered expressions.


    "What the hell just happened?" someone whispered, their voice barely audible over the sound of their own ragged breathing.


    Joey, still standing beside the cage, wore a look of utter bewilderment, his smile frozen in ce. "I think we just got our first submission," he stammered.


    The crowd''s murmurs grew louder, a cacophony of disbelief and excitement. Some people shook their heads, trying to process what they had just witnessed. Others nodded, a slow grin spreading across their faces.


    The smell of sweat and adrenaline was heavy over the scene, mingling with the sweet scent of victory. The sun beat down on the crowd, casting long shadows across thewn.


    As the reality of the situation sunk in, the crowd''s cheers grew louder, a deafening roar that threatened to engulf everything in its path.


    Joey dashed into the makeshift cage, his smile radiant as he raised his hand in a triumphant gesture.


    He was followed by a few people carrying a bucket of water, which they promptly poured over Tim''s limp form.


    The cold liquid sshed onto Tim''s face, sending shockwaves through his body. He jolted awake, his eyes wide with confusion.


    "What happened?" Tim stammered, his voiceced with disorientation.


    He looked around, taking in the concerned faces surrounding him. Damon stood tall, a mixture of relief and amusement etched on his face.


    Damon thought to himself, "It seems he forgot he was even fighting." The realization was almostical. Tim''s confusion was palpable, his eyes darting between Damon and the others as if searching for answers.


    As Tim struggled to sit up, the water dripping from his hair and face, Damon couldn''t help but feel a sense of pride and aplishment.


    He had won the fight, and Tim''s confusion only added to the sweetness of victory.


    Joey''s smile stretched wide as he pped Damon on the back. "Good job, bro! You''re a natural!"


    Damon''s eyes dropped, his fingers scratching the back of his head. "Just learned a few things on my own, you know? Had to."


    Joey''s gaze lingered, his expression thoughtful. Then, he nodded and turned to face the crowd. "Alright, folks! The event''s wrapped up, and we''ve got a winner!"


    His voice rose, booming across the makeshift arena. "THE EVENT HAS ENDED, MATCHES FINISH, NOW TO ANNOUNCE YOUR WINNER... DAAAAAMOOONN!!"


    The crowd''s response was immediate, a deafening roar that sent Damon''s heart racing.


    Cheers and apuse thundered through the air, hands pping together in a frenzied rhythm. Damon''s face split into a wide grin, his arms shooting up in triumph.


    Joey grabbed his hand, pumping it in congrattions. "Congrats, man! You earned it!"


    As Damon basked in the adoration of the crowd, he felt a sense of validation wash over him. The noise swirled around him. People shouted his name, whistled, and stomped their feet.


    Damon''s chest swelled with pride, his eyes shining with a mix of excitement and relief.


    ''I could get used to this''

 Chapter 26: Reflections

    <h4>Chapter 26: Reflections</h4>


    As the crowd dispersed around the cage, they didn''t disperse entirely, instead, they migrated towards the nearby grill, where Joey was busy preparing a feast.


    The savory aroma of sizzling meat wafted through the air, enticing everyone''s senses.


    Damon sat on a bench, his gloves and mouthguard discarded on the stic container beside him. He was still trying to process the events that had transpired.


    Tim, on the other hand, had made a swift exit, likely to nurse his wounded pride. Damon didn''t me him; being submitted in front of a crowd that had been hyping him up was a tough pill to swallow.


    As Damon sat there, he became aware of his own pungent aroma.


    His homeless smell,bined with the sweat from the intense fight, made him less than desirablepany.


    He understood why no one sat next to him, their noses wrinkling in distaste.


    The sound ofughter and chatter filled the air, apanied by the clinking of utensils on tes.


    Damon''s stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn''t eaten in a while. He eyed the grill, his mouth watering at the sight of the juicy meat.


    Joey, ever the host, made his way over to Damon. "Hey, champ, you must be starving!" he eximed, his voice booming across the gathering.


    Damon stood up, his muscles still tense from the fight, and followed Joey''s gaze as he looked him up and down.


    "Follow me," Joey said, already walking towards the house. Damon trailed behind him, taking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood.


    The houses were small and worn, but they seemed well-maintained, with tidywns and colorful gardens.


    As they entered the house, Damon was struck by its simplicity and cleanliness. The furniture was old but well-cared for, and the air was fresh and free of clutter.


    Joey led him to the bathroom, a small but functional space with a shower, sink, and toilet. "So, Damon, go take a shower," Joey said, handing him a towel and a set of clothes.


    "These don''t fit me anymore, but they should fit you. Once you''re done,e get a meal."


    Damon nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and wariness. He couldn''t help but wonder why Joey was being so kind to him.


    As Joey turned to leave, Damon called out to him. "Joey!"


    Joey turned around, his expression curious. "Why are you doing this?" Damon asked, his voice a little rougher than he intended.


    "I mean, I''m grateful and all, but people don''t do things for free."


    Joey paused, a small smile ying on his lips. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound, and turned to face Damon.


    "You''re right, people don''t do things for free," he said. "But let''s say I was once in your shoes. I''m living better now, and I hope you will too."


    "Come on, go take a shower. I''ll tell you the storyter."


    Damon nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.


    As he turned to enter the bathroom, he remembered something. "Oh, wait," he said, turning back to Joey.


    "Can you leave an extra meal? I''ve got someone I want to feed too."


    Joey''s eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. "Sure, I''ll do that."


    Damon closed the bathroom door behind him, the click of the lock echoing through the small space.


    He stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the room as if taking in every detail.


    The tile floor, the worn sink, the shower curtain with its faded pattern - everything seemed so foreign, yet so weing.


    He felt a lump form in his throat as he approached the shower, his hand reaching out to turn the faucet.


    The sound of running water filled the air, a soothing melody that seemed to wash away some of the tension in his body.


    As he stepped under the warm spray, Damon closed his eyes, letting the water cascade down his face.


    He felt a tear escape, trickling down his cheek, and quickly wiped it away, embarrassed by his own emotions.


    He opened his eyes to gaze at his reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at him looked worn, weary, and worn down.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed as he took in the sharp angles of his face, the stubble that covered his jawline, and the scars that crisscrossed his skin.


    "I look just like him," he whispered, a wry smile twisting his lips. He looked down, his eyes focusing on the tile floor as a sigh escaped his lips.


    The warm water continued to flow, a constant presence that seemed to wash away some of the grime and grit that had built up over the years.


    Damon''s shoulders rxed, his muscles unknotting as he let the water work its magic.


    He stood there for a long time, lost in thought, the only sound the gentle patter of the water against his skin.


    After drying himself off, Damon continued to stare at his reflection, his eyes tracing the lines and scars on his face.


    He couldn''t shake off the feeling of unease that settled in his stomach. His thoughts drifted to his mother, and he mumbled under his breath, "I''m sorry, Mom. I''m a constant reminder of your pain."


    The words hung in the air, a whispered apology to a ghost from his past. Damon''s gaze lingered on his reflection, searching for answers that never seemed toe.


    He looked away, his eyes scanning the bathroom as if searching for an escape from his thoughts.


    Finally, he broke free from his reverie and began to dress in the clothes Joey had provided.


    The fabric felt soft against his skin, a gentle caress that was a far cry from the rough, tattered clothing he was used to.


    As he buttoned up the shirt, Damon caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked different, cleaner, and more put together than he had in years.


    But the eyes that stared back at him still held a deep sadness, a reminder of the pain and struggles he had faced.


    Damon took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs as he turned away from the mirror.


    He opened the bathroom door, the sound of the party outside filtering in, a stark contrast to the quiet introspection of the bathroom.


    He stepped out, his eyes adjusting to the bright lights andughter.

 Chapter 27: A New Beginning

    <h4>Chapter 27: A New Beginning</h4>


    Damon stepped out of the house, feeling a sense of renewal wash over him.


    The warm shower and clean clothes had transformed him, making him almost unrecognizable from the dirty, homeless person he once was.


    He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of soap and shampoo that lingered on his skin.


    As he walked towards the gathering, he noticed people ncing at him, their eyes lingering on his clean clothes and fresh appearance.


    Damon felt a sense of pride, knowing that he looked better than he had in a long time.


    The sound ofughter and chatter filled the air, apanied by the clinking of utensils on tes.


    Damon''s stomach growled, reminding him that he was hungry. He made his way towards the food, his eyes scanning the spread before him.


    Joey greeted him with a smile, handing him a te piled high with food. "Hey, champ, dig in!" he said, his voice booming across the gathering.


    Damon took a bite, savoring the vors that exploded on his tongue.


    The food was delicious, a far cry from the scraps he was used to eating. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste and texture of the meal.


    As he ate, Damon couldn''t help but think of his mom. He wished she could experience this too, the warmth andfort of a full stomach and a clean body. He clenched his fist, determination coursing through his veins.


    He would save up enough money from fights and get them into a motel or something.


    Anywhere with a bed and a roof would be better than sleeping in the alley.


    Damon''s eyes opened, his gaze scanning the crowd as he made a silent promise to himself.


    He would do this, for himself and for his mom. He would fight, and he would win, no matter what it took.


    The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through his body, and Damon felt a sense of purpose he hadn''t felt in a long time.


    As thest of the guests departed, Joey''s friends began to tidy up the remnants of the gathering.


    The sound ofughter and chatter had faded, reced by the clinking of dishes and the scraping of chairs against the floor.


    Damon stood by, watching as they worked, his eyes fixed on Joey as he walked towards him.


    "Hey man, sorry to make you wait," Joey said, his voice low and apologetic. "I should have given you your prize earlier." He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a brown envelope, its edges worn and creased.


    Damon''s eyes widened as Joey handed him the envelope. His hands trembled slightly as he took it, the weight of the contents settling heavily in his palm.


    The moment his skin made contact with the paper, his shaking ceased, reced by a sense of calm determination.


    "Thanks, man," Damon said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don''t know..."


    Joey interrupted him, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I didn''t do anything, man. You earned it." He nodded towards the envelope. "That''s $300 in there. Make sure you hide it well, don''t want you getting mugged walking around with that kind of cash."


    Damon''s eyes dropped to the envelope, his fingers tracing the edges as if to confirm the contents. He looked up at Joey, a sense of gratitude etched on his face.


    "But if you want to help," Joey continued, "you can help me clean up here. I''ll add another $50 to your earnings." He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Help me clean up after fights, and you can make an extra $50 each time."


    Damon nodded, his mind racing with the possibilities. "That''s fine," he said, his voice firm. "Let''s start then."


    The sound of dishes clinking and chairs scraping against the floor filled the air as Damon and Joey began to clean up the remnants of the gathering.


    The smell of food and sweat lingered, mingling with the scent of soap and shampoo that still clung to Damon''s skin.


    He worked in silence, his eyes fixed on the task at hand, the brown envelope safely tucked away in his pocket.


    As they cleaned up thest of the mess, Damon and Joey found themselves alone, the only sound being the clinking of dishes and the scraping of chairs against the floor.


    They worked infortable silence, their movements synchronized as they put away the remnants of the gathering.


    As they worked, Damon couldn''t help but notice the ease with which Joey moved, his confidence and kindness radiating like a warm glow.


    Damon had always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling, someone to share his struggles and triumphs with.


    And as he looked at Joey, he couldn''t help but feel a sense of kinship.


    "Hey, Joey?" Damon said, his voice breaking the silence. "Can I ask you something?"


    Joey looked up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sure thing, Damon. What''s on your mind?"


    Damon hesitated, unsure of how to phrase his question. "I was just wondering... how did you get into all this?" He gestured to the makeshift fighting ring, the tables and chairs. "You know, hosting fights and stuff."


    Joey''s expression turned thoughtful, his eyes gazing into the distance. "Well, it''s a long story," he said, "but I''ll give you the short version."


    Damon nodded, his eyes fixed on Joey''s face.


    "I used to be homeless, just like you," Joey said, his voice low and even. "Me and my big brother, we had to fight to survive. But my brother, he was a fighter, literally. He got into a low-promotionpany and started making a name for himself."


    Damon''s eyes widened, his mind racing with the parallels between Joey''s story and his own.


    "He made enough money to get us off the streets," Joey continued. "And I... I found my own way to contribute. I started hosting fights, and it just took off from there."


    Damon couldn''t believe what he was hearing. The simrities between their stories were uncanny.


    He felt a sense of wonder, of awe, at the fact that Joey''s brother had been able to get them off the streets through fighting.


    "That''s amazing," Damon said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I had no idea."


    Joey shrugged, his smile humble. "Yeah, my brother''s a great guy. He''s still fighting, still sending me money to this day."


    Damon''s eyes dropped, his mind reeling with the implications. If Joey''s brother could do it, why couldn''t he? Why couldn''t they both escape the streets and make a better life for themselves?

 Chapter 28: A Place to Stay

    <h4>Chapter 28: A ce to Stay</h4>


    As they finished cleaning up, Joey pulled out a $50 bill and handed it to Damon. "Here, take this. Thanks for helping out," he said with a smile.


    Damon nodded, tucking the money into his pocket. Joey walked him out of the house, and as they stood on the porch, Damon turned to him with a question.


    "Hey Joey, can I ask a favor?" he said, his eyes locking onto Joey''s.


    Joey tilted his head, his expression curious. "Depends on the favor," he replied.


    Damon scratched the back of his head, his eyes darting around the neighborhood before focusing on Joey again. "Can you tell me about any cheap motels around here? Somewhere I can stay?"


    Joey paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You mean, like, a ce to get off the streets?" he asked, his voice low and even.


    Damon nodded, his jaw clenched. "Yeah. Just me and my mom."


    Joey nodded sympathetically, running his hand through his blonde hair. "Well, since you''ve got your mom with you, I shouldn''t send you to a ce where there might be people looking to take advantage of her," he said, his eyes serious.


    Damon''s fist clenched at the thought of someone harming his mom. Joey noticed and held up a calming hand. "Chill, man, I said I''m not sending you there. Most motels around here are in gang-affiliated areas, but I know one that might work."


    He thought for a moment, his eyes scanning the surrounding streets. "It''s not in a great area, but it''s not too far from here. You can probably walk there in 30 minutes. The only bad thing you might encounter is some nuthead asking for drugs."


    Damon nodded, considering the option. "That doesn''t seem too bad," he said.


    Joey nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and it''s not in any gang territory, so you don''t have to worry about that. You know the gangs around here, right? The Reds an-"


    Damon finished the sentence for him. "Yeah, I know. The Blues."


    Joey nodded grimly. "Best to stay away from them. The motel I''m thinking of is about 35 dors a night, so you can stay longer if you need to. That cool with you?"


    "Alright, so you head down this street for about 10 minutes," Joey said, pointing down the sidewalk. "Then you take a left at the corner with the big oak tree. You can''t miss it."


    Damon nodded, his eyes fixed on Joey''s face as hemitted the directions to memory. "Got it," he said, his voice firm.


    "Then you keep walking for another 15 minutes," Joey continued. "You''ll see a sign that says ''Sunset Motel''. That''s where you want to go."


    Damon nodded again, his mind reying the directions like a map. "Okay, I think I can find it," he said.


    Joey smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I''m sure you will, man. Just be careful, okay?"


    Damon nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude towards Joey. "Thanks, man. I owe you one," he said, holding onto the stic bag that contained his clothes, MMA gloves, and mouthguard.


    Joey waved his hand dismissively. "You owe me nothing, man. Just be safe, okay?"


    Damon nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He knew he had found a true friend in Joey.


    "Okay, I got some things I need you to do," Joey said, his expression serious. "See you next Saturday?"


    Damon nodded, his heart feeling lighter. "I''ll be there, no worries," he said.


    Joey smiled, his eyes gleaming with friendship. "Good, man. I''ll see you then."


    As Damon walked back to the alley, the sun''s golden hue cast a warm glow over the streets.


    He didn''t bother checking the system interface, his focus solely on finding a motel and getting off the streets as soon as possible.


    As he approached the alley, he slowed his pace, his hand instinctively rising to touch his face.


    He gently probed his skin, checking for any cuts or bruises. His fingers detected a few minor scrapes, but nothing too severe.


    Damon let out a soft sigh, relief washing over him. He hadn''t worried his mom too much, at least not physically. Emotionally, he knew he still had a long way to go to make things right.


    He continued into the alley, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings.


    The smell of trash and urine filled his nostrils, a harsh contrast to the cleanliness of Joey''s house.


    He spotted his mom sitting on the ground, her back against the wall. She looked up as he approached, a mix of concern and relief etched on her face.


    Aoife''s eyes widened in surprise as she took in her son''s transformation. "Saints preserve us, Damon! What''s happened to you? You look and smell like you just stepped out of a shower!"


    Damon chuckled, feeling a sense of joy he hadn''t experienced in a long time. "I did, Mom," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "I have so much to tell you."


    He led his mother back to their spot behind the bin, where they sat down together. Damon took a deep breath,unching into the story of his day.


    He told her about the fights, about winning, about the shower and the new clothes. He told her about the money, and as he did, his mother''s eyes welled up with tears.


    "Are you serious?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. "I''m so proud of you, Damon! My heart''s burstin'' with joy!"


    She hugged him tightly, squeezing the air out of him. Damon felt tears fall from his eyes, but they weren''t tears of sadness or pain. They were tears of happiness, something he hadn''t experienced in a long time.


    As they hugged, Damon felt a sense of peace wash over him. He knew that no matter what happened next, he had his mother''s love and support. And in that moment, that was all that mattered.


    Aoife''s voice trembled with emotion as she spoke the words Damon had longed to hear. "I''m proud of you, son," she said, her voice thick with feeling.


    Damon''s eyes welled up with tears as he gazed at his mother. He felt a sense of relief wash over him.


    Aoife''s face was etched with lines of worry and fatigue, but her eyes shone with a warmth that Damon hadn''t seen in years. She reached out a hand and gently brushed a strand of hair out of his face.


    "You''ve done well for yourself, Damon," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know things haven''t been easy, but You''ve persevered. You''re a strongd."


    Damon felt a lump form in his throat as he struggled to contain his emotions.

 Chapter 29: A New Beginning

    <h4>Chapter 29: A New Beginning</h4>


    Damon''s eyes shone with excitement as he stood his mom up. "Mum, I have one thing to tell you," he said, his voice trembling with anticipation.


    Aoife''s eyes widened in surprise, wondering what else could be so important that Damon would end the day with.


    But seeing the smile on his face, she reassured herself that it wasn''t bad news.


    Damon held his mother''s hands, his grip warm and gentle. "Mom, from today onwards, we won''t be sleeping in the alley," he said, his words spilling out in a rush.


    Aoife''s eyes narrowed slightly, confusion etched on her face. "What do you mean, Damon?" she asked, her voiceced with curiosity.


    Damon''s smile grew wider. "I have money for us to stay in a motel," he said, his words tumbling out in excitement.


    Aoife''s eyes widened in shock, her face pale. She hadn''t expected this. "A motel?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Damon nodded, his eyes shining with excitement. "Yes, Mom. We can stay there tonight. We won''t have to sleep in the alley anymore."


    Aoife''s face crumpled, tears welling up in her eyes. She had never thought she''d see the day when her son would be able to provide for her like this.


    Damon pulled his mother into a tight hug.


    Aoife wrapped her arms around her son, holding him close. She felt a sense of pride and gratitude towards Damon.


    He had done this for her, for them. She knew that she could always count on him.


    As they hugged, Damon felt a sense of relief wash over him. He had done it.


    He had found a way to get them off the streets, he also knew that this was just the beginning.u


    Damon''s eyes sparkled with determination as he broke the hug. "Let''s take this stuff," he said, his voice filled with excitement.


    Aoife paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "We''re going now?" she asked, her voiceced with confusion.


    Damon chuckled, his smile wide. "Yes, Mom," he replied, his hand reaching out to grab the bananas and half bread.


    Aoife''s eyes widened as she realized what was happening. Her son was taking her to a new life, one where they wouldn''t have to sleep on the streets.


    Damon''s hands moved quickly, gathering their meager belongings. The bananas were a bit bruised, but they would still taste sweet. The half bread was stale, but it would fill their stomachs.


    And that was it, he knew that. But that was what they had when they fled to the US, with nothing but a few belongings and a hope for a better life.


    Damon''s mind raced with these thoughts, but he pushed them aside.


    He couldn''t think about that now. He had to focus on the present, on getting them settled into their new life.


    He looked at his mother, and saw the trust in her eyes. She believed in him, and he wouldn''t let her down.


    As they walked, the warm sun bounced down on their faces. The smell of exhaust fumes and greasy food filled their nostrils.


    But Damon and Aoife didn''t notice. They were too busy looking forward to their new life.


    Damon''s heart swelled with pride as he thought about what he had aplished.


    He had fought for his mother, for their future. And he would keep fighting, keep pushing forward.


    Aoife''s eyes shone with tears as she looked at her son. She knew that he had done this for her, for them. And she was grateful.


    As they turned the corner, the Sunset Motel came into view. Damon''s heart skipped a beat. This was it, their new beginning.


    He took his mother''s hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "We''re going to be okay, Mom," he said, his voice filled with conviction.


    Aoife nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. She knew that she could always count on her son.


    Damon''s eyes fixed on the motel, taking in every detail.


    It wasn''t too big, just a small, two-story building with a faded exterior.


    The walls were a dull brown, with patches of peeling paint revealing the grey concrete beneath.


    The roof was a mess of missing shingles and rusty vents.


    The sign above the office creaked in the gentle breeze, the letters reading "Motel" in bold, red letters.


    But the "M" flickered on and off, making it look like "Otel" more often than not.


    The neon lights hummed and buzzed, casting a gaudy glow over the parking lot.


    There were only a few cars scattered around the lot, their windshields reflecting the dim light of the setting sun.


    The rooms themselves were a mix of dark and light, some with curtains open, others with them tightly shut.


    The windows were small, with rusty air conditioning units jutting out of the walls.


    Damon''s gaze roamed over the motel, taking in the worn-out wee mat, the cracked sidewalk, and the overgrown weeds pushing through the pavement.


    It wasn''t much, but it was better than the alley.


    It was a ce to call their own, if only for a little while.


    He turned to his mother, who stood beside him, her eyes fixed on the motel with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.


    "It''s not the Ritz, Mom," Damon said, his voice low and even.


    "But it''s a roof over our heads."


    Aoife nodded, her eyes never leaving the motel.


    "It''s fine, son," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.


    "It''s fine."


    Damon and Aoife walked towards the office, their feet crunching on the gravel parking lot.


    As they approached the door, they noticed a woman sitting on the ground.


    She was dressed in tattered clothes, her hair a mess of knots and tangles.


    When she saw Damon and Aoife, she smiled, revealing yellow teeth.


    "Hey man, I can give you head, just give me some money, man," she said, her voice slurred and desperate.


    Damon widened his eyes in shock, his mind screaming ''What the fuck!''


    He looked at the woman, trying to process what was happening.


    "No, sorry," he said quickly, trying to move past her.


    Aoife followed close behind, her eyes fixed on the woman with a mix of sadness and relief that her son never did drugs.


    They passed by the woman, relieved that she didn''t pester them further.


    Damon didn''t feel bad for refusing her, he was sure that everyone who passed by knew that giving in to her requests would only help her ruin her life more.


    The woman''s eyes followed them, her smile fading into a scowl.


    Damon could sense her desperation, her addiction, and her hopelessness.

 Chapter 30: Checking In

    <h4>Chapter 30: Checking In</h4>


    Damon pushed the door open to the office, a small bell above the door ringing out as they entered.


    The room was dimly lit, with a single flickering fluorescent light overhead.


    The air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and old books.


    Inside, on the other side of the desk, sat an olddy, her grey hair pulled back into a tight bun.


    She looked bored, her eyes fixed on a book in herp. A pair of sses perched on the end of her nose, and a pen was tucked behind her ear.


    The desk itself was cluttered, with stacks of papers and old receipts scattered across its surface.


    A small clock ticked away on the wall behind her, the sound echoing through the silent room.


    Damon''s eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light, taking in the details of the room. Aoife followed close behind, her eyes fixed on the olddy.


    The olddy looked up as they entered, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Damon and Aoife. She set her book aside, her movements slow and deliberate.


    "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice gruff and unfriendly.


    Damon stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. "We need a room," he said, his voice firm and clear.


    The olddy raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking to Aoife. "How long?" she asked, her voice a little softer.


    Damon hesitated, unsure of what to say. "For a week," he said finally, hoping that would be enough.


    The olddy nodded, her eyes flicking back to Damon. "Room 17," she said, her voice monotone. "That''ll be $245."


    Damon nodded, his hand reaching into his pocket for the money. Aoife stood beside him, her eyes fixed on the olddy with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.


    As Damon handed over the money, the olddy''s eyes flicked to Aoife, then back to him. "You two okay?" she asked, her voice a little softer.


    Damon nodded, his heart swelling with pride. "We''re fine," he said, his voice firm and clear.


    The olddy nodded, her eyes flicking back to the book in herp. "Room 17," she said again, her voice monotone. "Down the hall, second door on your left."


    She sighed, looking as they left, her eyes fixed on Damon''s clean clothes and Aoife''s dirty clothes.


    She stared at Aoife for longer, her gaze lingering on the worn-out fabric and the stains that dotted the cloth.


    Then, she shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and resignation.


    Damon forgot, and turned back to the office. "What about the key?" he asked, his voice firm and clear.


    Thedy stood up, her movements slow and deliberate. She went behind the desk, took some time, and you could hear key sounds as she checked the right one. "Here," she said, handing him a small, rusty key. "Make sure to not lose it, otherwise you''ll have to pay for it."


    Damon nodded, his hand closing around the key. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with gratitude.


    They left the office, staring at the keys in Damon''s hand. He looked at his mother, who was looking at him as well.


    They walked up the rail stairs, their footsteps echoing through the silent hallway. They walked towards room 17, the number etched on the door in bold, ck letters.


    Damon saw the door, and put the key in the lock. He turned it, and it gave him some trouble a bit. He was gentle, not wanting to break it.


    He jiggled the key, and finally, there was a click. The door opened, creaking on its hinges.


    Damon pushed the door open, and stepped aside, letting Aoife enter first. She walked in, her eyes scanning the room.


    Damon followed, his heart pounding in his chest. He closed the door behind them, and locked it, the sound echoing through the room.


    Damon looked around the room, taking in every detail. The room had two beds, each a single bed, with clean white sheets and a few pillows.


    There was a TV on a small table, its screen dusty but intact. Damon stared at it for a while, mesmerized by the thought of watching TV again.


    He hadn''t watched one since years, and the idea of sitting in front of a screen, flipping through channels, felt like a luxury.


    His mother was also ecstatic, her eyes shining with excitement as she took in the room.


    She instantly dashed towards the door that Damon assumed led to the bathroom, eager to see the inside. She pushed the door open and disappeared from view.


    Damon heard the sound of running water, and his mother''s excited voice, "Damon, it has a shower! And it''s clean!" He smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.


    Despite the location, and the exterior of the motel, it really had clean and good rooms.


    He walked over to the bed, feeling the softness of the mattress. He sat down, running his hand over the sheets, feeling the smooth fabric.


    Hey back, closing his eyes, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over him.


    The sound of running water stopped, and his mother came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her hair. "Damon, you should take a shower too," she said, smiling. "It''ll make you feel better."


    Damon chuckled, "Mom, I already showered today, how was it?" Aoifeughed, and began talking, her voice filled with excitement.


    They chatted for hours, the whole night, until Aoife''s eyes began to droop. She yawned, and snuggled under the nket.


    Damon smiled, and tucked her in. He then stood up, stretching his arms over his head. He walked over to his bed, and sat down, feeling the softness of the mattress. He opened the system interface, and a message popped up.


    <strong><i>[CONGRATULATIONS FOR WINNING ALL YOUR FIGHTS]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes lit up, as he read the message. He felt a surge of pride and happiness.


    <strong><i>[REWARD: 10 FPs]</i></strong>


    He nodded, his heart swelling with excitement. He got his reward, the fight points (FP).


    <strong><i>[MATCH DETECTED NEXT SATURDAY, TRAINING PROGRAM ORGANIZED]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, as he read the message. He had a match next Saturday, and a training program was already organized.


    He nodded, his mind racing with strategies and techniques. He needed to be prepared for the next fight.


    He closed the system interface, andy back on the bed, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over him.


    He had a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, and a chance to fight for a better life.


    He smiled, and closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion take over.

 Chapter 31: A New Morning

    <h4>Chapter 31: A New Morning</h4>


    Damon woke up early, the sunlight peeking through the curtains and casting a warm glow over the room.


    He stretched his arms and yawned, feeling the softness of the bed beneath him. His body ached from the fights, but it was a good kind of pain, a reminder of his hard work and determination.


    He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, his feet making soft creaking sounds on the floor. He turned on the light and looked in the mirror, wincing slightly at the sight of his battered face.


    His eyes were puffy, and his cheeks were bruised, but it didn''t look too bad. He washed his face with warm water, feeling the coolness soothe his skin.


    After washing up, he dressed in the same clothes he had worn the day before. They were clean andfortable, and he didn''t see the need to change.


    He walked back to bed and looked at his mom, who was still sleeping peacefully.


    She was lying on her side, her hands tucked under her pillow, and a soft smile on her face.


    Damon felt like she might sleep the whole day, due to thefortable bed and the warmth of the room.


    The room was quiet, except for the sound of his mom''s gentle breathing.


    Damon sat down on his bed, looking around the room, taking in every detail. The walls were a pale yellow, and the furniture was old but clean.


    ?


    There was a small table in the corner, with two chairs, and a TV on a small table against the wall. The window had a view of the parking lot, and the sunlight cast a warm glow over everything.


    Damon opened his system interface.


    <strong><i>Total Fights: 3 (3-0)</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Fighting Style:</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Style: Muay Thai : Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Physical Stats:</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Strength: F</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Speed: F</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Stamina: F</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Endurance: C+</i></strong>


    <strong><i>Agility: F</i></strong>


    As he looked at the physical rankings, he noticed something different. The dashes that used to be next to each stat were gone.


    He wondered if this meant his stats were improving. A small smile spread across his face at the thought.


    He also noticed that his fighting style was no longer listed as freestyle. Instead, it now showed Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.


    He felt a sense of pride knowing he had developed skills in specific styles.


    His eyes lingered on his win-loss record. Three wins and zero losses.


    He felt a surge of confidence and happiness seeing those numbers. He had worked hard for them, and it paid off.


    Damon felt a sense of excitement and anticipation for his next fight. He was ready to continue improving and winning.


    Damon decided to check his Coins. He opened the system interface and saw that he had 13 Coins.


    He remembered that the three FPs were leftover from his reward for training.


    He had also bought water from the system a few times, but he still had some left, so he hadn''t used up all his points.


    Next, he opened the shop to buy some more water. He purchased three 5L bottles, which wouldst him and his mom for a while.


    He lifted the bottles and put them next to the wall, making sure they were secure.


    Then, he looked at the other food options he could buy. But he decided to hold back, since they still had bananas and bread left over from before. He didn''t want to waste his FPs on more food when they already had some.


    After making his purchase, Damon removed the system interface and sighed. He really wished he could convert his Coins to real money.


    He wondered how much 13 Coins would be equivalent to in dors and cents.


    He thought about all the things he could buy if he could convert his Coins to cash.


    He could buy more food, pay for their room, and even get some new clothes.


    But for now, his Coins were stuck in the system, only usable for buying items from the shop.


    Damon shrugged and moved on. He was just grateful to have the water and food they needed.


    Damon looked around the room, feeling a bit bored. He had nned to exercise and trainter, but for now, he had nothing to do. His eyesnded on the TV, and he walked towards it, curious.


    He examined the TV, noticing how old it looked. The screen was dusty, and the buttons on the front were yellowed.


    But he decided to try and turn it on anyway. He pressed the button that looked like the power button, and waited.


    At first, nothing happened. But then, the screen flickered and turned grey. Suddenly, a loud, static noise filled the room: "SHSHHSHSHSHSHSHSH". Damon cursed under his breath, "Fuck!"


    He quickly turned to check on his mom, worried that the noise would wake her up. But she was still fast asleep, undisturbed.


    Damon let out a sigh of relief and quickly turned off the TV, not wanting to risk waking her up.


    The room fell silent again, except for the sound of his mom''s gentle breathing.


    Damon stood there for a moment, looking at the TV with a mixture of disappointment and frustration.


    He had hoped to find something to watch, something to take his mind off things. But the TV was clearly old and broken.


    But then, something inside Damon urged him to try again. He decided to press the button once more, and this time, the static noise grew even louder.


    He panicked, his heart racing, and quickly pped the TV to try and make it stop. To his surprise, the static noise ceased, and the TV began ying a clear picture.


    Damon was shocked and relieved. He looked around the TV, searching for the volume switch, as the sound was still very loud. He finally found it and turned it down to a morefortable level.


    As he looked at the screen, he saw that it was showing a horse racing match.


    Damon wasn''t interested, so he started pressing buttons to change the channel.


    He searched for a long time, but couldn''t find anything else. Just when he was about to give up, he stumbled upon a different channel.


    This time, he saw two fighters facing each other in a cage.


    Damon''s eyes widened with interest. He noticed that it was a UFA match, and even though the TV was in ck and white, it didn''t bother him.


    He sat down, engrossed in the match, watching every move the fighters made.


    The sound of the crowd cheering, thementators'' voices, and the fighters'' grunts filled the room.


    Damon waspletely absorbed in the match, his eyes fixed on the screen. He watched as the fighters exchanged blows, their movements swift and precise.


    As the match ended, Damon felt a rush of excitement. He wanted to watch more.


    He kept watching, one match after another, fascinated by the skill and strength of the fighters.

 Chapter 32: The Championship Dream

    <h4>Chapter 32: The Championship Dream</h4>


    As Damon continued to watch, he noticed the crowd''s excitement growing. It seemed they were all waiting for the final match.


    When the previous fight ended, a well-dressed man in a stylish suit entered the scene.


    He stood confidently, and music yed, signaling the arrival of the main attraction.


    A man emerged with his crew, and Damon couldn''t help but notice his distinctive look.


    He had a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and medium to dark skin.


    His hair was ck and closely cropped, revealing a clean-shaven face. His deep-set brown eyes seemed intense and focused, especially when he was in the ring.


    Although the ck and white screen didn''t show colors, Damon could sense the man''s aura. He exuded strength, discipline, and the sharpness of a seasoned fighter.


    As the man approached the cage, Damon realized that this was the championship match everyone was waiting for.


    The man held a championship belt, and Damon''s eyes widened with excitement. He had never seen a championship match before, and he couldn''t wait to see the action unfold.


    When the man reached the cage, he stood there, his presencemanding attention.


    The crowd cheered, and thementators'' voices grew louder. Damon felt his heart racing with anticipation.


    He was about to witness something special, something that would leave asting impression.


    He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the screen, ready to take in every moment of the championship match.


    Suddenly, music yed, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Damon''s eyes were fixed on the screen as the other fighter emerged.


    He watched as the fighter walked out, his pale skin a stark contrast to the dark surroundings. The fighter''s body was marked with tattoos, each one telling a story of his journey.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he took in the sight of therge gori tattoo on the fighter''s chest. The gori wore a crown on its head and clutched a heart in its teeth.


    The fighter''s hair was cropped short. The eyes seemed to gleam with a predatory focus, and Damon felt a shiver run down his spine.


    The fighter''s jaw was strong, covered in a trimmed beard that framed his face, adding to the aura of raw, rugged strength.


    As the fighter walked towards the cage, Damon''s excitement grew. He was on the edge of his seat, his face inches from the screen.


    The music reached its peak, and the crowd''s cheers grew louder. Damon felt like he was right there in the arena, his senses immersed in the exciting atmosphere.


    He couldn''t wait to see the fight begin, to witness the sh of these two formidable opponents.


    When both fighters were in the octagon cage, the man in the suit stepped forward. The crowd cheered louder and then went silent, anticipating the announcement.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening!" The announcer''s voice boomed through the speakers. "Sanctioned by the Nevada Commune Athleticism Organization, our three judges scoring this contest at octagon-side are..." He paused for a moment, building up the excitement.


    And then, he continued, his voice growing louder and more dramatic. "And now! For those in attendance and UFA fans watching around the world, live from the Grandview Sports Arena in Las Vegas, Nevada, ITTTTTTT''SSSSSS TIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMEEEE!"


    The crowd erupted in cheers, and the sound of the TV crackled with the intensity of the moment.


    "Five rounds for the undisputed UFA Featherweight Championship of the World!" The announcer dered.


    The camera panned to the blue corner, where the first fighter was standing. "Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner, this man is a mixed martial artist holding a professional record of 18 wins, 2 losses. He stands 5 feet 9 inches tall, weighing in at 145 pounds. Fighting out of Cork, Irnd, presenting the challenger, the Rebellious Collin Nacgyver!"


    The crowd cheered again, and then the camera panned to the red corner, where the second fighter was standing, who was the champion.


    "And now, introducing his opponent, fighting out of the red corner, this man is a mixed martial artist holding a professional record of 25 wins, 1 loss. He stands 5 feet 7 inches tall, weighing in at 145 pounds. Fighting out of Fortaleza, Brazil, he is the reigning, defending, undisputed UFA Featherweight Champion of the World, Joseph Eldaman!"


    The crowd''s cheers reached a fever pitch, and the sound of the TV crackled with the intensity of the moment.


    Damon felt his excitement building up, and he couldn''t wait to see the fight begin.


    Damon watched as the fighters met in the center of the octagon.


    Even on the old ck-and-white TV, he could feel the tension, even felt like he could cut it.


    Collin Nacgyver moved lightly on his feet, his eyes locked on Joseph Eldaman. Joseph, the champion, stood firm, muscles ready for action.


    The referee signaled, and they began to circle each other, both looking for an opening. Damon leaned closer, his heart pounding.


    Suddenly, Collin stepped forward, his left hand ready to strike. Joseph reacted quickly, throwing a punch of his own.


    But before Damon could even blink, Collin''s punchnded first, hitting Joseph square on the chin.


    Joseph fell to the mat, his body crumpling instantly. Damon gasped, shocked by how fast it had all happened.


    The referee rushed in, waving to stop the fight. Collin raised his fists in victory, and the crowd''s cheers echoed through the TV speakers, almost overwhelming the sound.


    Damon sat back, stunned. The fight hadsted only fifteen seconds. It was over almost before it began, but the impact of those few seconds was unforgettable.


    As Collin celebrated, climbing the cage, Damon stared at the screen, awestruck. The image faded to ck, but the excitement Damon felt stayed with him. The fight might have ended quickly, but the memory of it wouldst a lifetime.


    The roar of the crowd was almost deafening as the Announcer''s voice cut through the noise, filled with his signature dramatic ir."Ladies and gentlemen, after just 13 seconds of the very first round, we have a winner by knockout! And now, the new UFA Featherweight Champion of the World... THE REBELLIOUS COLLIN NACGYVER!"


    The crowd erupted into a deafening cheer as Collin Nacgyver, the newly crowned champion, held his belt high.


    Damon watched in awe, mesmerized by the dramatic finish and eager to see more from Collin.


    ..


    Damon''s eyes were still fixed on the TV screen, even though the broadcast had ended.


    He was lost in thought, his mind consumed by the image of Collin Nacgyver holding the championship belt aloft.


    He could almost hear the roar of the crowd, feel the electric atmosphere of the arena.


    Damon''s desire to be a champion burned brighter than ever. He wanted to experience that moment for himself, to have the belt wrapped around his waist, to hear the announcer dere him the winner.


    He thought about his own journey, his own struggles and sacrifices. He thought about the long hours of training, the sweat, the pain, the doubt.


    But most of all, he thought about the glory, the honor, the sense of achievement that came with being a champion.


    Damon''s determination grew, his resolve strengthened. He knew that he had a long way to go, but he was ready for the challenges life woulf throw.


    He was ready to put in the work, to push himself to the limit, to do whatever it took to be a champion.


    The image of Collin Nacgyver''s victory lingered in his mind, fueling his ambition, driving him forward.


    Damon knew that he could do it, that he could be a champion. And he was willing to do whatever it took to make it happen.

 Chapter 33: Aoife’s efforts

    <h4>Chapter 33: Aoife''s efforts</h4>


    Five months went by, and Damon''s life settled into a routine.


    He woke up every morning at 6:00 AM to the point it was a habit, the system had a rm feature he had discovered.


    His mothery asleep on the other single bed, her gentle snores filling the quiet room. Damon got out of bed, stretched his arms, and began his morning routine.


    He quickly dressed in his worn-out clothes and headed outside to start his training.


    The cool morning air hit him as he stepped out of the motel room. He took a deep breath, feeling invigorated, and began his run.


    Damon pounded the pavement, his feet echoing through the empty streets. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he ran, his muscles warming up for the intense training session ahead.


    After his run, he returned to the motel parking lot, where he had made it his makeshift training area.


    He began his martial arts drills, practicing his punches, kicks, and grappling moves. The sound of his heavy breathing and the thud of his feet on the ground filled the air.


    As the sun rose higher, Damon''s training intensified. He sparred with an imaginary opponent, his movements swift and precise.


    He was a force to be reckoned with, his determination and hard work evident in every move.


    Meanwhile, his mother slept peacefully, unaware of her son''s grueling training session outside.


    She had grown ustomed to Damon''s early morning routine and slept soundly, trusting that he was safe and focused on his goals.


    As the morning wore on, Damon''s training came to an end. He returned to the motel room, exhausted but satisfied with his progress.


    He showered, dressed, and prepared his breakfast, his eyes fixed on the TV as he watched UFA fights, analyzing the fighters'' techniques and strategies.


    Damon''s fascination with the sport grew with each passing day. He became a fan of Collin Nacgyver, admiring his confidence and skill in the octagon.


    He knew that one day, he would face the best fighters in the world, and he was determined to be ready.


    Damon''s fascination with the UFA grew as he watched fight after fight.


    He wasn''t just a fan of Collin Nacgyver; he admired many fighters.


    Dominic Georgeson''s impressive title reign, Jorge saints''s welterweight dominance, and Kamil Murnamadov''s grappling mastery all captivated him.


    As he watched, Damon noticed that the TV yed old events, reruns of fights from years ago.


    But he had learned to catch the recent shows, staying upte to watch thetest events.


    His mother would often look at him, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and concern.


    She would see him sitting on the bed, his eyes glued to the TV, his face lit up by the screen''s glow.


    She would hear the sounds of punches and kicks, the roar of the crowd, and thementators'' voices.


    She would wonder what drew him to this sport, why he spent hours watching fights.


    The motel room was filled with the sounds of the UFA. The TV red, the fighters'' voices shouting, the crowd cheering.


    Aoife would try to sleep, but the noise would seep into her room, echoing off the walls. She would cover her ears, trying to block out the sounds, but they would still seep in.


    Despite the noise, Damon''s mother neverined. She saw the determination in her son''s eyes, the fire that burned within him.


    She knew that he was chasing his dreams, and she wouldn''t stand in his way.


    So she would lie in bed, listening to the sounds of the UFA, knowing that her son was one step closer to achieving his goals.


    Damon continued to fight in the backyard brawls, the system providing him with quests to win. He hadn''t kept winning, but his only loss was five months ago.


    Since then, he had been dominant in the makeshift cage, his name spreading throughout Stockton.


    People who knew Joey''s fights would whisper about Damon, the young fighter with a fierce determination.


    His reputation grew, and with it, the money he brought home. Aoife felt a mix of emotions - gratitude for the financial stability, but also uselessness. She wasn''t contributing, and it bothered her.


    Aoife felt useless, a feeling that had be all too familiar. She wasn''t contributing to their livelihood, and it gnawed at her.


    Her son, Damon, was the one bringing home the money, fighting in those brutal backyard brawls. She hated the thought of it, hated that he had to put himself in harm''s way.


    She remembered the day he dropped out of school, the day they fled their old life. She had stolen his childhood, forced him to grow up too quickly.


    Now, at 19, he was fighting for their survival. The guilt was crushing her.


    Aoife''s mind wandered to Damon''s fights, the ones he had been having for months now. She didn''t know what drove him to keep going back, what made him think it was worth it.


    She saw the physical toll it took on him, the bruises, the cuts, the scars. But she also saw the determination in his eyes, the fire that burned within him.


    She didn''t understand it, but she knew she couldn''t stop him. He was an adult now, making his own decisions.


    All she could do was be there for him, support him, and hope that he wouldn''t get hurt too badly. The thought of losing him, of something happening to him, was unbearable.


    Aoife felt a mix of emotions, but she knew one thing - she wouldn''t stand in Damon''s way. She would let him chase his dream, no matter how dangerous, no matter how difficult.


    She would be his rock, his support, and his safe haven. And as she watched him train, she knew that she would always be there for him, no matter what.


    Four months ago, Aoife had asked the motel owner for a job. She had to beg and beg until she finally got it.


    The owner agreed to give her a job, but instead of paying her money, she would get free rent. This was a big help for Aoife and Damon.


    Before, they were a homeless family, living on the streets and struggling to get by.


    But now, with the free rent, they were able to stay in the motel room. It was still very hard for them, and they didn''t have much money, but it was a little better than before.


    Damon''s fighting was bringing in some money, and with the free rent, they were able to save some of it.


    This improved their living situation a bit. They were still very poor, but they had a roof over their heads and some food to eat.


    Aoife was grateful for the job and the free rent. She was happy to be able to help her son and make their lives a little better.


    She worked hard at her job, cleaning the rooms and doing her best to make sure everything was perfect.

 Chapter 34: Bad News I

    <h4>Chapter 34: Bad News I</h4>


    Damon stood in front of the bathroom mirror, catching his breath after his morning exercise routine.


    He had just returned from his run outside and was admiring the changes in his body.


    Although he was still skinny, his physique now looked healthy and strong, unlike before when he appeared frail and weak.


    The improvements in his diet had made a significant difference. Since his mother had taken over the rent payments, Damon had used some of the money to buy nutritious food.


    He couldn''t use the System''s Coins to purchase food because most of it required cooking, and their motel room didn''t have a stove. So, he stuck to buying food with real money.


    The healthy food had added some much-needed fat and muscle to his body, slowly restoring him to a healthy state.


    His height remained the same at 6''2", but his overall appearance had changed for the better.


    Damon wasn''t the only one benefiting from the better food.


    His mother had also be healthier, looking younger and more vibrant than before. Her skin had fewer e scars, and her eyes sparkled with renewed energy.


    The motel room, once a symbol of their struggles, now felt like a home.


    Damon''s mother had made an effort to make the space cozy, despite theck of decorative furniture, it felt like home.


    As Damon continued to gaze at his reflection, he felt a sense of pride and aplishment.


    He hade a long way since his days of struggling to survive. His body was stronger, his mind was clearer, and his future looked brighter.


    Damon moved away from the mirror and began to undress.


    He took a refreshing shower, feeling the warm water wash away the sweat from his morning exercise.


    As he dried himself with a towel, he thought about buying new clothes. He wanted to look nice and feel confident, but he knew he needed to talk to his mother about it first.


    He got dressed in his worn-out clothes and left the bathroom.


    As he entered the main room, he bumped into his mother, who was sweaty from her morning work.


    She had been cleaning the motel rooms and was exhausted. Damon asked her, "Mom, I''m going to leave for a bit, is that fine with you? Do you need anything?"


    Aoife shook her head, taking deep breaths. "No, don''t worry about me, I''ll be fine. Just don''te backte, okay? I''m going to take a shower and rest up a bit."


    Damon nodded and left the room. As he stepped outside, the bright sunlight hit him, making him squint.


    He walked towards Joey''s house, feeling the warm sun on his skin.


    He didn''t have a fight scheduled today, but Joey had told him yesterday that he had something important to tell him. Damon was curious and wanted to know what it was.


    The walk to Joey''s house wasn''t short, but Damon had grown ustomed to the distance. He had walked this route many times before, and his feet seemed to move on autopilot.


    As he strolled through the neighborhood, he passed by familiar faces, some of whom nodded or waved in recognition.


    Damon returned their greetings with a smile or a nod, feeling a sense of belonging in thismunity.


    Finally, he arrived in front of Joey''s house, a modest single-story building with a neatly manicuredwn.


    Damon walked up the path, his feet crunching on the gravel, and knocked on the door. The sound echoed through the air: KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.


    The door swung open, and Joey appeared, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Hey, bro! You made it!" he eximed, his voice warm and weing.


    Damon smiled back, and the two friends shared a dap, their hands sping together in a firm handshake.


    Joey''s hand was warm and slightly sweaty, a testament to his recent activities. Damon''s hand, too, was slightly damp from his walk.


    As they entered the house, Damon and Joey settled into thefortable sofa, sinking into the cushions.


    They began chatting, their conversation flowing easily, like a well-rehearsed dance. For the past five months, they had grown closer, bonding over their shared passion for fighting.


    Their discussions often centered around thetest news in the UFA, analyzing fights, and debating the skills of various fighters.


    They delved into the technical aspects of the sport, discussing strategies, techniques, and training methods.


    Joey''s eyes sparkled with excitement as he shared his insights, his hands gesturing animatedly.


    ....


    They walked out to the backyard, the ce where the fights usually happened. Damon looked around, taking in the makeshift arena. He noticed the cage that marked the fighting area, and the chairs where the spectators sat.


    As he looked around, he couldn''t shake off the feeling that something wasn''t right.


    It was like someone was about to tell him some terrible news. He felt a knot in his stomach, a sense of unease that he couldn''t exin.


    The backyard was quiet. The sun was shining, casting a warm glow over the area. But despite the peaceful atmosphere, it felt like it would end.


    He looked at Joey, who was standing next to him, and wondered if he knew something that he didn''t. Joey''s expression was serious, his eyes fixed on the ground.


    Joey spoke, his voice filled with nostalgia, "This ce has so many memories." Damon nodded in agreement, "Yeah, it does." He looked around the backyard, remembering all the fights he had in there.


    Joey looked at Damon, his expression serious, and said, "My brother got the call from the UFA." Damon''s face lit up with a smile, "Woah, that''s great news, man! I thought you were telling me bad news, but this is amazing!"


    But as he looked at Joey, he noticed that his friend''s face wasn''t changing to a smile.


    Joey''s expression remained serious, and Damon felt a sense of unease creeping back in. He thought to himself, ''Wait, why isn''t Joey happy about this?''


    And then Joey dropped the bombshell, "I''m closing up the fights, Damon." Damon''s smile froze, and he felt like he had been punched in the gut. He couldn''t believe what he was hearing.

 Chapter 35: Maybe Not So Bad After all

    <h4>Chapter 35: Maybe Not So Bad After all</h4>


    Damon felt like he had been punched in the gut, the news hitting him harder than any blow he had taken in the fights.


    He looked at Joey, his jaw dropped in shock, "What-what do you mean you''re closing the fights?" he asked, needing a clear answer.


    Joey looked down, avoiding eye contact with his friend. "I mean, I won''t be hosting any fights," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Damon didn''t respond, silence filling the air as he processed the information. He nced at the cage, the familiar sight now feeling foreign.


    He slowly got up and walked over to the door, sitting down on the floor beside it.


    Damon''s eyes were fixed on the ground, his mind racing with thoughts. He couldn''t believe what he was hearing.


    Damon''s gaze remained fixed on the ground, his thoughts consumed by the news.


    He couldn''t imagine a life without the fights, without the rush of adrenaline, the money? Where else would he find fights?.


    Joey spoke up, "Damon, I''m-" but Damon cut him off, his voice firm, "Why are you closing the fights? I mean, I get your brother got the call from the UFA, but why close the fights?"


    He looked at Joey, his eyes searching for answers. Joey sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.


    "Because I''m leaving Stockton, I''m going to LA." He moved closer to Damon, sitting down beside him on the grass.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, his mind racing with questions. "What about the fights here? You''re just going to leave?"


    Joey nodded, "Yeah, I am. My brother''s UFA opportunity is a big deal, and I need to be there to support him."


    "Plus, LA has good opportunities for me too, so I can continue studying."


    Damon nodded slowly, taking in the information. He looked at Joey, really looked at him, and saw the determination in his eyes.


    He realized that they weren''t the same, not anymore. While they shared simrities, they had different dreams, different aspirations.


    Joey had a future nned out, a future that didn''t involve the fights in Stockton. Damon, on the other hand, was still trying to make ends meet.


    He clenched his fist, gripping the grass tightly, feeling a sense of urgency wash over him.


    He didn''t have time to feel sorry for himself; he needed to find another source of ie, and fast.


    Damon lessened his grip on the grass, feeling a mix of emotions. He admitted to himself that he was jealous of Joey''s opportunities.


    But he calmed down and said, "I''m d you''ll pursue your dreams, man." He smiled, trying to be genuine.


    Joey shook his head, throwing a light punch on Damon''s shoulder. "Come on, bro, I know you and your mom depend on the money you made from the fights. I wouldn''t feel good if I just left and left you with no options."


    Damon was startled, looking at Joey to see what he meant. Joey continued, "I talked to my brother, and he was part of a promotion. They have a showing here to Stockton, and they''ll recruit some talent. He talked to them and put in a word for you."


    Damon''s eyes widened, his smile growing. "Really?"


    Joey nodded. "Yeah, but don''t get too happy. It''s not 100 percent. You still need to win the matches.


    But you already have a spot, all you need to do is show up when the show is here and register. They''ll also help with the fighting license."


    Damon froze, his smile still stered on his face. He thought about the opportunity, a chance to get his name out there, to fight more trained fighters, and most importantly, a chance to earn more money.


    He turned to Joey, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Thanks, man, haha, my mother will be happy." He grinned from ear to ear, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.


    Joey''s face turned serious, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But Damon, don''t take this lightly," he said, his voice firm. "My brother says the fighters there, although amateurs, are beasts. They''re hungry, all of them have the same goal: beat their opponents and join the UFA."


    Damon nodded, his smile fading. He knew it was true. He wasn''t going to fight against drunk people or people who didn''t know how to fight.


    His opponents probably had gyms and training camps, things he didn''t have. So he had to make sure he was at his best.


    He thought about his own training, his runs through the streets, his workouts in the parking lot. He thought about his diet, his sleep schedule.


    He knew he had to step up his game if he wanted topete with these fighters.


    Joey''s serious expression lingered, his eyes locked on Damon''s. "You need to be prepared, Damon. This is a big opportunity, but it''s also a big risk. You need to be ready."


    Damon nodded again, his mind racing with thoughts of training and preparation. He knew Joey was right. He had to be ready.


    "Also, I got this for you," Joey said, pulling out a small, worn cellphone from his pocket. "It''s not new, but you''ll need it to stay in touch with them." The phone''s cracked screen and outdated design made it clear it had seen better days, but Joey assured him it still worked reliably.


    Damon took the phone, feeling a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. "Man, now I''m feeling like a charity case, with all these things you''re giving me," he said, smiling wryly.


    Joeyughed, standing up from the grass. "Don''t get too cocky, Damon. The phone is just an old one my brother used to use. It''s been reced, so I figured you could put it to good use."


    Damon chuckled, standing up as well. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it." He looked at the phone, feeling grateful for Joey''s kindness and generosity.


    "Well, I should go tell my mom about this," Damon said, putting the phone in his pocket. "I was nning to take her shopping for some new clothes for us. We could both use an update."


    Joey nodded, smiling. "Yeah, go tell her. She''ll be thrilled to hear the news. And don''t forget to call me when you get a chance, so we can catch up."


    Damon nodded, already walking away. "Will do, man. Thanks again for everything." He waved goodbye, feeling a sense of hope and excitement for the future.

 Chapter 36: Recommended

    <h4>Chapter 36: Rmended</h4>


    In arge conference room, a group of men sat around a long, polished table, engaged in a heated discussion.


    Only one woman was present, taking notes and asionally ncing up at the speakers. The atmosphere was tense, with everyone focused on the topic at hand.


    Suddenly, a man in a ck suit stood up, his presencemanding attention. "Okay, I have something to announce," he said, his voice firm and authoritative.


    The room fell silent, with all eyes on the man. He nodded, surveying the room before continuing. "Okay, the event was supposed to have 15 matches, but we''ve decided to add one more."


    The man in the ck suit paused, letting the news sink in. He scanned the room again, his eyes locking onto each person, before nodding and sitting back down.


    A man across from Victor suddenly spoke up, his voice firm and demanding. "Victor, who are the match-ups?"


    Victor, anticipating a reaction, pulled out papers from a folder and began distributing them to each member. He sighed, knowing what wasing.


    As expected, the man across from him mmed his fist on the table. "Oh no, hell no, Victor! Are you trying to ruin the event? This kid doesn''t even have a fighting record, let alone a team or a gym, and you''re trying to add him to this event?"


    The other members nodded in agreement, their faces filled with disapproval. Victor sighed, expecting this reaction.


    "I understand your concerns," Victor began, "but I have reasons for this decision. First of all, this kid was rmended by The Titan."


    The man across from him mumbled, "Jake Morales?"


    Victor nodded. "Yes. Now, while that may not mean anything to all of you, you should understand how Jake was discovered. He had no gym, no legal record of fights. But look what a monster he is. While this kid he rmended might not be the same, I don''t see why we shouldn''t try."


    The room fell silent, with all eyes on Victor. The members looked at each other, seemingly unsure of what to say next. The tension in the room was palpable, with everyone waiting for someone to speak up.


    The man across from Victor shook his head, his face red with frustration. "This is a mistake, Victor. A big mistake."


    Victor held up his hands, palms facing the group, trying to calm the situation. "Hear me out, please. I know this is unconventional, but we can still make this work to our advantage. We are in Stockton, and from what Jake said, this kid has rallied a bit of fame."


    The man across from him, Ben, spoke up, his voiceced with skepticism. "Being known around the streets isn''t fame, Victor."


    Victor nodded, anticipating this response. "Yes, I know, Ben. But since he''s well-known, we can pose his fight as giving a chance to non-experienced fighters, a chance in arge event. We can market it as a way to give back to themunity."


    Ben chuckled, his expression unimpressed. "There''s already an event for that, Victor. But I suppose since this is your turn to organize, we can let you fail on your own. However, I think everyone wants to know, what if he fails? What if he doesn''t perform as you want him to? What if he''s bad?"


    Victor smirked, confident in his n. "That''s why he''ll be opening the event. If he''s good, then he''ll be good enough to make the crowd remember him throughout the show. If he''s bad, then they''ll forget him by the end of the show."


    Ben retorted, his voice firm. "Unless he''s so bad that he ruins the entire show itself." The room fell silent, with all eyes on Victor. Deep down, they agreed with Ben that this was a bad idea.


    ****


    Two weeks had passed since Joey left Stockton, and Damon''s life had fallen into a familiar routine. Every day was the same: wake up, train, and help his mother with her job.


    He had taken the first step towards bing a professional fighter by visiting the California State Athleticism Organization (CSAO), the governing body that handled MMA fights in Stockton, to obtain his fighting license.


    However, the process was not as smooth as he had hoped. The CSAO had informed him that it might take some time to process his application.


    Damon had asked if he could participate in fights while waiting for his license, and the answer was yes, but only in amateur fights that didn''t require a license.


    Damon left the CSAO office feeling a bit frustrated but determined. He knew that getting his license was crucial to his fighting career, and he was willing to wait.


    In the meantime, he could still gain experience and hone his skills by participating in amateur fights.


    Damon stood in the parking lot of the motel, sweat dripping down his face as he caught his breath from his intense workout.


    The scorching sun beat down on him, but he didn''t notice, still focused on his training. Suddenly, his phone rang, breaking the silence.


    He pulled it out of his pocket, looking at the number on the screen. It was an unknown number, but he answered anyway, pressing the small button.


    "Hello," he said, his voice firm.


    A voice came from the phone, "Good morning, is this Mr. Cross?"


    Damon nodded, forgetting he was on the phone. "I mean, yes, this is Damon Cross. How may I help?"


    The voice on the phone continued, "Mr. Cross, I''m calling from the event Battle Xtreme. We need you toe to the medical center in two days'' time to get a medical clearance before your fight."


    Damon listened intently, his smile growing wider with each passing second. He couldn''t believe what he was hearing. He was finally going to get his chance to fight.


    "Okay, got it," Damon said, trying to contain his excitement. "I''ll be there in two days."


    The voice on the phone confirmed, "Great, Mr. Cross. We''ll see you then."


    Damon hung up the phone, his heart racing with excitement. He couldn''t wait to get to the medical center and start preparing for his fight.


    He felt a sense of pride and aplishment, knowing he had made it to this point.

 Chapter 37: Medical Examination

    <h4>Chapter 37: Medical Examination</h4>


    Damon sat on the soft chair, his hand sliding down his face as he let out a deep sigh.


    He didn''t like the smell of medicine that filled the air, or whatever it was that this ce smelled like.


    He was currently in the medical center, surrounded by other fighters, all waiting for their turn to get their medical examination. Damon had been waiting for almost a day, and he wasn''t alone.


    Others had arrived after him, and the line seemed to be moving at a slow pace. The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting a hum of electricity through the air.


    The sound of murmured conversations and rustling papers filled the room, creating a sense of monotony.


    Damon''s eyes wandered around the room, taking in the sights and sounds.


    He noticed the other fighters, some looking focused, others looking anxious. He saw the medical staff, moving efficiently, taking notes and checking vitals.


    Damon''s gaze fell on the clock on the wall, the hands ticking away slowly. He had been waiting for what felt like an eternity.


    He shifted in his seat, feeling the soft cushion beneath him. His hand drummed a slow rhythm on his thigh, a sign of his growing impatience.


    He stood up, stretching his arms above his head, trying to shake off the feeling of restlessness.


    He walked over to the water cooler, pouring himself a cup of cool water. The liquid refreshed his parched throat, and he felt a slight sense of relief.


    As he poured another cup of water and drank, the door to the examination room opened, and a very muscr man walked out.


    His physique was imposing, with thick, prominent veins and a slightly crooked nose, as if it had been broken before.


    One of the fighters sitting down couldn''t help but stare at him, and whispered to the others, "Guess he''s not passing the exam." The whisper was quiet, but due to the silence in the room, it sounded like regr talking.


    The others chuckled and snickered, but when therge man looked at them, they quickly went quiet.


    His gaze was intense, and they didn''t want to draw any more attention to themselves.


    Therge man mumbled, "That''s what I thought," and left the medical center, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room.


    The sound of the door closing behind him was loud, and it broke the silence that had fallen over the room.


    Damon shook his head, watching the scene unfold. He was still sipping his water, feeling the cool liquid slide down his throat.


    He was lost in thought, wondering what had just happened.


    Suddenly, he heard his name being called. "Damon Cross," the voice said, but he didn''t hear it at first. He was too caught up in the moment, too distracted by themotion that had just urred.


    The voice called out again, a little louder this time, "Damon Cross," but he still didn''t respond. He was too busy watching the door, wondering what would happen next.


    It wasn''t until one of the other fighters nudged him that he realized his name was being called. "Hey, isn''t that you?" the fighter asked, nodding towards the examination room.


    Damon looked up, startled, and then stood up, smoothing out his clothes. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was toe.


    He walked through the examination door, his feet making a soft sound on the floor.


    He had checked his system interface beforeing here, and his health was top tier - healthy, even more so due to his recent change of diet.


    He used to survive on meager bananas and bread, but now he ate real food, and his weight had increased as a result. Despite his improved health, he still felt nervous.


    As he entered the room, he saw a woman in a white robe, with a blouse underneath. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, and she looked professional. He spoke up, greeting her with a polite "Good afternoon."


    Thedy looked up from the papers she was reading and sat down in her chair. "Good afternoon, Mr. Cross," she replied. "Please, take a seat, and I''ll ask you some questions before we begin the exam."


    He looked around the room, taking in the various machines that lined the walls. There wererge machines that looked like they belonged in a hospital, and smaller ones that he didn''t recognize.


    The room itself wasrge, with a divide section - one part was an office, with a desk and chairs, and the other part was filled with machines.


    He walked over to the chair she had indicated and sat down, trying to make himselffortable. The chair was soft and cushioned, and he felt a little more at ease.


    The woman, who he assumed was the doctor, smiled at him and began to ask her questions. "Can you please tell me about your medical history, Mr. Cross?" she asked, her pen poised over her notebook.


    He took a deep breath and began to answer, telling her about his past injuries and illnesses. He spoke clearly and concisely, trying to remember every detail.


    As he spoke, he couldn''t help but notice the machines in the room.


    There was arge machine that looked like an MRI scanner, and a smaller one that looked like a blood pressure monitor. He wondered what they would be used for during the exam.


    The doctor listened attentively, nodding her head and making notes on her pad. When he finished speaking, she smiled and said, "Thank you, Mr. Cross. Now, let''s begin the exam."


    He answered honestly, not hiding the fact that he had once been malnourished. He told her about his past struggles with food, and how he had often gone hungry. He spoke clearly and concisely, trying to remember every detail.


    Once they finished the questioning, they moved on to the machines. They went through different scans, and tests, and Damon couldn''t see a change in expression from the doctor.


    This made him nervous, because if she was smiling, he could have thought the test results were good, but if she frowned, the test results were bad.


    But there were no reactions, and because of that, he didn''t know what to think.


    They did a series of tests, each one designed to measure a different aspect of his health.


    They took his blood pressure, and checked his heart rate. They did a blood test, and an EKG. Damon didn''t know what to expect, but he tried to stay calm.


    When they were done with the physical tests, they sat down again. The doctor looked at him, and finally smiled. "Okay, everything looks good on your physical condition," she said. "We''ll go ahead and do the blood tests and EKGs, and you''ll get your results next week, if not earlier."


    Damon felt a wave of relief wash over him. He stood up, and shook the doctor''s hand. "Thank you," he said, smiling back at her. He felt a sense of gratitude towards her, for being so professional, and for helping him.


    As he left the examination room, he felt a sense of hope. He hoped that his test results would be good, and that he would be able to move on with his life.


    He hoped that he would be able to achieve his goals, and live a healthy and happy life.

 Chapter 38: Fight Day

    <h4>Chapter 38: Fight Day</h4>


    Damon woke up with a smile on his face. Today was the day he had been waiting for - fight day.


    It had been two weeks since the examination, and he had received his results, all clean and good.


    He felt of excitement as he threw off the covers and got out of bed.


    He stretched his arms and legs, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles. He had been training hard for this moment, and he was ready.


    He walked to the window and looked out, seeing the bright sunlight and feeling the cool breeze on his face.


    Today was the day he would step into the cage and show the world what he was capable of.


    He didn''t know who his opponent was, but he didn''t care. He was just grateful for the chance to fight.


    He couldn''t help but think about the past week. He had been dreaming about this fight every night, imagining himself winning and feeling the rush of adrenaline.


    He had been training harder than ever, pushing himself to his limits and beyond.


    He understood that because he had gotten a chance to fight due to someone''s rmendation, he might be treated as less important.


    But he didn''t care about that. All he cared about was getting in the ring and showing himself to the world.


    He looked behind, staring at the well-made single bed not far away from his, and noticed that it was empty. It seemed his mother had already gotten up.


    He went to the bathroom, taking a refreshing bath and putting on some clothes.


    Coming out, he went under his bed and pulled out a stic container.


    This was the container that held his mouthguard and MMA gloves.


    As he stepped out of the motel room, he took a deep breath, feeling the cool morning air fill his lungs.


    He looked around, taking in the familiar sights of the parking lot. His eyesnded on his mother, who was standing outside, taking a break from cleaning.


    "Mom, good morning," he said, smiling as he walked towards her. Aoife looked at her son, her eyes shining with a mix of excitement and concern.


    She already knew where he was going, and she had been worried sick about him all week.


    "Damon, you look sharp," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Now, I don''t want you toe back in a stretcher with a broken bone or any injuries, am I right?"


    She was trying to sound stern, but he could see the smile in her eyes. He knew she was joking, but he also knew she was serious.


    "Okay, mom, I have to go," he said, hugging her tightly. "I''ll be back, okay? And I''ll be fine, don''t worry." He reassured her, trying to calm her nerves.


    He pulled back and looked at her, seeing the worry etched on her face. He smiled again, trying to reassure her. "I''ll be fine, mom. I promise."


    With that, he turned and ran across the parking lot, his feet pounding the pavement.


    He was excited to get to the venue to get ready for the fight. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he knew he was ready.


    As he reached the sidewalk, he hailed a cab and got in, giving the driver the address of the venue.


    He sat back, taking a deep breath, and tried to calm his nerves.


    As he sat in the car, he repeated the mantra to himself, "It''s the same as the backyard fights." He had studied the rules for the fight and was familiar with the procedures. Despite some minor differences, he felt confident in his preparation.


    The car turned a corner, and arge hall came into view. This was the city hall, the venue for the event.


    He expected to see a crowded parking lot, but instead, there were only a handful of cars. He wondered why it was so empty. Had he misunderstood the time or date?


    He got out of the car and paid the fare, still puzzled by theck of activity. As he walked towards the building, he took in the quiet surroundings. The stillness was a bit unnerving, but he pushed on, his focus on the fight ahead.


    Upon entering the building, he went through the security procedures, presenting his ID and fighting registration to the guards.


    They checked his pockets , patted him down, and then let him through. He walked into the hall, scanning the area.


    The empty seats and quiet atmosphere were a far cry from what he had expected. He had envisioned a packed arena, electric with excitement.


    Instead, he saw a fragment of people, mostly fighters and their corner teams. He nodded at a few familiar faces but mostly kept to himself. He was here to fight, not socialize.


    As he approached the locker room, his heart began to beat faster. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.


    He was ready for this. He was ready to step into the ring and show them what he was made of.


    With a final nod to himself, he pushed open the locker room door and stepped inside.


    The room was full of sound of the soft murmur of fighters preparing for their bouts. He took his ce among them, his focus solely on the fight ahead.


    Fighters began to enter the locker room, their faces set with determination. It seemed they were waiting for something, their eyes fixed on the door.


    The locker room door opened, and a man in a suit walked in. His slick ck hair was perfectly styled, his trimmed beard framing his jawline.


    He looked at everyone, his eyes scanning the room as he checked the paper in his hand, flipping through the pages.


    "Okay, it seems everyone is here," he said, his voice firm and authoritative. "You can all go to your teams and wait for your name to be called, so you can go weigh in."


    As he spoke, his gaze swept the room, his eyes lingering on each fighter. Then, his gaze stayed on Damon for some time, his expression unreadable.


    Damon felt a shiver run down his spine as the man''s eyes seemed to bore into him.


    Finally, the man turned and left the locker room, the door closing behind him.


    The fighters began to move, their movements swift and purposeful. They filed out of the locker room, heading to the personal rooms given to them.


    As the man in the suit finished speaking, he turned to leave, his eyes lingering on Damon for a moment before exiting the locker room.


    The door closed behind him, and the fighters began to stir, their movements swift and purposeful.


    "Wow, is that Victor Steele?" a fighter whispered, his voice barely audible.


    "Stop zing on a man, and go prepare, dude."


    The whispers spread like wildfire, fighters nodding and ncing at each other in awe. Damon watched, his curiosity piqued. Who was Victor Steele, and why was his presence so significant?


    As the fighters filed out of the locker room, they headed to their personal rooms, assigned to them for the duration of the event.


    The rooms were small, with a single chair, a bench, and a mirror. Damon entered his room, taking a deep breath as he closed the door behind him.


    The room was quiet, the didn''t even have air conditioning. Damon sat down on the bench, his eyes fixed on the mirror.


    He stood up, pacing back and forth in the small room.


    As he paced, he heard the muffled sounds of fighters talking,ughing, and preparing for their own battles. He didn''t have a team or coach, but that didn''t matter to him now.

 Chapter 39: Weigh in

    <h4>Chapter 39: Weigh in</h4>


    Damon sat in the locker room, his eyes fixed on the mirror as he mentally prepared himself for the weigh-in. Suddenly, a knock came from the door, breaking the silence.


    He stood up, thinking it was his turn to go out and weigh in. He walked to the door, his heart beating slightly faster with anticipation.


    As he opened the door, he expected to see one of the event staff or a fellow fighter. But instead, he saw a guy he had never seen before, carrying arge box in his hands.


    The box was about the size of a big suitcase, but not too big to be carried by one person.


    The guy looked at him with a neutral expression. "Mr. Cross, I have this from Mr. Steele," he said, his voice firm but polite.


    Damon was confused. Who was Mr. Steele, and what was in the box? But unconsciously, he stretched out his hand, taking the box from the guy. It was heavier than he expected, but he managed to hold it steady.


    "Thanks?" Damon said, unsure of what to say.


    The guy nodded and turned around, closing the door behind him. Damon was left standing there, holding the box and wondering what was going on.


    He turned around, cing the box on the table in front of him. The box was a typical cardboard box, with a simple lid on top.


    Damon sat down on the bench, his eyes fixed on the box. He was curious about what was inside, but he didn''t want to open it yet. He wanted to wait until he had a better idea of what was going on.


    As he sat there, he heard the muffled sounds of fighters talking andughing outside the locker room. He felt a sense of istion, sitting there alone with the mysterious box.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he realized who Mr. Steele was - the guy who came in earlier to tell them about the weigh-ins.


    He remembered thinking that Mr. Steele looked like a rich guy, with his fancy suit and confident demeanor.


    Damon stood up, feeling a sense of curiosity. If Mr. Steele had sent him a box, then everyone else must have gotten one too. He wasn''t special, so why did he get a box?


    He walked over to the box, ripping off the packing tape with a loud tearing sound. As he opened the box, he saw that it was filled with fabric.


    He reached in and pulled out a pair of shorts - MMA shorts, to be exact. They were ck in color, and looked like they were made of afortable, stretchy material.


    He also pulled out a pair of underwear, which made him even more confused. Who sends someone underwear? He didn''t know what to make of it.


    He dug deeper into the box and found a mouthguard and gloves. He already had his own, but these looked like high-quality spares.


    Damon was confused and grateful at the same time. He didn''t know what he was going to do with all this gear, but he appreciated the thought.


    His mind wandered as he pondered the mystery of the box. Did everyone else receive a simr package, or was he the only one?


    And if it was just him, how did they know about hisck of gear? Had Joey''s brother mentioned it to someone? He didn''t dwell on the thought for too long, his attention drawn back to the contents of the box.


    His gaze fell upon the underwear, and he decided to change into it.


    He removed his old underwear, noticing the holes and frayed edges. They had been with him for a while, and he knew it was time for a recement.


    He slipped on the new pair, feeling the soft fabric against his skin. The fit was perfect, and he wasn''t surprised - they already had his body measurements, so estimating his size wouldn''t have been difficult.


    As he looked at his old underwear, now discarded on the floor, he couldn''t help but think about how he had been putting off buying new ones.


    It wasn''t something he thought about often, but now, faced with the reality of his worn-out garments, he realized he had been neglecting his own needs.


    He didn''t bother putting his old clothes back on, knowing that the weigh-in was approaching.


    He would need to wear only his underwear, and the thought of wearing his fighting gear or all his clothes would have been embarrassing.


    Instead, he stood there, wearing just the new underwear, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.


    Just as he was lost in thought, a knock on the door broke the silence. It was a gentle tap, but it echoed through the room, signaling that it was time to go.


    Damon took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was toe. He knew the weigh-in was just the beginning, and he needed to be prepared.


    As he stepped out of the room, Damon couldn''t help but feel a sense of awkwardness. He was walking around in his underwear, and it felt weird.


    Other fighters were walking back to their assigned rooms, and he couldn''t help but notice their nces.


    He felt embarrassed, his face growing hot with difort. He remembered watching a weigh-in on TV once, where the fighters had worn underwear, even the women. But it was different when you were the one doing it.


    He tapped the guy who was leading him on the shoulder. "Hey, is it fine being in my underwear?" he asked, trying to sound casual.


    The guy chuckled a bit. "It''s cool, don''t sweat it. Just don''t wear anything that can mess with the weigh-in. Heck, you can even go in naked if you want."


    Damon sighed in relief, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He didn''t need to worry about what he was wearing.


    They arrived at a door, and the guy stood waiting. Damon waited too, his heart beating slightly faster with anticipation.


    Then, a knock came from the door. It was a gentle tap, but it echoed through the hallway.


    The guy turned to him and nodded. "It''s time," he said, his voice firm but friendly.


    Damon opened the door and stepped into a hall with seats. The room was mostly empty, with only a few people scattered about.


    He scanned the space, his eyesnding on a tform at the front of the room. Everyone''s gaze was fixed on him, and he felt a surge of nervousness.


    He made his way up to the tform, his footsteps echoing off the walls.


    A man in a ck shirt stood waiting, pointing towards the scale. Damon stepped onto the cold surface, feeling a slight chill run through his feet.


    The man in ck began to adjust the scale, his movements swift and precise. Damon waited, his eyes fixed on the man''s hands as he worked.


    Finally, the man turned to face him, a microphone in hand. "125," he announced, his voice clear and loud.


    Damon''s gaze followed the man''s to the empty seats, where a camera was set up. He realized they must be live-streaming the weigh-in on social media.


    The man''s voice echoed through the hall once more. "125 for Damon Cross, he makes weight."


    He looked around the room, taking in the scattered faces. He wasn''t sure he wasfortable with this level of public scrutiny, but it was done now.


    With a quiet sense of satisfaction, Damon turned and walked back the way he came, leaving the tform and the staring eyes behind.

 Chapter 40: The Weight of Expectation

    <h4>Chapter 40: The Weight of Expectation</h4>


    The day wore on, with fighters continuing their weigh-ins. Meanwhile, the hall where the matches would take ce was slowly filling up, with over 200 people already in attendance.


    Damon had spent his time trying to imagine his opponent, since he knew nothing about him. He was stuck with spection, his mind racing with possibilities.


    Just as he was about to leave the room after changing, a ding sound echoed through the air. He sat back down, his eyes fixed on the system interface as it opened before him.


    A quest notification shed on the screen:


    <strong><i>[Quest Issued]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[TITLE: AN ENTERTAINER]</i></strong>


    Damon''s eyes widened as he read the details:


    <strong><i>[WIN YOUR MATCH IN A DRAMATIC FINISH AND MAKE YOURSELF KNOWN]</i></strong>


    He felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of a dramatic finish. But then he read the next part:


    <strong><i>[WIN BY KO: STRIKING MOVE AND PROFICIENCY FEATURE]</i></strong>


    <strong><i>[WIN BY SUBMISSION: SUBMISSION MOVE, PROFICIENCY FEATURE]</i></strong>


    Damon''s heart raced as he realized the stakes. He had to win, and win big.


    But then he saw the punishment for losing:


    <strong><i>[LOSE: GRADE DEDUCTION ON PHYSICAL STATS]</i></strong>


    He swallowed hard, his mind racing with the implications. He already had a bad physique, and the thought of making it worse was terrifying. He didn''t want to find out how bad it could get.


    Damon''s eyes remained fixed on the screen, his mind reeling with the weight of expectation. He knew he had to win, no matter what. The question was, could he do it?


    Damon smiled to himself, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he looked around the room. He began to clean up, cing his belongings in the box that Mr. Steele had sent him. He would leave with it when he departed.


    As he worked, his gaze fell upon the mirror. He stared at his reflection, taking in his appearance.


    The shorts and gloves made him look like a fighter, but his 6''2" height made him appear very skinny for a 125-pound weight ss.


    He shrugged, not worrying too much about it. He had more important things on his mind.


    Just as he finished packing, a knock sounded from the door. Damon turned to face it, his heart beating slightly faster with anticipation.


    He remembered that they had asked him earlier what music he wanted to walk in with. He hadn''t known any popr songs, so he had simply said "any cool random music." He wondered what they had chosen for him.


    Damon took a deep breath, feeling a sense of excitement building inside him. He was ready to face whatevery ahead.


    With a final nce around the room, he turned and walked out the door, leaving everything behind.


    The sound of his footsteps echoed down the hallway as he made his way towards the unknown.


    Damon stood alone, unlike the other fighters who were apanied by their teams.


    As he arrived in front of the door, a song sted through the speakers, and he felt adrenaline coursing through his veins like a powerful elixir.


    He pushed the door open, and it swung wide, revealing a dark hall with only a few lights illuminating the space.


    The crowd cheered and pped, creating a deafening roar that echoed off the walls.


    Damon walked through the hall, his eyes fixed on the ring ahead.


    The air was thick with anticipation, and he could feel the weight of the crowd''s gaze upon him.


    As he approached the cage, a stern-looking inspector blocked his path.


    "Hold up," the inspector said, his voice firm andmanding.


    Damon raised his arms, and the inspector began to pat him down, his hands moving with practiced efficiency.


    He checked Damon''s torso and arms, ensuring there were no hidden objects.


    Next, the inspector examined Damon''s gloves, tugging at theces and tape to ensure they were secure. "Gloves are good," he muttered.


    Then, he asked Damon to open his mouth, and Damon parted his lips, revealing the mouthguard snugly fitted over his teeth.


    The inspector gave it a quick nce before meeting Damon''s gaze.


    "Cup check," he said simply.


    Damon tapped the front of his shorts, giving the inspector a brief nod to indicate everything was in ce.


    The inspector applied a small dab of Vaseline to Damon''s cheekbones, the cool gel soothing his skin. "This''ll help with cuts," he exined.


    Finally, the inspector took a step back, his eyes meeting Damon''s. "You''re set," he said, giving a brief, approving nod. "Go show ''em what you got."


    With a final deep breath, Damon stepped past the inspector and into the octagon.


    The door closed behind him with a loud ng, and he was enveloped in the electric atmosphere of the ring. His mind was focused, his body ready for the battle ahead.


    The announcer''s voice boomed through the speakers, "Damon Cross!" Damon stepped into the ring, his eyes scanning the crowd.


    Then, his opponent made his entrance, and Damon was surprised. The guy was short, much shorter than Damon had expected.


    But then he realized, he was already too tall for this weight ss.


    As his opponent entered the ring, the announcer said his name, "Johnny Creed!" The crowd cheered, and the announcer left the ring, making way for the referee.


    Meanwhile, in the broadcast booth, thementators introduced themselves. "Hello, I''m Michael Bosley, and wee to Battle Xtreme here in Stockton, California. I''m joined today by my partner, Daniel Greene."


    Daniel added, "That''s right, Michael. We''ve got a spectacr card lined up for you today, but we''re starting off with a flyweight match that''s got everyone talking."


    Michael continued, "That''s right. And what a peculiar match it is. We''ve got Damon Cross, the towering flyweight, taking on Johnny Creed. Daniel, what are your thoughts on this one?"


    Daniel chuckled, "I mean, let''s start with this behemoth of a man. I repeat this every time, just as weight has an impact on the match, height is too. When one cuts weight so low for their height that they look like they''ve been starved, then they shouldn''t be fighting. That''s my opinion, I don''t know about you."


    Michaelughed, "Well, as we speak, the referee is telling the fighters the rules."


    The crowd, oblivious to thementators'' voices, continued to cheer and chant, eagerly awaiting the start of the match.


    As Damon and Johnny stood face to face in the center of the octagon, the referee stepped between them, his presencemanding attention.


    The noise of the crowd faded into the background as the referee''s voice took precedence.


    "Alright, gentlemen," the referee began, his tone firm but calm, "you''ve both been briefed on the rules. Protect yourselves at all times. Listen to my instructions, and keep the fight clean."


    His gaze shifted from Damon to Johnny, ensuring both fighters were locked in. "No strikes to the back of the head, no knees to a grounded opponent, and no grabbing the fence. If I say stop, you stop immediately. Understand?"


    Both fighters nodded, their eyes never leaving each other.


    "Good," the referee continued, stepping back just slightly. "Touch gloves if you want to, and let''s have a good fight."


    Damon and Johnny tapped gloves briefly¡ªa show of respect before the battle ahead¡ªthen backed up to their corners, muscles coiled with anticipation. The referee nced between them onest time, then raised his hand.


    "Ready? Ready? Fight!"


    With thatmand, the fight was on.

 Chapter 41: The Distance Game

    Chapter 41: The Distance Game


    Damon stepped back, his eyes fixed intently on his opponent, Johnny Creed. He took in every detail, from Johnny''spact, muscr build to his short stature.


    Damon''s mind worked quickly, formting a strategy to exploit Johnny''s limitations.


    He decided to maintain a safe distance, utilizing his height advantage to keep Johnny at bay.


    Damon adopted a traditional Muay Thai stance, his feet shoulder-width apart, with his left foot forward and his right foot back. He kept his knees slightly bent, his weight evenly distributed between both legs.


    His hands were up, with his left hand in front of his left ear and his right hand in front of his right ear. His elbows were close to his body, with his forearms parallel to the ground.


    Johnny, on the other hand, took on a ssic boxing stance, his feet shoulder-width apart, with his left foot forward and his right foot back.


    His hands were up, with his left hand in front of his left ear and his right hand in front of his right ear.


    His elbows were close to his body, with his forearms parallel to the ground.


    Michael Bosley, thementator, spoke in a clear, excited voice, "And there they are, folks! Damon Cross, the debutant, taking on Johnny Creed, the experienced boxer."


    "It looks like we have a Muay Thai versus Boxing matchup, which should make for an interesting fight."


    Daniel Greene, the comentator, nodded in agreement, "That''s right, Michael. And looking at Damon''s stance, it seems he''s nning to utilize his height advantage to keep Johnny at a distance."


    The referee, a tall, imposing figure, stood between them, his eyes fixed on both fighters.


    The referee pointed on the middle, moving back, signaling the start of the fight.


    Damon and Johnny circled each other cautiously. Damon kept his stance wide, his long arms extended, ready to jab at any moment.


    He knew he had to keep Johnny at a distance; the shorter fighter was powerful and explosive, likely to charge in with a flurry of punches if given the chance.


    Johnny feinted a jab, testing Damon''s reactions. Damon didn''t bite, keeping hisposure and maintaining the gap between them.


    He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, their energy buzzing in the air. But he blocked it out, focusing solely on Johnny.


    Suddenly, Johnny lunged forward with a fastbination¡ªjab, jab, hook. Damon stepped back swiftly, using his reach to his advantage.


    Johnny''s punches missed by inches, and Damon countered with a sharp teep kick, his long leg driving into Johnny''s midsection. The crowd let out a murmur of approval.


    Michael Bosley''s voice echoed through the venue, "That was a smart move by Damon, keeping Johnny at bay with that teep kick. He''s using his height just as we thought."


    Daniel Greene added, "Johnny needs to find a way to close the distance. Damon''s reach is going to be a problem if Johnny doesn''t get inside."


    Johnny wasn''t discouraged. He kept moving, slipping to the side and trying to find an opening.


    Damon could see the gears turning in Johnny''s mind, the way he was constantly analyzing, looking for a weak spot.


    Damon jabbed again, quick and sharp, trying to keep Johnny on the outside. Johnny bobbed and weaved, slipping under Damon''s reach, and then shot in close.


    Hended a solid body shot, the impact vibrating through Damon''s ribs.


    Damon grunted but kept hisposure. He quickly clinched Johnny, using his height to pull him into a knee strike.


    PAAAAHHH!!


    The crowd gasped as Damon''s knee connected with Johnny''s torso, but Johnny twisted out of the clinch, stepping back to avoid further damage.


    Damon''s worked like a machine. Johnny was quick, and he clearly knew what he was doing. Damon needed to stay disciplined, stick to the n, and not let Johnny draw him into a brawl.


    Johnny moved in again, faking a jab and then ducking low, aiming for a takedown. Damon reacted instantly, sprawling his legs out to defend.


    He shoved Johnny away, creating space, and then followed up with a stiff right cross. It grazed Johnny''s cheek, but the shorter fighter slipped most of the impact.


    Johnny bounced back on his feet, unfazed. He was relentless, pressing forward, trying to get inside Damon''s range again.


    "Damon''s doing a great job keeping Johnny at a distance, but Johnny''s not making it easy," Michaelmented. "This is turning into a real chess match."


    Daniel replied, "Yeah, and you can see Johnny''s experience here. He''s patient, waiting for his moment. Damon needs to stay sharp."


    Johnny came at him again, this time with a low kick aimed at Damon''s lead leg. Damon checked it with his shin, then fired back with a quick jab and a hard cross.


    Johnny dodged, but not fast enough. The cross clipped him, sending him stumbling back a step.


    Damon pressed the advantage, stepping forward with a knee to the body, but Johnny slipped out of range just in time.


    He countered with a fast hook that caught Damon on the jaw. It wasn''t a full-powered shot, but it stung, snapping Damon''s head to the side.


    Damon shook off the hit, his thoughts focused and clear. He couldn''t let Johnny get the upper hand.


    He had to keep control of the fight, use his reach, and stay disciplined. Johnny was tough, but Damon knew he was just as capable.


    They circled each other again, the tension thick in the air. Damon jabbed, then faked a teep kick, trying to keep Johnny guessing. Johnny was cautious, his eyes locked on Damon, waiting for his chance.


    As they closed in again, Damon noticed the fight was heating up, and everyone could sense it.


    But Damon wasn''t thinking about the crowd. He was thinking about Johnny, about the next move, about staying one step ahead.


    Just as Damon threw a low kick, Johnny exploded forward with a sudden flurry of punches, trying to overwhelm him.


    Damon''s instincts kicked in. He leaned back, using his height to avoid most of the shots, then countered with a swift uppercut. n/?/vel/b//in dot c//om


    The uppercut connected cleanly, snapping Johnny''s head back.


    The crowd erupted, the noise deafening. Johnny staggered but didn''t go down, his experience keeping him on his feet.


    Michael''s voice boomed, "What a shot! Damon justnded a solid uppercut, and Johnny felt that one!"


    Daniel added, "But Johnny''s still standing! This guy''s tough, and Damon needs to keep the pressure on."


    Damon''s mind was racing, but his body moved on autopilot. He saw the opportunity and went for it, stepping in with a powerful right hook.


    Johnny ducked just in time, the punch sailing over his head. Johnny countered with a hook of his own, aiming for Damon''s ribs.


    The shot connected, and Damon felt the wind rush out of him. He clenched his teeth, trying not to show any pain. He couldn''t let Johnny see any weakness. Not now.


    They separated again, both fighters breathing heavily.


    The shot connected, and Damon felt the wind rush out of him. He clenched his teeth, trying not to show any pain. He couldn''t let Johnny see any weakness. Not now.


    They separated again, both fighters breathing heavily.


    Damon could feel the fight slipping into a rhythm, the back-and-forth of two skilled opponents testing each other, trying to find a crack in the other''s defense.


    But Damon knew he had to do more than just survive. He had to win. And he had to do it in style.


    The quest still lingered in the back of his mind, pushing him to go for a dramatic finish.

 Chapter 42: The Turning Point

    Chapter 42: The Turning Point


    Round 1 continued, and Damon and Johnny were both showing signs of fatigue.


    Damon''s breath wasing in quick gasps, and his face was starting to show the effects of the fight.


    A red spot formed on his cheek from Johnny''s punches. Johnny, too, had a few red marks and swelling from Damon''s earlier strikes.


    Damon''s strategy to keep Johnny at bay had worked well, but Johnny was skilled at finding openings.


    Damon felt the pressure mounting, his mind racing with frustration. He was beginning to make small mistakes, letting Johnny close the distance more often.


    As they engaged again, Johnny threw a quickbination¡ªjab, jab, hook. Damon tried to respond with a kick, but Johnny ducked under it andnded a solid right hand to Damon''s jaw.


    Damon staggered, feeling the sting of the punch. He grimaced but Johnny didn''t press the attack, choosing to circle instead.


    The referee moved in to break them apart, and the round ended. The bell rang, signaling the end of Round 1.


    Michael Bosley''s voice cut through the noise, "What a round! Damon Cross has shown some impressive skill with his height advantage, but Johnny Creed hasnded some solid shots and kept the pressure on."


    Daniel Greene added, "That''s right, Michael. Damon''s got the height and reach, but Johnny''s experience is showing. Damon''s making some mistakes now, letting Johnny close the distance more than he should."


    In Johnny''s corner, his coach was giving him a detailed rundown. "Damon''s height is a problem for us, but we''re getting inside. He''s showing some fatigue, and his kicks are getting sloppier. Keep pressuring him and make him work harder. He''s starting to make mistakes, so capitalize on it. Use your speed andbinations to break through his defense."


    Johnny nodded, his face determined. "Got it."


    Damon sat on his stool in his corner, alone but focused. He took a few deep breaths, trying to shake off the frustration.


    His body ached, but he knew he had to keep going. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stood up as the bell rang for Round 2.


    The fight resumed. Damon started the round with a series of leg kicks, trying to regain control and tire Johnny out. His kicksnded with thuds, hitting Johnny''s thighs and causing him to wince.


    Johnny tried to counter with a jab, but Damon was determined, pushing forward with more leg kicks.


    Each time Johnny tried to close the distance, Damon''s kicks kept him at bay. The red marks on Johnny''s legs were starting to show the impact of Damon''s attack.


    Damon could feel his anger rising. He was frustrated with his earlier mistakes and determined to make up for them.


    His mind was focused, but his emotions were running high. He started to throw kicks with more intensity, his frustration fueling his aggression.


    "Damn it, why am I messing this up?" Damon muttered to himself, frustration evident in his voice. "I need to finish this."


    Johnny moved in with a series of fast punches, trying to break through Damon''s defenses. Damon tried to keep his distance but found himself cornered. Johnny''s punches wereing fast,nding several blows to Damon''s ribs and face.


    Damon clenched his jaw, his anger building. He felt a surge of adrenaline as he pushed through the pain.


    "Fuck this!" he shouted as heunched a wild, powerful right hook. His technique was sloppy, but the raw power behind the punch was undeniable.


    Johnny''s eyes widened in surprise as the punch connected with his jaw. The impact was enough to send him crashing to the canvas. The crowd erupted in shock, their voices rising in disbelief.


    The referee moved in quickly, ready to separate them if necessary. Damon saw Johnny go down and knew this was his chance. N?v(el)B\\jnn


    He pounced, aiming to finish the fight. He threw a flurry of hammer strikes, his fists raining down on Johnny.


    Johnny tried to cover up, but Damon''s relentless attacks were too much. The referee stepped in, grabbing Damon and pulling him away to stop the barrage.


    As the referee''s hand shot up, signaling the end of the match, Damon felt his breath catch short in his chest.


    He stood frozen for a moment, his eyes fixed on the referee''s raised hand, his mind struggling to process the reality of the situation.


    Then, as the crowd''s cheers washed over him like a wave, he grinned, his lips spreading wide across his face.


    "I did it," he breathed, the words barely audible over the din of the crowd.


    He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs, and looked down at Johnny, still knocked out on the canvas.


    He knew hisst strike had been sloppy, a wild and uncontrolled swing that had caught Johnny flush on the jaw.


    And he knew that going after Johnny after he went down, hammering him with punch after punch, had been the deciding factor in the fight.


    The crowd''s cheers grew louder, a deafening roar that filled the arena and reverberated off the walls.


    Damon felt his heart pounding in his chest, his pulse racing with excitement and adrenaline.


    He raised his arms, his fists clenched in triumph, and let out a shout of victory.


    Michael Bosley''s voice cut through the noise, his words echoing off the walls of the arena.


    "That is spectacr! A magnificent debut, as Damon Cross secures his first win!"


    His partner, Daniel Greene, chuckled and added, "He is now 1-0, and I gotta say, despite what I said in the beginning, I still stand by it."


    "With skills like that, he can do better in the higher weight ss."


    As thementators spoke, Johnny began to stir on the canvas, his body slowlying back to life.


    He moved his arms, his hands flexing as he tried to sit up.


    The referee moved in, his hands helping Johnny to his feet, and the crowd''s cheers grew even louder.


    Damon stood tall, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his arms still raised in triumph.


    He felt the sweat dripping down his face, he grinned, his lips still spread wide across his face, and let out another shout of victory, basking in the adoration of the crowd.

 Chapter 43: Chapter 43: The Announcement

    Johnny was now standing, talking to his coach, who was offering words of encouragement and analysis of the fight.


    Damon, on the other hand, stood next to the cage, waiting for the announcer to enter. His chest was still heaving with exhaustion, and his arms were still raised in triumph.


    The referee moved to the middle of the octagon, calling both fighters to join him. The announcer, a tall, slender man with a booming voice, entered the cage, a microphone in hand.


    The crowd was still cheering, their voices echoing off the walls of the arena. The lights were shining brightly, illuminating every detail of the scene.


    Damon''s eyes were fixed on the announcer, his face still flushed with excitement and adrenaline.


    Michael Bosley''s voice came through the broadcast, his words clear and concise. "Now the question is, is he going to be like The Titan? Because, looking at him now, they are very simr. No fighting records, but very experienced. No team, no coach. We might be looking at another rising star."


    Daniel Greene agreed, his voice equally clear. "I see what you mean, and that''s possible. But only time can tell. He''s got talent, let''s hope he doesn''t waste it."


    The announcer raised his hands, calling for silence. The crowd slowly quieted down, their voices dying away. The announcer smiled, his eyes shining with excitement.


    The referee grasped the hands of both fighters, his grip firm but gentle.


    The crowd''s cheers subsided slightly, their voices dropping to a gentle hum as they awaited the official announcement.


    The announcer''s voice boomed through the arena, his words clear and concise.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, referee John Doe has called a stop to this contest at 2 minutes and 35 seconds in the second round, dering the winner by TKO... Damon Cross!"


    As the announcer spoke, the referee raised Damon''s hand high into the air, his arm straight and his fist clenched.


    The crowd erupted into cheers once more, their voices growing louder and more intense. Damon''s face broke into a wide grin, his eyes shining with pride and excitement.


    He felt a surge of joy and tion, his heart racing with excitement. He had done it. He had won.


    As he stood there, basking in the adoration of the crowd, Damon couldn''t help but think of one thing.


    He wished, just for once, that Grant Parker was the one announcing his victory. He wanted to hear those iconic words, "IT''S TIIIIIME!" and "AND THE WINNER, BY TKO, DAAAAAMON CROSS!"


    But for now, he was content with the announcer''s words, and the crowd''s cheers. He took a deep breath, savoring the moment, and let the referee''s grip on his hand guide him around the octagon, basking in the glory of his victory.


    The lights shone brightly overhead, illuminating every detail of the scene. The crowd''s cheers grew louder still, a deafening roar that filled the arena.


    Damon''s face glowed with pride, his eyes shining like stars. He was the winner, and he knew it.


    The referee released Damon''s hand, and Damon thanked him with a simple "thanks." The referee nodded in response, his face breaking into a small smile as he said "congrattions."


    Johnny approached Damon, his hand stretched out in a gesture of respect. Damon smiled, taking Johnny''s hand in his and shaking it firmly.


    Then, in a show of sportsmanship, Damon pulled Johnny into a hug. "Thanks, great match," Damon said, his voice sincere.


    Johnny patted Damon''s back, his eyes shining with genuine admiration. "Nah, you deserve it, you''re good," Johnny replied, his voice filled with conviction.


    Damon nodded humbly, his face still flushed with excitement. "I still have a lot to learn," he said, his voice filled with a desire to improve.


    The two fighters shared a moment of mutual respect, their differences forgotten in the spirit ofpetition.


    They said their goodbyes, and Johnny walked towards his team, who were waiting for him with nods of encouragement.


    Damon, on the other hand, walked towards the gate, leaving the cage behind. As he stepped out of the octagon, the bright lights of the arena gave way to the dimmer glow of the backstage area.


    The sounds of the crowd grew fainter, reced by the murmur of voices and the rustle of movement.


    Damon made his way back to the back room, his footsteps echoing off the walls.


    Michael Bosley turned to his partner, Daniel Greene, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Well, Daniel, this was a hell of an opening match," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "I think I''ll expect more from him. He''ll certainly shake up the BE flyweight division."


    Daniel Greene nodded in agreement, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Indeed," he said, his voice clear and concise. "I almost forgot it was an opening match. The way Damon Cross performed out there, it was like he was a seasoned veteran."


    Michael Bosley chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I know what you mean," he said. "He''s got a lot of potential, and I think we''ll be seeing great things from him in the future."


    Daniel Greene leaned forward, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "As for him staying in the flyweight division, I think we''ll be seeing him higher on the next division soon," he said. "He''s got the skills and the talent to make a real impact in the sport."


    Damon entered his room, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He walked over to the table, his movements slow and deliberate, and set down therge box he was carrying. He let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of his exhaustion.


    He wiped the sweat from his face, his hands moving slowly across his forehead. He sat up, his eyes fixed on the door, a small smile ying on his lips. Then, his gaze shifted to his gloves, still clutched in his hands.


    He began to remove them, his fingers fumbling slightly as he pulled them off. His hands felt numb and free, the sensation a wee relief after the intense fight.


    Next, he took out his mouthguard, his teeth feeling strange and exposed without it. He let out augh, the sound echoing off the walls. "Ahh haha hahaha," he chuckled, his eyes shining with amusement. "This is fun, this is life," he said, his voice filled with joy.

 Chapter 44: Chapter 44: The Aftermath

    A door knock woke Damon up from his short nap, jolting him back to reality.


    He cleared his throat, gathering himself as he sat up. "Ahh, fuck," he muttered, feeling the adrenaline wear off and the pain of the punches setting in.


    He slowly got up from the table, his muscles aching as he walked towards the door.


    He opened the door to find a man in a ck uniform standing in the hallway. It was the same guy who had led him to the arena for the weigh-in. "Mr. Cross, congrattions on your debut," the man said, his voice firm and professional.


    Damon scratched his head, still trying to shake off the sleep. "Thanks," he replied, his voice gruff from disuse.


    The man smiled slightly. "Well, I''m here to lead you to the shower locker room. You must be eager to clean up after that intense fight."


    Damon couldn''t help but look down at himself, taking in his sweat-stained clothes and the bruises already forming on his skin.


    He sniffed, wincing at his own smell. He knew he needed a shower badly. "Okay, wait here," he said, turning back into the room to grab his clothes.


    He emerged a momentter, his gear in hand. "Alright, lead the way," he said, following the man out of the room and into the hallway.


    As they walked, Damon''s eyes took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The hallway was long and narrow, with doors leading off to either side.


    The man in ck led him to a door at the far end, which he pushed open with a nod. " Locker room showers," he said. "You''ll find everything you need in there."


    Damon nodded, stepping inside as the man turned to leave. The door closed behind him, and he was alone once more. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his exhaustion.


    He found the showers, a row of stalls lined up against the wall. He walked in, cing his clothes on the bench, and began undressing, starting with the shorts.


    He took out the cup and rolled up the clothes in one bundle, then headed into the shower. As he opened the water, it ran down his battered body, soothing his muscles. "First win," he mumbled to himself, a small smile on his face.


    He closed his eyes, letting the water wash over him, and began to wash himself gently, careful not to hurt his bruises.


    The warm water felt good on his skin, rxing his muscles and calming his mind. He stood there for 30 minutes, enjoying the sensation of the water and the quiet of the locker room.


    Finally, he turned off the water and pulled a towel from the rack, drying himself carefully. He wrapped the towel around his waist and got out of the shower, looking around the locker room.


    That''s when he saw a stic bag next to his clothes, with a note attached to it. He walked over and opened the bag, finding a set of clean clothes inside.


    He also saw a paper with a message: "Congrattions on your win, keep up the good work and your rewards will be better." He smiled, feeling a sense of pride and aplishment.


    He read the rest of the note, his eyes scanning the page. "Go to the office to get your pay," it said. Damon''s smile grew even wider as he read the words.


    He felt a sense of excitement and anticipation at the prospect of receiving his payment.


    He took off the towel and began dressing in the clean clothes, feeling the soft fabric against his skin. The clothes were a bit bigger than he was used to, but they were good enough.


    He noticed that they had ''Battle Xtreme'' written on them, so he assumed they must be merchandise from the organization.


    He took the shorts and cup from the shower and stuffed them into the stic bag, tying it up neatly. Then, he walked back to his room, the stic bag in hand.


    He entered the room and ced the stic bag into the box, leaving it there. "I hope they don''t lock it," he muttered to himself, wondering if his belongings would be safe.


    He took a deep breath, feeling the exhaustion start to creep back in. He knew he needed to go to the office and collect his pay, but he just wanted to rest.


    Damon forced himself to move, his legs feeling heavy with exhaustion. He wandered around the building, looking for a staff member to ask where the office was.


    He walked down a long hallway, his footsteps echoing off the walls. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a bright glow, making him squint.


    After a few minutes of walking, he saw a staff member standing at a desk, typing away on aputer.


    Damon approached him, clearing his throat to get his attention. "Excuse me," he said, trying to sound clear and concise. "Can you tell me where the office is?"


    The staff member looked up, a friendly smile on his face. "Ah, yeah! The office is just down that way," he said, pointing down a nearby hallway. "You can''t miss it. Just look for the sign that says ''Office''."


    Damon nodded, thanking him, and set off in the direction he had been pointed. He walked for a few minutes, his eyes scanning the doors for the right one. Finally, he saw it - a door with a simple sign that read "Office".


    Damon was surprised by how easily he found the office.


    He had expected a long search, but instead, he was pointed in the right direction and found it quickly.


    He wondered if the building only had one office, or if ''The Office'' was just a well-known location.


    He stood in front of the door, his hand hesitating for a moment before knocking. KNOCK!! KNOCK!! The sound echoed through the hallway, and a deep voice boomed from inside. "Come in!" it said.


    Damon took a deep breath, turned the handle, and pushed the door open.

 Chapter 45: Chapter 45: Why Do You Fight?

    Damon stepped inside, and his ears picked up the sound of people talking.


    He expected to see a room full of staff members, but instead, he only saw one person sitting behind a desk.


    As he looked closer, he realized it was the same man they called Mr. Steele. Damon''s eyes scanned the room, trying to find the source of the sound.


    That''s when he saw it - a t-screen TV mounted on the wall, showing a MMA match.


    Thementary filled the room, and Damon''s eyes widened as he recognized the cage. It was the same one he had fought in just hours before.


    He took a step closer to the TV, his eyes fixed on the screen. The crowd was cheering, and thementators were analyzing the fighters'' moves.


    Damon noticed that the crowd seemed bigger than before, and he wondered if the crowd had started to fill up after his fight since his was only an opening fight.


    Mr. Steele looked up from his desk, catching Damon''s gaze. He smiled and nodded, his eyes returning to the screen.


    Mr. Steele''s voice broke the silence, his words unexpected. "Isn''t it beautiful?" he said, his eyes still fixed on the screen.


    Damon thought he had misheard, so he looked at Mr. Steele, seeking rification. "Sorry, sir, I didn''t catch that," he replied, his voice a bit louder than a whisper.


    Mr. Steele stood up, his movements deliberate. He ced his hands on the table, his fingers syed wide. "I meant, isn''t it beautiful?" he repeated, his eyes locking onto Damon''s. "The sport, for one who doesn''t know martial arts, this scene would just be sweaty men busy punching each other like barbarians." He paused, his gaze intense.


    Damon was about to respond, but Mr. Steele continued, his words flowing like a river. "But when you know what they''re doing, you understand the beauty of it.


    While they may not be as skilled as professional fighters, their hunger to win and dominate is what increases the excitement of the fight. Their dedication to the art of fighting."


    Mr. Steele''s voice was low and smooth, his words painting a picture in Damon''s mind. He looked back at the screen, the fighters'' movements taking on a new meaning.


    The sound of their heavy breathing, the sweat dripping from their bodies, the determination in their eyes - it all came together to create a beautiful symphony of martial arts.


    The room was silent, the only sound thementary from the TV. Damon felt a sense of understanding wash over him, as if he was seeing the sport for the first time.


    Mr. Steele''s words had given him a new perspective, one that appreciated the beauty in the brutality.


    "Tell me, Damon, why do you fight?" Mr. Steele''s voice sounded, breaking the silence.


    But instead of an immediate response, silence followed as Damon tried to think of an answer. He opened his mouth to speak, "Because my mo-" but was cut off by Mr. Steele''s raised hand.


    "Wrong, I said why are you fighting, I didn''t say what you are fighting for. Simr but very different," Mr. Steele said, moving around the desk and leaning on it.


    He picked up the remote and turned off the TV, plunging the room into an ufortable silence.


    Damon''s mind went nk as he tried to think of an answer. Why did he fight? He did it because he needed money, but was that not a reason? Mr. Steele''s words echoed in his mind, "Simr but very different."


    Mr. Steele broke the silence, his voice low and gentle. "Maybe you don''t know your reason yet." Damon''s eyes snapped up, and he interrupted, "Because I want to be champion." But his answer didn''t move Mr. Steele, who raised an eyebrow.


    "Is that it? So if I give you the belt now, that''s it, no reason to fight?" Mr. Steele''s words hung in the air, challenging Damon''s motivations.


    Damon felt a surge of uncertainty, his mind racing to find a satisfying answer. But none came.


    The room remained silent, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning. Damon''s eyes locked onto Mr. Steele''s, searching for a hint of what he was looking for.


    But Mr. Steele''s expression remained neutral, his eyes piercing but unreadable.


    Mr. Steele''s smile grew wider as he spoke, "You know, this is the reason I let Jake pass on without any extended help and let him go to the UFA." Damon''s mind shed to Joey''s brother, and he wondered what Mr. Steele saw in Jake that he didn''t see in him.


    "He''s a hell of a kid in the cage, and from what I''ve seen from you, you have the potential," Mr. Steele continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But his reason was taking care of his brother, that''s it. Commendable, and nothing wrong with it. But it''s not what I''m looking for."


    Mr. Steele paused, his gaze intensifying. "Even if you''re not what I want at the end of the day, if you''ve got talent like you do, I won''t hinder your path. Like Jake Morales, your talent will be shown if you have it. But tell me, why do you fight?"


    Damon''s mind went nk as he searched for an answer. He thought for what felt like an eternity, but even he wasn''t satisfied with the reasons he came up with.


    Do I enjoy fighting? The thought echoed in his mind, and he couldn''t shake off the feeling that it was true. I feel happy when I fight, does that mean I love it and enjoy it?


    Damon''s thoughts swirled in a vortex of confusion. He couldn''t help but want to deny it.


    Maybe it was because his father used to abuse him, maybe he didn''t want to admit he liked fighting because it would mean he enjoyed getting abused.


    The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he pushed it away, unsure of how to confront it.


    Mr. Steele''s eyes never left his face, waiting for an answer that Damon wasn''t sure he had.


    Or maybe an answer Damon didn''t want to believe.

 Chapter 46: Chapter 46: The Offer

    Damon raised his head, his eyes locking onto Mr. Steele''s with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. "I don''t know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Mr. Steele''s smile grew wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded knowingly. "That''s fine," Mr. Steele said, his voice low and soothing, like a gentle breeze on a summer day.


    "I have an offer for you."He walked towards the table, his movements deliberate and calm, like a predator stalking its prey.


    Damon''s eyes followed him, wondering what could be the offer that Mr. Steele was about to present.


    "You know, even with all that talent, your skills are still not par," Mr. Steele said, his voice measured and calcted. "Today''s knockout could be called a fluke."


    So here''s what I''m going to do." He paused, his gaze intensifying, like aser beam focusing on its target. "From what I''ve seen, you''re good, but I need convincing. I want you to win your next three fights."


    Damon''s eyes widened, his mind racing with the implications.


    Three fights? That was a tall order, especially considering hisst fight was a knockout.


    But Mr. Steele''s confidence was infectious, and Damon found himself wanting to believe.


    "And I will make sure you get the best training," Mr. Steele continued, his voice dripping with conviction. "I''ll bring in the top coaches, the best sparring partners. You''ll have everything you need to seed."


    He paused, his eyes glinting with determination. "You''ll be a contender, Damon. A real contender."


    Damon couldn''t believe it. This was an opportunity of a lifetime, one that he couldn''t afford to pass up. But why was Mr. Steele doing this for him? What did he want in return?


    "Why?" Damon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Mr. Steele ignored his question, his expression unreadable. "Not only will I do that, I''ll make sure you get paid for your fights. You''ll be well taken care of."


    He pulled an envelope from his suit pocket and held it out to Damon. The white envelope seemed to glow in the dim light of the office, its edges crisp and sharp.


    Damon looked at Mr. Steele''s hand, his eyes fixed on the envelope. He felt a surge of excitement mixed with nervousness. What did Mr. Steele want from him?


    He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took the envelope, his heart pounding in his chest.


    "There''s the money for your fight, tonight," Mr. Steele said, his voice firm and matter-of-fact. "Make sure you spend it well, you won''t get any for your next three. The event will be here in Stockton for the next four shows." He turned to sit back in his chair, his movements smooth and deliberate.


    Damon looked down at the envelope in his hand, feeling the weight of the cash inside. He then looked up at Mr. Steele, his eyes locking onto his. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "I''ll make sure to win."


    Mr. Steele''s expression remained neutral, his eyes fixed on Damon''s. "I hope so," he said, his voice low and even. "Now go on, I have matches to watch, and I''m sure you want to leave and go home." He waved his hand dismissively, his fingers spread wide.


    Damon nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude towards Mr. Steele. He thanked him once more, his voice a little louder this time. "Thank you, sir."


    He turned to leave, his footsteps echoing in the quiet office. He reached the door, grasped the handle, and pulled it open.


    The bright lights of the hallway spilled in, illuminating the dim office.


    Damon stepped out into the hallway, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs.


    He looked down at the envelope in his hand, feeling a sense of determination. He was going to win, no matter what it took.


    He started walking down the hallway, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He passed by the rows of seats, the empty chairs seeming to stretch on forever.


    He walked back to his room, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Thankfully, the door wasn''t locked yet, and he slipped inside, closing it behind him. He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.


    He went back to his room, thankfully it wasn''t locked yet, and entered, taking the box with his fighting kit. He lifted the lid, revealing his gear, neatly arranged and organized.


    His gloves, hand wraps, mouthguard, and shorts were all packed neatly inside. He ran his hand over the gear, feeling a sense of familiarity andfort.


    Leaving the room, he walked out of the building, into the warm glow of the golden hour.


    The sun was setting, casting a golden light over everything. He smiled to himself, thinking about the offer Mr. Steele had made.


    He walked across the parking, he couldn''t help but mumble to himself, "I''ll run through them." He felt a surge of determination and confidence. He was going to win those fights, no matter what it took.


    He settled into the worn leather seat of the cab, the soft creaking of the cushions enveloping him in a sense of familiarity. "To the Sunset Motel," he said, his voice firm and clear, as he gazed out the window at the passing cityscape.


    The drive took its time, the cab crawling through the evening traffic like a slow-moving beast.


    Damon decided to open up his status interface to pass some time. He focused his mind, and a holographic disy flickered to life in front of him.


    The interface materialized, its sleek lines and minimalist design a testament to its advanced technology.


    [Congrattions forpleting the quest]


    The first notification read. He smiled, a sense of pride and aplishment washing over him like a warm wave.


    [A dramatic finish]


    [Reward: Striking move, and proficiency feature]


    He grinned, feeling a surge of excitement at the new abilities and upgrades.


    He spent the next few minutes scrolling through the interface, taking in the details of his reward.


    The cab ride seemed shorter now, his attention focused on the holographic disy.


    The cab driver''s voice broke the silence, "We''re arriving at the Sunset Motel, sir." Damon nodded, his eyes still fixed on the interface.


    He closed the interface, the holographic disy flickering out of existence, and looked up at the motel''s neon broken sign, its bright colors glowing like a beacon in the evening light.

 Chapter 47: Chapter 47: New Move and Proficiency feature

    The morning light hit the motel, casting a warm glow over the parking lot and rooms.


    Aoife could be seen walking towards a room, carrying a cart filled with cleaning materials.


    Her bright yellow uniform stood out against the muted colors of the motel. She moved with a quiet efficiency, her dark hair tied back in a neat ponytail.


    In the parking lot, a young man could be seen practicing martial arts. He was shirtless, his muscr torso glistening with sweat.


    His movements were fluid and precise, his kicks flying through the air with a soft whooshing sound.


    His feet bare, he stood on the rough asphalt, his eyes fixed intently on some point in front of him.


    The sound of birds chirping, the gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, causing the motel''s neon sign to creak softly.


    Aoife inserted her key card into the door lock and pushed the cart inside. She began to tidy up the room, her movements quick and efficient.


    Damon''s focus was intense as he practiced the striking move he had won from the quest. Last night''s massage had piqued his interest, and he was determined to master the technique.


    [Striking Move: Question Mark kick]


    It is aplex maneuver that requires precision and power.


    [A question mark kick is a deceptive martial arts technique that starts like a roundhouse kick, leading the opponent to expect a body or leg strike.


    Midway through the motion, the kicker subtly pulls the leg back and then quickly redirects it upward in a sweeping arc, resembling the shape of a question mark.


    This sudden change in direction targets the opponent''s head or face, making the kick difficult to anticipate or block, and is often used to catch opponents off guard.]


    Damon''s legs trembled slightly as he attempted the Question Mark kick. He started with a roundhouse motion, his foot swinging in a wide arc.


    But midway through, he struggled to pull his leg back and redirect it upward. His movements were jerky and awkward,cking the fluidity and precision required for the technique.


    His foot wobbled as he tried to sweep it upward, the motion more like a sloppy hook kick than a smooth, arcing question mark.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed in concentration, his face scrunched up in effort. He could feel the muscles in his leg straining, his bnce wavering.


    The sound of his foot swooshing through the air was more like a dull thud than a sharp whoosh.


    Damon''s body leaned forward, his arms iling slightly as he tried topensate for his loss of bnce. He stumbled, his foot thudding against the asphalt with a loud smack.


    Damon winced, his face flushing with frustration. He knew he was far from mastering the move.


    The proficiency disy in front of him seemed to mock him, the 10% progress a harsh reminder of how much worky ahead.


    He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed intently on the disy. He would get this move down, no matter how long it took.


    Damon''s chest heaved with exertion, his muscles trembling with fatigue. But he refused to give up, his determination burning brighter with each failed attempt.


    His eyes scanned the proficiency disy. It wasn''t just the Question Mark kick; every move he had learned was listed, from basic punches to basic kicks.


    The exchanged move had a percentage next to it, tracking his progress. It was exactly what he needed to take his training to the next level.


    He stopped practicing and took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He picked up his shirt and used it to dry his chest and back.


    Then, he grabbed the 5-liter water bottle and took a long swig, feeling the cool liquid refresh his parched throat.


    Last night, he noticed a new quest had appeared.


    [WIN YOUR THREE UPCOMING MATCHES]


    [REWARD: SYRUM/POTION SHOP ACCESS]


    There was no punishment listed, but Damon knew that losing wasn''t an option. He had to win those matches.


    The sun beat down on him, warming his skin. The sound of birds chirping and traffic humming in the distance filled the air. Damon''s muscles ached, but he felt invigorated.


    Damon pushed open the creaky door and stepped into the room, the familiar scent of worn furniture and stale air enveloping him.


    His mom, Aoife, sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on him as he entered.


    She wore her usual attire - a faded yellow blouse with tiny white flowers and a pair of worn jeans, her dark hair tied back in a neat ponytail.


    "Damon, are you done with your training, didn''t you say we should leave early for the shops?" she asked, her voice gentle butced with a hint of excitement.


    Damon nodded, dropping his martial arts gear on the floor with a soft thud. "Yes, I''m done, I''ll be quick and join you."


    He grabbed the fresh clothes he hadid out earlier - the Battle Xtreme merchandise he had won - and headed to the bathroom. The cool tiles felt refreshing under his feet as he stepped inside.


    Inside, he began to undress further, pulling off his sweat-drenched pants and shorts, revealing his naked body.


    He winced slightly as he moved, his muscles aching from the physical toll of his martial arts journey.


    As he stood under the shower, Damon gazed at his reflection in the mirror.


    His face was a map of bruises, the purple and blue marks a proof to the intense training and matches he had endured.


    But he was recovering slowly, his body repairing the damage.


    His mind, however, was elsewhere. Today, he and his mom were going to buy new clothes. They had been living in their old clothes for too long, reminders of their homeless days.


    Damon had a few new shirts and pants, gifts from Joey and BE, but his mom deserved some new things too.


    The warm water continued to cascade down his skin, refreshing him, as he thought about the day ahead.

 Chapter 48: Chapter 48: A New Wardrobe

    Damon walked alongside his mom, Aoife, as they made their way to the thrift store Joey had rmended.


    The sun cast a warm glow over the sidewalk, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers.


    They passed by a small caf¨¦, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting out into the street.


    As they walked, Damon couldn''t help but feel a sense of excitement and gratitude.


    The envelope from Mr. Steele had contained a generous sum of $600, which would go a long way in helping them get back on their feet.


    He had told his mom about itst night, and they had agreed to use some of it to buy new clothes.


    The thrift store came into view, its faded sign creaking gently in the breeze. Aoife pushed open the door, and they stepped inside.


    The store was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old clothes and fabric softener.


    Rows of racks stretched out before them, packed tightly with garments of every color and style.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he scanned the racks, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choices.


    He hadn''t been in a clothing store since they fled Irnd, and the experience felt foreign yet exciting. Aoife smiled and took his hand, leading him deeper into the store.


    As they browsed, Damon''s fingers trailed over the fabrics, feeling the softness of cotton, the smoothness of polyester, and the roughness of denim.


    Damon watched as his mother''s eyes lingered on a dress, her gaze softening as she reached out to touch the fabric.


    He encouraged her, "Come on, Mom, try it on! There''s a fitting room, and it''s only..." He checked the price tag, his eyes widening in surprise. "Ten dors!" he eximed, handing her the dress. "If it fits or you like it, we can take it," he said, gently pushing her towards the changing room.


    As his mother disappeared into the fitting room, Damon continued browsing the racks, his fingers trailing over the garments.


    He selected a few shirts and pants, carefully checking the sizes to ensure they would fit. He also picked out a pair of shoes, his eyes scanning the store to see if they had any more deals like this.


    The prices were astonishingly low, and Damon couldn''t help but wonder if the clothes were genuine. He knew they weren''t brand new, but they looked barely used.


    Most of the items were in perfect condition, with no visible stains or tears. The quality was decent, and Damon was impressed by the thrift store''s selection.


    He wandered over to the changing room, waiting for his mother to emerge. The air was thick with the scent of fabric softener and the faint hint of perfume.


    Damon heard the sound of clothes rustling, followed by the soft murmur of his mother''s voice. "Damon,e see!"


    He pushed open the curtain, and his mother twirled in front of the mirror, the dress fluttering around her knees.


    The color brought out the warmth in her skin, and her eyes sparkled with delight. "What do you think?" she asked, her voice filled with excitement.


    Damon smiled, taking in the sight of his mother in the dress. "You look beautiful, Mom," he said, his voice sincere. "We should get it."


    His mother beamed, and Damon helped her out of the dress, carefully hanging it back on the rack. They continued shopping, their arms growingden with bags and bundles of clothes.


    The thrill of the hunt was exhrating, and Damon felt grateful for this small pleasure in their lives.


    As they finished shopping, Damon couldn''t help but feel a sense of joy and contentment. Seeing his mother happy, wearing the dress they had found, brought a warmth to his heart.


    He admitted to himself that this feeling was better than winning any fight.


    As they approached the counter to pay, the cash registerdy greeted them with a friendly smile.


    Damon''s mother still wore the dress, and thedy didn''t mind, as long as they were paying for it.


    Thedy scanned the items, her fingers moving quickly over the keyboard. "That''ll be $278 please," she said, her voice cheerful.


    Damon handed over the cash, and thedy handed him the change. "Oh, if you''re interested in furniture or electronics, you can go to the store on the opposite side of the street," she said, pointing out the window. "Same concept as this one, just for electronics."


    Damon''s ears perked up at the mention of electronics.


    He had been thinking about finding a stove, maybe they could finally have their first home-cooked meal. He looked at thedy, "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere.


    As they left the thrift store, Damon carried the stic bags in each hand, the weight of their new clothes and shoes a tangible reminder of their sessful shopping trip.


    They walked towards the store the cashier had directed them to, the one that supposedly sold electronics.


    The sign above the door read "Second-Hand Electronics" and Damon felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of finding a stove.


    As they entered the store, they were immediately greeted by rows of oldputers and monitors, their screens dark and uninviting.


    The air inside was surprisingly fresh, Damon looked around, his eyes scanning the shelves for any sign of stoves. But all he saw were electronics, no stoves in sight.


    "Mom, I don''t think they sell stoves here," he said, a wry smile spreading across his face. Aoife rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "You haven''t even asked the people working here yet,e on, go on, ask."


    Damon scratched his head, feeling a bit silly for not thinking of that. He walked towards the counter, where a short man with a receding hairline looked up from behind the counter. "Good morning, sir," Damon said, trying to sound confident.


    "Morning, how may I help you?" the man replied, his voice friendly.


    Damon asked, "I was wondering if you had any stoves that I could buy?"


    The man''s face lit up with a wide smile. "Oh, sure,e with me." He walked around the counter, Damon following close behind.


    They wove through the rows of electronics, Damon''s eyes fixed on the man''s back.


    Finally, they stopped in front of arge stove, one that looked like it belonged in amercial kitchen.


    Damon''s heart sank, he hadn''t been looking for something this big, this expensive. And it would definitely need delivery.


    The man stood proudly beside the stove, a look of expectation on his face. Damon didn''t know whether tough or cry, this was not what he had been hoping for.

 Chapter 49: Chapter 49: A Smaller Stove

    Damon shook his head, "No, you misunderstood, this one''s too big, I want a smaller one." He didn''t want to pay for arge machine that would be a hassle to transport and install.


    The man''s face fell, "Aaahh, I see. Unfortunately, I don''t think we have any of that, but I could ask in the back, just wait for me at the counter." He scratched his bald head, looking apologetic.


    Damon returned to the counter, where his mom was waiting, her eyes inquiring. "So? Did you find it?" she asked, her voiceced with skepticism.


    Damon smiled wryly, "Yep, we found it, but it''s a tad too big and probably expensive." He knew his mom would be concerned about the cost.


    "I told you, Damon, we should stick to buying food. A stove is just too much expensive," she said, her voice rising in argument.


    Damon nodded understandingly, "I know, mom, but don''t worry, the cashier said he''ll check in the back. If they don''t find it, I won''t insist." He tried to reassure her, knowing she was worried about their limited budget.


    His mom didn''t know he could buy ingredients on his system without needing money.


    Mere momentster, the man returned, a hint of a smile on his face. "Okay, there''s a small two-te stove," he said, his voiceced with a sense of aplishment.


    Damon''s eyes lit up, and he turned to his mom, about to speak, but the man''s next words caught him off guard.


    "But there''s a problem," the man added, his smile faltering.


    Damon''s gaze snapped back to the man, his curiosity piqued. "What''s wrong? I thought you said you had it," he asked, a hint of confusion creeping into his voice.


    The man''s expression turned wry, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, we do. The problem is that...the stove is a two-te, but one side doesn''t work," he admitted, his honesty surprising Damon.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, his mind weighing the pros and cons. A two-te stove with one faulty side was better than nothing.


    The man''s candor, however, was refreshing. Normally, salespeople wouldn''t even mention the product''s ws, but this man''s transparency put Damon at ease.


    Aoife nodded decisively, "Okay, we''ll take it. It''s better than nothing. How much is it?" she asked, her practicality taking over.


    The man smiled, "It''s only 20 dors, since the stove still works perfectly fine besides the one side." He seemed pleased with himself for offering a good deal.


    "Let me go take it," he said, disappearing into the back room once again. The lights overhead hummed steadily, casting a pale glow on the scene.


    Momentster, the man returned with arge box, its edges worn and faded. He opened it, revealing the small two-te stove inside. He plugged it in, checking to make sure it worked, the faulty side notwithstanding.


    Damon and Aoife watched as the man expertly checked the stove, his hands moving with a practiced ease. Finally, he nodded, satisfied.


    "Okay, that''s it," he said, smiling at them. "Twenty dors, please."


    Aoife handed over the cash, and the man handed her the box. "Here you go," he said, his transactionplete.


    Damon took the box, feeling a sense of aplishment. They had found a stove, imperfect as it was, and it was theirs for a mere twenty dors.


    He smiled at his mom, who smiled back, her eyes shining with a sense of hope.


    Together, they left the store, the box clutched tightly in Damon''s hands, the promise of home-cooked meals hanging in the air like a tantalizing prospect.


    As they left the store, Damon and his mom carried their purchases, the boxes and bags filled to the brim. They hailed a cab, the bright sunlight reflecting off the windshield as they settled in for the ride.


    The journey wasn''t long, and they arrived at the motel quickly, the familiar sign creaking in the gentle breeze. But as they stepped out of the cab, the driver''s eyes widened in surprise.


    "You folks have a lot of stuff there," he said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "That''ll be extra, please."


    Damon''s mom handed over the cash, and they began to unload the bags and boxes. The stic rustled and crinkled as they carried it all into the motel room.


    As they walked in, the eyes of the other motel residents followed them, their gazes filled with a mix of curiosity and envy.


    Everyone here was struggling financially, and it was rare to see someonee back with so many bags and boxes.


    Damon and his mom didn''t notice the stares, too focused on getting everything inside. They stacked the boxes and bags in the corner of the room, the motel''s worn carpet creaking beneath their feet.


    Finally, they finished, the room looking like a treasure trove of second-hand goodies. Damon''s mom smiled, her eyes shining with satisfaction.


    "Let''s get organized," she said, her voice filled with a sense of purpose.


    He nodded, already starting to unpack the boxes. The day was still long, but they had aplished so much already.


    Damon realized they''ll need some ingredients, " Mom, I''ll be back. We forgot the ingredients. I''ll go to a nearby store."


    He rushed out of the motel room, his mom''s voice calling after him, "Damon, wait -" But he was already gone, disappearing around the corner.


    Aoife shook her head, chuckling to herself. "You don''t even know what to buy," she muttered, returning to fold the clothes they had purchased.


    But Damon didn''t need to go far. He just went around the corner and opened his system interface shop.


    The familiar screen glowed in front of him, and he scrolled through the options.


    He felt a little weird deciding their menu, but he picked out some ingredients he thought were necessary.


    He had never cooked before, so he had no idea what to buy. But he figured meat was a good ce to start, and he bought two pieces, each costing one system coin.


    [Coins: 122]


    Looking at his coins, he knew he could buy ingredients for a good amount of time. He had 122 coins left, and each week, he earned more from his matches and daily training challenges.


    In thest five months, he had made 150 dors, which had been spent on water, bananas, bread, and other essentials.


    But now, with his system coins, he could buy ingredients without worrying about the cost.


    Damon closed the interface, feeling a sense of excitement. He couldn''t wait to see what his mom would make with the ingredients he had bought. He headed back to the motel room, eager to start cooking.

 Chapter 50: Chapter 50: A Simple Meal

    Aoife stood at the small stove, expertly cooking the steak on the one working te.


    The sizzling sound filled the room, apanied by a savory aroma that made their mouths water.


    Damon watched as his mom worked, the smell of cooking meat and spices filling the air.


    The rice, cooked earlier, sat in a separate pot, its fluffy texture a testament to Aoife''s culinary skills.


    Damon had helped with the simple tasks, like washing the rice and stirring it asionally.


    As they worked, the motel room''s worn carpet and faded curtains seemed less noticeable.


    The room was filled with the smell of cooking meat and steaming rice, teasing their taste buds and building their anticipation.


    Finally, Aoife ced the finished steak on a te, alongside the cooked rice.


    Aoife took the te and walked towards Damon.


    Damon looked up at his mother in confusion, wondering why she was staring at him like that. He took the te from her, his hands wrapping around the warm te. He grabbed the spoon.


    As he scooped up the first bite, he was about to put it to his mouth when he looked up. He saw his mother staring at him, a smile spreading across her face.


    Aoife saw Damon stop, his spoon hovering in mid-air, and urged him on. "Come on, eat up," she said, her voice soft and encouraging.


    Damon shook his head, a small smile ying on his lips. He went back to eating, his spoon moving towards his mouth.


    He took the first bite, the tender steak touching his tongue. The vors exploded in his mouth, the savory taste of the meat and the slight char from the pan.


    He chewed slowly, savoring the taste. It was nothing he had ever tasted before. The steak was tender, the texture melting in his mouth.


    He swallowed, his eyes widening in surprise. He took another bite, the vors dancing on his tongue.


    The steak was cooked to perfection, the outside slightly crispy, the inside juicy and tender. The rice was fluffy, the grains separate and soft.


    "Is it good?" Aoife asked, her warm smile spreading across her face. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, and her voice was filled with a gentle eagerness.


    Damonughed at his mother''s antics, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Of course, it''s delicious, mom," he said, his voice teasing. "Come on eat your food before it bes cold."


    As he spoke, he gestured to the te in front of her, the steaming rice and perfectly cooked steak inviting. The aroma of the food wafted up, savory and enticing.


    Deep down, Damon understood his mother''s eagerness. Although he had been young when they left Irnd to escape his father''s abuse, he remembered her passion for cooking.


    He recalled how she would spend hours in the kitchen, her face flushed with happiness, as she prepared meals for their family.


    He remembered how she would beam with pride when people ate her food, her eyes shining with a sense of satisfaction.


    It was as if cooking brought her joy, and sharing that joy with others made it even more special.


    But he also remembered how her smile faded, reced by a look of fear and pain, when Taro put his hands on her.


    The man wasn''t even worth calling father. Damon''s grip on his spoon tightened as he recalled the sound of her cries, muffled but still audible, even as she continued cooking.


    Her eyes would well up with tears, but she never stopped, never faltered, as if cooking was her escape.


    But now, since he''d started fighting, training in MMA, Damon couldn''t help but wish he had the scum in front of him.


    He''d bash his face a thousand times on the concrete, watch his blood stter, and feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. The thought made his jaw clench, his eyes narrowing.


    "Damon, are you okay?" Aoife asked, concern etched on her face. She saw Damon''s spoon hovering above his te, his food untouched. She stretched out her hand, reaching for his arm.


    Damon hid his tension with a forced smile, "No, it''s fine, I''m just thinking about my training." He lied, the wordsing easier now. He looked down, avoiding her gaze.


    Aoife nodded, her expression softening. "You and your training, I should lock you in here," she joked, trying to lighten the mood. Her voice was warm, teasing, and it worked.


    Damonughed, the sound genuine, his tension easing. He took another bite of his food, the vors dancing on his tongue, but his mind still lingered on the past, on the memories he wished he could erase.


    As they continued their dinner, enjoying each other''spany, they chatted andughed, savoring the warmth of the moment.


    The room was cozy. They finished dinner, satisfied and content.


    After dinner, they cleaned up, the room growing hotter without air conditioning.


    They took turns taking a shower, the single shower in the motel room a reminder of their simple circumstances.


    The water was warm, refreshing, and soothing, washing away the fatigue of the day.


    With that done, they each got into their single beds, the beds creaking softly as they settled in. "Good night, mom," Damon said, his voice gentle, closing his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy, his body rxed.


    "Good night," she replied, her voice sounded tired, but peaceful. Her words were soft, barely above a whisper, as if she didn''t want to break the tranquility of the moment.


    The night fell, the moon shining brightly outside, casting a silver glow through the window.


    The room grew darker, the shadows deepening, but the atmosphere remained calm and serene.


    A lot of people don''t get what they want, but a lot do. Life is unpredictable, and the future is uncertain. No one can im to know what''s going to happen next.


    Damon''s desire to meet his father is strong, but will it happen? Maybe it will, maybe it won''t. Maybe they''ll meet and Damon will finally get the answers he''s been searching for.


    But the real question isn''t about when or how they''ll meet. It''s not even about why Damon wants to meet him. The real question is about courage.


    Will Damon have the guts to do what he wants to do? Will he be brave enough to face his father and confront the emotions he''s been carrying around for so long?

 Chapter 51: Chapter 51: Falling back into Routine

    And days and weeks passed like that, each one blending into the next.


    Damon finally got the weekly training quest he had been waiting for from the system, and he threw himself into his training, preparing for his uing fight.


    He spent hours in the parking lot of the motel, sweating and pushing himself to his limits.


    He practiced his kicks and punches, his movements swift and precise. He ranps around the parking lot, his feet pounding the asphalt.


    He trained every day, his body aching as he pushed himself to get stronger and faster.


    One of the moves he was determined to master was the Question Mark kick. He practiced it over and over in the parking lot, his legs swinging through the air.


    But his proficiency was slow ining. He didn''t think it would be a good idea to use it in his fight when it was stuck on 14%, not yet.


    As the days turned into weeks, they fell into a familiar routine. Damon woke up every morning to train in the parking lot, his muscles aching as he pushed himself to get stronger and faster.


    Aoife spent her days cleaning the motel rooms, her hands moving as she made the beds and changed the sheets.


    The parking lot became afortable training ground, a sense of normalcy in their once chaotic lives.


    Damon moved through his training with ease, his movements practiced and familiar.


    Aoife watched him from the motel room window, her eyes shining with encouragement.


    Through the weeks, Damon had to visit the medical center for tests, which were required before any fight.


    He sat in the waiting room, flipping through magazines, waiting for his name to be called. When it was, he stood up and walked to the examination room, his feet echoing off the walls.


    The doctor greeted him with a smile and began the examination, checking his blood pressure, heart rate, and reflexes. Damon answered the doctor''s questions, his voice clear and strong.


    After the examination, the doctor sent him for blood work and a urine test. Damon sat in theb, watching as the nurse drew his blood with a quick jab of the needle. He winced slightly, but it was over soon.


    Weelster, when the results came back, Damon was relieved to see that everything was clean. He had managed to keep his weight stable at 125 despite Aoife''s good cooking. He had been worried about that, but his discipline had paid off.


    But despite his progress, Damon had to admit that training alone had be harder.


    It was hard to progress when he couldn''t test his theories on someone or havepetition.


    This was one of the reasons he was determined even more to win his next fight and get Mr. Steele''s backing, and get a team and coaches.


    He wanted to be able to train with others, to push himself to his limits, and to have the support of a team behind him.


    This time he knew his opponent''s name, Mark Handerson. But that was all he knew. Damon had wished for more information, but now he realized it was useless without context.


    He didn''t know Mark''s fighting style, his strengths or weaknesses, or anything about his experience.


    Damon thought about how different it would be if he had a team behind him.


    They would be studying Mark''s every move, analyzing his techniques, and finding ways to exploit his weaknesses.


    They would be watching tapes of Mark''s fights, learning his patterns and habits.


    But Damon didn''t have that luxury. He was alone, with only his own skills and experience to rely on. And he knew that Mark''s team, if he had one, was probably doing the same thing - studying Damon''s one recorded match, looking for ways to take him down.


    Damon felt determined. He couldn''t mess up this chance with Mr. Steele. He had to win, no matter what.


    He thought about all the hours he had spent training, all the sweat and blood he had put into this. He couldn''t let it all be for nothing.


    Damon''s mind was focused, his eyes fixed on the prize.


    He would do whatever it took to win, to make sure he didn''t disappoint Mr. Steele or himself.


    He was ready for Mark Handerson, ready to face whatever he threw his way.


    Now that he had only one week left before his match, Damon pushed himself harder than ever before. He trained relentlessly, pouring all his energy into his preparations.


    The fight would remain in the same venue, so there wasn''t a lot of change. But he knew he had to give it his all if he wanted to win.


    As the days passed, Damon''s training started to decrease. He didn''t want to overdo it and risk injuring himself just before the fight.


    He had to pace himself, make sure he was fresh and ready for the big day.


    He washed his kit, making sure everything was clean and ready for the fight. Heid out his clothes, his gloves, and his mouthguard, double-checking that he had everything he needed.


    On the eve of the fight, Damon didn''t do any strenuous exercises. He just stretched his body, loosening his muscles and getting his blood flowing. He took a break, avoiding any heavy movements that might tire him out.


    Damon felt ready and focused for the fight. He had prepared well and now trusted his skills. His body was rxed, muscles calm, and he was confident.


    With a clear mind and a steady breath, Damon was in the zone. He had visualized this moment, trained for it, and was now ready to execute.


    Damon snuggled under the nkets, feeling the softness of the bed beneath him. He closed his eyes, his mind quiet and focused.


    He took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, and then slowly released it.


    As he drifted off to sleep, Damon felt a sense of calm wash over him.


    Mark Handerson, it''s your funeral.

 Chapter 52: Chapter 52: The Final Showdown

    Damon got out of the cab, standing in front of themunity hall. The bright sunlight hit him, casting a warm light over the scene.


    He stretched his arms, feeling the weight of his kit in the stic bag slung over his shoulder.


    He paid the driver, handing over the fare with a nod of thanks. The driver took the money, his eyes flicking to the stic bag before returning to the road.


    Damon turned to face themunity hall, his eyes scanning the building.


    He walked towards the entrance, his feet echoing off the pavement. The guards stood at the door, their eyes watchful and alert. They patted him down, their hands moving quickly and efficiently over his body.


    Damon stood still, his arms raised as the guards checked him for any prohibited items. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, his focus fixed on the fight ahead.


    He got to his room, the same room he had been in before, and began to prepare for the weigh-in. He ced the stic bag containing his kit on the table and started to change into his shorts.


    He took off his pants and shirt, and then slipped on the shorts. He had noticedst time that fighters were not wearing underwear, so he followed suit. The shorts felt lightweight andfortable against his skin.


    Damon stood in front of the mirror, checking his reflection. He looked focused, his eyes fixed on the task ahead. He took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, and then exhaled slowly.


    A knock came at the door, and Damon got up to follow the guy who had knocked.


    He didn''t really need to follow him, since he still remembered the direction to the weigh-in room fromst time.


    But he followed anyway, his feet carrying him down the familiar hallway.


    As he walked, the sound of murmured conversations and shuffling feet filled the air.


    The smell of sweat and adrenaline wafted through the corridor, mingling with the scent of freshly cleaned floors.


    Damon stood in front of a door, waiting for his turn to enter. He could hear the sound of voices inside, the rustling of papers, and the beeping of the scale.


    Then, he heard it. "123 for Mark Handerson, he makes weight!" The voice was loud and clear, and it was followed by a small apuse.


    The pping was brief, but it was enough to make Damon''s heart beat just a little bit faster.


    Damon took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, and walked into the room. He stepped through the doorway, his eyes scanning the space, and caught a glimpse of his opponent.


    Just like thest one, Mark Handerson was short, standing at least a head shorter than Damon.


    Damon''s gaze lingered on his opponent for a brief moment, taking in the sight of him. Mark was stocky, with apact build, and his eyes seemed fixed intently on Damon.


    He stepped onto the tform, feeling the cool surface beneath his feet.


    Damon stepped onto the scale, his feet making a slight tapping sound on the metal surface. He looked out at the crowd, his eyes scanning the room with a hint of confidence.


    The faces in the crowd were a blur, but he could sense their gaze upon him.


    He flexed his muscles, his skinny arms and legs tensing slightly as he did so. His muscles were visible, even though he wasn''t bulky, and he felt a sense of pride in his lean physique.


    The man operating the scale adjusted the weights, his hands moving with precision as he did his job.


    He looked up at Damon, his expression neutral, and then turned to the guy holding the mic.


    "125," he said, his voice clear and loud.


    The guy with the mic repeated the number, his voice booming across the room. "125 for Damon Cross, he makes weight!"


    Damon stepped down from the scale, his feet making a soft thud on the floor. He turned and walked back towards the door, his eyes fixed on the exit.


    As he walked, he could feel the eyes of the crowd upon him, their gaze following him as he moved. He didn''t look back, keeping his focus on the door ahead.


    He pushed through the door and out into the hallway, the sounds of the crowd fading behind him.


    He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs, and began to make his way back to his room.


    As he exited the hallway, Damon bumped into Mr. Steele, who was standing with his arms crossed, eyeing him up and down. "Good luck out there," Mr. Steele said, his voice firm but encouraging. "I hope you bring your best."


    Mr. Steele patted Damon on the shoulder, his hand making a soft thudding sound on Damon''s skin.


    Damon nodded, feeling a sense of determination wash over him. He continued walking, his feet carrying him back to his room.


    As he entered his room, Damon sat down on the bench, his eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror. He took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, and then exhaled slowly.


    He looked at himself, taking in the sight of his lean physique, his focused eyes, and his determined expression. "It''s time," he said to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.


    The words hung in the air, a simple statement of fact. It was time to put everything on the line, time to give it his all, time to show everyone what he was capable of.


    Damon''s gaze lingered on his reflection for a moment longer, and then he stood up, his movements swift and decisive.


    He began to dress, his hands moving quickly and efficiently as he put on his gear.


    Damon wrapped his hands with the gloves, the soft padding enveloping his fingers as he secured them tightly.


    He then slipped on the fighting shorts, the lightweight material hugging his legs snugly.


    Finally, he inserted the mouthguard, the stic molding to his teeth as he bit down on it, ready to absorb any impact.


    As he finished preparing, Damon took a moment to survey himself in the mirror. His eyes narrowed, his gaze intense, as he checked his gear.


    The gloves were secure, the shorts were in ce, and the mouthguard was fitted perfectly.


    [QUEST ISSUED]


    [QUEST: WIN THE MATCH]


    [REWARD: 10 COINS]

 Chapter 53: Chapter 53: Arrogance

    The small hall was packed, every seat taken, and people standing in the aisles.


    Unlikest time, when the first match had a sparse audience, today''s event had drawn a muchrger crowd.


    Whether it was due to Damon''s match or the growing poprity of Battle Xtreme, the result was the same - a buzzing, electric atmosphere that seemed to vibrate through every molecule of air.


    On the table, Michael Bosley spoke through the broadcast, his voice clear and confident, carrying to wherever the show was being streamed. "Good afternoon, everyone," he said, his words apanied by the sounf of equipment and the murmur of the crowd.


    "After weeks of waiting, we''re finally here - another show of Battle Xtreme. Last show, we had a spectacr card, and today isn''t any different."


    Michael''s partner, Daniel Greene, smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Indeed, as Michael said, today''s card is good," he echoed, his voice smooth and rich. "And just like before, we''re going to be opening this event with an interesting matchup."


    Before entering the cage, Damon was thoroughly checked and patted down by the officials, ensuring a fair and safe fight.


    As the music reached a crescendo, the announcer''s voice boomed through the speakers, "Introducing Damon Cross!" The crowd erupted in cheers and apuse, their voices echoing off the walls of the packed hall.


    Damon stepped into the cage, his eyes scanning the sea of faces as he made his way to the center.


    He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs, and tried to calm his nerves.


    He knew that this fight was crucial, that losing would mean closing the door on the opportunity that had just opened for him.


    As he bounced around the canvas, his feet making soft thudding sounds on the mat, Damon focused on his breathing.


    He tried to clear his mind, to push aside the pressure and the doubts that crept in. He was ready for this, he had trained for this.


    The announcer''s voice cut through the din once more, "And introducing, Mark Handerson!" The crowd''s cheers grew louder, their apuse more intense, as Mark made his way to the cage.


    Mark''s eyes locked onto Damon''s, his gaze intense, his expression focused. His muscles were rippling beneath his skin as he moved.


    His eyes seemed to bore into Damon''s very soul, as if sizing him up, searching for weaknesses.


    Daniel turned to Michael, his eyes inquiring, "Michael, tell me your thoughts on the matchup. I feel you have more insight on this."


    Michael nodded, his expression thoughtful, "Indeed, I think it''s a good one. In general, both fighters are new, to say the least. While Damon has only one fight under his belt, Mark has a few more, which provides an interesting dynamic."


    Michael paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing, "Mark has some good wrestling and boxing skills, we''ve seen that in his previous fights.


    He''s got a strong foundation, and he knows how to use it. On the other hand, we''ve seen Damon utilize his Muay Thai skills, but that''s all we''ve seen from him so far.


    Maybe we''ll learn something new today, maybe he''s been working on some new techniques."


    Michael''s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze intense, "I think what''s going to be key in this fight is how well Damon can adapt to Mark''s wrestling. If he can keep the fight standing, I think he''s got a good chance. But if Mark can take him down, it could be a long night for Damon."


    Daniel nodded, his eyes locked on Michael''s, "That''s a great point. And what about Mark''s chances? Do you think he''s got what it takes to win?"


    Michael hesitated for a moment before responding, "I think Mark''s got a good shot. He''s got experience, he''s got skills, and he''s got confidence. But, you never know what''s going to happen in a fight. One punch, one kick, one mistake, and the whole thing can change."


    The camera zoomed in on Michael''s face, his expression serious, his eyes intense, as he continued, "It''s going to be a interesting fight, that''s for sure. Let''s see what happens."


    As the camera panned back into the cage, both fighters were seen standing facing each other, listening intently to the referee''s instructions.


    The referee, a tall, imposing figure with a stern expression, looked both fighters in the eye, his voice clear and authoritative. "You may touch gloves if you want," he said, his gaze switching between Damon and Mark.


    Damon, his eyes fixed on Mark, stretched out his hand, his fist clenched, offering a traditional glove touch.


    But Mark, his expression unyielding, simply smirked and backed away, his eyes never leaving Damon''s face.


    The crowd, sensing a hint of animosity, let out a collective "ohhh", their anticipation growing.


    The camera zoomed in on Mark''s face, his smirk still stered on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a hint of arrogance.


    Damon, on the other hand, simply shrugged his shoulders, his expression neutral, and backed away to his corner, his eyes never leaving Mark''s face.


    The bell rang, its loud, metallic sound echoing through the hall, signaling the start of the fight. Damon, his eyes fixed intently on Mark, moved closer, his feet light on the canvas.


    He adopted his Muay Thai stance, his left foot forward, his right foot back, his weight evenly distributed between both legs.


    Damon red at Mark, his eyes narrowing, his jaw clenched in concentration.


    He moved closer, his hands up, his fists clenched, his elbows close to his body. The two fighters met in the center of the cage, circling each other, sizing each other up.


    Damon scanned Mark''s body, his eyes darting up and down, looking for an opening. He noticed Mark''s leg foot was open, his weight shifted onto his back leg.


    Damon saw his chance, he threw a low kick, aiming for the inside of Mark''s leg.


    The kick was swift, its impact loud, as Damon''s foot connected with Mark''s leg.


    Mark grunted, his face contorting in pain, as he hopped away, his leg buckling slightly.


    Damon quickly retreated, his hands still up, his eyes fixed on Mark, ready for his opponent''s response.

 Chapter 54: Chapter 54: Trading Blows

    Mark smirked, his voice cutting through the tense air. "You''re out of your league, Cross. You think you''re special?" he taunted, his wordsced with arrogance.


    Damon didn''t respond, focusing instead on maintaining his stance. He shifted slightly, his body light on his feet, prepared for Mark''s next move.


    Mark''s eyes narrowed, and he darted forward, feinting with his left hand before throwing a quick jab aimed at Damon''s face.


    Damon saw iting and swayed back, narrowly avoiding the punch.


    "Mark''s trying to bait Damon with those jabs," Michael Bosleymented from the table. "He''s setting up for something bigger."


    "Yeah, but Damon''s keeping his cool," Daniel Greene added. "He''s not falling for it."


    Mark didn''t let up, pressing forward with another jab, but this time, Damon snapped a quick low kick to Mark''s lead leg.


    The kick connected with a solid thud, and Mark grunted, retreating slightly.


    "You''re gonna pay for that," Mark growled, shaking his leg out.


    He suddenly dropped his level and lunged for Damon''s waist, going for a takedown.


    Damon reacted quickly, sprawling back and shoving Mark''s head down, stopping the attempt.


    "Nice defense by Damon," Michael noted. "He saw that takedowning a mile away."


    Mark pushed off, backing up a few steps before raising his fists again. He looked frustrated but determined.


    "You''re just running, Cross!" Mark shouted, trying to rile Damon up. "Come on, fight me!"


    Damon didn''t rise to the bait, staying calm. He shuffled forward and threw another low kick, this time targeting Mark''s other leg. The kick hit its mark, and Mark winced, his stance faltering for a moment.


    Mark stepped forward, throwing a wild right hook. Damon ducked under it and fired a quick knee into Mark''s midsection.


    The strike wasn''t perfect, but it was enough to make Mark stumble back.


    "Damon''s picking him apart with those kicks and knees," Daniel observed. "Mark''s got to do something or this fight''s going to slip away from him."


    Mark''s eyes shed with anger. He charged again, this time faking a takedown before throwing a hard right hand. Damon managed to block it with his forearm, but the force pushed him back a step.


    "You''re not as tough as you think!" Mark snarled, throwing a left hook aimed at Damon''s body. Damon twisted away, the punch ncing off his ribs without much effect.


    Damon retaliated with a sharp teep kick to Mark''s stomach, pushing him back. Mark staggered but quickly regained his bnce, his face twisted in frustration.


    "Mark''s trying to close the distance, but Damon''s using his reach well," Michael said. "He''s keeping Mark at bay, making it hard for him tond anything significant."


    Mark rushed in again, this time with abination of punches, but his form was sloppy, and Damon easily dodged the first few before blocking the rest.


    As Mark overextended with a wild swing, Damon stepped in, throwing an elbow that clipped Mark''s cheek.


    The crowd reacted with a mix of cheers and gasps, sensing the shift in momentum.


    "Damon''s starting to find his rhythm," Danielmented. "But Mark''s not out of this yet. He''s got power if he can justnd a clean shot."


    Mark wiped at his cheek, ring at Damon. "You got lucky with that one," he spat, his breath heavy. "I''m gonna drop you, just wait."


    Damon didn''t reply, his focus narrowing as he prepared for the next exchange. He knew Mark was getting desperate, and that''s when mistakes happened.


    Mark lunged in again, but this time, Damon was ready. He fired a quick low kick, catching Mark''s leg as he moved forward.


    Mark''s knee buckled slightly, and Damon followed up with a straight right hand thatnded flush on Mark''s nose.


    Mark''s head snapped back, and he stumbled, but he managed to stay on his feet. His face contorted in pain and anger, but he charged forward once more, swinging wildly.


    Damon kept hisposure, dodging the wild punches beforending a stiff jab right down the middle. Mark''s head snapped back again, and this time, his legs wobbled.


    "Mark''s in trouble!" Michael eximed. "He''s swinging for the fences, but Damon''s keeping calm andnding clean shots."


    Mark shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. He attempted another takedown, this one more desperate than thest, but Damon easily stuffed it, shoving Mark away.


    Mark staggered back, his chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. Damon took a deep breath, staying ready, knowing the fight wasn''t over yet.


    But the look in Mark''s eyes showed that he was starting to realize just how tough Damon was.


    The final seconds of the round ticked away as Damon and Mark circled each other cautiously.


    Mark threw a half-hearted jab, but Damon easily sidestepped, maintaining his distance. The crowd''s cheers echoed through the packed hall, the tension palpable.


    With a loud, metallic ng, the bell signaled the end of the round. Both fighters backed away, their expressions intense but controlled.


    Damon took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he made his way to his corner.


    He didn''t have a team or coach waiting for him¡ªjust a lone stool where he sat, catching his breath and mentally reviewing the round.


    Mark, on the other hand, trudged to his corner, visibly frustrated. His corner team quickly surrounded him, offering water and advice as he leaned against the cage, his breaths heavy.


    "Listen, Mark," his coach said firmly, his voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. "You''re letting him dictate the pace. He''s keeping you at range with those kicks, and you''re rushing in without thinking."


    Mark nodded, his eyes locked on his coach, but his frustration was clear.


    "Stop trying to go for those takedowns unless you''re setting them up better," the coach continued. "He''s reading them too easily. You need to feint more, make himmit, and then shoot in. If you keep telegraphing like that, he''s just gonna stuff you every time."


    Mark clenched his fists, absorbing the advice.


    "Look, he''s got a reach advantage, and he''s using it well," another corner man chimed in. "But he''s not invincible. His defense isn''t perfect¡ªhe''s dropping his hands a bit after those low kicks. If you time it right, you can catch him. And remember, you''ve got power. One good shot, and you can turn this around."


    Mark''s coach nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Don''t just charge in like a bull. Be smart, work the body a bit, and when you see him drop his guard, go for that right hook. But you have to stay patient. Don''t let him frustrate you."


    Mark took a deep breath, nodding again. "Got it," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.


    Across the cage, Damon remained quiet, his eyes focused and calm as he mentally prepared for the next round.


    He knew Mark woulde out strong, and he needed to stay sharp.


    There was no one in his corner to advise him, but he trusted his instincts and training.

 Chapter 55: Chapter 55: Takedown successful

    Michael Bosley and Daniel Greene resumed theirmentary as the second round approached.


    "Wee back, folks," Michael said, his voice lively. "What an intense first round we just witnessed. Damon Cross and Mark Handerson are giving us a real show. Damon has been using his skills to keep Mark at bay, but Mark''s coach has given him some crucial advice during the break."


    Daniel Greene nodded in agreement. "Absolutely, Michael. Mark was getting frustrated, but he''s now aware of his mistakes. We should see some adjustments this round. If he manages to use his wrestling and feints effectively, he could turn things around."


    The bell rang to start the second round, and both fighters quickly moved to the center of the cage.


    Mark seemed more focused, moving with purpose as he feinted a jab and then shot in for a takedown. Damon anticipated it well, stepping back and using his knee to block Mark''s advance.


    Mark tried again, changing his approach by throwing abination of strikes before attempting another takedown.


    This time, he managed to get a grip on Damon''s leg but couldn''t secure the takedown, as Damon used his height to push Mark away.


    Damon took advantage of the situation,nding a quick knee to Mark''s ribs. Mark grunted in pain but quickly countered with a right hook that caught Damon off guard, making him stagger slightly.


    "Whoa, what a hit!" Michael eximed. "Damon wasn''t expecting that. Mark''s got some power in those punches. He''s adapting well to the advice he received."


    Daniel added, "Yes, and that right hook was a solid strike. Damon''s been relying heavily on his kicks, but Mark''s showing he''s got some impressive boxing skills too. This fight is really heating up!"


    Damon shook off the hit, refocusing as he continued to circle Mark. He threw a high kick, which Mark dodged but couldn''tpletely avoid.


    The kicknded on Mark''s shoulder, and he winced but quickly moved. Mark responded with a number of punches,nding a solidbination to Damon''s upper body.


    Damon ate the hits, his breathing harder with each strike. Despite his attempts to dodge and counter, Mark''s punches found their mark, showing his boxing prowess.


    Damon managed to respond with a sharp elbow to Mark''s head, causing him to back off momentarily.


    Thementators continued, "Damon''s showing some resilience here. He''s taking a few heavy hits, and he''s eating them up. It''s impressive how he''s managing to stay on his feet and fight through the pain."


    Michael added, "It''s true, Daniel. Damon''s tough, but Mark''s skills are proving to be a real challenge. This round has been a good battle of endurance and strategy."


    Mark, energized by his sess, continued pressing the attack, throwingbos, and attempting more takedowns.


    Damon, even though battered, maintained hisposure, using his height to keep Mark at a distance and deliver powerful kicks when he could.


    As the round progressed, both fighters showed their endurance, with Marknding several more punches and Damonnding a few well-timed kicks and knees.


    The crowd was on their feet, cheering for both fighters as the action continued.


    The bell rang, ending the second round. Both fighters returned to their corners, visibly exhausted but determined.


    Mark''s corner team offered him encouragement and continued to emphasize the importance of using his wrestling skills more effectively.


    Damon, in his corner alone, took deep breaths and prepared for the final round.


    As he sat in his corner, he took a moment to focus.


    The intensity of the fight and the stakes weighed heavily on him. "I can''t lose this," he thought. "One and it''s all over. I''vee too far to let it slip away now."


    He nced across the cage at Mark, his expression cold and resolute. He couldn''t let anything distract him from his goal.


    The bell rang, marking the beginning of the third round.


    Both fighters emerged from their corners, clearly showing the fatigue of the previous rounds but still brimming with determination.


    Damon and Mark faced each other, their stances reflecting the weariness and resolve they both felt.


    Mark came forward aggressively, throwing a series of punches. Hended a sharp left hook to Damon''s ribs, making Damon wince.


    Damon quickly responded with a front kick, catching Mark in the midsection, but Mark pressed forward, shaking off the impact.


    Damonnded a solid knee to Mark''s chest, but Mark answered with a powerful overhand right that connected with Damon''s jaw, causing his head to snap back with speed.


    Damon took a few steps back but regained his bnce, shaking off the daze as he continued to fight.


    Mark''s punches werending with increasing uracy. He caught Damon with an uppercut, making Damon''s head snap back again.


    Damon felt the sting of the blows but kept moving, his eyes locked on Mark as he tried to assess his opponent''s weaknesses.


    Damon managed tond a quick low kick to Mark''s thigh, making him momentarily slow down. But Mark didn''t let up, he followed with rapid punches, forcing Damon to backpedal.


    Thementators were engrossed in the action. Michael Bosley spoke over the broadcast, "Damon''s taking some heavy hits here. Mark''s punches arending with precision, and Damon''s defenses are being tested."


    Daniel Greene added, "Yes, but Damon''s not backing down either. He''s countering with those powerful kicks and knees, but i feel itsing to a climax."


    Mark continued to press forward, throwing abination of punches and attempting to close the distance.


    Despite the effective strikes from both fighters, Mark''s determination was evident, the arrogance from the firat round gone.


    He charged at Damon, throwing a series of hard punches.


    With less than a minute left in the round, Mark executed a quick feint, making Damon react defensively.


    Mark thenunched a powerful right hook that Damon failed to avoid. Seizing the moment, Mark grabbed Damon''s legs and pulled them out from under him.


    Damon fell heavily to the canvas, and Mark followed up, trying to secure a dominant position.


    Damon struggled on the ground, attempting to escape from Mark''s hold. Mark used his weight to maintain control, keeping Damon pinned and working to improve his position.


    Damon pushed against Mark, trying to get back to his feet, but Mark''s wrestling background gave him an advantage in this situation.


    The crowd watched intently as Mark tried to solidify his control.


    Michael Bosley''s voice came through the broadcast, "Mark Handerson with a sessful takedown! Damon''s been on the defensive for most of this round, and Mark''s wrestling skills have finallye into y."


    Daniel Greene added, "It''s a crucial moment in the fight. Damon''s got to find a way to get out from underneath Mark or risk losing the round."

 Chapter 56: Chapter 56: Jaw Crusher

    As the final round neared its end, Damon felt the weight of his situation.


    The knowledge of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu  granted to him by the system was in his mind, but it wasn''t like Muay Thai.


    BJJ needed a partner, someone to grapple with, to learn the nuances of every move.


    Muay Thai also needed a partner, but Damon had managed to train on his own, practicing kicks, elbows, and knees, repeating them over and over until they became second nature.


    But BJJ? That was a different beast. Without someone to train with, without real experience, he was stuck.


    The fight resumed, with Mark locking eyes on Damon, intent on finishing what he had started.


    Mark''s corner had emphasized using his wrestling skills to dominate Damon on the ground, and now that he had Damon down, he wasn''t about to let the opportunity slip away.


    Mark shifted his weight, trying to pass Damon''s guard and move into a more dominant position.


    Damon struggled beneath him, trying to use his BJJ knowledge to create space and escape, but it was easier said than done.


    Mark''s wrestling was solid, his control tight as he worked to maintain his advantage. Damon felt Mark''s hands pushing against his chest, trying to pin him down further.


    Mark''s body pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. Damon knew he had to do something, and fast.


    Thementators were quick to notice the shift in momentum.


    "Mark is really asserting his dominance here," Michael Bosleymented. "You can see him using his weight and skills to keep Damon pinned down. Damon''s groundwork knowledge seems to be non existent, but Mark''s experience is real, and it''s showing."


    Daniel Greene nodded. "Absolutely, Michael. Damon''s in a tough spot right now. He''s trying to find a way out, but Mark''s not giving him any room to breathe."


    Mark tried to improve his position, but Damon was doing his best to keep him at bay.


    Despite hisck of practical BJJ experience, Damon had some understanding of what to do.


    He managed to get his legs between them, pushing Mark away slightly, but it wasn''t enough.


    Mark was relentless, his wrestling experienceing into y as he kept pushing forward, trying to break through Damon''s defenses.


    Damon''s mind raced as he tried to recall the techniques he had learned. It wasn''t easy.


    The pressure from Mark was overwhelming, and Damon could feel his energy draining.


    Mark, on the other hand, seemed to be getting stronger, feeding off his control in the fight. Damon needed to find an opening, a chance to turn the tables.


    Then, it happened. Mark made a slight mistake, a momentarypse in his control.


    Damon felt it, a small shift in Mark''s bnce that gave him just enough room to maneuver. It wasn''t much, but it was something.


    He acted quickly, reaching up with his arms, trying to wrap them around Mark''s neck. It wasn''t perfect, far from it, but it was the only chance he had.


    "Wait a minute," Michael''s voice rose with excitement. "Damon''s going for a guillotine! But it looks a bit sloppy¡ªcan he lock it in?"


    "It''s not the cleanest technique," Daniel agreed, "but Damon''s doing what he can with what he''s got. If he can just get that arm in the right position..."


    Damon managed to get his arm around Mark''s head, pulling him down closer. It was a sloppy guillotine choke, not as tight as it should be, but it was something.


    Damon squeezed with all his strength, feeling the strain in his muscles as he tried to lock in the submission. His arm pressed against Mark''s jaw, the inside of his elbow digging in.


    Mark''s eyes widened in surprise as he realized what was happening. He tried to pull away, but Damon had a firm grip.


    The choke wasn''t deep, but the pressure on Mark''s jaw was intense, and Damon could feel the resistance.


    Mark struggled, his body writhing as he tried to escape, but the more he moved, the tighter Damon''s hold became.


    "He''s got it, he''s got it!" Michael shouted. "Damon''s got Mark in a choke, but it''s not under the chin¡ªhe''s crushing Mark''s jaw! This could be bad for Mark!"


    Daniel added, "That''s gotta hurt! Mark''s struggling, but that pressure on his jaw could break something if he''s not careful. Damon''s using everything he has here!"


    Damon''s heart pounded in his chest as he held on for dear life. He knew this was his only chance.


    The pressure on Mark''s jaw was increasing, and Damon could feel the strain on his own arms. His muscles burned, but he didn''t let go.


    The thought of losing this fight, of everything slipping away, gave him the strength to keep going.


    Mark''s struggles grew more desperate as the seconds ticked by.


    He tried to push Damon away, to free himself from the choke, but Damon''s grip was unyielding.


    The pain in Mark''s jaw was excruciating, and Damon could feel the tension building. It was a battle of wills, both fighters giving everything they had.


    "Mark''s in serious trouble now," Michael said, his voice filled with tension. "If Damon can hold this just a little longer, Mark might be forced to tap before the bell rings!"


    Daniel was equally invested. "You can see the desperation on Mark''s face. He''s in agony, and Damon''s not letting up. This could be the end right here!"


    And, it was over. Mark''s hand pped against Damon''s side, tapping out in submission. The pain in his jaw was too much, and he knew he couldn''t continue.


    Damon felt the tap, and for a moment, he didn''t realize what had happened. But then, it hit him. He had won. Mark had tapped out.


    The referee quickly stepped in, pulling them apart as the crowd erupted in cheers.


    Damony on the canvas, gasping for breath as the realization sank in. He had done it. Against all odds, he had managed to secure the win.


    The guillotine choke had been sloppy, far from perfect, but it had worked. Damon had survived, and more importantly, he had won.


    Mark rolled away, clutching his jaw, clearly in pain but also relieved that the fight was over. Damon sat up slowly, still trying to catch his breath.


    The crowd''s cheers echoed in his ears, a mixture of disbelief and admiration for the gritty performance they had just witnessed.

 Chapter 57: Chapter 57: Post-Fight Analysis

    Thementators, Michael Bosley and Daniel Greene, sat at their desk, microphones in hand, analyzing the fight that had just concluded. "Another win for Damon Cross," Michael said, his voice filled with excitement.


    "He''s on a two-win streak now. You can see he had the match under control in the first round."


    Daniel nodded in agreement. "Yes, and then he lost it in the second round. But he managed to turn the tables. I mean, a knockout and a submission in two matches in a row is impressive."


    Michael continued, "Damon''s performance was remarkable. He showed great resilience and adaptability. He was able to adjust his strategy mid-fight and capitalize on Mark''s mistakes."


    Daniel added, "I also noticed something amazing. I saw some knowledge of groundwork from Damon. He was able to use his body positioning and leverage to escape from bad positions. I''m sure if he had a good team behind him, he would be a force to be reckoned with."


    Michael chimed in, "Well, Daniel, if he keeps performing like this, I don''t think he''ll stay a loner for long. He''s got a good head on his shoulders, and his skills are undeniable. He''s definitely a fighter to watch out for in the future."


    The camera panned out, showing thementators'' desk, the crowd in the background, still cheering and chanting Damon''s name.


    Michael and Daniel continued to analyze the fight, discussing Damon''s strengths and weaknesses, and specting about his future in the sport.


    Their voices were filled with enthusiasm and expertise, providing a detailed and insightful breakdown of the match.


    As they spoke, the camera cut to shots of Damon, still in the cage, being attended to by the medical staff.


    He was smiling, his eyes shining with pride and exhaustion. He had given it his all, and it had paid off.


    As the medical team finished their checks, they packed up their equipment and left the cage, giving the fighters space.


    Damon, still catching his breath, walked over to the referee and extended his hand, shaking it firmly. The referee smiled and nodded in respect.


    Next, Damon turned to Mark, his opponent, and stretched out his hand once more, expecting a shake.


    But Mark just nced at it, his expression twisted in a scowl. He scoffed, a harsh sound that filled the silence, and turned away.


    Damon''s hand hung in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it. He looked around at the crowd, thementators, a hint of a smile on his face. He mumbled to himself, his voice barely audible, "One down, two more to go."


    The words were simple, but they held a weight of determination. Damon''s eyes gleamed with a fierce light, his jaw set in a firm line.


    He took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.


    The referee grasped both fighters'' hands, his grip firm and authoritative. The Announcer stepped into the ring, his voice booming through the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, after three rounds of intense action, we have a winner!" he dered, his words echoing off the walls of the arena.


    The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices a deafening roar. The Announcer paused, savoring the moment. "At 2 minutes and 43 seconds of Round 3, by way of submission... a guillotine choke... and the winner is..." He drew out the pause, building the tension.


    The referee raised Damon''s arm, his hand clenched in a fist. The Announcer yelled out the winner''s name, his voice ringing through the arena. "Damon Cross!" The crowd exploded into cheers, their voices a cacophony of excitement.


    Damon''s face split into a wide grin, his eyes shining with pride and exhaustion. The referee patted him on the back, a nod of respect on his face.


    Michael Bosley nodded in agreement, his eyes still shining with excitement. "Absolutely, Daniel. That was an incredible opening fight. Damon Cross has set the bar high, and I''m sure the other fighters are taking note."


    Daniel Greene leaned forward, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "And what a way to start the night! A submission win in the third round."


    Michael smiled, "Well, we''re just getting started. Stay tuned, folks. It''s going to be a wild ride!"


    Damon left the cage, the crowd''s cheers still echoing in his ears. He couldn''t help but smirk, feeling a sense of pride and aplishment.


    As he walked out, he was met with a sea of faces, all congratting him on his win. He nodded his head in appreciation, his eyes scanning the room for a quiet ce to escape the chaos.


    He made his way through the crowded hallway, his footsteps quiet on the carpeted floor.


    He passed by staff members, who patted him on the back and offered words of encouragement.


    He also greeted fellow fighters, who nodded in respect and admiration.


    Finally, he arrived at the room assigned to him, a small sanctuary away from the noise and excitement.


    He closed the door behind him, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He leaned back against the door, his eyes closing as he let out a deep sigh.


    "What a night," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. "I almost lost." He shook his head, remembering the moments when Mark had gained the upper hand.


    But he had persevered, using every ounce of skill and determination to turn the fight around.


    He pushed himself off the door and walked towards the table in the center of the room. He sat down, his body feeling heavy with exhaustion.


    He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the sweat and adrenaline still coursing through his veins.


    The room was quiet, the only sound wss the distant murmur of the crowd. Damon closed his eyes, savoring the peace and quiet.


    He took a deep breath, feeling his heart rate slow down, and his muscles rx. He knew he had a long night ahead of him, but for now, he just wanted to rest and enjoy the feeling of victory.

 Chapter 58: Chapter 58: Gacha Spin!?

    The system suddenly DING!! Damon''s eyes snapped towards the sound, and he opened the system interface.


    [QUEST COMPLETED]


    [REWARD: 10 COINS]


    He smiled, chuckling to himself. It felt good toplete a quest and get rewarded.


    But then, another DING! sounded. Damon sat up, confusion etched on his face. He didn''t have any questpleted, was it a new one?


    He looked at the system interface again.


    [63/50 MATCHES COMPLETED]


    [ACHIEVEMENT ACQUIRED]


    [REWARD: LOTTERY GACHA WHEEL]


    [YOU HAVE 3 FREE SPINS]


    Damon''s eyes widened. What was this? He didn''t know what a gacha wheel was, but it sounded interesting.


    He read on.


    [FUNCTION: THE LOTTERY GACHA WHEEL, IS A WHEEL YOU SPIN, IT CAN LAND IN DIFFERENT SECTIONS, FROM  [ELIXIR] [GEAR] [TECH] [SKILLSET] [RANDOM] [NONE]]


    Damon''s eyes scanned the text. He still didn''t understand what a gacha wheel was, but he liked the sound of it.


    He stood up, a smile spreading across his face. This was amazing, but how does he get spins?


    As if listening to his thoughts, the system interface changed.


    [SPINS ARE GAINED IN EVERY FIGHT , 1 WIN MEANS 1 SPIN, 10 ACCUMULATED SPINS CAN BE USED FOR A MEGA SPIN]


    Damon''s eyes lit up. Oh, so he gets spins for winning fights? And he can use them to spin the wheel? He felt a surge of excitement. This was going to be fun.


    He stood there, staring at the system interface, thinking of every possibility possible.


    He couldn''t wait to start spinning the wheel and seeing what rewards he would get.


    Damon''s hand trembled with anticipation as he reached out to touch the interface.


    His finger hovered over the screen, hesitating for a moment before tapping on the golden wheel.


    The wheel filled the entire screen, its sections gleaming with a soft, golden light.


    The None section took up arge chunk of the wheel, its nk space seeming to stare at Damon like an empty void.


    The Random section was equally spacious, its mysterious nature making Damon''s heart race with excitement.


    In contrast, the other sections were tiny, cramped into small slivers of space.


    TECH and SKILLSET were the smallest, their narrow wedges making them seem like impossible targets.


    Damon''s eyes darted back and forth, studying the wheel''syout.


    He noticed that the Elixir section was slightlyrger than the two, its gentle glow seeming to pulse with an otherworldly energy.


    The Gear section was nestled between Elixir and TECH, its small space filled with swirling patterns.


    Damon''s finger twitched, eager to touch the screen and set the wheel in motion.


    As he gazed at the wheel, Damon felt his excitement build. He couldn''t wait to see where the wheel wouldnd, what reward he would receive.


    Damon''s finger tapped the screen, and the golden wheel sprang to life.


    It spun rapidly, a blur of color and light that made Damon''s eyes water. He squinted, his gaze fixed on the wheel as it began to slow down.


    For a moment, it seemed tond on the SKILLSET section, and Damon''s heart skipped a beat. But then, the wheel jerked forward, moving again.


    Damon''s eyes widened as it passed over the TECH section, his fist clenching involuntarily as if trying to stop the wheel physically.


    The wheel slowed down even further, its rotation bing sluggish andbored. Damon''s eyes were glued to the screen, his breath caught in his throat. And then, it finally came to a stop, the pointer trembling on the NONE section.


    [CONGRATULATIONS FOR WINNING NOTHING]


    [TRY AGAIN NEXT TIME]


    Damon''s face contorted in a mixture of shock, anger, and disbelief. His eyes bulged, and his mouth dropped open. "This is a damn scam!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.


    His arms iled wildly, as if trying to physically express his frustration. His fingers syed, and his palms faced the ceiling. Damon''s face reddened, and his voice echoed through the room.


    He took a step back, his eyes still fixed on the screen. The words "CONGRATULATIONS FOR WINNING NOTHING" seemed to mock him, their bright, cheerful tone a stark contrast to Damon''s intense emotions.


    Damon''s chest heaved, his breathing rapid and shallow. He felt like he''d been punched in the gut, his excitement and anticipation reced by anger and disappointment.


    Damon''sughter echoed through the room, a deep, throaty sound. Hehehehehe! He remembered he still had two more spins, and his anger dissipated. He removed the message, and the wheel reappeared.


    He spun again, and the wheel sprang to life. This time, Damon closed his eyes, his face rxed. He heard the wheel spinning, a soft whirring sound. Then, he heard a click.


    Damon opened his eyes, and a bright message greeted him.


    [CONGRATULATIONS FOR WINNING GEAR]


    [YOU HAVE WON A PUNCHING BAG]


    At first, Damon''s face fell. "That''s so damn use-" he started to say, but then he paused. He looked at the reward again, and a slow smile spread across his face.


    "Not useless," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "This is good. Ohh, I love you, system!" He professed his love, his eyes shining with gratitude.


    Damon had beenining about not having a partner to train with, but now he had something to hit. A punching bag! He could practice his punches, work on his technique.


    He felt a surge of joy, his heart filled with excitement. He couldn''t wait to start using the punching bag, to feel the leather beneath his fists.


    Damon''s face glowed with happiness, his smile stretching from ear to ear. He felt like he''d won the jackpot, like the system had finally given him something he truly needed.


    Damon''s finger hovered over the screen, ready to spin the wheel again. But then, he caught himself. "I should stop," he thought, his hand hesitating in mid-air.


    He looked at the wheel, its golden light gleaming enticingly. He was enjoying this, maybe a bit too much... Hehehe. The thrill of the unknown, the rush of excitement, it was all so captivating.


    But Damon knew he shouldn''t get too carried away. He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing slightly as he made a decision. "Okay, okay, I''ll wait," he thought.


    He would wait maybe a day, then spin again, and capitalize on his ''daily'' luck. Damon smiled to himself, feeling a sense of control wash over him. He could do this, he could pace himself.


    Gambling was fun, yepppie

 Chapter 59: Chapter 59: Mistakes

    Damon removed the interface, the golden light fading from his sight. He stretched his arms, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over him.


    He had won a punching bag, and he couldn''t wait to start training with it.


    Opening the shop, he browsed through the items, his eyes scanning the list. He stopped at the food section and selected a banana, purchasing it for one system coin. "Ehh, I have plenty," he thought, "and I''m not going to stop getting more."


    He packed up his stic bag, which had his normal clothes, and headed towards the locker room showers.


    The smell of sweat and soap filled the air as he entered the locker room. He put his stuff on the bench, his eyes adjusting to the bright lights.


    Damon walked into the shower, the warm water enveloping him. He let out a sigh, feeling the tension in his muscles ease.


    He grabbed the soap and started washing himself, the suds sliding down his skin.


    The water pounded against his skin, a steady beat that seemed to wash away his worries.


    Damon closed his eyes, letting the warmth seep into his bones. He stood there for a moment, savoring the feeling of rxation.


    As he washed, Damon thought about his next move. He had the punching bag, and he was eager to start training.


    He would have to find a good spot to set it up, maybe the parking lot, but he would have to take it back in the room, if he wanted still have something to train with, who knew what those crackhead would do for drug money.


    As the warm water flowed down his body, Damon''s mind began to wander to his past fights.


    He thought about the mistakes he had made, the opportunities he had missed, and the weaknesses he had exposed. He wasn''t perfect, far from it. He was unskilled, and he knew it.


    Even with the system, he still had to hone himself so he wouldn''t even dare call himself a real fighter until he won in a way he felt satisfied by it.


    Damon''s thoughts lingered on his fight today and the one before it. He had wanted to ignore going to the ground, to avoid it at all costs.


    But he knew he couldn''t ignore it forever. His Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu skills were limited to knowledge, not practical experience.


    He had the knowledge from the system, but he had never actually practiced it.


    The reality of his weakness hit him hard. If someone who actually knew what they were doing took him down, he was done for.


    That was exactly what had almost happened today. If Mark hadn''t made that small mistake, Damon would have lost the fight. He had to admit it to himself - he had won that match by fluke.


    Damon''s thoughts swirled with frustration. He couldn''t rely on luck to win fights, but how could he improve without a training partner?


    He kinda missed his friend, and wished he was here to help him train. If Joey were here, Damon knew he would have pushed him to be better.


    But then again, if Joey hadn''t left, maybe this opportunity with Battle Xtreme wouldn''t have existed.


    Maybe Damon would still be fighting in backyard brawls, which he enjoyed, but didn''t want to be his life. He wanted more.


    Damon''s frustration grew, and he let out a growl. He punched the tile wall, a mistake that made him wince in pain. He shook his hand, relieved he hadn''t broken it.


    Just then, a voice came from the locker room. "Hey dude, you fine in there?" Damon realized he may not be alone. He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist.


    "Ahh yeah, I''m fine," he said, trying to sound calm. "Just going through my fight analysis." He didn''t want to draw attention to his frustration.


    Damon stepped out of the shower, his eyes adjusting to the bright lights of the locker room.


    He saw a figure sitting on the bench, looking at him with concern. Damon nodded, trying to reassure him.


    Damon''s eyes met Edward''s, and he smiled, feeling a sense of camaraderie. Edward''s handshake was firm, his hand small but strong.


    As they shook hands, Damon took in Edward''s appearance. He was short, probably around 5''5", with a lean build.


    His hair was messy, a sandy blond color that stuck up in every direction. His eyes were a bright blue, sparkling with friendliness.


    "Haha I was just thinking about my match," Damon said, his voice deep and smooth.


    "It''s cool, I do that too," the guy replied, his eyes sparkling with friendliness. "Wait, you were the one opening the match tonight, right? Saw your submission, good job, man. I heard you don''t have a team."


    Damon nodded, feeling a sense of connection with Edward. "Yeah, that''s me," he said, his voice deep and smooth. "Thanks, man. I was lucky to get the submission."


    Edward grinned, his teeth white and even. "Lucky? Nah, you were skilled, man. I saw the whole thing. You''ve got some serious talent."


    Damon shrugged, feeling a sense of pride. "Thanks, I try my best."


    As they talked, Damon noticed the sound of lockers opening and closing, seems people wereing in


    Edward nodded, his eyes serious. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I''m trying my luck too i dont exactly have a team or coach yet. Maybe we''ll see each other around."


    Damon''s eyes widened at the coincidence. "I''m Damon, by the way."


    "Edward, but my friends call me Eddie," the guy said, his smile still stered on his face.


    "Anyway, Eddie, I gotta bounce," Damon said, nodding. "I can''t stay long. I''ll probably see you next event. Need to rest and recover, then back to training."


    As they parted ways, Damon felt a sense of connection with Edward. They were both fighters, both alone in thispetition.


    Damon continued dressing, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled on his shirt, feeling the soft fabric slide over his skin. His jeans were next. Heced up his shoes, then stomped them on the ground.


    He grabbed his stic, slinging it over his shoulder, and headed out of the locker room.


    As Damon walked out of the building, the guards gave him a friendly pat-down, then nodded and let him pass.


    Walking across the parking lot, he reached into his bag and pulled out a banana. He peeled it with a quick flick of his wrist, then took a bite, and he chewed contentedly.


    As he walked, he spotted a trash can and tossed the banana peel into it. He continued on, his eyes scanning the street for a cab.


    After a few minutes of walking, he spotted a taxi and hailed it. The driver pulled over, and Damon got in, giving him the address of his hotel.


    As the cab drove off, Damon settled back into the seat, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over him. He closed his eyes, letting the motion of the car put him into a state of rxation.

 Chapter 60: Chapter 60: Drive home

    "And We''re Almost Here"


    The driver''s voice woke Damon up from his sleep, amon yawned, stretching his arms over his head, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles.


    "Thank you," he said, his voice still husky from sleep.


    The driver chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You a fighter?" he asked, his gaze flicking to Damon''s face with a hint of amusement.


    Damon sat up straight, nodding sheepishly. "Yeah, I fight. It''s just amateur... but I''m pretty sure I''m getting paid in bruises."


    The driverughed, a deep rumbling sound. "Well, you''re definitely getting paid in bruises! I mean, I''ve seen some rough faces in my time, but yours takes the cake."


    Damonughed, feeling a sense of familiarity with the driver. "Hey, at least I''m consistent, right?"


    The driver grinned. "That you are, kid. That you are. So, how did you get into fighting?"


    Damon shrugged. "Just something I''ve always been interested in, I guess. And I''ve got a lot of anger to work out." Mixing truths and lies


    Damon''s curiosity got the better of him. "How did you know I fight? Besides my face, of course," he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.


    The driver''s gaze remained fixed on the road ahead. "Well, for starters, I know of the event you fight in," he said, his voice low and smooth.


    Damon raised an eyebrow. "You a fan?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.


    The driver let out a deepugh. "Was, but no... my kid fights there," he said, his voice filled with pride, but also a tinge of sadness.


    Damon''s confusion was evident. "You don''t want him to fight?" he asked, his brow furrowed.


    The driver shook his head. "No, no... nothing like that. It''s just... I''ve been diagnosed with cancer," he said, his voice cracking slightly.


    Damon didn''t say anything, letting the man pour his heart out.


    "It''s got the whole family shook up," the driver continued. "They start treating me like an egg... it''s curable, but you know... money."


    Damon nodded sympathetically.


    "And we all know the money I make from cabs isn''t enough for that," the driver said, his voiceced with frustration. "So the kid decided to take things into his own hands and started fighting."


    The driver''s voice swelled with pride. "I''m proud he''s determined and passionate, but that same passion scares me. He''s putting all his heart into this... I''m afraid what will happen if it doesn''t work out."


    The driver''s eyes clouded over. "I know I have to be positive, but he''s not getting paid there... and from what I''ve heard, it takes years before those bigpanies notice you. I''d rather him go to college than this."


    The driver''s words lingered in the car, you could tell his words were a mix of hope and fear, as the taxi continued to roll down the darkening streets.


    Damon leaned back on the seat, sighing, but the man suddenly spoke up again. "But I heard him talk about being offered something, but I think it''s a scam to get him to fight harder."


    Damon''s interest was piqued. "Mmh, an offer? What''s the offer?" he asked, his voice curious.


    The driver chuckled. "He said some scum in a suit offered him a chance to get a team, a coach, and betterpetition, and even pay, all he needed to do was just win three fights."


    Damon froze, his mind racing. Wasn''t that the same offer Mr. Steele had made to him? He smiled, his pride a bit hurt. He had thought he was the only one.


    "Why do you think it''s a scam? It could be real," Damon asked, his eyes narrowing.


    The driver''s expression turned skeptical. "Kid, I know you''re young, but who in their right mind would give such offers for free? I think they''re just trying to make young fighters fight harder so they get good shows for their events."


    The driver''s words hung in the air, a mix of concern and suspicion. Damon''s mind was racing, thinking about the offer he had received. Was it too good to be true?


    The taxi continued to roll down the streets, the only sound the sound of the engine and the driver''s asional cough. Damon''s eyes gazed out the window, lost in thought.


    The driver''s voice broke the silence. "I just don''t want my kid to get hurt, that''s all. I know he''s passionate about fighting, but I also know he''s not thinking clearly."


    Damon nodded sympathetically, his mind still racing with thoughts of the offer. Was it a scam, or was it the real deal? He didn''t know, and honestly, he didn''t care, as long as he fights.


    The ride was silent for the rest of the way, the only sound being the sound of the engine and the asional passing of cars. Finally, the driver spoke up, "We''re finally here, kid."


    The taxi pulled up to the motel, the neon sign creaking in the gentle breeze. Damon got out, stretching his arms over his head. "Thanks for the ride," he said, his voice sincere.


    He took out his wallet and paid the fare, adding a generous tip. "Also, I hope things look up for you," he said, his eyes locking onto the driver''s. "Get well soon."


    The driver smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks, kid. Take care of yourself."


    With that, the driver put the car in gear and drove off, leaving Damon standing alone in front of the motel. Damon stood there for a moment, lost in thought.


    He couldn''t help but wonder what he would do if his mother had cancer. Would he be like that man''s son, fighting to make ends meet and trying to stay positive?


    Damon''s eyes gazed off into the distance, his mind racing with thoughts of his own family. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.


    He took a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill his lungs. He looked up at the motel, the neon sign casting a colorful glow over the parking lot.

 Chapter 61: Chapter 61: To The Physical World

    Morning hit the motel windows, casting a warm glow over the room.


    Damon turned, hearing the curtains open with a soft rustle. He opened his eyes, squinting slightly at the bright light.


    "Morning, mom," he said, sitting up in bed. He raised his hand to rub his eyes, then paused mid-air, remembering that he wasn''t exactly fully recovered.


    It had been a few days since the fight, and Damon wasn''t feeling well.


    He had been looking forward to opening his new punching bag, but he had held off, to recover.


    Aoife answered, "Morning, Damon," her voice warm and gentle. She turned around, looking at Damon, and forced a smile after ncing at his bruised body.


    Her eyes lingered on the purple marks on his face and the bandages on his hands.


    Damon sat up, stretching his hand, trying to y it cool. "You''re up early," he joked, attempting to hide the pain he felt.


    Aoife scoffed, "More like you''re upte," she said with a smirk, moving away from the curtains. Her long, dark hair swayed behind her as she walked towards the small kitchte in the motel room.


    Damon swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the soft carpet beneath his feet. He stood up slowly, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back.


    His muscles protested with a dull ache, but he ignored it, knowing it was just part of the healing process.


    Aoife turned around, watching him with a concerned expression. "You should be resting, Damon," she said, her voice firm but gentle.


    Damon shrugged, trying to downy his injuries. "I''m fine, mom. Just a few bruises," he said, attempting to smile.


    Aoife raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "A few bruises?" she repeated, and said with sarcasm evident in her voice. "You look like you''ve been through a war."


    Damon chuckled, wincing as his ribs protested. "It was just a tough fight," he said, trying to reassure her.


    Aoife sighed, shaking her head. "You need to take care of yourself, Damon. You can''t keep pushing yourself like this."


    Damon stood up. He walked towards his mom, his bare feet making soft sounds on the carpet. He put his hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. "I''m fine, see," he said, attempting a smile.


    Aoife just smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She yfully nudged him with her elbow, trying to get a reaction out of him.


    Damon let out a mock "ahh" as he moved aside, protecting his bruised ribs. "Nice try, wrong side," he said, chuckling and shaking his head.


    He moved towards the bathroom. He grabbed some clean clothes from the counter, wincing as he lifted his arms to take off his shirt.


    He closed the door, standing in front of the mirror, and let out a deep sigh. "Man, I hope that Elixir shop has some stuff that can help me heal," he said to himself, examining his reflection. He couldn''t wait toplete the quest and check out what rewards it had.


    He undressed and entered the shower, feeling the warm water flow over his body. As he stood under the stream, he couldn''t help but think back to days before, specifically the cab driver he had met.


    He remembered the man''s story, his son fighting to support him, and the weight of that responsibility.


    Damon''s mind wandered, imagining what it would be like if his mother''s life depended on him winning every fight.


    He knew it was a heavy burden, one that the cab driver''s son probably felt every day. He thought about the pressure, the stress, and the fear that came with it.


    He stood there for a few moments, lost in thought, before finally turning off the water and stepping out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and began to dry himself.


    As he dressed in the clean clothes he had grabbed earlier.


    The clothes he wore were solely for training, a pair of worn-out sweatpants and a faded t-shirt. He wasn''t going to let these bruises stop him from doing what he needed to do.


    Each day he missed meant he was losing days of progress, and he couldn''t afford that.


    So he finished up, cleaning up the bathroom, making sure to wipe down the sink and toilet, and then went out to the parking lot.


    The bright sunlight hit him like a p in the face, making him squint. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, feeling the warm rays on his skin.


    The parking lot was empty, except for a few cars scattered here and there. Damon''s eyes scanned the area, taking in the familiar sights.


    Damon looked around, scanning the empty parking lot. He was about to open his system interface, but then paused, thinking better of it. That would be reckless, he thought.


    What if someone was watching him, observing his every move? He couldn''t afford to have his secret revealed, not now, not ever.


    Damon took a careful look around. No movement. No people. He felt a sense of caution, realizing how easily he could make a mistake. He decided against using the system here. It wasn''t safe.


    Instead, he made up his mind to go for a run. It was a better way to clear his head and keep up with his training, he''ll also just ess the inventory right around the corner.


    He took a deep breath and started jogging, leaving the parking lot behind.


    Damon arrived around the corner, making sure he was alone. He nced around cautiously, his eyes scanning the empty street.


    Satisfied that no one was watching, he opened the system interface. The familiar screen flickered to life, disying his inventory.


    Damon''s eyesnded on the punching bag icon, and he clicked on it. The description popped up, and he read through it quickly.


    "Bag of steel" - a sturdy, oversized punching bag designed for intense training. He could use it for low kicks, practicing his technique and building his strength.


    Damon''s fingers hovered over the button, ready to bring the bag into the physical world. As he hesitated, he thought about the perfect spot to set up the bag.


    With a decisive nod, Damon clicked the button. The system interface shed, and the punching bag materialized in front of him. It was bigger than he expected.


    Damon cracked his knuckles, a fierce grin spreading across his face. It was time to put in the work, to push himself to the limit.

 Chapter 62: Chapter 62: Testing out My Punching bag

    Damon stood in front of a sturdy tree, and a ck and blue punching bag hung from a branch.


    The bag swayed gently in the breeze, its surface reflecting the sunlight filtering through the leaves.


    He reached out to shake the bag, testing its stability, but the moment he did, a loud crack split the air.


    The branch creaked and groaned, its fibers snapping under the weight of the bag.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he instinctively reached out to grab the bag, his hands wrapping around it to hold it in ce.


    The branch fell, its splintered end scraping against his arm, leaving a faint scratch.


    He sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment. He had been looking forward to training with the new bag, and now he would have to find a new spot to hang it.


    He looked around, taking in the surroundings, searching for a new tree with a sturdier branch.


    Damon''s eyesnded on a nearby tree, its branches thicker and more robust.


    He walked towards it, the punching bag still clutched in his hands.


    He examined the branches, searching for the perfect spot to hang the bag. His fingers traced the grooves and knots on the tree''s surface, feeling for any weaknesses.


    Damon climbed the tree, his hands gripping the rough bark as he ascended higher. He reached a sturdy branch and grasped it firmly, pulling himself up to do a few pull-ups.


    His muscles flexed as he lifted his body. He dropped down, his feet thudding against the trunk, and smiled, satisfied with the branch''s sturdiness.


    He hooked the punching bag to the branch, pulling the chain as he wrapped around the tree then hooked the chain on itself.


    He stepped back, admiring his handiwork, and let out augh. "It''s time to break this thing," he said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.


    The punching bag swayed gently in the breeze, its surface reflecting the sunlight filtering through the leaves.


    Damon''s eyes fixed on the bag, his mind focused on the uing training session. He cracked his knuckles, feeling the familiar surge of energy and determination.


    Damon picked up the stic wrapping that covered his MMA gloves, the crinkling sound filling the air as he pulled them out.


    He had received these gloves from the system when he first got it, and they still looked brand new, despite the fights they had been through.


    He slipped his hands into the gloves, feeling the soft, padded interior envelop his fingers.


    The gloves fit snugly, providing afortable grip.


    He looked at the punching bag, its ck and blue surface reflecting the sunlight filtering through the leaves.


    He nudged it gently with his gloved hand, feeling the bag''s weight and resistance. Satisfied, he took a step back, his eyes fixed on the bag.


    Damon threw a power punch, his gloved fist connecting with the bag with a loud Bang.


    BANG!!!


    The impact sent shockwaves through the bag, causing it to sway violently.


    The sound of the punch echoed through the air, a sharp, crisp noise. The bag''s surface rippled from the force of the blow, its material stretching to absorb the impact.


    The tree''s branches creaked softly, a gentle apaniment to the sound of Damon''s punching.


    He rolled his shoulders, then unleashed a swift jab.


    THUD!


    The bag rocked back, its chains rattling. Damon followed up with a hard kick, his shin connecting with the bag''s side.


    THUD!


    The impact vibrated through his leg, but he didn''t stop. He threw an elbow, then another punch. His breath came out in steady, controlled bursts, each strike a precise, practiced movement.


    THUD! THUD!


    Sweat started to bead on his forehead. His muscles burned, but he relished the sensation. Damon knew this was where he got stronger, with every hit, every drop of sweat.


    He decided to go for abo¡ªjab, cross, kick. Each strike hit its mark, the sounds of his blows filling the quiet around him.


    Over an hour passed


    Damon stepped back for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow. His breath was heavier now, but he wasn''t done. He wanted to push himself further.


    He lined up for a question mark kick, lifting his leg and aiming to swing it high before dropping it low.


    But as he twisted, his timing was off.


    THUD!


    His foot clipped the side of the bag, not quite hitting where he intended. Damon stumbled slightly, frustration ring for a brief second. He steadied himself, shaking his head.


    "Gotta get that right," he muttered under his breath.


    Ignoring the sting of disappointment, Damon stepped forward again, this time throwing a powerful straight punch.


    THUD!


    The bag swung back, and Damon could feel the strain in his arms and legs. He was tired, but it was the kind of tired that told him he was pushing his limits.


    Finally, he stopped, breathing hard. The bag swayed slowly, the chains creaking above. Damon wiped his face with the back of his hand, taking a moment to catch his breath.


    He''d botched the kick, sure, but that was just one step in the process.


    Damon burst outughing, the sound echoing through the air as he thought about the proficiency feature.


    He wanted to master all of his moves, and the thought filled him with excitement.


    He took a step back, bouncing around on the balls of his feet, his eyes fixed on the punching bag.


    He continued training, imagining himself in a real fight.


    He pictured his opponent in front of him, their fists flying towards him.


    Damon dodged and weaved, his gloved hands punching the bag with precision and power.


    He kicked and elbowed, his movements swift and deadly.


    Oh, how he wished the bag could punch back, giving him a true test of his skills.


    But he didn''t let that stop him. He kept pushing himself.


    Especially, he focused on the question mark kick. He had missed it earlier, but now he was determined to get it right.


    He lifted his leg, twisting his hips and generating power from his core. His foot swung through the air, aiming for the bag''s center.


    He continued training, his movements fluid and confident.


    Sweat dripped from his brow, his muscles burning with fatigue, but he didn''t stop. He was in the zone, his focus solely on improving his skills.


    The punching bag swayed back and forth, its surface worn from Damon''s relentless assault.


    Damon''sughter had stopped, reced by a serious face.


    He was a warrior in training.

 Chapter 63: Chapter 63: Back home

    Damon finished his training session, sitting back against the tree trunk, feeling exhausted but satisfied.


    He thought to himself, "This is the best training I''ve had since I started." He had improved significantly, correcting mistakes in his form and working on finding a flow in his movements during a fight.


    As he reflected on his training, Damon noticed something about himself - his temper.


    He had a tendency to get impatient and throw unnecessary punches when his initial ones didn''tnd as nned.


    This wasn''t just limited to training; he had done the same thing in actual fights.


    Damon realized that working on his temper and learning to calm down during fights was essential.


    He sat on the ground, his back against the tree trunk, his eyes fixed on the space in front of him.


    He didn''t want to lie down, didn''t want to look up at the lights, didn''t want to hear the announcer''s voice dering his opponent the winner.


    All because he threw a tantrum, lost control, and let his emotions get the better of him.


    He thought about his training, how he had tried to manage his temper, to prevent himself from getting angry when he failed.


    But it was hard, so hard. He would do okay for a while, and then something would happen, and he would lose it again.


    He would end up angry, frustrated, and disappointed in himself.


    Damon shook his head, sighing deeply. He felt the weight of his failure, the weight of his temper over him. He knew he needed to work on it, to get better, to be better.


    He decided to open up his system status interface, to take a look at his stats, to see where he was, where he needed to go.


    The blue light lit up his face, illuminating his features, casting a glow over his skin.


    Personal Information:


    - Name: Damon Cross


    -Nickname:


    - Age: 19


    - Nationality: Irish-Japan


    physical information:


    - Weight: 125 lbs


    - Height: 6''2"


    - Reach: - Arm: 74"


    - Leg: 34"


    - Weight ss: Flyweight


    - Fights:


    - Total Fights: 62


    - Unauthorized fights: 60


    - Amateur fights: 2


    - Professional fights: 0


    Fighting Style:


    - Style: Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu


    The physical stats section made him wince.


    Physical Stats:


    - Strength: F+


    - Speed: F+


    - Stamina: F+


    - Endurance: C+


    - Agility: F+


    Mental Stats:


    - Tactical Awareness: F+


    - Focus: F


    Damon gazed at his physical stats, a smile spreading across his face as he thought about how far he''de.


    His training had paid off, and he could see the improvement in his physicality. But as he looked closer, his smile faded.


    His stats were stuck on F+, and no matter how hard he trained, he couldn''t seem to budge them.


    He felt a pang of frustration and disappointment. He had been working so hard, pushing himself to his limits, but it wasn''t tranting to his stats.


    Damon wondered if he was doing something wrong, if there was something he was missing.


    He turned his attention to his mental stats, and his confusion deepened. He didn''t know how to improve them, didn''t know what to do.


    He thought about reading books, butughed at the idea. That didn''t seem like it would help.


    Damon sighed, feeling a sense of uncertainty. He didn''t know how to move forward, how to improve his mental stats.


    But he knew he couldn''t give up. He had to keep training, keep pushing himself.


    These were what he was working with, and he would make the most of it. Maybe unlocking the Elixir shop would help.


    Maybe it would give him some answers. But for now, he would continue to train, to improve his skills and techniques.


    Damon turned off his status interface, the blue light fading from his face.


    He stood up, brushing himself off by dusting his hands over his clothes. He felt the dry earth and leaves falling away from his skin as he moved.


    He walked over to the tree, reaching up to unhook the punching bag from the branch.


    The chain cked against the trunk as he lifted it down, the sound echoing through the quiet air.


    Damon slung the bag over his back, feeling the weight of it settle onto his shoulders.


    He began to jog, his feet pounding against the earth in a steady rhythm.


    The sound of his footsteps filled the air as he moved, his breathing steady and calm.


    As he jogged, the trees seemed to pass by him in a blur, their leaves rustling softly in the gentle breeze of the sunset.


    The sky was painted with warm hues of orange, pink, and purple, casting a golden glow over thendscape.


    He jogged on, the moteling into view in the distance. He could see the buildings rising up, the parking lot stretching out before them.


    Damon arrived at the motel, holding the punching bag properly, and rushed to enter the room.


    He didn''t even try to hide the bag, knowing his mother would ask where he got it. He would just have toe up with a convincing story.


    As he opened the door, the aroma of cooking food wafted out, making his stomach growl with hunger.


    He entered the room, punching bag in hand, and his mother looked up from the stove, a questioning expression on her face.


    Damon sighed, knowing he had a lot of training ahead of him for the next month.


    His next fight wasn''t close, so he nned to use the time to improve his skills.


    And with the festival month approaching, he hoped to get more opportunities to fight and gain experience.


    He walked over to his mother, punching bag still in hand, and said, "Hey, Mom. I''m home." His mother looked at the bag, then back at him, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.


    Damon knew he had toe up with a good story, so he thought quickly. He could tell her he got it from a friend or that he found it somewhere.


    But for now, he just smiled and said, "I''ll tell youter, Mom. I''m starving. What''s for dinner?"


    His mother smiled, seemingly epting his response, and turned back to the stove, she knew as her son grew up he had his own secrets, she just hoped he wasn''t doing illegal stuff to get gear for fighting.


    Damon breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he had dodged the question for now.


    He set the punching bag down and took a seat at the table, ready to enjoy his dinner and n his training for the next month.

 Chapter 64: Chapter 64: Event Opener I

    Michael Bosley, dressed in a suit and tie, looked directly into the camera with an enthusiastic smile. "Today,dies and gentlemen, we have an exciting one in the card!" He gestured with his hands,


    Daniel Greene, sitting beside him, chuckled and added, "I think you say that every show, Michael, but not like I disagree with you. We have a big turnaround, a new show opener, and I mean, I''m hoping to see what will happen tonight. You should be excited as well."


    The camera panned out, showing the packed hall, filled with eager fans wearing Battle Xtreme merchandise and holding up signs with their favorite local fighters'' names.


    Thementators'' table was set up ringside, with a clear view of the octagon.


    The sound system sted energetic music, getting the crowd pumped up for the first fight.


    Michael continued, "We''re live here in Stockton. The fans are eager to see some intense action, and we''re sure to deliver."


    Daniel nodded in agreement, "That''s right, Michael. We have a stacked card tonight, with some of the toughest fighters in the league. It''s going to be a wild ride."


    The music sted through the speakers, a high-energy beat that got the crowd moving.


    A short, young man with sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes bounced into view, his enthusiasm infectious.


    He was about 5''5" with a lean, athletic build, and he moved with a confident swagger.


    As he made his way to the cage, he stopped by a man who patted him for safety and asked him to for a cup check, "Cup?"


    The young fighter obliged, and the cornerman gave him a quick once-over before applying a thinyer of Vaseline to his face


    With that done, the young man continued on his way, his eyes fixed intently on the cage.


    He climbed up the steps and stepped inside, his movements fluid and practiced.


    The announcer, a tall, imposing figure in a tailored suit, stood in the center of the cage, a microphone in hand.


    As the young man entered, the announcer''s voice boomed out across the hall, "Introducing Edward Whittaker!"


    The crowd responded with a mixture of apuse and cheers, some people whistling and shouting his name.


    Edward smiled, his bright blue eyes shining with excitement, and gave a quick wave to the crowd before turning to face his opponent.


    As the music for Edward Whittaker''s entrance faded away, a new soundtrack began to y, this one with a darker and more ominous tone.


    The crowd''s excitement didn''t dwindle but rather shifted to a more anticipatory state, sensing the arrival of the next fighter.


    A figure emerged from the shadows, his height almost identical to Edward''s, around 5''5".


    His bald head glistened under the bright lights of the arena, and his slimmer body seemed to ripple with defined muscles as he moved.


    With a focused expression, he made his way to the cage, his eyes fixed intently on the octagon.


    He stopped by the same cornerman who had checked Edward and underwent the same safety protocols - a quick pat-down, a cup check, and a thinyer of Vaseline applied to his face for cuts.


    As he climbed up the steps and entered the cage, his movements were fluid and deliberate, exuding a sense of calm confidence.


    The announcer''s voice boomed out once more, "Introducing Felix Grayson!"


    The crowd responded with a mixture of apuse and cheers, some people chanting his name, while others whistled and shouted words of encouragement.


    Felix''s expression remained focused, his eyes locked onto Edward Whittaker, his opponent for the night''s battle.


    Michael Bosley turned to Daniel Greene, his comentator, and asked, "Daniel, you know about Edward Whittaker and Felix Grayson, what can you tell us about them?"


    Daniel nodded, his eyes lighting up with excitement, and began to break down the fighters.


    "Well, this match is going to be exciting, let''s start with Felix shall we?" Daniel said, his voice clear and concise. "Here we have a fighter with a decent record, 5-3, with a 2-win streak in his past fights. He''s very skilled in Karate, has power and speed - what more do you need?


    Felix is a force to be reckoned with, and his Karate background gives him an edge in terms of discipline and technique."


    Daniel paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before moving on to Edward Whittaker. "And then we have Edward, a bit of a special case.


    I''ve heard he doesn''t have any formal training, he''s self-taught, but he''s done incredibly well with a record of 2-1 and a win in hisst fight.


    He''s a freestyle fighter, most of the time, but I''ve seen inspiration from kickboxing in most of his moves, so I''m sure he''s got good power."


    Daniel''s eyes locked onto the camera, his expression serious. "What''s interesting about Edward is that he''s a wild card. Without formal training, he''s had to rely on his natural ability and instincts to get this far. It''s going to be fascinating to see how he matches up against Felix''s more disciplined approach."


    The camera cut to a shot of the two fighters, facing off in the octagon, their eyes locked in a fierce stare.


    The referee, a seasoned official with a no-nonsense attitude, stood between the two fighters, his eyes scanning their faces as he went over the rules onest time. "Alright, gentlemen, let''s go over this again. Three rounds, five minutes each. No eye-gouging, no groin shots. You know the drill."


    Edward Whittaker and Felix Grayson nodded, their eyes locked in a fierce stare.


    They touched gloves, a gesture of respect and sportsmanship, before stepping back to their respective corners.


    The referee raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent, anticipating the start of the fight. "Ready? Ready? Fight!"


    The bell rang out, and the two fighters sprang into action.


    The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices echoing off the walls of the arena as the two warriors were about to sh in the center of the octagon.

 Chapter 65: Chapter 65: Event Opener II

    As soon as the bell rang, Edward Whittaker shot out of his corner, his movements explosive.


    He feinted with a left jab, testing Felix Grayson''s reaction.


    Felix,posed and focused, kept his guard high, stepping to the side and circling away from Edward''s power hand.


    Edward didn''t waste time. He closed the distance with a quick one-twobination, snapping a jab straight down the middle.


    Felix slipped the jab and countered with a low leg kick that smacked against Edward''s lead leg, the impact reverberating through the octagon.


    Edward winced but didn''t slow down. He switched his stance briefly, throwing a quick overhand right.


    Felix ducked under it, using his Karate discipline to stay calm under pressure. He snapped back up with a straight right hand of his own, catching Edward on the chin.


    Edward staggered back, more surprised than hurt.


    He quickly regained his footing, shaking off the strike.


    Felix took a half-step forward, his footwork precise, andunched a powerful body kick that thudded into Edward''s side.


    Edward grunted, feeling the sting of the blow, but immediately fired back with a heavy right hand that Felix barely blocked.


    The crowd roared as the fighters exchanged blows.


    Felix moved smoothly, his Karate background evident in his urate strikes and controlled movements.


    He threw a quick front kick, which Edward hardly evaded, the tip of Felix''s toes grazing his midsection.


    Edward, relying on his instincts,unched a wild flurry of punches.


    He was unpredictable, mixing in hooks, uppercuts, and a straight left that kept Felix guessing.


    Felix used his agility to avoid the most dangerous shots, but Edward''s relentless attack forced him to back up against the cage.


    Sensing an opportunity, Edward pressed forward, throwing a vicious left hook aimed at Felix''s head.


    Felix, in a split-second decision, ducked under the hook and exploded forward with a powerful double-leg takedown, lifting Edward off his feet and mming him to the canvas.


    The crowd exploded with cheers as Felix took control on the ground.


    He moved quickly, securing side control and pressing his forearm against Edward''s neck, limiting his movement.


    Edward struggled, his body tensing as he tried to buck Felix off him. Felix stayed calm, looking for an opportunity to advance his position.


    Edward, refusing to be held down, managed to create a small space and slipped out from under Felix, scrambling back to his feet.


    Felix followed, but Edward was ready, catching him with a quick knee to the body as he rose.


    The strike was clean, and Felix winced, backing up to create distance.


    Edward saw the opening and pounced, throwing a high kick aimed at Felix''s head.


    Felix just managed to get his hand up in time, blocking the kick but feeling the force behind it.


    Edward followed up with a barrage of strikes, mixing up his punches and kicks, his style wild and unorthodox, but effective.


    Felix stayedposed, weathering the storm. He fired back with a hard straight right that caught Edward on the jaw, momentarily halting his momentum.


    Felix pressed forward,unching a series of fast, urate strikes, targeting Edward''s body and head with precision.


    Edward felt the impact of each strike but refused to back down.


    He absorbed a hard shot to the ribs and retaliated with a spinning backfist that barely missed its mark, grazing Felix''s ear.


    Felix, undeterred, moved in close and unleashed a powerfulbination, ending with a sharp elbow that split the skin above Edward''s left eye.


    Blood trickled down Edward''s face, but the sight of it only seemed to fuel him.


    He wiped the blood away with the back of his glove and grinned at Felix, who responded with a nod, acknowledging the challenge.


    With time running out in the round, both fighters dug deep.


    Edward switched up his approach, faking a low kick beforeunching a surprise flying knee.


    Felix anticipated it, moving to the side just in time, and countered with a swift leg kick that caused Edward to stumble.


    Felix followed up with a spinning back kick thatnded flush on Edward''s midsection, the force of the blow pushing him back into the cage.


    Edward winced, pain radiating from his ribs, but he didn''t let it stop him.


    He fired off a quick jab to keep Felix at bay, then moved off the cage with a burst of speed, re-engaging in the center of the octagon.


    With the crowd on their feet, the fighters continued to trade shots.


    Edward''s freestyle unpredictability shed beautifully with Felix''s disciplined technique.


    Neither man gave an inch, each strike more powerful than thest.


    As the round drew to a close, Felixnded a crisp right cross, causing Edward''s head to snap back. Edward retaliated with a powerful left hook thatnded clean on Felix''s cheek.


    The two men were breathing heavily, their bodies bruised and battered, but their determination unwavering.


    The bell finally rang, signaling the end of the round.


    The fighters stepped back, sweat dripping from their bodies, their faces marked by the exchange of blows.


    They gave each other a brief nod of respect before turning to their corners.


    The first round had set the stage for an all-out war, and everyone in the arena knew that the best was yet toe.


    As the bell rang, signaling the end of the first round, Felix Grayson made his way to his corner, where his coach was waiting with a towel and a water bottle.


    The coach, a seasoned veteran with a calm demeanor, quickly set to work, giving Felix advice while checking for any injuries.


    "Felix, listen up," the coach said, his voice steady and focused. "You did well with your kicks, but you need to keep your distance a bit more. Edward''sing in wild, and he''s catching you with those hooks. Keep using your jab to control the range."


    Felix nodded, taking deep breaths as his coach continued. "You''ve got the right idea with the low kicks. They''re slowing him down, but don''t get too predictable. Mix it up with some feints and keep him guessing."


    The coach wiped sweat from Felix''s face. "Stay sharp and don''t let him catch you off guard. You''re letting him get too close."


    Felix drank from the water bottle, his eyes locked on his coach. "Got it. I''ll keep my distance and be more careful."


    The coach nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Also, watch for his wild spinning attacks.


    He''s trying to catch you with something shy. Stay focused and counter when you see the openings."


    Felix took a deep breath, feeling more confident. "Thanks. I''ll use my range better and avoid those big swings."

 Chapter 66: Chapter 66: The Second Round

    Michael Bosley and Daniel Greene spoke excitedly as the fighters took their corners.


    "Wow, that first round was intense," Michael said. "Edward''s wild style really makes for an exciting fight, while Felix''s discipline is something to admire."


    Daniel nodded. "Absolutely, Michael. Felix has been using his technique effectively, but Edward''s unpredictability and resilience keeps him in the fight. And speaking of Edward, that cut above his left eye is starting to bleed more. It could be a problem if it''s not controlled."


    Michael agreed. "Yes, the cut is definitely an issue. It''s making Edward''s face look worse for wear. But he''s showing impressive toughness, not letting it slow him down."


    Daniel added, "Felix will be capitalizing on the cut,nding strikes that keep opening it up. Edward''s going to need to dig deep and find a way to ovee this one."


    The bell rang for the second round. Edward and Felix met in the center of the octagon.


    Edward came out strong, throwing a number of fast punches. Felix moved back, using his Karate footwork to stay out of range.


    Felix remembered his coach''s advice. He used his jab more to keep Edward at bay. He moved side to side, making it harder for Edward tond a clean shot.


    Edward tried to close the distance quickly, throwing a heavy right hook. Felix ducked under the hook and responded with a quick front kick to Edward''s midsection. The kicknded cleanly, pushing Edward back.


    Felix followed up with a spinning side kick. Edward blocked it with his forearm but felt the force behind it.


    Felix''s movements were smooth and calcted, showing the benefits of his disciplined training.


    Edward, feeling the pressure, attempted a high kick. Felix saw iting and stepped back, avoiding the kick.


    Felix then used a quick jab and followed with a low kick to Edward''s lead leg. The kick hit hard, and Edward limped slightly.


    Felix moved in with abination of punches, aiming for Edward''s head and body.


    He used his skills to keep the strikes urate and powerful. Edward struggled to defend against the precision of Felix''s attacks.


    Edward, showing his resilience, managed tond a clean left hook to Felix''s jaw. Felix lost his footing but quickly regained it.


    He refocused, using his agility to avoid further damage.


    Felix took a deep breath and began to control the pace. He used more feints and mixed his attacks.


    Hended a few quick jabs and a solid roundhouse kick to Edward''s side. Edward winced but pressed on.


    Felix''s strategy was paying off. He managed to avoid most of Edward''s wild swings and focused onnding clean, disciplined strikes.


    He caught Edward with a cross to the face, which made Edward''s head swing back.


    Seeing an opening, Felix moved in with a powerfulbination, ending with a sharp elbow to Edward''s cheek.


    The elbow caused a small cut to reopen above Edward''s left eye. Blood trickled down his face, and Edward winced in pain.


    Felix, seeing the blood flowing freely from the reopened cut, pressed his advantage.


    Hended a set of jabs and straight punches, each aimed at the damaged area.


    The cut above Edward''s left eye was clearly worsening, and Felix''s strikes only made it worse.


    Michael Bosleymented, "Felix is really taking advantage of that cut. Every punch isnding right where it hurts Edward the most."


    Daniel Greene added, "You can see the blood starting to pour down Edward''s face now. Felix''s skills are showing¡ªhe''s targeting that cut with surgical uracy."


    Edward, ignoring the pain and blood, fought back fiercely.


    He threw a wildbination of hooks and uppercuts, trying to overwhelm Felix with his unpredictable style.


    Felix ducked and weaved, using his Karate footwork to evade most of Edward''s wild swings.


    Felix''s disciplined approach allowed him to stay out of range, while Edward''s aggressive attacks were bing more desperate.


    Felix managed tond a clean front kick to Edward''s midsection, causing him to take a few back.


    Edward grimaced, but he quickly recovered and moved back into the center of the octagon.


    Felix continued to exploit the cut,nding a sharp right cross that caused more blood to spill down Edward''s face.


    Edward, his vision impaired, struggled to keep up with Felix''s urate strikes.


    He tried to retaliate with a high kick, but Felix anticipated it and stepped aside, avoiding the blow.


    Seeing that Edward was struggling, Felix increased his offensive.


    Hended a spinning side kick to Edward''s ribs, which made Edward wince and take a step back.


    Felix followed up with a quick jab to the face,nding it right on the cut.


    The impact caused Edward to stagger, and the referee stepped in to closely observe the situation.


    When the referee stepped in to pause the fight and called for the ringside doctor, thementators reacted immediately.


    Michael Bosley said, "The referee''s stepping in. This cut above Edward''s eye is looking pretty bad. Felix''s targeting has made it worse."


    Daniel Greene added, "It''s clear the referee''s concerned about the severity of that injury. The doctor''s on his way in to check it out."


    Felix and his coach watched intently from their corner as the doctor examined the cut, checking for any signs that it might be too severe for Edward to continue.


    The arena fell silent as everyone waited for the decision.


    "This cut is severe and bleeding heavily. If it doesn''t stop soon, it could impair his vision and pose a significant risk. I rmend pausing the fight to assess if it''s safe for him to continue."


    The doctor spoke with the referee. Edward, breathing heavily, stood in the center of the octagon, his face marked by blood and bruises.


    After a few moments of discussion, the referee and the doctor exchanged a few final words.


    The referee raised his hand, signaling that the fight would be temporarily stopped. The crowd waited anxiously for the final decision.


    As the doctor continued to assess Edward''s injury, the oue of the fight remained uncertain.

 Chapter 67: Chapter 67: Doctor and Referee decision

    As the referee and ringside doctor continued to assess Edward''s injury, thementators, Michael Bosley and Daniel Greene, provided their analysis.


    Michael Bosley spoke first, his voice filled with concern. "This is a crucial moment, Daniel. Edward''s cut is definitely more severe than before. Felix has been targeting it throughout the round, and it''s clearly affecting Edward''s performance."


    Daniel Greene nodded in agreement. "Absolutely, Michael. Felix''s strategy to focus on the cut has been effective. It''s given him a clear advantage, and the doctor''s presence here indicates that the injury could be serious. Edward''s tough, but this is a significant issue."


    Michael continued, "You''ve got to admire Edward''s heart. Despite the blood and the pain, he''s kepting forward, showing incredible resilience. But at some point, the cut might just be too much to ovee."


    Daniel added, "Felix''s discipline and technique have really shone through in this round. He''s managed to stayposed and exploit the cut effectively. If the fight does continue, it will be interesting to see how Edward responds and if he can adapt to Felix''s precision."


    Michael nced at the octagon, where Edward was still being evaluated. "Right now, it''s up to the doctor and the referee to make the call. It''s a tough situation, but safety alwayses first. We''ve seen many fights where a fighter''s injury has led to a stoppage, and it looks like we might be on the verge of one here."


    Daniel leaned closer to the camera, his expression serious. "If the fight is stopped, Felix will have earned the win through his smart strategy and effective execution."


    As they spoke, the ringside doctor finished his evaluation and conferred with the referee.


    The crowd watched in silence, waiting for the final decision on whether the fight would continue or end due to the injury.


    In the middle of the crowd, a young man named, his blue eyes fixed intently on the ring, Damon.


    He had arrived early, with nothing else to do before his own match, and decided to watch the first fight.


    He had been surprised when one of the fighters, Edward, was the same person he had met in the locker room showers earlier.


    Damon''s interest in the fight grew, and he found himself invested in the oue.


    He watched as Edward struggled to continue, his cut worsening with each passing moment.


    The ringside doctor and referee conferred, their faces grave with concern.


    As the tension built, Damon sighed, his breath escaping slowly.


    He felt a tinge of sympathy for Edward, remembering their brief encounter in the locker room.


    He had seemed like a tough, resilient guy, but now he was on the verge of defeat.


    Damon''s eyes remained fixed on the ring, his mind absorbed in the drama unfolding before him.


    He wondered what would happen next, whether Edward would be able to continue or if the fight would be stopped due to his injury.


    The referee approached Edward, his expression serious. He ced a hand on Edward''s shoulder and said, "Edward, we have to stop the fight. The cut is too severe."


    Edward''s eyes widened in shock. "No, please," he begged, his voice shaking. "Don''t stop it. I can keep going. I need to win this."


    The referee shook his head. "It''s for your safety. The doctor says the cut is too bad."


    Tears welled up in Edward''s eyes. He fought to keep them from falling, his voice trembling as he pleaded. "This is myst chance. My dad... He has cancer. I need this win for him, for us."


    The referee hesitated, seeing the desperation in Edward''s eyes. But the blood was still flowing, and the decision had to be made. "Edward, I''m sorry, but I can''t let you continue like this."


    Edward''s shoulders slumped, and he mumbled, "I need to do this... for my dad," his voice was barely a whisper.


    The referee looked at Edward with a mix of sympathy and regret. "I''m sorry, Edward. We have to stop."


    Edward stood there, the fight draining out of him as the reality sank in.


    Although people couldn''t hear what was said in the ring, Edward''s reaction told them everything.


    His shoulders slumped.


    He slowly walked to the edge of the cage and sat down, leaning back, covering his face with his hands.


    Michael Bosley''s voice filled the arena. "This is heartbreaking to see. Edward gave it everything he had, but it looks like the fight is over for him."


    Daniel Greene added softly, "He''s worked so hard, and to have it end like this... You can see how much it means to him."


    The announcer entered the cage, the microphone in hand. The crowd fell silent, waiting for the final word.


    "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer''s voice echoed through the arena, "due to a medical stoppage, the referee has called a halt to this contest. Dering the winner by TKO, Felix Grayson!"


    The crowd cheered, though the mood was subdued. Felix raised his hands in victory, but his eyes lingered on Edward, still sitting by the cage.


    Michael spoke again. "Felix earned that win, but this was a tough one to watch. Edward gave it his all, and you can see how much it hurts him."


    Daniel nodded. "He fought with everything he had, but sometimes, it just isn''t enough. We wish Edward the best and hope he bounces back from this."


    Damon stood up, his eyes fixed on the scene before him.


    He shook his head slowly, taking a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth.


    He turned and made his way to the back. He needed to prepare for his own fight, to focus on his own strategy and technique.


    As he walked, he couldn''t help but think about Edward, who had just suffered a tough defeat.


    He had seemed so determined, so focused on winning. Damon wondered what had driven him to fight with such intensity.


    Meanwhile, Edward made his way to the back, his eyes fixed on the ground. He didn''t talk to anyone, didn''t acknowledge the people around him. He just kept walking, his shoulders slumped in defeat.


    Felix, on the other hand, was celebrating his win. He was smiling,ughing, and high-fiving his cornermen. He was basking in the glory of his victory, enjoying the cheers of the crowd.


    As Damon approached the locker room, he could hear the sound of Edward''s heavy breathing. He sounded like he was struggling to hold back tears.

 Chapter 68: Chapter 68: My Time Now

    Damon stood in front of the door, his hand raised to knock. But he hesitated, thinking it was better to leave Edward alone.


    He seemed to be taking the loss very hard. Damon turned around and walked quickly towards his own room.


    As he walked, he pushed the thoughts of Edward out of his mind.


    He didn''t want to think about the other fighter''s disappointment and frustration. Instead, he focused on his own uing fight.


    Damon knew that losing wasn''t the end of the world.


    He had learned that lesson before. But it was easy to say that now, when he wasn''t the one who had lost.


    He had a temper, and he knew how hard it was to control his emotions when things didn''t go his way.


    Damon entered his room and sat down on the bench, taking a few deep breaths.


    He tried to clear his mind and focus on the present moment.


    He thought about his own strategy and technique, going over the moves he would make in the ring.


    He stood up and began to pace back and forth, his mind filled with thoughts of the fight.


    Damon walked over to the table, where his fighting gear wasid out.


    He removed the stic wrapping and began to undress, taking off his clothes and putting on his fighting shorts. He then put on his protective cup, making sure it was securely in ce.


    Next, he wrapped his hands with the bandages, carefully covering his wrists and fingers. He then slipped on his gloves, feeling the familiar weight and texture of the padding.


    Damon closed his eyes, taking a moment to focus on his breathing. He thought about his training, and how far he hade.


    He had spent countless hours practicing his basic punches, kicks, and elbows with the new punching bag.


    When he first started on the punching bag, his proficiency level on basic Muay Thai attacks was at 50%.


    But now, after a month of intense training, he had improved to 70%. This was a significant gain, and he felt proud of his progress.


    Damon thought about his technique, going over each move in his mind.


    He pictured himself throwing perfect jabs, hooks, and uppercuts. He imagined his kicksnding precisely, with power and speed.


    His mind wandered towards the Question Mark kick, a moreplex move that he was still working on.


    His proficiency level was at 37%, which was lower than he wanted. But he knew that with continued practice, he would master it.


    Damon''s training sessions with the punching bag had been incredibly helpful. He had seen significant improvement in his technique, and his confidence had grown.


    He felt more prepared for his uing fight, and he was eager to put his skills to the test.


    With his eyes still closed, Damon took a few more deep breaths, focusing on his mental preparation.


    He visualized himself winning the fight, his hand being raised in victory. He pictured the crowd cheering.


    Finally, Damon opened his eyes, feeling ready and focused.


    Damon finished his mental preparation and stood up. He felt ready. He grabbed his mouthguard from the table and slipped it into his pocket, then headed out of his room.


    The hallway was quiet, and his footsteps echoed softly as he walked.


    He could hear faint noisesing from the arena, a reminder that his fight was now. Damon took a deep breath and focused on staying calm.


    When he reached the entrance to the hall leading to the cage, he paused for a moment.


    This was it. He walked forward, his mind clear and focused. He could see the lights and hear the crowd more clearly now. The energy was building.


    As he walked towards the cage, an official stepped forward to check him. The official nodded and said, "Stand still for a moment."


    Damon followed the instructions. The official checked his gloves, making sure they were secure. Then, he did the cup check, pressing lightly to ensure everything was in ce.


    "All good," the official said, giving Damon a quick nod. "You''re ready."


    Damon nodded back and kept walking, his eyes focused on the cage ahead.


    He felt the adrenaline starting to rise, but he stayed calm. He knew he had to keep his emotions in check.


    The announcer''s voice boomed through the arena. "Introducing... Damon Cross!" The crowd responded with cheers, and Damon felt a surge of confidence. He kept walking, one step at a time, towards the cage.


    He nced across the cage at his opponent, a shorter fighter named Jaxon Lee, as usual.


    As Damon entered the cage, thementators began their discussion.


    Michael Bosley spoke first. "Well, that was quite a tough end for Edward earlier. It''s always hard to see a fighter''sst chance slip away."


    Daniel Greene nodded. "Yes, it''s tough. But now it''s time for others to shine. Damon Cross is stepping into the cage next. He''s on a 2-0 win streak. His Muay Thai skills are impressive."


    Michael added, "Damon''s been doing great with his kicks and elbows. He''s shown strong performance in hisst fights."


    Daniel continued, "His opponent, Jaxon Lee, has a strong boxing background. He relies on his punches. It''ll be interesting to see how Damon''s Muay Thai handles Jaxon''s boxing."


    The crowd cheered as Damon and Jaxon faced each other. The stage was set for another exciting fight.


    The referee entered the cage and addressed both fighters.


    "Alright, gentlemen," he said, "I''m going to go over the rules. Obey mymands at all times. Protect yourself at all times.


    No hitting to the back of the head, no low blows, no grabbing the cage, and no kneeing the groin. If you want to touch gloves, do it now."


    Damon and Jaxon touched gloves.


    "Fight clean. Fight fair. If you''re ready, I''m ready. Let''s have a good fight."


    The referee stepped back to his position and signaled for the fight to begin. "Alright, fighters. Ready? Fight!"


    Damon shed a confident smile, his eyes locking onto Jaxon''s across the cage. "Just another day in the office," he muttered, his voice low and even.


    The words were going to be a familiar mantra, a reminder that he''d been in tough spots before and alwayse out on top.

 Chapter 69: Chapter 69: The Fight

    The bell rang, and the fight between Damon Cross and Jaxon Lee began.


    Damon moved forward with confidence, his Muay Thai skills ready to shine.


    Jaxon, shorter and with a boxing background, took a cautious stance, trying to stay out of Damon''s range.


    Damon started with a quick low kick, aiming at Jaxon''s lead leg.


    Jaxon winced but kept moving. Damon didn''t waste time.


    He threw another low kick, then followed with a straight right hand.


    Jaxon tried to respond with a jab, but Damon ducked and slipped out of the way.


    Commentators spoke as the fighters moved.


    Michael said, "Damon''s low kicks are looking sharp. He''s using his height and reaches well."


    Daniel added, "Jaxon needs to close the distance to use his boxing. But Damon''s doing a great job keeping him at bay."


    Damon continued his attack. Hended another low kick, then added a sharp left elbow to Jaxon''s side.


    Jaxon staggered slightly but stayed on his feet. He tried to move in with abination of punches, but Damon blocked and countered with a right cross.


    Damon''s height gave him an advantage. He was able to keep Jaxon at a distance, using his longer reach.


    Hended a few more punches and a heavy elbow strike that made Jaxon back up. Jaxon looked frustrated, struggling to get past Damon''s defense.


    Michael remarked, "Damon is really controlling the pace here. Jaxon seems to be struggling to find his rhythm."


    Daniel agreed, "Yes, Damon''s strikes arending cleanly. Jaxon needs to make a move soon, or he''ll be in trouble."


    Jaxon tried to close the distance again, throwing abo of punches.


    Damon blocked most of them and then responded with another low kick thatnded with a thud. Jaxon''s leg bent slightly, and he took a step back.


    Damon saw his chance. He moved in with a powerful right hook, connecting with Jaxon''s jaw.


    Michael''s voice rose with excitement. "Damon''s showing why he''s on a win streak! Jaxon is struggling to stay upright!"


    Daniel added, "Damon''s timing is perfect. He''snding those shots with precision. Jaxon looks like he''s in trouble."


    Jaxon''s head flew back, and he staggered. Damon followed up with a number of quick punches. Jaxon tried to defend, but Damon was too fast.


    Damonnded a final, clean right hand to Jaxon''s chin. Jaxon''s legs gave way, and he fell to the mat.


    The crowd gasped as Jaxon fell, and Damon moved in quickly.


    Damonnded two hammer fists, pounding Jaxon''s head with heavy, relentless strikes. Each blownded with a thud, shaking Jaxon''s body. The referee jumped in, pulling Damon off and waving his arms to signal the end of the fight.


    Michael eximed, "Oh, that''s it! Damon finished it with those hammer fists! What a performance!"


    Daniel agreed, "Incredible finish! Damon showed his power and skill. Jaxon couldn''t handle that."


    As Damon stood over Jaxon, whoy unconscious, he smirked and said, "Goodnight."


    Michael and Daniel continued theirmentary as the arena buzzed with excitement.


    Michael said, "What a performance by Damon Cross! This is his first clean knockout. He dominated from the start and ended it in the first round." His voice was filled with enthusiasm, capturing the energy of the crowd.


    Daniel added, "Absolutely, Michael. Damon is on the right path. This win shows his Muay Thai skills and his ability to finish a fight quickly. He''s looking strong and focused despite doing it all alone." He nodded approvingly as he spoke.


    Michael agreed, "It''s impressive to see him get the finish so early. Damon''s clearly making a name for himself in this division." He leaned forward, emphasizing Damon''s rising reputation.


    Daniel shook his head slightly and said, "Although Damon is good, going up a weight ss might benefit him more. With his height, fighting at flyweight is just embarrassing. He''d be more dominant against bigger opponents."


    Michael responded, "That''s a valid point, Daniel. Damon''s skills are undeniable, but moving up could give him even more of an edge."


    The announcer walked into the cage with a steady stride, microphone in hand.


    Jaxon Lee had already regained his senses and was talking with his corner men.


    Damon Cross stood alone in the center, his gaze focused, awaiting the official decision.


    The referee, standing between the two fighters, took hold of their wrists, preparing to dere the victor. The crowd quieted down, eager to hear the final result.


    The announcer raised the microphone to his lips, his voice booming through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, referee John Doe has called a stop to this contest at 2 minutes, 35 seconds of the very first round, dering the winner by knockout¡­"


    The pause added to the tension even though everyone already knew who won. Every eye in the arena focused on the center of the cage.


    The announcer''s voice rose as he called out, "Damon Cross!"


    The crowd erupted into cheers, their energy filling the venue. The referee lifted Damon''s hand high, signaling his victory.


    Damon allowed a small, confident smile to cross his face as he soaked in the apuse.


    Damon shook the referee''s hand, then the announcer''s, as a sign of respect.


    Next, he walked over to Jaxon, who was still recovering from the knockout.


    Damon extended his hand, and Jaxon took it, his eyes narrowing slightly, pulling him into a hug.


    "I heard you said goodnight to me," Jaxon said, his voiceced with a hint of annoyance. "Maybe you should go pick on guys your own size." He stepped back, forcing a smile onto his face.


    Damon red at Jaxon, feeling a surge of irritation. He couldn''t deny it; Jaxon''s words were getting to him.


    It wasn''t like they were lies, either. Damon had been dominating the fight, and his height and reach had given him a significant advantage.


    But Damon pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on his goal.


    He was going to fight thest match, then request to change weight sses to a suitable from Mr steele. In his mind, the nexy fight was already a guaranteed win.

 Chapter 70: Chapter 70: 2nd Chance

    Damon walked out of the hall, closing the door behind him. He let out a deep sigh, feeling a mix of relief and satisfaction.


    As he made his way down the hallway, he noticed some of the staff nodding in congrattions. He smiled and grinned, acknowledging their recognition.


    He continued walking towards the room assigned to him, his footsteps echoing off the walls.


    The hallway was quiet, with only a few people milling about. Damon''s mind was still on the fight, reying the moments that led to his victory.


    As he turned a corner, he saw Mr. Steele standing outside his room. Mr. Steele was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and a serious expression on his face. Damon felt a slight sense of unease, wondering what Mr. Steele wanted to talk about.


    "Hey, Mr. Steele," Damon said, approaching him. "What''s up?"


    Mr. Steele pushed off the wall and stood up straight. "Damon, congrattions on your win," he said, his voice firm but neutral. "You''re doing well on our Challenge."


    Damon nodded, feeling a sense of pride. "Thanks, Mr. Steele. I''ve been working hard."


    Mr. Steele''s words hung in the air, his voice low and serious. "I can see your improvement, but now, your next match, might be thest time we meet, or the start of something." Damon nodded, taking a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth.


    He knew what was at stake. If he lost, he would lose the opportunity to have Mr. Steele''s support.


    Mr. Steele''s eyes seemed to bore into Damon''s soul, as if searching for something. "Your next opponent will be dangerous, and I mean this."


    He paused, his gaze intensifying. "He will want it more than you." Damon felt a shiver run down his spine. Who was this opponent that would want it so badly?


    Mr. Steele''s hand came down on Damon''s shoulder, his grip firm but not crushing. "So Damon, I don''t want you to tell me you want this. I want you to show me." His voice was firm,manding.


    Damon nodded again, determination rising up inside him.


    Mr. Steele fixed his suit. He began walking away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.


    Damon watched him go, his mind racing with thoughts of his next opponent. Who was he? What made him so dangerous?


    Damon walked into his room, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.


    He went straight to his bag and pulled out a fresh set of clothes, eager to change out of his sweaty gear.


    But first, he needed a shower. He had been yearning for one since the match ended, and now he couldn''t wait to feel the warm water on his skin.


    He made his way to the showers, his feet carrying him towards the sound of running water.


    When he got there, he saw that one of the showers was already in use, but he didn''t mind. He got into the next one, feeling the cool tile beneath his feet.


    As he undressed, he couldn''t help but think about the match. He was happy about how it had gone.


    Not many hits had caught him, and if any had, they hadn''t been hard enough to leave a mark. He felt proud of himself, proud of his training and his skill.


    The water was warm when he turned it on, and he stepped under it with a sigh of relief.


    It cascaded down his body, washing away the sweat and grime of the match.


    He closed his eyes, letting the water soak into his skin, and felt his muscles rx.


    The sound of the water was soothing, a steady beat that blocked out all other noise.


    Damon felt himself bing calm, his mind quieting as the water washed over him.


    He stood there for a long time, just enjoying the feeling of the shower, and the satisfaction of his victory.


    Once he finished his shower, Damon dried himself off and got dressed in fresh clothes. He left the locker room and headed back to his room to grab his bag.


    As he made his way out of the building, he bumped into Edward, who had been through a rough match.


    Edward''s face was busted up, with bruises and cuts all over it. His eyes looked like they had taken a beating, with dark circles and puffy skin, especially the left one.


    Damon approached him, stretching out his hand to Edward. "Sup man," he said, with a friendly smile. Edward smiled back, despite the pain in his eyes.


    He shook Damon''s hand, "Hey man, hahaha, nice match," he said,plimenting Damon on his win.


    Damon scratched his head, "To you as well, even though you lost, you did amazing, so don''t beat yourself over it, you''ll get next time," he said, trying to reassure Edward.


    But Edward''s face changed, his expression turning serious. "You don''t understand, my dad -" he started to say, but Damon interrupted him.


    "Hey, I think Mr. Steele is calling for you," Damon said, nodding towards Mr. Steele, who was standing across the hallway, pointing at Edward.


    Edward''s face showed a sh of fear, before he turned and walked towards Mr. Steele. "Wait for me," he said, looking back at Damon.


    Damon waited, looking at Mr. Steele talk with Edward. He wondered if Edward had gotten the same offer as him.


    Maybe that''s why his loss had gotten him so emotional.


    Damon began to sympathize with Edward, thinking about how tough it must be to face such high stakes.


    As he watched, Edward smiled at Mr. Steele, but when he turned around, his face was serious and cold.


    Damon walked towards him, but Edward passed him by as if he didn''t exist. He was confused as he watched Edward''s back disappear into the distance.


    He stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Why had Edward ignored him like that? And what had Mr. Steele said to him to make him look so serious?


    Damon''s mind was full of questions as he watched Edward walk away. He felt a sense of unease, wondering what was going on.p

 Chapter 71: Chapter 71: A Look In A Different Life

    In a cozy, mid-ie house, a man was whistling a happy tune as he cooked a meal in the kitchen.


    The aroma of sizzling vegetables and savory spices filled the air, making the space feel warm and inviting.


    If Damon had been there, he would have recognized the man as the cab driver he had spoken to one night.


    The man''s face lit up with a happy smile as he stood in front of the sink, gazing out the window at the night sky.


    The kitchen lights reflected off the windowpane, casting a warm glow on the man''s face.


    His eyes, a deep brown, sparkled with a mix of happiness and concern.


    As he stirred the pot, his expression changed, and a look of pain reflected on his face.


    He muttered to himself, "Where are you Eddie?" His voice was low and worried, and his eyes seemed to cloud over with concern.


    The man''s hands moved mechanically, stirring the pot, as his mind wandered.


    He stood there, frozen, lost in thought, as the whistling stopped.


    The sound of the door opening startled him, and he turned towards it, his eyes widening slightly.


    He smiled wryly to himself, feeling a mix of emotions.


    He dried his hands on a towel, the fabric soft against his skin, and made his way to the front door.


    As he reached the door, he saw his son, Edward, entering the house.


    Edward''s face was wounded, with bruises and cuts visible on his skin.


    His eyes looked tired, with dark circles underneath. The man''s heart sank, seeing his son like this.


    He stood there, frozen, unsure of how to feel. He wanted to be angry, but he also felt a deep concern for his son''s well-being.


    He looked at Edward''s face, taking in every detail. The bruises were a deep purple, and the cuts looked red and sore.


    Edward''s eyes avoided his, looking down at the floor instead.


    ..


    Edward trudged through the front door, his body aching from the fight.


    He had heard Mr. Steele''s words echoing in his mind, fueling his determination to train harder, and not waste his 2nd chance.


    As he entered the house, he unlocked the door and closed it behind him, the sound of the lock clicking into ce.


    He turned to face his father, who stood in front of him, his eyes filled with concern.


    Edward cursed under his breath, "Fuck, not this again." He tried to walk past his father, but his dad caught his hand, holding it firmly. "Tell me you''re seeing this, Eddie," his father spoke, his voiceced with pain and worry.


    Edward felt all of the emotions in the room, but tried to brush them off.


    He closed his eyes tightly, but winced as his left eye, which had a deep cut, throbbed in pain. "Tell me you see yourself, Edward," his father''s voice was harsher now, demanding an answer.


    Edward''s eyes snapped open, and he looked at his father, his gaze meeting the older man''s.


    He saw the worry and fear etched on his father''s face, and felt a pang of guilt.


    Edward didn''t want to have this conversation, but his dad wouldn''t let him leave. "What do you want me to say, huh?" Edward asked, his voice rising in frustration.


    His dad''s eyes pleaded with him, "I don''t want you to say anything, I want you to stop, I want you to stop all this fighting, this...this..." He stuttered, unable to find the words.


    Edward yelled back, his voice echoing through the room, "This what, dad? You think I enjoy getting punched? You think I enjoying here like this? I do this for you, for all of us!" His dad felt a surge of guilt, seeing the pain and desperation in Edward''s eyes.


    Tears threatened to fall as he looked at his son''s face, the bruises and cuts a stark reminder of the harm he was causing himself.


    Edward''s voice cracked, "I''ve said it before, I won''t leave. You may think that because you''re old, we don''t need you, but she needs you, dad. We already lost mom, do you think she can take another loss?"


    Edward''s father took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He walked away, back to the kitchen, where the smell of smoke from the burning food filled the air.


    "You''re right, she can''t afford to lose me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But Eddie, have you thought that she can''t afford to lose you as well?" He disappeared into the kitchen


    He turned he silence that followed a difference to the earlier yelling. Edward stood there, frozen, his mind thinking about his father''s words.


    As he thought about his father''s words, Edward knew they were true. He felt a sense of responsibility wash over him.


    Just then, a small head peeked around the doorframe, with her piggie tails and curious eyes. Edward''s face lit up with a warm smile as he knelt down to greet her.


    "Hey Lulu," he said softly, opening his arms wide. Lulu ran into his embrace, and Edward hugged her tightly, feeling a surge of love and protection.


    This little girl was his everything, his reason for fighting, his livelihood. He would never regret anything as long as she was by his side.


    Lulu looked up at her brother with ssy eyes, concern etched on her small face. "Does it hurt?" she asked, pointing to the bruises and the cut on Edward''s face.


    Edward chuckled, trying to reassure her, but he could see the sadness deep in her eyes.


    "No, Lulu, it doesn''t hurt," he said gently. "You wanna know why?" Lulu nodded, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.


    Edward lifted her up, and she yelped with delight. "Well, because I got my little monster here with me," he said, smiling warmly.


    Lulu giggled, snuggling into her brother''s chest. Edward felt a sense of peace wash over him.


    He stood up, holding Lulu close, and said, "Come on, let''s get you ready for dinner." He walked towards the kitchen,


    Lulu''s small hands wrapped around his neck, her face nestled in the crook of his shoulder.


    The warmth of the kitchen enveloped them, filled with the smell of burned food and the sound of their father''s quiet sobs.


    "How about I go show you something before we eat." He said, turning around with a guilty look.

 Chapter 72: Chapter 72: Preparations

    Damon had arrived home safely without any trouble. He had wondered what Edward and Mr. Steele had talked about to make Edward act cold.


    But soon he forgot about it. Mr. Steele''s words were echoing in his head. "Your next opponent is dangerous, and wants it more than you."


    Damon thought about these words. He felt a sense of unease. He didn''t know who his next opponent was, but he knew he had to be careful.


    Today''s event had been held prettyte. Damon was informed that the next one would be eventer.


    Damon entered the room, finding his mother already fast asleep.


    He decided not to disturb her, instead choosing to quietly have his dinner. After eating, he got ready for bed andy down, trying to rest.


    The events of the day, especially Mr. Steele''s warning, lingered in his mind, but he eventually drifted off to sleep.


    Damon''s eyes closed, and he fell into a deep slumber, unaware of what the next day would bring.


    The following weeks, Damon trained harder than ever before. He knew he had to make the most of his time.


    Despite his confidence, he still had doubts buried deep within him. He wanted to ovee them.


    One day, Damon took a spin on the wheel. He won a technique called Meditation Technique.


    When he read the description, he couldn''t believe his eyes.


    [Meditation Technique - This technique is a Mental conditioning technique designed to enhance focus, reduce anxiety, and improve mental rity]


    Damon remembered asking himself how to improve his mental stats before.


    Now, it seemed like things were falling into ce. He felt a sense of excitement and hope.


    Damon continued his routine as usual. He would start with running, then move on to exercises. After that, he would practice his moves on the punching bag.


    He would begin with basic moves and gradually move on to moreplex ones, like the Question Mark Kick. He had been trying to master this move for a while now.


    Damon made sure to practice until his body ached. He didn''t want to leave anything behind. He wanted to give it his all.


    As he practiced, he noticed his body yearning change. He was gaining weight and muscle mass.


    He realized he needed to move up to a higher weight ss, but for now the training regime provided by the system ensured he stayed within the weightss cap, it was one of the reasons why his weight was always on the mark during weigh in.


    Damon had already made up his mind to go up after this match. He didn''t want to hold himself back. He knew it could lead to injuries.


    He didn''t want to rely on the system for help when he could have prevented something himself.


    Although he knew the system would offer assistance if he needed it, he preferred to rely on his own hard work.


    Damon''s career had started because of the system, but he didn''t feel like he was cheating.


    He was still working hard, and the system''s enhancements were based on his training.


    The system would check his body before every match and remove any toxins that could affect his performance.


    Damon''s days blended together as he continued his routine. He would wake up, run, exercise, practice on the punching bag, and then rest.


    And to add the cream on top after all the intense training he would sit quietly, focusing on his breath, and clear his mind. It was his way of unwinding after a long day of physical exertion.


    Aoife respected his training and meditation routine. She never interfered or disturbed him when he was in his meditative state.


    She was proud of her son for following his dreams and working hard to achieve them.


    Damon had been helping his mother with various tasks when he wasn''t training.


    He had also started talking about finding a job to support himself.


    She had epted his passion for fighting and was supportive of his career choice.


    As a mother, she couldn''t stop him from pursuing his dreams, but she could offer her guidance and encouragement.


    She was relieved to see Damon returning with fewer bruises after hisst fight.


    So he let him do as he liked, ss long as he wasn''t involved in anything illegal, she was content with whatever path he chose.


    As the fight drew closer, Damon went through all the necessary procedures. He arrived at the medical facility for his check-up, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.


    The doctor examined him thoroughly, checking his vital signs, reflexes, and overall physical condition.


    After a few minutes, the doctor gave Damon a nod of approval. "You''re cleared to fight," he said with a smile. Damon felt a surge of relief and excitement.


    He had passed the medical check-up, and nothing could stop him from stepping into the ring now.


    With the medical check-up out of the way, Damon began to taper his training.


    He reduced the intensity of his workouts, focusing on light exercises and techniques to avoid any injuries before the fight.


    He didn''t want to risk getting hurt now, not when he was so close to the big day.


    Damon''s days became more rxed, with shorter training sessions and more time for rest and recovery.


    Damon opened the Quest interface, and his eyes widened as he read the message.


    [WIN YOUR THREE UPCOMING MATCHES]


    [REWARD: SYRUM/POTION SHOP ACCESS]


    [MATCHES WON : 2/3]


    This was it, the moment he had been working towards. Winning this next match would not only grant him ess to the syrum shop, but also secure Mr. Steele''s support.


    Damon thought about how far he hade. He wondered where he would be if the system had never activated.


    Probably still on the streets with his mom, struggling to make ends meet. But that was all in the past now.


    This match was more than just a fight; it was a chance to change his life forever.


    Better times wereing, and Damon was ready to seize them.


    Whoever the opponent was, it''s your Funeral.

 Chapter 73: Chapter 73: Damon Cross Vs Edward Whittaker I

    Damon sat on a bench in front of the mirror, adopting a meditation posture.


    He wore his usual fighting kit, consisting of shorts and gloves. His eyes were fixed on his reflection, his mind focused on the uing fight.


    During the weigh-in, he had finally discovered who his opponent was.


    The revtion had left him stunned but not entirely surprised. He recalled the conversation between Edward and Mr. Steele, and Edward''s reaction after losing hisst fight.


    Mr. Steele''s words echoed in his mind: "Your opponent wants it more than you." Who else would be desperate, than the guy who cried when he lost.


    And due to his suspicion before his training had been tailored to prepare him for Edward''s fighting style.


    He imagined the chaotic fighter, with his unpredictable movements and aggressive attacks, facing him in the cage.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed as he visualized the fight. He could see himself standing calmly, his fists clenched, ready to face the storm that was Edward.


    Damon looked at the clock on the wall, it was almost his time.


    He had done everything he needed to do, weigh ins and checks, now all he could do was wait. Wait for the knock on the door, wait for the signal that it was time to go out there and face Edward.


    The knock came, and Damon stood up, his heart beating slightly faster.


    He took his mouthguard and slipped it into his mouth, and he got out of the room, and walked towards the hallway.


    Today, the hallway was different. It was packed with people, staff and officials milling up and down, talking in hushed tones.


    He made his way towards the hall, but before he could twist the handle to the hall, the guy who had been waiting near the door spoke up putting his hand up. "You gost," he said, his voice firm but not unkind.


    Damon paused, his hand on the door handle. He took a deep breath.


    ...


    In the hall, the stands were full, packed with people who liked fighting, had nothing to do at night, or were just bored.


    Commentators Michael Bosley and Daniel Greene talked about the match that had just ended. Michael said, "That was a good one. It''s always sad to see someone get injured, though."


    Daniel nodded and then added, "But I''m really excited for the next match. Edward Whittaker lostst time, and he needs to learn how to handle a loss better. Damon Cross, on the other hand, finished hisst match in the first round. Impressive stuff."


    As they spoke, the announcer walked into the cage.


    The Music hit, sting on the speakers as Edward stepped into the hall, his demeanor confident and focused.


    He walked towards the cage.


    As Edward approached the cage entrance, an official stepped forward to conduct the procedure check.


    The official checked Edward''s gloves and did the cup check to ensure everything was secure.


    "All set. Good luck." the official said, giving Edward a nod.


    Edward nodded back and proceeded to the cage. The crowd''s cheers and apuse grew louder with each step he took.


    He climbed into the cage and made his way to his corner. The announcer, holding a microphone, moved to the center of the cage.


    "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer said, "Introducing, Edward Whittaker!"


    The crowd responded with a mix of cheers and apuse as Edward raised his hand and acknowledged the audience.


    The music stopped, and the arena was filled with the pounding beat of another song. The crowd''s energy shifted as they awaited the next fighter.


    Damon stood by the door, listening to the announcer''s voice echo through the arena. He heard Edward''s introduction and the crowd''s reaction.


    The man by the door gave Damon a nod. "You can go in. Good luck."


    Damon nodded in thanks. He opened the door, and the sound of his entrance music filled the hallway.


    The crowd''s cheers grew louder, a mix of excitement and anticipation. Many fans were familiar with Damon, remembering his impressive three-fight win streak.


    The crowd''s enthusiasm boosted Damon''s confidence as he made his way to the cage.


    Michael said, "Damon Cross is making his way to the cage, and the crowd is clearly excited to see him in action, he''s gaining fans."


    Daniel added, "Absolutely. Damon is on a hot streak, and the fans remember his performances. With his height and power, not to mention the chin on him, he''s a tough opponent for anyone. Edward has a real challenge ahead."


    At the cage entrance, an official stopped Damon for the procedure check.


    The official examined Damon''s gloves and then asked to see his mouthguard. Damon opened his mouth to show it was in ce.


    The official then asked for the cup check, and Damon patted himself to show everything was secure.


    "All clear. Good luck," the official said, giving Damon a pat on the back.


    Damon walked towards the cage, his gaze locked on the inside.


    He climbed through the cage door and stepped inside, his eyes meeting Edward''s. Both of them had no visible expression showing.


    The announcer stepped to the center of the cage with the microphone. "Please wee, Damon Cross!"


    The crowd erupted in cheers and apuse, their excitement reaching a peak.


    Commentators Michael Bosley and Daniel Greene began their analysis as the fighters prepared for the bout.


    Michael nodded. "It''s interesting to see how these two fighters match up. Edward''s aggressive style versus Damon''s controlled approach. Damon has been impressive with hisst clean knockout, and now he''s looking to make it four in a row win streak."


    Daniel continued, "Edward''sst loss might have taken a toll on him. Today''s opponent is not too different than hisst one, like you said it''s aggressive against controlled, so maybe he needs to change his approach, otherwise Damon''s power and uracy could make this a quick fight if he finds his opening."


    As refeee finished his talk with the fighters and they touched gloves, everyone was ready for a spectacle.


    Michael concluded, "We''re about to get underway. Both fighters are in their corners, and this match is set to begin. It''s going to be a sh of styles, and we''re in for a treat."


    The bell rang, and the fight between Damon Cross and Edward Whittaker was about to start.

 Chapter 74: Chapter 74: Damon Cross Vs Edward Whittaker II

    The bell rang, and the fight between Damon Cross and Edward Whittaker began.


    Damon and Edward approached each other cautiously. Damon, as a Muay Thai fighter, took a measured stance.


    His feet were nted firmly, and his eyes followed Edward''s every move. Edward, with his aggressive kickboxing style, bounced on his feet, his eyes focused and sharp.


    Damon moved first, delivering a low kick to Edward''s lead leg.


    The kick was sharp but not overly powerful. Edward winced slightly but quickly returned to his stance, his eyes narrowing as he assessed Damon.


    Commentators Michael Bosley and Daniel Greene began their analysis.


    Michael said, "We''re seeing a slow start here. Damon''s using his Muay Thai skills to keep his distance,nding low kicks to test Edward''s reactions."


    Daniel agreed, "Yes, and Edward is known for his aggressive style. It looks like he''s trying to find an opening. Damon seems to be controlling the pace for now, but it''s early."


    Edward responded with a low kick of his own, aiming at Damon''s outer thigh. Damon blocked the kick with his shin, and both fighters circled each other, their eyes locked.


    Damon tried to remain patient, focusing on his breathing.


    He knew he had to control his impatience and not rush his attacks. He threw another low kick,nding it just above Edward''s knee.


    Edward took a step back but quickly closed the distance.


    Damon threw a front kick, aiming for Edward''s midsection. Edward dodged the kick and stepped in with a quickbination of punches.


    Damon blocked most of the punches but felt a couple of light taps on his gloves.


    Michael noted, "Damon''s keeping his distance with those kicks, but Edward is starting to close in. It''s interesting to see how Damon is handling Edward''s aggression."


    Daniel added, "Damon is doing well to stay calm and not let Edward''s aggressive style throw him off. It''s a game of patience for him right now."


    Edward, frustrated by Damon''s measured approach, threw a high kick towards Damon''s head.


    Damon ducked and countered with a low kick to Edward''s calf. The impact was solid but not damaging. Edward shook off the pain and kept moving.


    Damon''s mind was focused on stayingposed. He could feel his impatience building but reminded himself to stay patient and not force the fight.


    He threw another low kick, followed by a side kick to Edward''s ribs. Edward grunted but remained on his feet, continuing to press forward.


    Michael remarked, "Damon''s low kicks arending with precision, but Edward''s high kick showed his willingness to mix things up. Both fighters are still trying to find their rhythm."


    Daniel responded, "Damon''s patience is paying off so far. He''s making Edward work for every opening, and that''s exactly what he needs to do. It''s a test of endurance and strategy."


    As the first round continued, Damon maintained his calm demeanor, waiting for the right moment to strike.


    Hended a few more low kicks, each one carefully calcted. Edward, on the other hand, kept moving and throwing punches and kicks, trying to break through Damon''s defense.


    The fighters continued to circle each other, exchanging small but strategic hits. Damon''s goal was to wear Edward down without rushing into risky moves.


    Edward''s aggression was there, but he was having troublending significant strikes on Damon.


    Michael said, "We''re seeing a tactical battle here. Damon''s low kicks are adding up, and Edward''s aggression hasn''t paid off yet."


    Daniel agreed, "Damon''s control of the pace is impressive. He''s sticking to his game n and not letting Edward''s unpredictability shake him. This is a smart approach."


    The round neared its end, and both fighters were showing signs of fatigue, but neither had managed tond a decisive blow.


    Damon''s focus remained on maintaining hisposure, while Edward continued to press forward with relentless energy.


    As the bell rang to end the round, Damon returned to his corner, taking deep breaths and mentally preparing for the next round. Edward, breathing heavily, looked frustrated but determined.


    Thementators wrapped up their analysis as the fighters prepared for the next round.


    Michael said, "That was an interesting first round. Damon''s strategy is clear, and he''s sticking to it well. Edward''s aggression hasn''t broken through yet."


    Daniel added, "Damon''s patience and control are impressive. If he keeps this up, he could wear Edward down and find his opening. We''ll see how Edward adjusts in the next round."


    The fighters took their corners, ready to continue the fight. The crowd''s energy was high, eager to see how the match would unfold.


    Damon sat in his corner, alone with his thoughts, gazing across the ring at Edward, who was staring back at him with an intense gaze.


    This was a unique matchup, with neither fighter having a team in their corner.


    No coaches, no trainers, no cornermen to offer advice or guidance.


    Just two fighters, relying solely on their own skills, experience, and instincts to navigate the battle.


    This solitary setup created an intriguing dynamic, as both Damon and Edward had to rely on their own mental toughness and strategic thinking to outmaneuver each other.


    They had to analyze their own mistakes, adjust their tactics on the fly, and push themselves to their limits without any external support.


    The istion in the corners added an extrayer of psychologicalplexity to the fight, as both fighters knew they werepletely responsible for their own sess or failure, if they lost, they could only me themselves.


    ....


    A man, with his long ck hair tied back in a bun and a neatly trimmed beard that framed his face, sat in a dimly lit office.


    His eyes were fixed on the monitor mounted on the wall, disying the live feed of the fight between Damon and Edward.


    A sly smile spread across his face as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag.


    He exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving the screen, and muttered to himself, "Show me what you''ve got, boys."

 Chapter 75: Chapter 75: Damon Cross Vs Edward Whittaker III

    The bell rang to start the second round, and both fighters moved to the center of the cage.


    Damon and Edward faced each other, their stances ready and their eyes focused.


    Damon resumed his cautious approach, his movements calcted as he aimed to keep Edward at a distance.


    Edward, looking more serious, shifted his stance and began to press forward.


    Damon threw a low kick, which Edward blocked with his shin.


    Edward countered with a quick jab to Damon''s face,nding a light tap on his cheek. Damon felt the impact but maintained hisposure.


    He responded with a roundhouse kick aimed at Edward''s midsection. Edward dodged slightly, but Damon''s kicknded on his side.


    Michael said, "The second round is underway, and we''re already seeing a more active Edward. He''snding some strikes now, which could make things interesting."


    Daniel agreed, "Yes, Edward is pressing the action more this round. Damon is still controlling the distance, but Edward''s punches are finding their mark. Damon needs to stay sharp."


    Edward threw abination of punches, connecting with a few jabs and a right cross.


    Damon blocked most of the punches but felt a couplend on his gloves and forearms.


    Damon quickly countered with a low kick to Edward''s leg. Edward winced but continued to advance, looking for openings.


    Damonnded a side kick to Edward''s ribs, pushing him back.


    Edward stumbled slightly but quickly regained his bnce. He came back with a series of quick kicks aimed at Damon''s legs.


    Damon absorbed the kicks and retaliated with a knee strike to Edward''s torso.


    Michael remarked, "Damon''s knee strike was effective, but Edward''s kicks are bing more frequent. It''s a back-and-forth exchange now, and both fighters arending strikes."


    Daniel noted, "Damon''s patience is still a key factor, but Edward''s increasing aggression could change the dynamic of the fight. Damon needs to stay focused and adjust his strategy."


    Edward, now more aggressive,nded a solid left hook to Damon''s jaw. Damon felt the punch but shook it off and threw a powerful right kick aimed at Edward''s thigh. Edward blocked the kick but stumbled back slightly. He quickly closed the distance again, throwing a series of punches.


    Damon, feeling the pressure, blocked and dodged as best he could, but Edward''s relentless attacks began to break through his defenses. Edward''s punches startednding more frequently, and Damon''s movements became more defensive.


    Michael said, "Edward''s aggression is paying off. He''s finding more openings andnding more strikes. Damon needs to adapt quickly."


    Daniel added, "Damon''s defense is being tested now. Edward''s aggressive style is starting to wear him down. This is where Damon''s patience will be crucial."


    Damonnded a well-ced elbow to Edward''s head, causing Edward to retreat momentarily. Damon used the opportunity to catch his breath and reassess his strategy. However, Edward, undeterred, charged back in with a series of powerful hooks and uppercuts.


    Damon managed to block and dodge some of the punches, but Edward''s aggressive onught was starting to take its toll. Edwardnded a few clean shots, and Damon''s movements became more hesitant.


    Michaelmented, "We''re seeing a shift in momentum. Edward''s aggression is breaking through Damon''s defense, and this is making the fight more intense."


    Daniel agreed, "Damon needs to find a way to regain control. Edward''s relentless attacks could lead to a significant advantage if Damon can''t adjust."


    As the round continued, Edward''s aggression only intensified. He pressed forward with abination of punches and kicks, managing tond several strikes on Damon. Damon struggled to keep up with the rapid pace and the constant pressure from Edward.


    The crowd was on their feet, their cheers and shouts filling the arena. The energy in the arena was palpable as the fighters exchanged blows, each trying to gain the upper hand.


    Michael said, "This is turning into a high-paced battle. Edward is showing no signs of slowing down, and Damon is having to dig deep to keep up."


    Michaelmented, "This is turning into a high-paced battle. Edward''s aggression is breaking through Damon''s defense, and it''s making for an exciting fight."


    Edward continued his aggressive assault,nding several clean shots on Damon.


    Damon was visibly tired but remained focused. Edward''s punches werending with increasing uracy, and Damon''s movements were bing more hesitant.


    Damon attempted a low kick, but Edward anticipated it and countered with a sharp right hook. Thended cleanly on Damon''s cheek, sending a jolt to his head.


    Shaking off the impact of Edward''s right hook, his eyes locked on Edward, searching for an opening.


    Finding one, he threw a right cross with intent, but it only grazed Edward''s face.


    Edward quickly moved to try and catch Damon off guard.


    He feinted a move to the side, but Damon anticipated the strike and sidestepped. Damon saw another chance and rushed in with a powerful right hook.


    However, Edward had already anticipated Damon''s move. He dodged the punch and retaliated with a clean hit to Damon''s face.


    The impact was sharp, and Damon felt a shock as he stumbled backward.


    The crowd''s excitement grew as Edward pressed his advantage.


    Michael Bosley shouted, "This could be it! Edward''s counter has Damon where he wants him. The fight might end here!"


    Daniel Greene added, "Damon''s clearly stunned. Edward''s timing has been impable. This is a critical moment in the match."


    Edward, sensing the opportunity, threw another punch.


    Damon, still on his feet but clearly shaken and unsure of his surroundings, tried to defend.


    His movements were sluggish, and he struggled to find his footing.


    Edward prepared for a powerful overhead punch, aiming to end the fight.


    Just as he was about tounch his final blow, the bell rang loudly, signaling the end of the second round.


    The sound cut through the arena, stopping Edward''s attack and saving Damon from what could have been a decisive loss.


    Damon staggered back to his corner, breathing heavily and visibly dazed.


    As the bell rang to end the second round, thementators wasted no time in discussing the dramatic turn of events.


    Michael Bosley said, "This is one of the worst performances we''ve seen from Damon Cross in this round. He''s been caught off guard repeatedly and thatst punch from Edward nearly ended his streak. Damon''s been dominant throughoutst round, but tonight''s really been pushed to his limits."


    Daniel Greene added, "Absolutely. Edward''s aggressive style has exposed some vulnerabilities in Damon''s game. We''re seeing Damon at his most vulnerable. If he doesn''t make significant adjustments in thest round, his impressive streak coulde to a sudden end."

 Chapter 76: Chapter 76: Damon Cross Vs Edward Whittaker IV

    Damon sat on his corner stool, wiping the sweat from his face and arms with a towel.


    He took the water bottle from his cornerman and drank some water, feeling the cool liquid slide down his parched throat.


    He was struggling to catch his breath, his chest heaving with exhaustion.


    As he looked down at his hands, he saw that his palms were sweaty under his gloves. His knees felt weak, his arms heavy.


    He tried to shake off the fatigue, but it was no use. He was tired, and he knew it.


    Despite his calm exterior, Damon was nervous. He was worried that he might lose the fight if he didn''t turn things around.


    He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He needed to focus on the final round.


    Damon thought about his n for thest round. He wanted to take the fight to the ground.


    He hadn''t seen Edward do any groundwork, so he might have the upper hand. But he knew it wouldn''t be easy.


    He had to manage to pull off the takedown, and he had no practice at all.


    Damon took another sip of water, feeling it trickle down his throat.


    The bell rang for the final round, and Damon stepped out of his corner, taking a deep breath. His legs still felt heavy, but his determination pushed him forward.


    The crowd roared as both fighters moved to the center of the cage, knowing this round would decide everything.


    Edward was quick to reassert his aggressive approach, his eyes locked on Damon. He feinted with a jab, testing Damon''s reactions.


    Damon, however, was more cautious this time, keeping his guard high and his distance measured. He wasn''t about to get caught by another sudden punch.


    Damon circled to his left, keeping his footwork light. He knew he couldn''t afford to stand still and trade blows with Edward. His mind raced, calcting every move, every feint, every breath.


    Edward lunged in with a quickbination¡ªjab, cross, and a low kick¡ªbut Damon anticipated it.


    He stepped back just enough to avoid the punches, then checked the low kick with his shin.


    The impact resonated through his leg, but it wasn''t enough to make him falter.


    Damon countered with a sharp inside leg kick, catching Edward off bnce, but the shorter man quickly recovered and pressed forward again.


    Michael Bosley, thementator, spoke up, "Damon is looking more focused this round. He''s not taking unnecessary risks and is staying just out of Edward''s reach."


    Daniel Greene added, "That''s right, Michael. Damon knows he can''t afford to let Edward dictate the pace anymore. He''s got to keep moving and pick his shots carefully."


    Damon stayed on the outside, using his reach advantage to keep Edward at bay.


    He threw a quick one-twobination, snapping Edward''s head back with the jab, but Edward ducked under the follow-up cross and fired back with a hook that just grazed Damon''s cheek.


    The near-miss reminded Damon to stay vignt; Edward was still dangerous.


    Edward, sensing Damon''s caution, pushed harder. He feinted another jab and threw a powerful right hook aimed at Damon''s temple.


    Damon saw iting and ducked low, narrowly avoiding the blow. He knew he couldn''t just keep evading; he needed to make a decisive move.


    Edward kept pressing, throwing a number of punches that forced Damon to retreat.


    Damon''s back was nearly against the cage now, and Edward saw his chance.


    He rushed in with a flurry of punches, trying to pin Damon down. Damon blocked and parried as best he could, but he knew he was running out of room to maneuver.


    Then, in a split-second decision, Damon changed tactics.


    He slipped to his right just as Edward threw another wild hook, feeling the wind of the punch brush past his ear.


    Damon knew he needed to take control of the fight, and the time was now.


    Damon threw a quick jab, forcing Edward to raise his guard, and then shot in for a takedown.


    It wasn''t perfect¡ªDamon''s tired legs didn''t give him the explosive power he wanted, and Edward sprawled hard, trying to stuff the attempt.


    Damon kept pushing, driving forward with sheer determination.


    His head pressed against Edward''s midsection as he wrapped his arms around Edward''s legs, pulling with everything he had.


    For a moment, it seemed like Edward would remain standing.


    He widened his base, trying to maintain his bnce, but Damon was relentless.


    Damon adjusted his grip, gritting his teeth as he fought toplete the takedown.


    With a final burst of energy, Damon managed to lift Edward''s legs off the ground, sending him tumbling to the mat.


    The crowd erupted in cheers, recognizing the monumental effort it took for Damon to execute the takedown.


    Damonnded in Edward''s guard, immediately trying to secure his position.


    He knew his takedown had been sloppy, and Edward was already squirming beneath him, trying to break free.


    Michael eximed, "Damon gets a takedown! It seems hes gunning for groundwork, we''ve seen him submit someone, so it might be exactly what he needs to swing this fight back in his favor."


    Daniel added, "Edward was doing so well on the feet, but now he''s on his back. Let''s see if Damon can capitalize on this position and turn the tide."


    Damon tried to posture up, looking tond some ground and pound, but Edward was already working to tie him up.


    Edward wrapped his legs around Damon''s waist and pulled him close, making it difficult for Damon to create any distance.


    Damon knew he needed to be smart here. He couldn''t afford to let Edward recover and potentially scramble back to his feet.


    He pressed his forehead against Edward''s chest, keeping his weight down while he looked for an opening.


    Edward, however, wasn''t going to just lie there. He pushed against Damon''s hips, trying to create space.


    Damon responded by dropping a couple of short punches to Edward''s ribs, hoping to soften him up.


    The punches weren''t powerful, but they were enough to make Edward rethink his strategy.


    Edward suddenly shifted his hips, trying to sweep Damon off bnce, but Damon anticipated the move.


    He widened his base and rode the sweep attempt, staying on top.


    Damon then moved to half guard, pressing down on Edward''s leg with his knee, inching his way to a more dominant position.

 Chapter 77: Chapter 77: Damon Cross Vs Edward Whittaker V: Final II

    The seconds ticked by, each one feeling longer than thest. Damon''s arms burned with fatigue, but he couldn''t stop now.


    He threw a few more punches, each one finding its mark on Edward''s body.


    Edward grunted with each hit but remained active, constantly working to defend and escape.


    Michael observed, "Damon''s doing a good job of staying active on top. He''snding shots and keeping Edward on the defensive. This could be what he needs to edge out this round."


    Daniel chimed in, "But he''s got to be careful. Edward is still dangerous, even off his back. One wrong move, and Damon could find himself in a bad position."


    Damon knew this too. He couldn''t let up, but he also couldn''t get reckless.


    He needed to maintain control and avoid making any mistakes that could give Edward an opening.


    Edward suddenly exploded with another burst of energy, using his legs to push Damon away.


    Damon nearly lost his bnce but quickly dropped his weight back down, staying in control.


    He took a deep breath, feeling the strain in his muscles, but forced himself to keep going.


    Damon shifted his weight, moving to side control. This was better¡ªhe had more control and more options for attacking.


    He pressed his forearm against Edward''s neck, applying pressure, while he used his other hand tond a few short punches to Edward''s head.


    Edward twisted his body, trying to turn into Damon, but Damon stayed heavy on top, making it difficult for Edward to move.


    Damon then tried to slide his knee across Edward''s chest, aiming to mount, but Edward blocked it with his arm.


    Michael noted, "Damon''s trying to advance to mount, but Edward is doing a good job of defending. This is a battle of wills right now."


    Daniel added, "This is where conditioninges into y. Both fighters are exhausted, but whoever can push through the fatigue will have the advantage."


    Damon could feel his energy waning, but he couldn''t stop now.


    He had Edward on the ground, and he needed to make the most of it. He threw a few more punches, trying to wear Edward down.


    Each punch was a struggle, his arms feeling like they were made of lead, but he kept going.


    Edward, sensing Damon''s fatigue, made another attempt to escape.


    He bridged his hips, trying to buck Damon off, but Damon clung to him, staying low and keeping his weight centered.


    Damon knew he needed to do something more if he wanted to win this fight.


    He decided to try for a submission.


    Damon felt the seconds slipping away, each one bringing him closer to the final bell.


    He knew he had to finish this fight if he wanted to win. With Edward still beneath him, Damon thought about his next move.


    He wasn''t in a great position for a choke, but he had to try something.


    Edward, sensing Damon''s hesitation, tried to squirm out from underneath.


    Damon tightened his hold on him, pressing down with all his weight to keep Edward grounded.


    Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes, but he couldn''t afford to lose focus now.


    Michael''s voice echoed in his mind, "Damon needs to find a way to end this. The clock is ticking, and Edward is still in the fight."


    Daniel added, "If Damon doesn''t secure something soon, this could go to the judges. And with how close this fight has been, that''s a risky gamble."


    Damon shifted his weight, trying to position himself better for a submission.


    He knew a guillotine choke could end it, but he wasn''t in the right spot yet.


    He needed to get Edward''s head under his arm, but Edward wasn''t making it easy.


    Edward pushed against Damon''s chest, trying to create some space.


    Damon resisted, but he could feel his grip slipping.


    The exhaustion was taking its toll. His arms felt like they were jelly.


    With a sudden burst of desperation, Damon pushed himself up slightly, adjusting his position.


    He tried to maneuver Edward''s head under his arm, but Edward twisted away, trying to escape.


    Damon growled in frustration, knowing he was running out of time.


    Michaelmented, "Damon is trying to go for a guillotine, but he''s struggling to get the right position. Edward is doing a great job defending."


    Daniel responded, "Damon needs to dig deep here. He has to force this submission, or he risks letting Edward off the hook."


    Damon pushed forward again, trying to slip his arm under Edward''s chin.


    Edward blocked him, pushing Damon''s arm away. Damon''s heart pounded in his chest.


    He could feel the pressure mounting his back every passing second.


    He decided to try something different. Instead of forcing the choke, he used his weight to press Edward down, making it harder for him to move.


    Damon then quickly switched his grip, sliding his arm around Edward''s neck from the side. It wasn''t perfect, but it was his best shot.


    Edward realized what was happening and tried to roll away, but Damon held him down, his forearm pressing into Edward''s throat.


    Damon squeezed as hard as he could, but he still didn''t have the leverage he needed. Edward''s arms iled, trying to pry Damon''s grip loose.


    The crowd roared as they watched the struggle unfold.


    He knew everyone was on the edge of their seats, waiting to see who woulde out on top.


    Michael''s voice rose with excitement, "Damon has got the guillotine! But it''s not fully locked in yet¡ªhe needs to secure it quickly!"


    Daniel added, "Edward is fighting with everything he''s got! Damon has to adjust, or this might slip through his fingers, the time doesn''t seem to allow for Edward''s struggle!"


    Damon gritted his teeth, trying to shift his position without losing his grip.


    He moved his legs, wrapping them around Edward''s body to keep him from rolling away.


    This gave him a bit more control, but it still wasn''t enough.


    Edward struggled beneath him, his movements growing more frantic as the choke tightened.


    Damon knew he was close¡ªhe just needed a bit more leverage.


    With one final effort, he adjusted his grip, pulling Edward''s head deeper under his arm.


    He felt the choke finally lock in, the pressure on Edward''s neck increasing.


    Michael shouted, "He''s got it! Damon finally locked in the guillotine!"


    Daniel eximed, "This could be it! Edward is in deep trouble now!"

 Chapter 78: Chapter 78: Damon Cross vs. Edward Whittaker VI: The End

    Damon squeezed with everything he had left, feeling his muscles burn with the effort.


    Edward''s struggles slowed, his resistance weakening as the choke took effect.


    Damon could feel the seconds ticking down, but he held on, refusing to let go.


    Edward''s hands wed weakly at Damon''s arms, but there was no escape.


    Damon could feel the victory within his hands.


    He just needed to hold on a little longer. The roar of the crowd was a distraction, but Damon didn''t lose his focus.


    Damon tightened his grip, forcing every bit of his remaining strength into the choke. His muscles screamed with the effort as he held on tightly.


    Edward''s struggles continued to weaken, his attempts to escape growing increasingly feeble.


    For a moment, he seemed to regain some fight, his arms moving sluggishly in ast, desperate effort.


    But as the choke deepened, his movements began to slow again.


    The referee moved in to check Edward''s condition. He lifted Edward''s arm, letting it drop to the mat.


    It fell limply, but when he checked again, there was a bit of strength remaining. Edward''s arm still had some resistance, though it was weak.


    Damon, determined, kept the choke tight, feeling victory was close.


    Just as Edward''s resistance seemed to be fadingpletely, the bell rang, signaling the end of the round. The referee stepped in, waving his arms to stop the match.


    The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and confusion with some other booing.


    Damon, panting heavily, released the choke and sank back onto the mat, convinced he had secured the win.


    The referee moved over to Edward, who was still unconscious.


    After checking Edward, the referee looked up and spoke quietly to the judges at ringside.


    Damon, exhausted and with his hands on his knees, watched intently.


    He could see the referee exchanging words with the judges but couldn''t make out what was being said, they seem to be looking on a screen of a tablet. Maybe they were confirming the time.


    Finally, the referee turned back to Damon. "The match ended before Edward was fully unconscious or could tap," he said. "When I checked Edward''s arm the second time, it still had some strength. We can''t dere a winner right now. We checked the time and recording, and it shows that Edward went unconscious after the bell rang. The decision will be up to the judges."


    Damon''s face showed a mix of disappointment and confusion. He slumped against the cage, his head hanging as he tried to process the news.


    Michael said, "What a dramatic finish! Damon had Edward in a tight guillotine choke, but the bell rang before Edward could fully go out or tap."


    Daniel added, "It''s a tough break for Damon. The fight now goes to the judges, as the choke didn''t result in a clear finish before the round ended."


    As Damon sat on the mat, catching his breath and absorbing the news, the medical team quickly moved in to attend to Edward.


    The crowd watched in silence, waiting for the final decision.


    Edward slowly began to regain consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, and he groaned, disoriented.


    The medical team worked swiftly, checking his vital signs and ensuring he was stable.


    They gently ced an oxygen mask over his face and checked his responsiveness.


    One of the medical staff asked Edward a few questions to assess his condition, while another team member monitored his heartbeat and breathing.


    Edward''s responses were slow, but he seemed to be regaining some awareness.


    Thementators provided updates as the situation unfolded. Michael said, "The medical team is attending to Edward now. It''s good to see him starting to wake up. They''re making sure everything is alright before any final decision is made."


    Daniel added, "The medical staff is always thorough in their checks, and Edward''s condition seems to be stable. It''s a crucial moment as the judges prepare to make their decision."


    Damon watched with a mixture of relief and frustration.


    He had given everything in that final round, but the oue was now out of his hands.


    The medical team finished their checks and gave a thumbs-up to thementators. Michael said, "It''s reassuring to see that Edward seems to be in good condition. The medical team has cleared him, and now we await the final decision."


    Daniel added, "Edward appears to be stable, which is great news. Now, the judges will decide the oue of this intense fight."


    As the medical team left the cage, Damon saw the judges gathering with the referee and the announcer.


    They handed the announcer a piece of paper. The announcer nced at the paper and then looked at Damon.


    Damon''s heart sank as he saw the announcer''s gaze shift towards him.


    The referee and announcer approached the cage. The referee helped Edward to his feet, and Edward walked over to Damon, extending a hand. They pulled each other into a hug.


    Damon whispered, "No matter the results, man, you made me fight hard, and I appreciate and respect that. Thank you."


    Edward nodded in agreement. "Thank you as well."


    The referee, seeing the sportsmanship between the fighters, cleared his throat. "Okay,e on," he said, taking both fighters'' hands and guiding them to the center of the cage.


    ****


    In the Office.


    Mr. Steele''s eyes were fixed on the monitor, his expression a mix of surprise and intrigue.


    He leaned forward, his hands on the table, and said, "Well, I didn''t expect this." He stood, and walked closer to the monitor, his eyes scanning the scene.


    "With that fight, I should''ve made you main event," he muttered to himself, a hint of regret in his voice. He shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the screen.


    The monitor showed Damon and Edward embracing, their faces filled with respect and admiration for each other.


    ***


    The announcer stepped forward, holding the piece of paper. He raised his microphone and addressed the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a decision regarding this match."

 Chapter 79: Chapter 79: The Decision

    The crowd was waiting for the announcer to speak already, even though this wasn''t the UFA, during the fight they had be attached to the fighters.


    The announcer stepped forward, his voice cutting through the loud noise of the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began,


    "we have reached the moment you''ve all been waiting for. This is the official decision for the match between Damon Cross and Edward Whittaker."


    The audience went silent, following his every word making sure they didn''t even miss one word.


    The announcer held up the scorecards, his face serious as he looked at the results.


    "After three intense rounds of action," he continued, "we have the official scorecards. The judges have rendered their decision based on the performance of both fighters throughout the match."


    He paused for a moment, letting the tension build up, any announcer knew how to utilize their words and timing.


    The crowd was on the edge of their seats, waiting for the announcement. The announcer looked at the scores, then at the fighters in the cage.


    "The first judge scores the bout 29-28." he announced. The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and murmurs.


    "The second judge scores it 28-29." he said.


    "And the third judge scores it 29-28."


    The crowd''s reaction was a mixture of cheers and apuse, with some fans clearly pleased while others were still processing the news.


    The announcer raised his microphone high. "Therefore, THE WINNER BY MAJORITY DECISION........


    DAMON CROOOOSSSS!"


    The crowd cheered as the announced yelled on the mic, creating a earbusting sound.


    Damon''s face showed a mix of relief and tion, a close win, he never wants to let the decision fall to the judges hands.


    He dropped to his knees in the center of the cage, his arms pumping the air as he celebrated.


    His fists clenched tightly, and he shouted in pride. The crowd cheered loudly, their support for Damon clear as day.


    Thementators'' voices were filled with excitement as they discussed the oue.


    Michael Bosley said, "What a finish! Damon Cross pulls out a victory by Majority decision after an exciting fight. It was a hard-fought battle from start to finish."


    Daniel Greene added, "Absolutely. Both fighters gave it their all, but Damon''s performance was just enough to edge out Edward. It''s been an incredible night of action."


    Announcer stepped back, allowing the fighters to enjoy their moment. "What a fight I''ve seen tonight," he mumbled to himself.


    Edward stood at the edge of the cage, his face twisted in disappointment. He looked like he had. just been told his whole world was crashing down around him.


    Damon could understand why Edward felt that way.


    He had probably been given a second chance by Mr. Steelest time, and losing this fight must have hurt him deeply.


    But Damon didn''t have time to worry about Edward''s feelings right now. He had just secured himself a great deal, and this was his big break.


    He was still kneeling on the mat, his arms raised in victory, and a huge smile spreading across his face.


    He couldn''t wait to meet his new team and coaches.


    He had never had the chance to spar with anyone before, so Mr. Steele''s offer was a dreame true.


    Damon felt like he was walking on air as he thought about all the improvements he would make in his training.


    He would get to train with the best fighters in the world well thats what he hoped at least, learn new techniques outside the system, and improve his skills.


    He would have ess to top-notch facilities and equipment, and he would be able to focus on his fighting career without worrying about money.


    Damon''s smile grew even wider as he thought about his future. He knew that he had a long way to go, but just the feeling of each achievement was worth celebrating.


    Damon shook the referee''s hand and then shook the announcer''s hand. He looked out at the crowd, staring around the room.


    Edward had already left, but Damon didn''t notice. Although the crowd was small, with fewer than 400 people, Damon closed his eyes and envisioned something bigger.


    He envisioned 400 people bing 40,000 fans.


    He kept his eyes closed for a moment, enjoying the feeling of having a huge crowd in front of him.


    He could feel the energy of the crowd, the noise and the excitement.


    He could see the faces of the people, all looking at him with admiration and respect.


    But when he opened his eyes, the vision ended. The small crowd came back into focus.


    However, the feeling of greatness he had experienced stayed alive in his heart.


    Damon smiled, knowing that one day his vision would be a reality.


    The crowd was still looking at him, waiting to see what he would do next. Damon smiled at them, thanking them for their support. Then, he turned and walked out of the cage.


    The sound of the crowd faded away as Damon walked away.


    The moment Damon got out of the hall, fresh air hit him, making him sigh in relief.


    He walked towards his room, his feet carrying him on autopilot as his mind reyed the fight.


    On the way, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned around, and his eyes met Edward''s.


    "Ay man, great fight," Damon said, giving Edward a nod of respect. Edward shook his head, his eyes cast downward.


    "Nah, it''s all you, you were better," he started to say, but before he could continue, a voice interrupted them.


    "You two." Damon and Edward turned to look at who was speaking. They saw Mr. Steele standing there, his signature look of a ck suit and hair in a bun.


    "After your shower,e see me in my office," Mr. Steele said, his voice firm but polite. "I''ll see you, Edward, first."


    He turned and started walking away, his heels clicking on the floor.


    Then, he paused and turned back to them. "Congrattions on your win, Damon," he said with a small smile.


    He continued on his way, leaving Damon and Edward standing there.


    Damon watched Mr. Steele walk away, feeling a load of emotions.


    He was excited to meet with Mr. Steele, but he was also nervous.

 Chapter 80: Chapter 80: Elixir Shop

    They both finished their showers pretty quickly. Especially Damon, he was just happy to win and wanted to hear what Mr. Steele would say.


    He dried himself off, putting on clean clothes.


    As he got out of the shower room, Edward was already waiting outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.


    Damon walked towards him, his feet making a soft sound on the floor. Edward looked up, his eyes meeting Damon''s.


    Damon smiled, still feeling the excitement of his win. Edward nodded, a small smile on his face.


    "You ready?" Edward asked, pushing himself off the wall.


    "Yeah, let''s go," Damon replied, his heart beating slightly faster with anticipation.


    They walked to the office, and it didn''t take long since both of them knew its location.


    The office was just down the hall from the fight arena, and they had passed by it many times before.


    Arriving there, Damon sat down on the chair next to the door, adjusting his position to getfortable.


    "You can go in, he said he wanted to talk to you first," Damon said to Edward, nodding towards the door. Edward nodded back, pushing the door open and stepping inside.


    Damon didn''t stay just because Mr. Steele said so, but he also wanted to check out his system interface first.


    He had been waiting for this moment since he got the quest and he couldn''t wait to see the reward he had earned.


    After all, he had justpleted a quest, and it was time to check his reward. He grinned to himself, this was going to be a game changer.


    Before doing anything, he checked if there were any cameras in the room, he didn''t want to be seen pressing or looking at an invisible screen.


    He nced around the room, his eyes scanning the walls and ceiling.


    Luckily, no cameras were present. The hallway was empty and quiet.


    With that out of the way, Damon focused on his system interface.


    He opened the quest tab, and the notifications kept pouring in, echoing in his mind.


    [Congrattions onpleting the quest and winning your 3 fights]


    [Reward: ess to the Elixir shop]


    He smiled, his physical stats had been stuck on F+ and he had no way to improve his mentality,


    while he could meditate to increase his focus, what about awareness? He had no idea on how to improve it, so maybe the elixirs could help.


    He just hoped they weren''t overly expensive, that he couldn''t afford them.


    Speaking of awareness, it probably focused on knowing how to dodge and spotting weak spots.


    He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the screen as he waited for the shop to open.


    Damon saw the shop appear on his screen. First, he checked his coins. He saw the three digits: 130.


    He had earned 10 coins from hisst match and spent 8 coins on the usual expense from the system, which was water.


    He hoped 130 coins were enough in this shop to get good elixirs.


    The screen showed a long list of elixirs.


    <<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>


    ¡ñSpeed Training Enhancement Elixirs (click to choose Rank)


    ¡ñStrength Training Enhancement Elixirs (click to choose Rank)


    ¡ñStamina Training Enhancement Elixirs (click to choose Rank)


    ....


    <<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>


    Damon''s eyes widened as he scrolled through the list. But as he looked closer, he saw that there were no elixirs for any mental stats.


    He had been hoping to find something to improve his awareness, but it seemed like that wasn''t an option.


    What surprised him was that the elixirs were catered for each stat, not for the entire body.


    Each stat had its own elixirs, like speed training enhancement elixirs, strength training enhancement elixirs, and more.


    It seemed like he would have to work through each stat independently from now on.


    He had been thinking that he could just buy one elixir and improve all his stats at once, but now he realized it wasn''t that simple.


    He would have to choose which stat to prioritize and buy an elixir for that specific stat.


    He looked at the list again, trying to decide which elixir to buy first.


    He saw that the elixirs had ranks, so he pressed on one to see the details.


    This also gave him a broad view of how many ranks there were. It was from F to S, and it seemed he still had a long way to go.


    He thought about his favorite fighters from UFA and wondered where they would be if he were to measure them with this power system.


    He moved on, and it seemed each rank had its own price.


    He saw the S rank, and his mindgged a bit, stuttering. He couldn''t even think of the number. It was too high.


    He moved on, scrolling down, and found health elixirs.


    ''Can I cure Cancer now?"


    He saw that the health elixirs didn''t have ranks, but they focused on different injuries that could happen in each body part.


    They weren''t exactly expensive, but most of them were for small injuries. He was sure that if he kept scrolling, he would find crazy numbers.


    And so he did, Damon''s eyes widened as he scrolled through the list.


    He saw elixirs for broken bones, muscle strains, and even internal injuries.


    Each one had a specific price, and he wondered how much it would cost to heal a serious injury.


    He kept scrolling, his eyes scanning the list quickly. He saw elixirs for poison, burns, and even mental health.


    It seemed like the elixir shop had everything he needed to stay healthy and strong.


    Damon closed the system, looking up, and things were definitely looking up as well.


    As he thought, he heard the door to the office open, and he saw Edwarding out with a determined look on his face.


    Edward didn''t look like he had before, when he seemed like he had lost hope. Instead, he looked like he had just received some good news.


    Edward said goodbye to Damon and left, walking down the hallway with steps that''ll make you think he was the one who won the match tonight.


    Damon watched him go, wondering what had happened in the office to change Edward''s demeanor so drastically.


    Then, Damon heard Mr. Steele''s voice calling out to him. "Damon,e in please," he said. Damon stood up, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.


    He walked over to the office door and pushed it open, stepping inside and closing the door shut behind him.


    SHUT!!

 Chapter 81: Chapter 81: Call Me Victor Instead

    Damon closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath as he turned around to face Mr. Steele.


    He had expected to see the usual serious expression, with Mr. Steele''s hands gesturing emphatically as he spoke, and a cold, piercing gaze that seemed to bore into his soul.


    But instead, he was met with a wide, warm smile that seemed to light up the entire room.


    Mr. Steele stood up from his chair, sliding it back as he rose, and made his way towards Damon.


    He stretched out his arms, and Damon, caught off guard, hesitated for a moment before taking them.


    He was pulled into a firm, hearty hug, with Mr. Steele''s arms wrapping tightly around him.


    "Congrattions, Kid," Mr. Steele said, his voice filled with genuine warmth and enthusiasm.


    Damon was taken aback by the sudden disy of affection, but he couldn''t help but feel a sense of pride and aplishment.


    He had worked hard to earn this moment, and it felt amazing to have someone acknowledge his efforts.


    As they hugged, Damon could feel the tension in his body begin to ease, reced by a sense of relief and excitement.


    He had been wondering what Mr. Steele wanted to discuss, and now he was beginning to think that it might be something good.(obviously)


    Mr. Steele pulled back, still smiling, and pped Damon on the back. "You''ve done incredibly well, Damon," he said, his eyes shining with pride. "I think it''s time we talked about your future."


    Mr. Steele looked at Damon with a serious expression, his eyes locked on his. "So, I promised a lot of benefits to you, and you held your side high, fought hard, and won," he said, his voice filled with a sense of pride and satisfaction.


    Damon nodded, acknowledging the challenge that Mr. Steele had presented to him. He had pushed himself harder than he thought possible, and it had paid off.


    Mr. Steele continued, his voice taking on a more thoughtful tone. "So, look, I want to ask you something. What do you think about moving to LA?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Damon''s face.


    Damon''s heart skipped a beat as he considered the question. Move to LA?


    The thought sent a mix of emotions swirling through his mind. He had been dreaming of living in a big city, but the reality of it was daunting.


    Did he and his mother have enough money to survive there? The cost of living in LA was notoriously high, and he wasn''t sure if they could afford it.


    As he thought about it, his mind wandered to Joey, who was also in LA. He hadn''t spoken to Joey in a long time, and he wondered how he was doing.


    Joey was probably busy with college, and Damon was busy with his fighting career. So he made a note to reach out to him.


    But for now, he had to focus on Mr. Steele''s question. Moving to LA would be a big change, but it could also be a great opportunity.


    He thought about the benefits that Mr. Steele had promised, the training, the coaching, and the exposure.


    It could be just what he needed to take his fighting career to the next level.


    Damon took a deep breath, considering his options carefully. He looked at Mr. Steele, his eyes locked on his. "I''m interested," he said finally, his voice firm and resolute. "But I need to think about it, and talk to my mother. We need to make sure it''s the right decision for us."


    Mr. Steele nodded, understanding Damon''s need to think about the move to LA. He walked over to the table, pulled out a fat envelope, and handed it to Damon.


    The envelope was thick, filled with papers and documents that Damon couldn''t wait to examine.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he took the envelope, feeling like he had just be a millionaire. He looked at Mr. Steele, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Stee-" but he was cut off as Mr. Steele shook his head.


    "Call me Victor, from now on we work together towards amon goal," Mr. Steele said, his eyes shining with a warm smile.


    Damon nodded, feeling a sense of relief and excitement. He had never felt so supported and encouraged in his life.


    "Thank you, Victor," Damon said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I''ll make sure I don''t disappoint you." He looked down at the envelope.


    He knew that this was just the beginning of his journey, and it would not end until he reached, S-Rank.


    Victor smiled, seeming to sense Damon''s determination. "I know you won''t, Damon," he said, his voice filled with confidence. "You have the heart of a champion, and I''m excited to see you grow and develop as a fighter."


    He paused, his eyes locked on Damon''s. "Now, take some time to review the documents in the envelope. We''ll discuss the details of your contract and the ns for your future in the Steel Team."


    Damon asked, his curiosity getting the better of him, "Steel Team?" Victor chuckled, a warm, rich sound that filled the room. "Bad, right? It''s a working progress, still could change," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.


    Damon smiled, feeling a sense of relief that Victor was approachable and down-to-earth.


    Victor smiled, "Go on now, I''m sure your mother will be proud of you. Also, there''s a drafted contract inside, see if you like the terms. If not, we''ll discuss it. You''ll find a reward inside for your win."


    Damon nodded, holding the envelope tight as if it contained a precious treasure, and it did. "Thank you again, Mr. Steele," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. He turned to leave, and quickly shut the door behind him.


    On the other side of the door, Victor called out, "Just call me Victor, man. Now I feel old." He chuckled, shaking his head, and leaned back in his chair, a rxed, contented expression on his face.


    As he sat there, he mumbled to himself, "Oh, kid, I hope you''re able to do it." The words were spoken softly, almost to himself, but they held a hint of uncertainty and concern.


    Despite this, Victor couldn''t help but feel a sense of confidence and hope. Maybe, just maybe, this kid was thest chance he had been waiting for.

 Chapter 82: Chapter 82: Matthew, Youre Biggest Fan!!

    Damon made his way out of the office, a wide smile still stered on his face.


    He stood there for a moment, savoring the feeling of excitement and anticipation.


    He looked down at the envelope in his hand, his fingers itching to open it and examine its contents.


    But he resisted the temptation.


    He wanted to share this moment with his mother, the person who had been with him throughout his journey, even before he picked up fighting.


    He thought back to all the times his mother had supported him, encouraged him, and pushed him to be his best self.


    He remembered the early morning training sessions, his mother would join him when training, even though she stopped due to now working, Damon didn''t and would never forget.


    Damon''s heart swelled with love and gratitude as he thought about sharing this news with his mother.


    He couldn''t wait to see the look of pride and joy on her face.


    He imagined her tears of happiness, her warm hugs, and her words of encouragement.


    Nothing beat the feeling of sharing happiness with his mother.


    He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. He knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in his life.


    He couldn''t wait to see his career skyrocket, think he was overconfident? Talk to his fist.


    Damon went to the room assigned to him,.


    He walked over to the corner, where his backpack was leaning against the wall. He picked it up, feeling the familiar weight of his gear inside.


    The backpack was a practical solution for carrying his equipment, but he knew it wouldn''t be enough for their uing move to LA.


    As he zipped up the backpack, Damon thought about the logistics of their move.


    They would need more bags, suitcases, or boxes to pack their clothes and belongings.


    He imagined the two of them, lugging multiple bags through the airport or train station. It was a daunting task, but Damon was excited for the adventure.


    He thought about his mother''s reaction to the idea of moving to LA. He couldn''t imagine her rejecting the proposal.


    LA was a city full of opportunities, and Damon was sure that Mr. Steele would cover the expenses.


    What reason would she have to say no? The thought of starting a new life in a new city, with his mother by his side, was just convincing already.


    Damon slung the backpack over his shoulder.


    As Damon walked out of the room, he made his way out of the building, the sound of the crowd''s cheers still echoing in his ears.


    The show was still going on, with probably only a few fights left in the card.


    He could hear the roar of the audience, and the loudmentary of the announcers.


    As he stepped out of the building, the cool night air hit him, a wee relief after the hot and stuffy atmosphere inside.


    It was dark already, the sun having dipped below the horizon, casting a dark blue hue over the city.


    The lights of the building and the surrounding streets illuminated the darkness, creating a warm and lively ambiance.


    Damon got patted down by the guards, a routine security check, before they let him out.


    He nodded at them in appreciation, feeling a sense of gratitude for their diligence.


    As he made his way to hail a taxi, he scanned the street, looking for a vacant cab.


    The sidewalk was bustling with people, some of whom were still streaming out of the building, while others were heading in the opposite direction.


    The sound of car horns, chatter, andughter filled the air, creating a lively and energetic atmosphere.


    Just as Damon was about to raise his hand to hail a taxi, he noticed two figures approaching him.


    He looked closer, trying to make out their features in the dim light.


    One was a kid, probably around 10-12 years old, with a messy mop of hair and a big smile on his face.


    The other was a grown man, tall and imposing, with a serious expression on his face.


    Damon''s curiosity was piqued, wondering who these two were and what they wanted.


    He suddenly saw the kid run towards him, his little legs moving as fast as they could.


    The man chasing after him, calling out "Matthew, wait!" But the kid didn''t stop until he reached Damon.


    He looked up at him with admiration, his eyes shining with excitement. "Damon Cross! I''m your biggest fan! Dad says you''re going ces, I think you''re the greatest! I wanna be like you one day!" the kid began rambling, his words tumbling out in a rush.


    Damon froze, not knowing what to say. This was his first encounter with a fan, and he was taken aback by the kid''s enthusiasm.


    He looked up at the boy''s father, who was scratching his head, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement on his face. "Sorry, man," he said, looking at the boy. "Matthew, I told you to be polite."


    Although his voice was reprimanding, it was soft, and Damon could tell he wasn''t really mad at the kid.


    Damon shook his head, smiling. "It''s fine," he said, looking at the kid. He went down on one knee, so he could be at eye level with Matthew. "I''m happy to have a big fan like you, Matthew."


    Matthew''s eyes lit up even more, and he asked, his voice full of excitement, "Really? Can I get your autograph?" Damon was about to say he didn''t have a pen, but like magic, the boy had one and a paper.


    Damon took the paper, and paused, feeling a little rusty.


    It had been a long time since he held a pen, and he wondered what his signature autograph should be. He smiled, thinking about it for a moment.


    His hand moved, writing "Damon" in a cursive style, and he scratched it with a cross, signifying Damon Cross.


    The kid took the autograph, his eyes shining with joy. "Thank you, thank you so much!" he eximed, hugging the paper to his chest.


    The dad said goodbye, and Damon watched as they walked away, the kid still bubbling with excitement.


    Damon couldn''t help but feel a sense of great fulness and happiness.


    He had made a difference in someone''s life, and that felt amazing.


    But despite that happiness, looking at the backs of the father and son, he couldn''t help but feel....


    Just maybe, maybe if things had been different.

 Chapter 83: Chapter 83: A Bond That Could Never Broken

    Damon arrived pretty quickly at the motel, maybe he was too happy to notice the distance.


    The taxi ride had flown by in a blur, and before he knew it, he was standing outside the motel, paying the fare.


    As he handed over the money, he couldn''t help but think back to that kid, Matthew.


    The little boy''s words of admiration had left a warm feeling in his chest, and he couldn''t help but smile as he remembered the encounter.


    It felt good to have someone tell you you''re great, even if it was a child.


    But somehow, it felt even more meaningfuling from a kid.


    Maybe it was because children were always honest, or maybe it was because they looked up to you with such wide eyes and innocent faces.


    But as he walked towards the motel room, he also felt a sense of obligation creeping in.


    He couldn''t let that kid down, not now that he had been told he was someone''s hero.


    He couldn''t let Mr. Steele down, not after all the faith he had ced in him or the investment he would make.


    He couldn''t let his mother down, not after all they had been through together.


    Andst but not least, he couldn''t let himself down.


    The pressure was mounting, and Damon could feel the weight of expectation settling on his shoulders.


    His own expectations.


    He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of responsibility.


    He loved what he was doing, and he didn''t want to look at it as an obligation or a burden.


    He wanted to enjoy the journey, to savor the moments of victory, and learn from the moments of defeat.


    He was about to open the door, but paused on the handle.


    His mind suddenly shed back to Mr. Steele''s question, "Why do you fight?" He had tried to answer, saying that he wanted to provide for his family, but Mr. Steele hadn''t epted that answer.


    Now, standing outside his motel room, Damon felt like he had finally found the truth.


    He thought about the rush of adrenaline he felt when he stepped into the cage, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of victory. He thought about the sweat, the blood, the tears.


    He thought about the pain, the exhaustion, the tion. And in that moment, he knew. He liked the fight. He loved the fight.


    A slow smile spread across his face as he realized the truth.


    It wasn''t just about providing for his family, or making a name for himself. It was about the fight itself.


    Understanding the beauty and enjoyment within a fight.


    He entered the motel room, and was immediately attacked by the scent of good food.


    His stomach growled in anticipation as he closed the door behind him.


    He looked around the room, and his eyesnded on his mom who was cooking on the stove they had purchasedst time.


    "Mom, I''m back!" Damon called out, a wide smile still stered on his face.


    Aoife looked up from the stove, and the moment she saw Damon''s bright smile, she knew.


    Mothers always knew when something was up with their children.


    "I knew you could do it!" she eximed, a warm smile spreading across her face. She lowered the temperature on the stove and walked towards Damon, holding out her hands.


    "What?" Damon was confused, unsure what she was referring to.


    "Do you think I forgot? You told me that this is the fight you''ve been waiting for," she said, her eyes sparkling with pride. Damon''s expression changed from confusion to surprise.


    Damon looked at his mom, and saw the sincerity in her eyes. She was genuinely proud of him, and it felt amazing.


    "Wait, you want to hear about my fight?" Damon asked, still in disbelief. Aoife nodded enthusiastically, her hands still holding his.


    "Yes, I do! I want to know everything. What was it like?" Her voice was filled with excitement, and Damon couldn''t help but feel a sense of joy.


    Damon looked at his mom''s eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity.


    But all he saw was genuine curiosity, a desire to know more about her son''s life.


    And so he did, Damon began, painting an image for his mother, who listened intently.


    He told her about every round, every punch, every kick, and every moment of doubt.


    His mother listened, her eyes sparkling with excitement, as she moved between the stove and the table, checking on the food and nodding along to Damon''s story.


    As Damon spoke, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders.


    He had never shared his fighting experiences with anyone before, not like this.


    Joey had gone to LA, and he didn''t have friends to talk to about his fights.


    He had always kept his emotions and thoughts locked away, but now, with his mother, he felt like he could finally open up.


    His mother asked questions, "What was going through your mind in the second round?" or "How did you feel when the judges announced your win?"


    Damon rolled his eyes, a yful smile spreading across his face. "Well, mom, you''re starting to sound like a reporter now," he teased, chuckling at his mom''s enthusiastic questioning.


    Aoifeughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, you''re going to be talking to them in the future, so I''m prepping you," she joked, winking at her son.


    "You know, so you don''t stutter," she added, her voice filled with mock seriousness.


    Damonughed, feeling a sense offort and familiarity with his mom''s yful banter. "Okay, mom," he said, standing up from the table.


    He stretched his arms above his head, feeling a sense of rxation wash over him. "I need a shower," he announced, making his way towards the bathroom. "I''ll be right back," he called out, disappearing into the bathroom.


    Aoife nodded, watching her son disappear into the bathroom.


    She then looked at the door, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Didn''t you say you always shower at that ce?" she mumbled to herself, her brow furrowed in confusion.


    She shook her head and went back into cooking.


    As she finished cooking, Aoife leaned against the wall, her eyes gazing out the window.


    She thought about what she did today, and a small sigh escaped her lips.


    She had always been hesitant to talk about fights, to discuss the details of Damon''s fights.


    The memories of her own past, the trauma she had endured, still lingered.


    But today was different. Today, she had felt a sense of joy, of connection with her son.


    She wanted to share such moments with Damon, to be a part of his life, to show him that she cared.


    Her trauma was a small sacrifice, she told herself, if it meant she could be there for her son.


    She knew Damon was growing, maturing, and soon he would be making his own way in the world.


    Who knew when he would find a beautiful girl, and they would run off to who knows where?


    She liked the idea of Damon starting her own life, so she wanted to enjoy the moments they had now.

 Chapter 84: Chapter 84: The Scars of the Past

    Damon stood in front of the mirror, his eyes scanning the reflection that stared back at him.


    His face was a mess of bruises, a testament to the intense fight he had just endured.


    Although he had said he was going to shower, he found himself drawn to the mirror, his impatience getting the better of him.


    He wanted to test the health elixir, to see if it would really work as promised.


    As he looked at his reflection, Damon''s gaze drifted to the scars that covered his body.


    He slowly pulled off his shirt, the fabric sliding down his arms like a gentle caress.


    He turned his back against the mirror, his eyes fixed on the scar that ran from his shoulder to his lower back.


    It was a reminder of a painful past, a past that he tried to keep hidden.


    Damon''s mind began to wander as he stared at the scar. He remembered the day he got it, the day his father''s anger had boiled over.


    He was just a kid, no more than 8 years old, and he had made the mistake of making noise while his father was watching a fight.


    The memory still made him tremble with fear.


    He was a damn kid, no one deserved to be treated that way. His father''s words still echoed in his mind, the sound of his voice like a p in the face.


    ''YOU LITTLE SHIT, CAN''T YOU SEE IM BUSY, IF **** LOSES AND I LOSE MY BET I WILL KILL YOU!!''


    Damon clenched his fist, his anger and frustration simmering just below the surface.


    As he stood there, frozen in the past, Damon''s thoughts turned to the health elixir.


    He had been skeptical at first, but something about it drew him in.


    Maybe it was the promise of healing, of erasing the scars that covered his body. Maybe it was the hope of finding a way to escape the pain of his past.


    Whatever it was, Damon knew he had to try it. He couldn''t shake the feeling that the health elixir was the key to unlocking a new chapter in his life.


    He took a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on the scar. He knew it wouldn''t erase the memories, but maybe, just maybe, it could help him heal.


    Damon sighed, releasing his fist and noticing that his hand was red, with tiny nail marks on his palm.


    He had clenched his fist so tightly, lost in the memories of his past. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and opened the system interface shop.


    His eyes scanned the various items listed, but his gaze quickly settled on the Healing elixir.


    He red at the description, his eyes scanning the words: "Heals bruises, 3-day process."


    Damon didn''t care about the time frame; he had carried his emotional bruises for years, what were a few days?


    He thought about it, weighing the possibilities. If it worked, if it really helped, he could finally find some peace.


    He looked at the door, thinking about his mother. He would help her, of course. He wouldn''t give her the elixir directly, but maybe disguise it as water, since it seemed to resemble it.


    Damon''s eyes drifted back to the price: 20 coins. It wasn''t a heavy price to pay, not for the promise of healing.


    He didn''t waste any more time, his mind made up. He clicked the "Buy" button, and the system prompted him:


    [DING! ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO BUY THE HEALING ELIXIR?]


    [Y/N?]


    Damon quickly clicked "Yes". The system responded:


    [YOU HAVE PURCHASED THE HEALING ELIXIR, YOU HAVE 24 HOURS TO USE IT BEFORE IT EXPIRES AND TURNS INTO WATER]


    Damon took the elixir out of his inventory, holding it in his hand.


    He looked at it, the clear liquid sparkling in the dim light of the motel room.


    He didn''t drink it, not yet. He was hesitant, unsure if he was ready to let go of his past.


    But as he stood there, the elixir clutched in his hand, he felt a glimmer of hope.


    Damon didn''t hesitate any longer, he gulped down the Healing elixir in one swift motion.


    His face instantly contorted, turning bright red as the liquid hit his tongue.


    He wanted to spit it out, the taste was unbearable, like someone had poured a mixture of bitter herbs and sour milk down his throat.


    His face shriveled up, his eyes watering from the intense aftertaste.


    He felt a tingling sensation spreading through his body, like a thousand tiny needles poking at his skin.


    Damon''s eyes scanned his reflection in the mirror, but everything looked the same. His bruises were still there, his skin still marred by the marks of his recent fight.


    He turned around, checking his back, and his scar was still visible, trailing from his shoulder to his lower back.


    Damon took a deep breath, making a promise to himself.


    He wouldn''t check his reflection again until three days had passed.


    He wouldn''t look in the mirror, wouldn''t obsess over the progress of the Healing elixir.


    He wanted to be surprised, to wake up one morning and find that his bruises had vanished, his scar had faded.


    He wanted to feel the thrill of discovery, to experience the joy of healing without constantly monitoring his progress.


    With that, Damon turned off the shower he had turned on to convince his mother he was showering.


    He had only wet his hair a bit, just enough to make it look like he had taken a shower.


    He came out of the bathroom, the warm air of the motel room enveloping him like a gentle hug.


    His mother had outdone herself, as always.


    Aoife looked at Damon and smiled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, that was fast. Usually, you take longer. Can I assume that my cooking made you cheat on your shower?" she joked, her voice light and yful.


    Damon chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. "Yep, it looks and smells amazing," he said, his stomach growling triggered by the smell.


    The aroma of roasted chicken and steamed vegetables filled the air, making his mouth water.


    Aoifeughed, pleased with herself. "I''m d I could tempt you away from your shower," she said, serving Damon a generous portion of chicken and vegetables.

 Chapter 85: Chapter 85: Shady Contract Template

    As they finished up dinner, the warm glow of the tablemp casting a cozy ambiance over the motel room, Damon suddenly remembered the envelope Mr. Steele had given him.


    He had almost forgotten about it, but now his curiosity was piqued.


    He walked towards his bed, his footstep were quiet over the carpet, "Mom, I have something to show you," he called out, excited to see what was in, well he already knew, but still.


    Aoife stopped what she was doing, her hands pausing mid-air as she turned to face Damon.


    Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, and she made her way to him.


    She sat down beside him on the bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath her weight. "What do you want to show me?" she asked with anticipation on her voice.


    Damon chuckled, a low, throaty sound, as he picked up the envelope from his bed. "I don''t know, we''re about to find out," he said, his eyes lighting with mischief.


    Aoife shook her head, a small smile ying on her lips, but she didn''t mind the suspense.


    She waited patiently, her eyes fixed on the envelope, as Damon''s fingers worked to open the seal.


    Damon''s fingers carefully tore open the top of the envelope.


    He pulled out a thick stack of cash, the bills neatly bound together.


    Aoife''s eyes widened in shock, and she let out a soft gasp, her hand flying to her mouth.


    Damon''s face broke into a wide, toothy grin, his eyes sparkling with excitement.


    He ced the stack of cash on the bed, the bills rustling softly against each other. For now, he didn''t care about counting it; he had more important things to share.


    He took a deep breath, his chest expanding as he filled his lungs with air. "Mom, I have something to tell you," he said, his voice filled with anticipation. He turned to face Aoife, his eyes locking onto hers. Aoife''s expression was a mix of confusion and concern, her eyebrows furrowed in worry.


    "Is it bad news?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of fear. She ced a reassuring hand on Damon''s back.


    Damon shook his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. "No, actually, it''s good news," he said, his words spilling out in a rush.


    "You remember the man I told you about, the one who said if I won my three fights, he would fund my career?" Aoife nodded, her eyes still clouded with skepticism.


    JShe had always found it hard to believe that someone would offer such a generous deal without expecting anything in return.


    Damon took another deep breath, his eyes falling as he gathered his thoughts. "Well, since I won those fights, he invited me... well, us... to go stay in LA," he said, his words trailing off as he waited for Aoife''s reaction.


    Damon was expecting a firm no from his mother, but instead, she raised a thoughtful question. "Damon, have you thought this through? You can''t trust him just because he said so." Her words made Damkn pause


    He looked at his mother, her eyes filled with concern, and he knew she was right. What if Mr. Steele was not what he seemed? What if this was all a ruse?


    Damon''s mind amodated the doubts, but then he thought about his dreams, his newfound love for MMA.


    He couldn''t just give up, not now, not when he was so close.


    He took a deep breath and looked at his mother. "Mom, I think it''s worth it," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "You know, things have been great, he promised to pay all expenses. I know it''s sketchy, and I don''t have proof if he''s legit or not, but still... I can''t just give up. Sometimes risks are good."


    Aoife smiled, a warm, gentle smile that filled Damon''s heart with love. She stood up, walking and stood in front of him.


    She ced a hand on his head, her touch warm andforting. "Damon," she said, her voice filled with pride. "You are grown now. You don''t have to ask for my permission. I''m proud of the man you are bing. Chase your dreams, my boy.


    I''ll follow right behind you and support you whenever."


    Aoife''s words continued, a soothing balm for his soul. "If you want to move to LA, then I''lle with you. We''re in this together, remember? As long as you achieve your dreams, then I can rest easy in life." Her voice was filled with conviction, as she nted a kiss on his forehead.


    Damon''s eyes twitched, a tiny movement that betrayed his emotions.


    He didn''t like it when his mom mentioned death, even indirectly.


    Why did parents always have to think about their mortality? It was as if they were reminding you that they wouldn''t be around forever.


    Damon sighed, a deep, heartfelt sigh that came from the depths of his soul. "Thank you, mom," he said, his voice only a whisper.


    Damon''s eyes scanned the pages of the contract, his mind absorbing the words and terms. He had never finished school, but he was far from illiterate.


    He could read andprehendplex sentences, and his understanding of numbers was decent, except for the asional struggle with big figures.


    As he delved into the contract, he began to grasp the terms and conditions.


    The contract stated that Damon''s primary objective was to reach the Ultimate Fighting Association (UFA) and be the champion. That was it.


    No hidden agendas, no secret uses. The contract seemed straightforward, almost too good to be true.


    Damon''s skepticism grew as he read on, searching for any loopholes or tricks.


    One use caught his attention, making him feel uneasy.


    It stated that he couldn''t quit unless he suffered an injury or, more disturbingly, death, of course this meant he can''t quit before he became champion in the UFA.


    The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the rest of the contract.


    As he continued to read, Damon couldn''t find any hidden terms or conditions that would require him to share his earnings with Mr. Steele.


    The contract explicitly stated that Mr. Steele would cover all expenses until Damon started generating ie.


    Damon''s mind filled with questions, but the more he read, the more he became convinced that the contract was legitimate.


    He checked again, and again, scouring the pages for any fine print or cleverly worded uses that might trip him up.


    But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn''t find any tricks or loopholes.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed as he continued to examine the temte contract.


    He knew that this was only a draft, a precursor to the actual agreement.


    He recalled Mr. Steele''s words, promising to call him soon to discuss the details.


    What if Mr. Steele had made changes to the contract? What if there were new terms or conditions that weren''t included in this temte?


    Damon''s caution kicked in, and he made a mental note to himself not to sign anything until he was absolutely sure.


    He would wait for Mr. Steele''s call, and then he would carefully review the actual contract.


    He would ask questions, seek rification on any doubts, and ensure that he understood every use and condition.

 Chapter 86: Chapter 86: Scars.... Never heal do they?

    Time seemed to fly by, and before they knew it, the day of their departure to LA was approaching fast.


    With their minds set on the new adventure, Damon and Aoifei began to prepare for the big move.


    They started by making trips to the local thrift shops, scouring the aisles for sturdy bags to pack their clothes and belongings.


    With Damon''s $1000 cash in hand, they didn''t have to worry about the expenses of their move.


    They could focus on finding the right bags and supplies to make their transition to LA as smooth as possible.


    Damon stood in the parking lot, his body wet with sweat after a intense workout and training session with the punching bag.


    He had taken the health elixir three days ago, and its effects were nothing short of miraculous.


    His body had recovered to its full 100% condition, erasing all traces of the brutal fight he had endured.


    As he caught his breath, Damon''s mind wandered to his goal.


    He had made a promise to himself to avoid looking at his reflection for a while, to see the results of the elixir for himself.


    But it was proving to be a challenging task. Every time he walked past a window or a mirror, he felt an overwhelming urge to nce at his reflection.


    His mind seemed to be working against him, tempting him to take a peek.


    He remembered the countless times he had caught himself reaching for a mirror or window, only to stop himself just in time.


    It was as if his mind was ying a game of tug-of-war with his willpower.


    Damon''s hands clenched into fists, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm thoughts.


    Okay, maybe he was exaggerating this matter, after all, it wasn''t that he couldn''t look at his face, but it was his back that he couldn''t.


    The thought of seeing his reflection, of checking if the health elixir had truly worked its magic, was both exhrating and terrifying.


    As he made his way to the motel room, he had expectations. He hoped the elixir had worked.


    Deep down, he already believed it did, why wouldn''t it, after all, it was supposed to heal scars and wounds.


    Damon''s mind wandered back to the day he had taken the elixir.


    He remembered the sensation of his body beginning to heal, the pain and difort slowly fading away.


    He had felt like a new person, rejuvenated and refreshed. And now, he was eager to see if the elixir had also worked on his back.


    As he approached the motel room, Damon''s thoughts turned to the scars that marred his skin.


    He had grown ustomed to living with them, but the thought of being free from them was exciting.


    He imagined how it would feel to have smooth, unblemished skin, to be able to move without feeling the constant reminder of his past.


    Damon''s hand reached for the door handle, and he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. He was almost afraid to look, afraid of being disappointed.


    ....


    Damon gazed at his reflection in the mirror, taking in the changes that had urred since he started taking care of himself.


    His face was clear of e, and his skin looked healthy and radiant.


    He touched his cheeks, feeling the smooth texture of his skin.


    It was a far cry from the rough, weatheredplexion he had developed during his time on the streets.


    As he examined his face, Damon realized that he didn''t look as worn out as he used to.


    His features seemed more defined, and his eyes appeared brighter.


    He looked like a person who had finally found some stability andfort in life.


    The improvements in his hygiene and living situation had clearly made a significant impact on his appearance.


    Damon''s hands trembled as he pulled out his shirt, his heart racing with anticipation.


    He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and slowly turned around.


    He sighed, and opened his eyes, ncing at his back to check the results of the health elixir.


    As his eyes scanned his back, he felt like he had been punched in the gut.


    His eyes widened in shock, and his head began to spin, making him feel dizzy and disoriented.


    He stumbled forward, his hands reaching out to grab onto something, anything, to steady himself.


    His eyes locked onto the mirror in front of him, aind he turned to face it.


    As he gazed into the mirror, he saw a face that took his breath away.


    It was his child self


    Staring back at him with a look of hope and innocence.


    The scars, the wounds, the imperfections ¨C all gone.


    His skin was smooth, unblemished, and radiant.


    He looked like apletely different person, one who had never known the hardships and struggles he had endured.


    Damon''s mind struggled to process what he was seeing.


    He felt like he was dreaming, like this was all some kind of cruel joke.


    He slid down to the floor, his back against the wall, and covered his eyes and ears, overwhelmed by the emotions flooding his body.


    He couldn''t bear to look at himself anymore.


    Why


    Why


    ''Why hasn''t it gone away? Why is it still there?


    The scar he had been so enthusiastic about removing about erasing his past.


    It was still there trailing from his shoulder to his back, all that hope he held.


    He had stayed with the scar for almost his life, so why was it bothering him now.


    Maybe it was the thought of never healing. Maybe  seeing that scar made him realize he won''t ever escape the past. It was a part of him.


    But why should he ept it, so much hope he held it, was the system ying a game with him.


    Maybe the reason he is devastated was because he knew if that scar remained, it would cast a shadow on his future.


    But what guaranteed that even after it was gone, his past couldn''t haunt him.


    ''Scars... never heal do they?''

 Chapter 87: Chapter 87: The Journey to the LA

    Damon and Aoife sat in the back of a car, watching the scenery pass by as they made their way to LA.


    Aoife was very excited with this move, but Damon''s demeanor didn''t quite match the mood.


    He had been unusually quiet since they left, his eyes fixed on the window as he stared out at the passingndscape.


    Noticing her son''s silence and reaching out to him, concern on her face.


    She gently ced her hand over his, her touch warm and reassuring. "Everything is going to be fine," she whispered softly.


    Damon''s gaze shifted from the window to his mother''s face, his eyes locking onto hers.


    He knew she didn''t understand why he was brooding, but her words still had a calming effect on him. Her voice somehow soothed his thoughts.


    Aoife''s hand remained on his, a steady presence that seemed to anchor him to the moment.


    As his thoughts untangled, he took a deep breath and felt the tension on his body ease.


    As he looked at his mother, Damon realized that he shouldn''t let his brooding ruin this happy moment for them.


    They were embarking on a new adventure, one that promised a fresh start and a brighter future.


    His problems would have to wait.


    Damon''s grip on his mother''s hand tightened slightly, a silent thank you for herfort and support.


    The contractual process was surprisingly smooth. The actual contract was identical to the temte.


    He had even asked Mr. Steele, what was the catch, but all he did was just smile and say nothing.


    This stumped Damon, sign the contract and find out the catchter, or don''t sign the contract and live to regret this chance. Sure, some woulde, but still.


    Also, he didn''t believe that there was no catch. He wasn''t that naive. He had been living on the streets.


    Even if his life at that time wasn''t that active, he had experienced that nothing was ever free.


    But he still chose to sign it. He would deal with the consequencester. Maybe he was reckless, Careless, but what the heck, take risks or stay on the ground.


    And that''s how they ended up here, on their way to LA. Mr. Steele had mentioned that he would meet them there, but he hadn''t provided any further details.


    As the car cruised through the Central Valley, Damon''s gaze wandered over the endless fields of crops, the sun-kissed farnd stretching out as far as the eye could see.


    He couldn''t help but smile, feeling a sense of tranquility wash over him.


    There was something about the rolling hills and vast expanses of green that seemed to soothe his soul.


    Damon''s mind began to wander, imagining what it would be like to live in a ce like this, surrounded by nature''s beauty.


    He thought about retiring in a farnd, leaving the chaos of city life behind.


    It seemed peaceful, a world away from the noise and stress he was used to.


    But his thoughts quickly shifted to LA, the city that was waiting for him.


    He had heard stories about the parties, the music, the energy of the streets.


    The ghetto, with its rough edges and tough streets, had a certain allure to it.


    But Damon wasn''t interested in the parties or the mour. He wanted the fight.


    The drive continued, the hours ticking by as thendscape outside the car window transformed from rolling hills to urban sprawl.


    Five hours had passed, and they had finally entered the city of Los Angeles, the City of Angels.


    The traffic had slowed their progress, but the excitement of their new destination was building.


    As they made their way through the streets, Damon''s eyes scanned the crowded roads, taking in the sights and sounds of the city.


    Cars zoomed past them, a blur of color and motion.


    Suddenly, a sleek, ck sports car zoomed alongside their vehicle, its engine roaring as it elerated. "Vroom!" it sped past, leaving their car behind.


    The driver of their car, a man in a clean suit, smiled and continued driving. "Mr. Steele picked the perfect ce for you," he said, ncing in the rearview mirror.


    "It''s safe, and it has ess to the training centers. But I doubt you''ll need them." He chuckled, and Damon''s curiosity was piqued. What did he mean by training centers?


    The driver continued, "We''re headed to Santa Monica. It''s a great location, close to the beach and the pier. You''ll love it." Aoife and Damon exchanged a nce, both of them looking a bit bewildered by the new surroundings.


    For Damon, this was a far cry from the streets of Stockton, where he had grown up.


    He had never been to a city like LA before, and the sheer size and energy of the ce was overwhelming.


    As for Aoife, she had never traveled much in her life, growing up in a small town in Irnd. The hustle and bustle of LA was a shock to her system.


    ...


    They finally came to a stop in front of a sleek, tall building that seemed to stretch up to the sky.


    The exterior was a gleaming expanse of ss and steel, with a subtle sheen that caught the light.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he took in the sight, feeling a sense of awe wash over him.


    This was a far cry from the humble motel they had stayed in back in Stockton.


    He remembered what he told his mother when they first moved to the motel.


    ''It''s not the Ritz, but we have a roof over our head... this was the damn Ritz''


    As he gazed up at the building, Damon couldn''t help but think that everything had changed.


    This was the kind of ce he had only dreamed of living in, the kind of ce that seemed to whisper promises of luxury andfort.


    He felt a thrill of excitement, mixed with a little trepidation. What would their new life be like in a ce like this?


    A man in a ck suit, Victor, was waiting for them outside, standing next to a sleek BMW.


    He smiled warmly as they approached, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hello, you must be the mother of this boy here," he said, his voice low and smooth.


    He ced a hand on Damon''s shoulder, his grip firm but gentle.


    Aoife looked a little nervous, her eyes darting between Victor and the building.


    Victor''s rich demeanor was a little intimidating, but he seemed to sense her unease and smiled reassuringly. "Ahh, yes, Mr. Stee-" she began, but Victor cut her off.


    "None of that, call me Victor," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I''m sure we''re the same age." He nced at Damon, his expression warm. "How are you doing, kid? Ready to see your new home?"


    He patted Damon''s shoulder, his hand lingering


    for a moment before he turned to lead them towards the building.


    "Let''s get in, shall we?" he said, striding confidently towards the entrance. Damon followed, his eyes fixed on the building''s towering height.

 Chapter 88: Chapter 88: Meeting The Team I

    As they stepped into the apartment, Aoife and Damon were immediately struck by its beauty.


    The living room was spacious, withrge windows that offered a stunning view of the city.


    The sunlight streaming in highlighted the modern decor, making the space feel warm and inviting.


    They spent the next hour exploring the apartment, checking out each room and marveling at the amenities.


    Aoife was busy unpacking their clothes, humming softly to herself as she worked.


    Meanwhile, Damon and Victor made their way to the kitchen, a room that left Damon speechless.


    The sleek countertops, the stainless steel appliances, and the ample storage space allbined to create a cooking space that was even more impressive than their old home in


    Limerick. Victor, noticing Damon''s awe, smiled and poured himself a ss of water. "Your mom is a very good person, you did a good job taking care of her," he said, his voice low and sincere.


    Damon''s eyes snapped to Victor''s face, and he saw a knowing smile that seemed to hold a hint of pity and sadness.


    His heart began to beat faster as he mumbled, "You know?" The question stayed long, and Victor looked away, his eyes avoiding Damon''s.


    "You and I are going to be working together, so I did my research," he said, his tone neutral. "Don''t worry, what I know will stay between us. I won''t tell anyone. You can share it with others if you wish."


    Damon felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him.


    No one had ever known about his and his mother''s past struggles.


    He didn''t know how to react around Victor now. The man''s words had created a sense of vulnerability, making Damon feel like he was standing on shaky ground.


    Victor, seeming to sense Damon''s unease, scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Okay, since you''re settled in, how about I show you what I wanted to anyway?" he asked, his tone lightening the mood.


    Damon nodded, still feeling a bit dazed. "Sure, let me go tell Mom, she''s alone," he said, disappearing into the other room.


    The sound of his footsteps sounded through the apartment, leaving Victor standing alone in the kitchen, his eyes gazing out the window at the city below.


    The car door of the sleek BMW closed with a soft thud, enveloping Damon in a luxurious atmosphere.


    As he settled into the passenger seat, he couldn''t help but gaze around in admiration.


    The interior was a masterpiece of design, with premium leather, polished wood trim, and a dashboard that seemed to be a work of art.


    The soft glow of the dashboard lights and the subtle scent of leather filled the air, making Damon feel like he was in a whole different world.


    For a moment, he felt a bit of embarrassment. He was acting like a wide-eyed kid, impressed by everything he saw.


    But he couldn''t help it,the contrast between his old life and this new one was like night and day.


    He looked over at Victor, who was smiling at him from the driver''s seat. "So, where are we going?" Damon asked, trying to sound nonchnt despite his excitement.


    The car started moving, and Victor''s voice filled the cabin. "You''re going to meet your teammates and coaches, and we''ll discuss your future from now on." The words sent a thrill through Damon''s veins.


    As the car elerated, Damon felt his body being pulled back into the seat.


    The force of the eleration was exhrating, and he let out a whoop of excitement.


    The wind whipped through his hair, and the city blurred by outside the windows.


    The car''s engine purred smoothly, a low growl that seemed to vibrate through every cell in Damon''s body. He felt alive, like he was on the peak of life


    The drive was a short one, and before Damon knew it, they were pulling up in front of another building.


    He felt disappointed that the ride was over.


    As he gazed out at the building, he caught sight of the beach in the distance, with people soaking up the sun in their swimsuits.


    Damon''s focus shifted back to the building, a sleek and modern structure that seemed to gleam in the sunlight.


    He felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach as he wondered what to expect from the team he was about to meet.


    As they stepped out of the car, Victor''s calm demeanor seemed to rub off on him, but he couldn''t shake off the feeling of apprehension.


    "Any advice before we meet the team?" Damon asked, looking up at Victor with a hint of uncertainty.


    Victor paused, his eyes scanning Damon''s face before responding. "Be yourself, don''t try to put on a facade, but of course, be friendly," he said, his voice low " andst but not least, this is important,"


    Damon nodded, taking in the words of wisdom. He wondered what the most important part of the advice would be, and then he heard it.


    "Listen closely," Victor said, his voice taking on a slightly more serious tone. "Have fun. It''s not a job, it''s not school. Have fun, learn, make friends. There''s no advice other than that. Have fun."


    The words seemed to sink in, and Damon felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He smiled, feeling a sense of freedom wash over him.


    As they pushed the door open, Damon''s eyes widened in surprise.


    He had expected a typical office or lobby, but instead, he was greeted by the sounds of intense physical activity.


    The air was filled with the thuds of punches, grunts of effort, and the sharp "bam!" of kicks.


    The noise was almost deafening, and Damon''s heart rate quickened as he took in the scene before him.


    Therge space stretched out, with four rings dominating the center of the room.


    Each ring was surrounded by a variety of machines, punching bags, and rubber dummies, all designed to test the skills and endurance of the trainees.


    The walls were lined with mirrors, allowing the athletes to monitor their technique and form.


    The floor was covered in mats, providing a soft and safe surface for grappling and ground work.


    Damon''s gaze swept across the room, taking in the diverse group of people training.


    Some were sparring, their movements lightning-fast as they exchanged blows.


    Others were working on their technique, practicing kicks and punches on the bags and dummies.


    A few were using the machines, their faces set in determination as they pushed themselves to their limits.


    Everyone waspletely absorbed in their training, oblivious to the neers.


    Damon felt excited knowing he was going to be part of this intense and demanding world


    As he stood there, taking it all in. He had never seen anything like this before.


    The sheer scale and intensity of the training facility was overwhelming, and he couldn''t help but wonder. Would he be able to keep up with these athletes?

 Chapter 89: Chapter 89: Meeting The Team II

    Victor looked at Damon with a serious expression. "Remember what I said?" he asked, his voice firm but friendly.


    Damon nodded, recalling the advice Victor had given him just moments before. "Have fun," he said, his voice confident.


    Victor smiled, seeming to approve of Damon''s response. He stepped forward, his movementsmanding attention.


    He pped his hands together, the sharp sound echoing through the training facility. "Okay, everyone, gather around!" he called out, his voice loud and clear.


    The athletes stopped training, their movements ceasing as they turned to face Victor.


    They all had simr reactions, their faces breaking into smiles as they saw him.


    It was clear that they liked and respected Victor.


    Damon watched with interest as people began to gather around, their footsteps echoing off the walls.


    The room grew quieter as the athletes formed a semi-circle around Victor.


    They stood with their arms crossed, their eyes fixed on him waiting to hear the announcement.


    Some of them nced at Damon, their expressions curious. Damon felt a sense of nervousness, but Victor''s presence seemed to calm him down.


    As thest athlete took their ce, Victor began to speak. "Everyone, this is Damon," he said, his voice loud and clear. "He''s our newest team member, and I want you all to make him feel wee." The athletes nodded, their faces friendly.


    Victor scanned the group, his eyes lingering on each athlete before moving on to the next.


    "He''ll be joining the Mixed Martial Arts team. Okay, you all can go back to your training," he announced, his voice loud and clear.


    The athletes dispersed, returning to their training routines. Damon noticed that four people stayed back, their eyes fixed on him with interest.


    Victor looked at Damon and nodded. "Come on, let me introduce you," he said, gesturing to the four athletes.


    Damon walked closer, his eyes scanning the group. There were twodies and two guys, all around his age, 19 or 20.


    Victor pointed to a guy with a bald head, his body imposing and muscr. "This is Ty. He''s a heavyweight, got mad wrestling talent and skills. Don''t mind hisrge size. He''s a good kid," Victor said with a chuckle.


    Damon nodded, sizing Ty up. He looked huge, dwarfing Damon with his massive frame. Ty nodded back, his expression friendly.


    Then Victor pointed to a guy who was short, probably a flyweight or bantamweight.


    He had ck hair and a goatee, giving him a distinctive look. "This is Ash. He''s a bantamweight,good striking and good Jiu-Jitsu. You can learn from him," Victor said.


    Damon nodded, nodding to Ash, who nodded back. Ash looked focused, his eyes intense.


    Victor moved on to the women, pointing to a girl with ck hair and a pointed jaw. "And to thedies here, this is Ashley, as you see her and Ash here are siblings, twins. Ashley is already a professional fighter, started this year, and recently joined the UFA. She has spectacr ring awareness and crazy power, so don''t underestimate her size," Victor said with a smile.


    Ashley looked confident, her eyes sparkling with pride.


    Finally, Victor pointed to a girl with blonde-brte hair mixed.


    She had an exotic charm about her, and Damon couldn''t help but notice. "And this is Svena Petrova. She''s a talented youngdy, knows Sambo and Muay Thai," Victor said.


    Svena smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Damon felt a sense of nervousness, but she seemed friendly.


    Victor turned to Damon and said, "And guys, this is Damon. He fights using Muay Thai, and I''ve seen some groundwork, probably BJJ. He''s got a record of 4-0."


    Everyone nodded, their faces friendly and weing. "Okay, I''ll let you five get to know each other while I handle the coaching selection for Damon," Victor said, ncing around the room before leaving.


    The moment Victor disappeared, Ash approached Damon, looking him up and down. "Mmh, what weight ss do you fight in?" he asked, his eyes scanning Damon''s slim and tall frame.


    Damon scratched his head, thinking for a moment before answering. "Currently flyweight, but I''ll probably move up."


    Instantly, everyone went quiet, their eyes fixed on Damon with a mixture of surprise and amusement.


    They looked him up and down, and Damon couldn''t help but feel self-conscious. He did look like he needed to gain some weight.


    Ash''s expression turned sarcastic. "Why are you hurting yourself?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Damon''s nose wrinkled up in distaste. "Why do you smell like alcohol?" he shot back, his voice firm.


    Ash''s face instantly changed, his eyes darting to the other three athletes. "Oh shit, do you think Vic noticed... fuck," he muttered, his voice low and worried.


    Ashley chuckled at her brother''s expense, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Of course he did, you''re probably going to have to make up for it," she teased, her voice light and yful.


    Ty just shrugged, his expression neutral, while Svena smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.


    The tension in the room dissipated, reced by a feeling of friendliness.


    Damon felt a sense of relief, knowing that his new teammates were friendly and willing to joke around. He smiled, feeling a sense of belonging.


    Ty patted Ash on the back, pushing him forward slightly. "I told you Vic wasing back, should have stopped partying," he said, his voice teasing.


    He looked at Damon and smiled. "Come on, while we wait for Vic, let''s put you in for a spar, shall we?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.


    Svena spoke up for the first time, her voice smooth and fluent. "Who''s he fighting?" she asked, her eyes scanning the group.


    Damon was surprised by her perfect English, given her foreign-sounding name. He had expected a thick ent, but her words were clear and crisp.


    The group looked at Ash, who raised his hands in protest. "Woah, why me? I don''t wanna hurt the guy," he said, clearly being sarcastic... right?.


    Damon narrowed his eyes, feeling underestimated. He wanted to prove himself, show that he was more than just a skinny flyweight, otherwise they would always underestimate him.


    Ashley chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh,e on, Ash, don''t be a wimp," she teased, her voice light and yful.


    Ty grinned, his eyes lighting up in excitement. "Yeah, let''s see what Damon''s got."

 Chapter 90: Chapter 90: A Quick Spar

    They moved towards one of the cages.


    There were two cages, two boxing rings, and four rings in total.


    Luckily, one of the octagon cages was empty, and they made their way towards it.


    Damon noticed that Svena was missing, but he saw hering back carrying a bunch of gear.


    She had a big smile on her face.


    Damon had never worn this type of gear before.


    Svena handed each of them a pair of gloves, a mouthguard, and a headgear. "Here, take this," she said, her voice firm but friendly.


    Damon took the gear and put it on, feeling a bit awkward.


    The headgear was bulky, and the gloves felt heavy. He looked at Ash, who was putting on his gear with ease.


    As they finished getting ready, they stepped into the cage.


    The door closed behind them, and they faced each other.


    The stare-down began, their eyes locked in a silent challenge.


    Some of the athletes training nearby saw the intense stare-down and wandered over to watch.


    A few of them leaned against the cage, their eyes fixed on Damon and Ash.


    Ty and Ashley stood next to each other, their faces eager with excitement.


    Svena stood on the other side of the cage, her eyes fixed on the two fighters.


    She was holding a timer and a towel, ready to intervene if needed.


    Damon felt his heart pounding in his chest. This was the first impression he had to put on a gold fight


    Ash, on the other hand, looked confident, his eyes gleaming with a hint of arrogance.


    And then, without warning, Svena shouted, "Let''s go!" The timer started, and the spar began.


    Damon and Ash circled each other, their eyes locked in a fierce stare-down.


    The timer started, and Damon and Ash circled each other in the empty cage.


    The soft music and the grunts of other working out sounded in the background.


    Ash made the first move. He darted in with a quick jab, catching Damon off guard. Damon stumbled back slightly but quickly regained his bnce.


    He attempted a low kick, but Ash blocked it effortlessly and responded with a sharp right hook.


    Damon''s head snapped to the side from the impact.


    He raised his guard, but Ash was relentless, moving in with rapidbinations of punches and kicks.


    Each strikended with precision, breaking through Damon''s defenses.


    Damon tried tond a roundhouse kick, but Ash anticipated the move, catching Damon''s leg and sweeping him off his feet.


    Damon crashed to the mat, feeling the jarring impact. Before he could get up, Ash was already pressing the advantage.


    Ash used his Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu skills to keep Damon grounded.


    He moved quickly, maintaining control andnding a series of strikes while Damon struggled to escape.


    Luckily, he was able to get to his feet.


    Damon tried to use his Muay Thai clinch but found Ash easily avoiding it and continuing his assault.


    Damon attempted to fight back, but each time he tried tond a shot, Ash''s strikes were faster and more urate.


    Damon felt the protective gear, but it seemed to offer little relief from Ash''s powerful punches and kicks.


    Damon''s movements grew slower, his strikes weaker.


    He managed a weak jab, but Ash easily shrugged it off andnded a powerful uppercut. The force of the punch made Damon''s legs buckle.


    His vision darkened, and he tried to stay conscious, but the blows kepting.


    With a final batch of punches, Ashnded a decisive right cross that knocked Damon out cold. Damon copsed to the mat, unmoving.


    Svena quickly moved in, checking on Damon as hey still.


    Ashley, watching from outside the cage, looked worried and upset. "Ash, why did you punch that hard?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.


    Ash shrugged, looking both relieved and guilty. "I was just trying to make a point," he said, sounding defensive.


    Svena helped Damon to his feet, his face pale and his eyes closed.


    The sparring match ended with Ash''s clear dominance, leaving a tense atmosphere as the group reacted to the result.


    Damon''s eyes fluttered open, and his vision was blurry. He saw a faint light and a beautiful face hovering above him.


    For a moment, he thought he was dreaming, and the face looked like an angel''s.


    But as his senses returned, he realized it was Svena''s face, her eyes filled with concern.


    Suddenly, he was jolted awake as cold water was poured on his face.


    He sat up with a start, his heart racing. Svena was kneeling beside him, a towel in her hand.


    Damon looked around, taking in his surroundings. He saw Ash standing nearby, looking guilty.


    Damon didn''t want to seem weak orin about losing the spar.


    He wanted to show that he could take a hit and bounce back.


    So, he opened his mouth, trying to sound casual. "Damn, did I fight Ty?" he asked, his voice a bit shaky.


    The group looked at him, not expecting him to be joking.


    They thought he might have a concussion or be disoriented.


    But as they saw the smile on his face, they smiled back, and chuckled.


    Ty, who was standing nearby,ughed and said, "Nah, man, you fought Ash. And he rocked your world!"


    Ash looked relieved, his guilt dissipating. "Yeah, sorry about that, Damon. I didn''t mean to hit you that hard."


    Damon waved his hand dismissively. "It''s okay, I needed that. I''ve been getting toofortable."


    Svena helped Damon to his feet, her hand on his elbow. "Let''s get you checked out, make sure you''re okay," she said, her voice gentle.


    Damon nodded, still feeling a bit dizzy. But as he stood up, he felt good with his new teammates.


    As they walked out of the cage, Ashley patted Damon on the back. "Don''t worry, we''ve all been there. Well, maybe not exactly there, but you know what I mean."


    Damon smiled, feeling a sense of belonging. "Yeah, I think I do."


    The group chuckled, and the tension was broken.

 Chapter 91: Chapter 91: Meeting The Coaches

    Victor was leaning on the desk, his arms crossed, looking at two men with hard, weathered appearances.


    They were both short, with rugged faces that spoke of years of experience in the martial arts world.


    Jos¨¦, a world-renowned Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu martial artist from the US, had just watched the spar between Ash and Damon.


    He shook his head, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. "Vic, what is that?" he asked, his voiceced with disdain.


    Somchai, a man from Thand, who was also a renowned martial artist, now retired and working as a coach, nodded in agreement.


    "His speed is slow, punches are weak, footwork is ridiculous... just everything," he said, his Thai ent thick and rich.


    For the first time, the two men seemed to agree on something - Damon sucked.


    Victor sighed, rubbing his temples. He knew Jos¨¦ and Somchai were two of the toughest critics in the martial arts world. "Okay, I know he''s out of touch," he said, trying to cate them.


    But Jos¨¦ and Somchai red at him, their faces unyielding. Victor corrected himself, "He has no touch, I know, but you can''t deny the talent is there. His endurance is crazy, he can eat up punches... and from what I''ve seen from his fights, as long as he gets good training, he can be amazing."


    Jos¨¦ raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Amazing? Vic, you can''t be serious. The kid got knocked out cold by Ash. Ash, of all people!"


    Somchai nodded, his eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement. "Yes, Vic, you need to be realistic. Damon may have heart, but hecks technique, speed, and agility. He''s a liability in the ring."


    Victor leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on the two men. "I know what I saw, Jos¨¦. Somchai. I saw a kid who''s been fighting on the streets, with no formal training, no guidance... and yet, he''s still standing. That takes guts, and that takes talent.


    We can work with that."


    Jos¨¦ and Somchai exchanged a skeptical look, but Victor could see the faintest hint of interest in their eyes.


    Maybe, just maybe, they were starting to see Damon in a different light.


    Jos¨¦ raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "What''s your n then?" he asked, his voice a little softer than before.


    Victor nodded, a smile blooming on his face. He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk.


    "Okay, first thing first, I want to talk about his weight ss," he said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "On the way here, I talked with him, and I believe middleweight is the best for him. He can performfortably while still maintaining some advantage."


    Somchai took a step back, his eyes darting towards the door.


    He peeked out, looking at Damon, who was still chatting with the others, oblivious to the discussion about his future.


    Somchai''s gaze lingered on Damon''s skinny frame before he turned back to Victor. "This is gonna take months," he said, his voiceced with a hint of doubt. "But I can see it happen."


    Jos¨¦ nodded thoughtfully, his expression a little more open-minded. "Middleweight, huh? That''s a big jump from flyweight. But if anyone can make it work, it''s us."


    Victor grinned, his confidence infectious. "That''s the spirit, Jos¨¦. I knew you''d see it my way. Now, let''s talk about his training regimen. We need to work on his strength, his speed, and his agility. We need to transform him into a well-rounded fighter."


    Somchai rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I can work on his Muay Thai skills, but we need someone to focus on his Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Jos¨¦, you''re the expert in that area."


    Jos¨¦ nodded, a hint of a smile on his face. "I''ll take care of it. But Vic, we need to be realistic. This kid''s got a long way to go. We can''t rush his training."


    Victor nodded, his eyes gleaming with determination. "That''s why I think three years should be enough for what I have nned."


    Jos¨¦ nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Three years is good enough..." His voice trailed off, and he looked at Victor with a surprised expression. "Wait, didn''t UFA say they are restarting that show in three years?"


    Jos¨¦''s eyes widened, and he took a step back, his mind racing. "You''re nning to send him there?" He asked, his voiceced with a mix of shock and incredulity.


    Victor nodded, his face set in a resolute expression. "I know it''s a big jump, but I think, with the right training, he can do it. I''ve already secured his spot on the show, that''s why I asked you this - do not hold back."


    Jos¨¦ and Somchai exchanged a look, their faces a mix of surprise and concern. They took a deep breath, and then nodded, their expressions set in determination.


    "I see you''re still obsessed with that goal of yours," Jos¨¦ said, shaking his head.


    Victor moved from the desk, ignoring Jos¨¦''s statement. "Let''s introduce you two then," he said, gesturing towards the door.


    Jos¨¦ and Somchai followed him out of the office, making their way towards the group of five that had acquainted itself with Damon.


    As they approached, Damon looked up, a smile on his face.


    He was chatting with Ash, Svena, and the others,ughing and joking like he''d known them for years.


    Victor nodded in approval - Damon was bing a social butterfly, and that was a valuable asset in the martial arts world.


    When the group saw the coaches with Victor making their way to them, they stood up, Damon followed suit.


    Jos¨¦ and Somchai stood behind Victor, their faces stern but not unapproachable.


    "Okay, you guys know these two," Victor said, gesturing towards Jos¨¦ and Somchai. "Damon, this is Jos¨¦ Silva, a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu medalist martial artist. He''s Ash''s coach, and this is Somchai, a Muay Thai specialist with a sessful record of 40-2. He''s Svena''s coach."


    Damon nodded, stretching his hand to greet Jos¨¦. "Nice to meet you, sir," he said, his voice respectful. Jos¨¦ took Damon''s hand, squeezing it a bit before letting go.


    Damon then looked at Somchai, his eyes wide with excitement. "Nice to meet you, sir, as we-" But Somchai nodded, cutting him off. "Just call me Kru," he said, his Thai ent thick and rich.


    Damon nodded, his face set in a determined expression. "Yes, Kru," he said, his voice firm.


    Victor smiled, pleased with the way things were going. "These two will be your new coaches, so get ustomed to the ce."

 Chapter 92: Chapter 92: Reflections Over Coffee

    Damon was currently sitting on a table in a cafe, looking outside the window as the sun cast a warm glow over the bustling streets.


    Last week had been a whirlwind of training, with his coaches putting him on a strict diet to get him to a proper weight.


    He could already see the results, but he knew he needed more time to reach his goal.


    As he sipped his coffee, Damon''s mind wandered to his teammates.


    They all seemed unique in their own way, each with their own stories and struggles.


    The twins, Ash(Ashton) and Ashley, had grown up roughhousing each other, but somehow found their way to MMA.


    Ashley was a confident girl, beautiful, and had a charm in a way she did things, she actually had been in the martial art industry more than all of them, hence her being able to be at the UFA.


    As for Ash, even though he was arrogant, Damon had to admit the guy, was impressive, he had power on those hands, but he seemed to enjoy Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu more, he was Jos¨¦''s prot¨¦g¨¦.


    They had met Mr. Steele through their father''s business dealings, and it was clear that they owed a lot to him.


    Ty, the giant, was a gentle soul, despite his intimidating size.


    Damon had learned that Ty had been a star wrestler in school, going straight to the state championships.


    But after a tough loss, he had fallen in with the wrong crowd, and Mr. Steele had stepped in to save him from trouble.


    Ty was a hell of an athlete, and Damon was grateful to have him on their team.


    But it was Svena who had really caught Damon''s attention.


    She was quiet, almost reserved, but there was kindness in her eyes that drew him in.


    Damon had learned that she came from a wartorn country and that Mr. Steele had adopted her as a teenager.


    He couldn''t even begin to imagine what she had gone through, but he felt a deep connection to her.


    As he looked out the window, Damon felt a sense of solidarity with Svena.


    They both came from tough backgrounds, but they both found a sense of purpose in MMA.


    He felt like he rted to her more than the others, but at the same time, he knew she had it harder than him.


    Damon sighed opening his status panel, wanting to check his progress.


    - Strength: E-


    - Speed: E-


    - Stamina: E-


    - Endurance: C+


    - Agility: E-


    Four of his stats - Strength, Agility, Speed, and Stamina - now proudly disyed an E- Rank, a significant upgrade from his previous F+ ranking.


    He had bought the Elixir for each stat, which had provided the breakthrough he needed to reach the next level.


    The cost had been rtively cheap, only 25 coins each, which was a small price to pay for the progress he had made.


    Damon''s eyes lingered on his Endurance stat, which was still at C+.


    He had deliberately avoided buying the E-Rank elixir for this stat, knowing it would be a waste of coins.


    The next elixir, for D- Rank, was expensive, costing 100 coins each. He wasn''t ready to make that investment yet.


    Instead, Damon had been relying on the daily exercise quest to earn coins.


    The quest rewarded him with 1 coin per day, a slow but steady umtion of wealth.


    He had been diligent aboutpleting the quest every day, knowing that every coin counted.


    Another thing Damon had realized was that he didn''t need to buy an elixir every time he wanted to progress.


    The elixirs were only necessary when he wanted to break through to the next rank.


    To reach the peak of his current rank, he needed to focus on personal training, pushing himself to improve through sheer effort and dedication.


    Despite all the progress he had made, Damon couldn''t shake off the feeling that he was still far behind Ash.


    Every time they sparred, Ash would effortlessly absorb his punches and counter with a devastating blow that would leave Damon dizzy.


    It was like Ash had a built-in radar that allowed him to anticipate Damon''s every move, or maybe he was just told slow.


    As he thought about it, Damon realized that if he had to rank Ash using the system, he would probably ce his strength and speed at D or C level.


    Ash''s skills were on a whole different level, and Damon felt like he was still stuck in the beginner''s bracket, and he was.


    Pushing these thoughts aside, Damon''s mind wandered to his mother.


    He had walked in on her holding a paper earlier, and it seemed like she was contemting going back to work.


    She had been a nurse before they left Limerick, and Damon felt happy at the thought of her returning to her old life.


    It meant that her scars were finally healing, and she was ready to face the world again, that''s least he could say about himself.


    As Damon delved deeper into his thoughts, he heard the doorbell of the cafe ring, signaling that someone had entered.


    He was lost in his own little world, and the sound startled him.


    Before he could react, someone tapped him on the shoulder, and a familiar voice whispered in his ear, "Ayy man, what''s got you thinking so hard?"


    Damon was startled as he recognized the voice.


    Damon turned around, looking at the source of the voice.


    His eyes met Joey''s, and a wide smile spread across his face. "Yo, Joey," he said, stretching out his hand.


    Joey grinned back, and they sped hands, pulling each other into a brief hug.


    Damon felt a sense of nostalgiae over him over him as they separated.


    Joey took a step back, his eyes scanning Damon''s physique. "Damn man, look at you," he said, his voice filled with surprise and admiration. "You look different."


    Damon chuckled, feeling a lump of pride. "Yeah, well, you need guns to shoot," he said, flexing his arms slightly.

 Chapter 93: Chapter 93: Catching Up with Joey

    Joey sat down across from Damon, a warm smile on his face.


    Damon had called him right after his training session the day he arrived in LA, and they had made ns to meet up. They had a lot to catch up on.


    Damon looked Joey up and down, taking in his new appearance. "Talk about change, you''ve changed, Joey. You look... different."


    Joey chuckled, His eyes creased at the corners. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. My brother''s been taking care of me, and I''ve been studying hard. I''m nning to enroll in college next year, so I''ve been hitting the books."


    Damon nodded, impressed. "That''s great,"


    Joey leaned in, his eyes sparkling with interest. "So, how have things been? Did the event go well?"


    Damon''s face lit up with pride. "It was amazing, Joey. I wouldn''t be in LA if it hadn''t. Let me tell you all about it."


    Damonunched into a detailed ount of his time in Stockton after Joey had left.


    He told him about the fights, and soon it didn''t take them long to get back in track, talking about the UFA, the recent matches, it was like they hadn''t parted.


    Damon''s curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, "So, how''s your brother doing in the UFA?" Joey''s face lit up with a grin.


    "Pretty good. Although he''s not getting a title shot anytime soon, he''s making his way up the ranks." He leaned back in his chair, looking rxed.


    Damon nodded, a mixture of admiration and envy on his face. "Man, that''s good. Good for him. As long as he''s getting fights..."


    He trailed off, his eyes clouding over with a hint of disappointment. "I can''t say the same about myself," he added, his voice tinged with a sigh.


    Joey chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You''ve been here for a week, and I''m pretty sure your coaches are not going to throw you into a match just after a week. It might take a long time, so just rx now and keep training." He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands sped together.


    Damon sighed, knowing Joey was right. He had expecteding to LA would give him a fight righy away, but now he realized that was unrealistic.


    He would have to be patient and focus on his training. The thought was both frustrating and reassuring.


    Joey''s eyes sparkled with excitement as he said, "Speaking of rxing, hear me out." Damon''s curiosity was piqued, and he leaned in, interested in what Joey had to say.


    "Okay, look, there''s this party..." Joey began, but Damon''s enthusiasm quickly waned as soon as he heard the word "party".


    He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. Joey, however, didn''t seem to notice Damon''sck of interest.


    He continued, undeterred, "It''s going to be epic, trust me. You''ll have a st, and who knows, you might even find a girl." Joey grinned, trying to tempt Damon into joining him.


    But Damon was unmoved. He shook his head, his voice firm. "Nope, I need to stay in top-tier form, and partying is not really my thing, you know." He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest.


    Joey chuckled, his eyes never leaving Damon''s face. "Come on, man, you''re in LA. Enjoy it a bit. You can''t just train all the time. You need to unwind, have some fun." He leaned in, his voice taking on a persuasive tone.


    Damon sighed, his expression unyielding. "I know, I know. But I''m not here to party, Joey. I''m here to train, to fight, and to win. I can''t afford to get distracted." He shook his head, his eyes serious.


    Joey''s grin faltered, and he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Damon''s face.


    He knew Damon was stubborn, and he wouldn''t budge once he''d made up his mind.


    Joey narrowed his eyes, a mischievous glint forming in their depths. "What''s it gonna take to convince you?" he asked, his voiceced with amusement.


    Damon shrugged, a smirk spreading across his face. He knew Joey knew he wouldn''t budge, so this was just banter. "How about you try?" he suggested.


    Joey eye''s sparkling with persuasion. "One drink, you can drink water, right?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice filled with mock innocence.


    Damon shook his head, his expression unyielding. Joey chuckled, undeterred. "No? One girl, then?"


    He grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "No, wait, two or maybe three?" He kept throwing offers at Damon, his voice filled with teasing humor.


    Damon wasn''t interested in any of the parties, foursomes, or orgies Joey was offering.


    He shook his head, his expression firm. "No, Joey. Just no."


    Joey''s grin faltered, but only for a moment.


    Heughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the cafe. "Alright, alright. I get it. You''re a lost cause, Damon." He shook his head.


    Joey''s eyes lit up with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, his expression rxed. "I''ll just have to find another way to get you to loosen up, Damon." He smiled, a sly glint in his eye.


    Damon pulled his head back, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Pause, that''s crazy," he said, his voiceced with amusement.


    Joey''s eyes widened, and he realized what he had just said. His face turned bright red as he protested, "You damn fucker, you damn know I didn''t mean it that way!"


    Damon didn''t give up on the joke. He grinned mischievously, his eyes sparkling with humor. "Maybe I should find you some girls instead," he suggested, his voice sounding innocent.


    "But of course, if you still prefer... your taste, who am I to judge?" He raised an eyebrow, his expression yful.


    Joey''s eyes narrowed, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement. "You''re just trying to get a rise out of me, aren''t you?" he asked.


    Damon smirked again, taking a long sip of his drink. "It''s like you''re not even trying to stop, huh?"

 Chapter 94: Chapter 94: Training

    "HARDER!"


    "I SAID HARDER!"


    "FASTER TOO"


    "COME ON! IS THIS ALL YOU GOT:


    BAM!


    BAM!


    BAM!


    BAM!


    Damon sent onest kick to the punching back, making it shake as he stumbled back, trying to maintain bnce.


    BAAAAM!!


    Somchai looked at him with a critical look and disappointment. " Why did you stop?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he folded his arms.


    Damon looked at him, breathing hard. This damn old man had been screaming in his ear for the past year.


    He looked down as sweat dripped from his forehead,nding on the mat.


    But despite all that he had to admit, his skills had improved under his guidance, along with Coach Jos¨¦, his groundwork was getting better, but he still had so much room to improve on.


    But, having the knowledge of the entire martial art made him a fast learner who only required practical training.


    He stood up, looking at the bag, Somchai saw this and nodded, " Good."


    He continued back into kicking the bag, BAM! His shins were burning, but it was not just his shins, his fists elbow, knees, his entire body.


    Each day, he woulde here, and Kru Somchai would make him repeat each attack 100 times, and soon, 100 became five.


    The next week, he would switch to groundwork with Coach Jos¨¦.


    BAM!


    BAM!


    BAM!


    He wished he could say it got better, but that was no different, less painful, but more pride hurting, Coach Jos¨¦ would put him against his best student.


    And you guessed it, it was Ash, who would not shut up each time he won. Every time the group went out for lunch, he would brag.


    Of course, they were friends, so it was more of him rubbing the wins on Damon''s face.


    But on the other hand, he was catching up on strength, and with training Questsing in, he would be able to buy elixirs so he could improve all his stats at once.


    "You can stop, good job." Those words sounded like music to Damon. He stopped dropping to the floor.


    Somchai chuckled, " Your progress is impressive, but you have a lot to learn," his voice turned stern as he walked away, but Damon didn''t care about what he said, he was enjoying this moment of rxation he was having.


    He heard footsteps getting closer, opening his eyes. He was met with a beautiful face.


    ''...''


    But a hand waving across his face snapped him back to reality. "Hello, Damon," a soft voice said.


    Damon''s eyes fluttered open to find Svena standing over him, a towel and a bottle of water in her hand.


    He quickly sat up, his body aching all over.


    His muscles screamed in protest as he moved, but he ignored the pain and focused on Svena''s warm smile.


    They moved towards a wall, leaning against it while sitting, giving them a full view of the training room.


    The sound of heavy breathing and grunting filled the air, apanied by the steady thud of kicks and punches on the punching bags.


    Svena handed him the towel and bottle, her eyes sparkling with kindness. "You''re doing very good, for someone who''s been here for 1 year," sheplimented, her voice gentle.


    Damon took the towel and wiped the sweat from his face, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.


    He unscrewed the bottle and poured some water on his face, letting out a contented sigh as the cool liquid soothed his skin. "Well, tell that to Kru Somchai," heined, his voiceced with frustration.


    "The guy is always unsatisfied. I''ve never once heard himpliment my skills." He shook his head, taking a sip of water from the bottle.


    Svena chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "That''s just Kru Somchai''s way of pushing you to be your best," she said, her voice filled with understanding.


    "He wants to see you seed, but he also wants to see you work hard for it."


    "Well, if that was it, I would be getting matched up," Damon said, his voiceced with a hint of frustration. "I miss real fights." He paused, taking a sip of water from the bottle Svena had given him.


    Just as he was about to continue, a voice sounded from in front of him. "Wassup, love birds?" The tone was yful, but with a hint of teasing.


    Damon lifted his middle finger in response, not even bothering to look up.


    He knew who it was without having to see the face.


    He raised his head, his eyes locking onto Ash, who was standing in front of him with a smirk on his face.


    Ash was nked by Ashley and Ty, both of whom were grinning at Damon.


    The atmosphere was suddenly filled with a sense of camaraderie and banter.


    Damon and Svena were not dating, but they had been spending a lot of time together, like a lot, so much that Victor had been giving Damon the stink eye.


    So the group would always tease them when they got the chance, not that any of them minded.


    Ash looked at Damon, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Were you gonna get lunch? You wannae with?" he asked, his voice filled with friendliness.


    Damon looked at Svena, who nodded in agreement. Damon stood up, helping Svena up from her seated position against the wall.


    His muscles protested slightly as he moved, but he ignored the difort.


    "Sure, it''s on you right?" Damon said jokingly, grinning at Ash. Ash chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, whatever, as long as you don''t order the whole menu." The groupughed, and they turned to leave the training room together.


    As they walked towards the exit, Damon was about to follow Ash and the others when a guy approached him. "Hey, Damon, Vic wants to see you," he said, his voice neutral.


    Damon nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes flicking towards Svena. "Thanks," he said, his voice brief.


    Svena looked at Damon, her eyes filled with concern. "I''ll wait for you, so you don''t have to walk alone," she said quietly, her voice soft and gentle.


    Damon smiled, feeling a sense of gratitude towards her. He nodded, and Svena fell back, waiting.

 Chapter 95: Chapter 95: Eavesdropping

    Damon made his way to Victor''s office, his footsteps quiet on the carpeted floor.


    He was about to knock on the door when he heard the sound of people talking inside.


    He looked around to see if anyone was watching, his eyes scanning the empty hallway.


    Svena was waiting for him a short distance away, but she wasn''t looking in his direction.


    Damon''s curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned in closer to the door, his ear pressed against the wood.


    He heard Victor''s voice, clear and distinct. "How''s the progress with Damon? I just saw the training."


    Kru Somchai''s voice responded, sounding impressed. "Vic, that kid is a beast. He absorbs everything I tell him, and he does it. It''s like he''s just remembering forgotten knowledge. Honestly, I kinda see what you meant a year ago."


    Victor''s voice sounded happy, a hint of excitement in his tone. "That''s good. What about you, Jos¨¦? I''m sure you''ve got good things to say as well."


    Damon held his breath, waiting to hear Coach Jos¨¦''s response.


    But before Jos¨¦ could speak, the sound of the door handle creaking under Damon''s weight echoed through the room.


    Damon cursed silently, his eyes widening in panic. "Fuck," he mouthed, his heart racing.


    He had pushed the handle down when leaning on the door, and now he was worried that he had been discovered.


    Damon froze, his ear still pressed against the door, waiting to see if anyone woulde out to investigate. The room fell silent, and Damon held his breath.


    Damon thought he had gotten away with eavesdropping, and after waiting a minute, he was about to take a step back and knock on the door to pretend he had just arrived.


    Deep down, he was happy to hear that Coach Jos¨¦ and Kru Somchai had been praising him behind his back.


    Those "egg heads" had never told him anything good about his progress, but it seemed they had just chosen not to share their positive opinions with him.


    As he was about to take a step back, Victor''s voice sounded from inside the room, "Damon, we know it''s you. You cane in. We were waiting on you."


    Damon froze, his heart sinking. He cursed silently, "Fuck." He scratched his head, feeling embarrassed and caught.


    He looked over at Svena, who was smiling and waving at him. He took a deep breath, trying topose himself, and entered the room, smiling innocently.


    He opened the door and saw Victor, Kru Somchai, and Coach Jos¨¦ staring at him intently. "Woah, how did you know I was there? I was just about to knock," he said, trying to sound innocent, scratching his head again.


    His eyes darted around the room, trying to gauge their reactions. Victor''s expression was neutral, but Damon could sense a hint of amusement in his eyes.


    Kru Somchai''s face was stern, but Coach Jos¨¦ looked like he was trying to stifle a grin.


    Victor smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sit down, we have something we want to tell you." Damon felt a bit of nervousness, his heart beating slightly faster.


    He took a seat in the chair in front of Victor''s desk, looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.


    Victor leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Your coaches have been telling me how much youin about not getting a match," he said, his voice calm and measured.


    Damon felt a flush rise to his cheeks, and he opened his mouth to exin, but Victor shook his head, cutting him off.


    "No need to exin, you''re young, you want excitement, and you''re hungry, and that''s good," Victor said, his eyes seeming to bore into Damon''s soul.


    "But you need to understand that we''re preparing for stages bigger than those you''ve been in. This isn''t a backyard fight or Battle Xtreme." He paused, his gaze drifting off for a moment before refocusing on Damon.


    Damon felt a shiver run down his spine as Victor''s words hung in the air.


    He had always known that his training was leading up to something bigger, but he wanted at least to test his skills on a real match.


    Victor turned, his chair creaking softly as he reached for a file on his desk.


    He pulled out a paper, his eyes scanning it briefly before looking up at Damon. "I was going to tell you this next year as a surprise," he said, a hint of a smile ying on his lips.


    Victor''s eyes scanned the paper in his hand, his expression thoughtful. "Getting into the UFA is hard, it''s no easy job," he said, his voice measured. "Even I, with my connections, I''m not that good."


    He paused, looking up at Damon with a serious gaze. "But there are other ways to get in," he continued, his words sparking Damon''s curiosity.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed slightly, trying to understand what Victor was getting at.


    He had always known that getting into the UFA was a challenging task, but he had never thought about alternative routes.


    Victor''s eyes seemed to bore into Damon''s soul as he spoke. "You see, there''s this show the UFA wants to revive, it''s been in talks for years, and they''re finally figuring out how to do it."


    Damon''s confusion was evident on his face, but he listened intently, trying to grasp the connection between the show and his own situation.


    ''What show?''


    Victor''s expression turned encouraging. "And, with that show,es great opportunities for up-anding fighters, and that is you."


    Victor''s hand extended, holding out the paper. "Since you''ve been yearning for a fight, take this," he said, his voice filled with a sense of excitement.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he stood up to take the paper, his hand reaching out to ept it.


    His fingers closed around the paper, feeling the weight of the opportunity thaty in the paper.


    While he didn''t know it''s contents, he understood it was something that would take his fighting to the next level.


    Damon''s eyes met Victor''s, a spark of understanding passing between them.

 Chapter 96: Chapter 96: The Supreme Fighter

    Damon''s eyes scanned the paper, his gaze devouring every word, every sentence.


    As he read, his eyes widened in shock, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He couldn''t believe what he was seeing.


    The more he read, the more his shock gave way to happiness, a wide smile spreading across his face.


    His eyes shined with excitement.


    He looked up at Victor, then at his coaches, Kru Somchai and Coach Jos¨¦, his expression was incredulous.


    They all smiled back at him, amusement dancing in their eyes. They seemed to be enjoying his reaction, pleased that he was so enthusiastic.


    Damon''s eyes dropped back to the paper, his mind thinking of all the possibilities.


    He felt like he was reading about a dreame true, a chance to take his fighting career to the next level.


    The paper exined that the UFA was reviving an old show called ''The Supreme Fighter''.


    The concept was simple yet exciting: 32 fighters would be selected to participate in the show, divided into two teams of 16 each.


    These teams would be coached by experienced UFA fighters who would provide guidance and training to help the participants improve their skills.


    The fighters would have the opportunity to train and learn from the best in the business, honing their techniques and strategies in a state-of-the-art training facility.


    But that was just the beginning. The real challenge woulde in the form of fights, where the participants wouldpete against each other to earn a spot in the show and stay in the house.


    As thepetition progressed, the coaches would select their teams, choosing the fighters they believed had the most potential.


    The selected fighters would then work closely with their coaches, receiving personalized training and guidance to help them seed.


    The ultimate goal was to be one of thest two fighters standing.


    These two finalists would participate in a thrilling finale, where the winner would be crowned "The Supreme Fighter".


    And the prize for winning? A lucrative 6-figure contract with the UFA, a dreame true for any aspiring fighter.


    Damon''s eyes scanned the paper, his excitement growing with each sentence.


    He couldn''t believe the opportunity thaty before him. He imagined himself in the house, training with the best, fighting against tough opponents, and ultimately emerging victorious.


    The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn''t help but grin from ear to ear.


    Damon''s eyes darted between his coaches and Victor, his voice rising in excitement. "Is this real?" he asked, his words tumbling out in a rush.


    Victor chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face. "It''s real as it can get," he confirmed, his eyes creasing at the corners. "And you already have a match scheduled to fight for a spot in the show."


    Damon''s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. He felt like he was getting the ultimate gift, the chance to fight for a spot in ''The Supreme Fighter''.


    He jumped to his feet, his enthusiasm radiating from every pore. "When and where? I''m ready!" he eximed, his voice echoing through the room.


    Victor''s smile faltered for a moment, and he held up a calming hand. "Calm down, Damon. The fight is a yearter," he said, his words slowing Damon''s momentum.


    Damon''s smile faltered, his face falling for a split second. But then his determination kicked in, and his grin returned wider than ever.


    He clenched his fist, his eyes shining with resolve. "That''s good enough," he said, his voice firm.


    He knew that a year was a long time, but he was willing to wait for this opportunity. It was too good to pass up.


    He could spend the next year training, honing his skills, and preparing for the fight of his life.


    Damon''s face lit up with gratitude as he thanked Victor, Coach Jos¨¦, and Kru Somchai. "Thank you, Victor, thank you, Coach Jos¨¦, and thank you, Kru Somchai," he said, his words tumbling out in a rush.


    Coach Jos¨¦ shook his head, a wry smile spreading across his face. "No need to thank us, kid. It''s all Vic here. He proposed it the day you came."


    Damon smiled, nodding in understanding.


    Victor''s smiled as he looked at Damon. "Okay, Damon, you can leave us now," he said, noticing Damon''s eagerness to depart.


    Damon didn''t need to be told twice. He left the office with a wide smile still stered on his face, feeling like he was walking on cloud nine.


    Back in the office, Victor smiled, looking at Somchai and Jos¨¦. "See, problem solved," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.


    Coach Jos¨¦ nodded, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Well, I guess he''ll stop bothering me to give him matches now."


    Somchai shook his head, a skeptical expression on his face. "No, it''s going to get into his big head. Ego is the supreme destroyer."


    Coach Jos¨¦ looked at Somchai with a mocking glint in his eye. "Sure, man, you do you. I wonder how that girl trains with you, with such a tough knucklehead."


    Somchai shot back, his voice rising in defense. "Svena is a learner. When I teach, she pushes pride to the side. She absorbs. She has no ego. That''s not what I can say about your so-called prot¨¦g¨¦, Ashton." The air was charged with tension as Coach Jos¨¦''s face darkened.


    Coach Jos¨¦ didn''t take Somchai''s jab lying down. "Don''t insult my student," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You have an ego bigger than all of us."


    He carefully avoided mentioning Svena, aware that Victor was present and wouldn''t appreciate him mocking his daughter.


    It would be a 2-on-1 situation, and Jos¨¦ wasn''t ready for that.


    Somchaiughed hard, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "What are you gonna do, sit down on your butt?" he taunted, mocking Coach Jos¨¦''s Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu skills.


    Victor just rubbed his temples, a pained expression on his face. "No peace for me, I guess."


    The two coaches continued their battle of words like a married couple, as they mocked each other, from skills to the very core of the martial art, sparking a debate.

 Chapter 97: Chapter 97: Eager to Share

    Damon burst out of the office, like he had springs under his feet.


    He spotted Svena waiting for him, her eyes scanning the surrounding area. "Lana!" he called out, his voice filled with excitement.


    Svena turned around, a hint of a smile on her face.


    The nickname "Lana" was one that she was called with in their circle, it was short Svena, if that wasn''t clear.


    "Sorry I took long," Damon said, his smile faltering for a moment as he scratched his head nervously.


    Svena''s cheeks flushed with a soft pink hue, but Damon didn''t notice, still reeling from the news he had just received. "No, I don''t mind," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Damon''s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he looked at Svena. "We should leave," he said, ncing around the area. "They probably arrived."


    Referring to the twins and Ty.


    As they strolled to the restaurant, Damon''s grin was impossible to contain.


    His excitement was infectious, and Svena found herself smiling along with him.


    The atmosphere was rxed, and their conversation flowed effortlessly.


    They discussed everything from their shared love of martial arts to their favorite music and humor.


    Damon was struck by how much they had inmon, despite their different backgrounds.


    Their connection went beyond surface-level simrities, though.


    Damon sensed that they shared a deeper understanding, one that didn''t require words.


    It was as if they both knew what it was like to carry scars, to have experienced traumas that they wished to keep hidden from the world.


    When their eyes met, Damon felt like Svena saw right through to his soul, and he hers.


    Their shared experiences, though unspoken, created a sense offort and familiarity between them.


    Damon felt at ease in Svena''s presence, like he could be himself without fear of judgment.


    He enjoyed spending time with her, not just because of their shared interests, but because he felt like he could be his authentic self around her.


    As they entered the restaurant, the aroma of savory dishes was carried through the air, making their stomachs growl with hunger.


    They scanned the room, spotting their friends in the corner.


    Ash was being his usual boisterous self, dominating the conversation with his loud voice.


    Ashley was injecting asionalments, trying to keep up with Ash''s rapid-fire speech.


    Ty, on the other hand, was content to simply listen, his eyes observing the scene with interest.


    Damon and Svena made their way over, moving through the bustling restaurant.


    As they approached the table, Ash caught sight of them and grinned widely. "And they finally arrived! Damon, brother, you gotta teach me your ways!" he eximed, his voice carrying across the room.


    Damon chuckled, shaking his head good-naturedly. "Move over," he said, yfully pping the back of Ash''s head as he slid into the U-shaped sofa.


    The table was cozy, with Ty''srge frame taking up most of the wall side.


    Ash sat across from Ashley, who was now sharing the sofa with Svena.


    As the waiter arrived, they took a moment to scan the menu, their eyes scanning the various options before making their selections.


    Damon didn''t order anything messy, but since he still had to put on weight, he got a hefty meal, which Ash red at him for.


    After ordering, they settled in, ready to enjoy each other''spany.


    The conversation started light, with discussions about training and recent events around the gym.


    They talked about their personal lives andughed about humorous moments that had urred.


    Damon, seeing the conversation about to end, he saw this was a chance to make his announcement, so he cleared his throat, catching everyone''s attention .


    And sure it did, his sudden interruption caught everyone''s attention, and they turned to face him, their expressions curious.


    He smiled, his grin spreading wildly across his face,


    "Okay, guys, I have an announcement," Damon said, his voice clear and confident. The words hung in the air, like a challenge, drawing everyone in.


    Ash raised an eyebrow, thinking about what Damon could be announcing


    If he were making the announcement, it would likely be about histest romantic conquest.


    But Damon''s serious tone hinted at something more substantial.


    Svena''s eyes locked onto Damon''s, her interest piqued.


    She had a feeling that this announcement was connected to the news he had received earlier, the news that had left him beaming with excitement.


    Ty leaned forward, hisrge frame subconsciously inclining towards Damon, like a tree bending in the wind.


    "And?" Ash prompted, seemingly couldn''t handle the anticipation.


    Damon paused, savoring the moment, like a performer about to reveal a grand finale. "Okay, so the reason that me and Lana werete, it''s because I was meeting Victor," he began.


    "So, you guys know about the UFA''s uing show," Damon said, his voice filled with excitement, exining the show and its details.


    Ashley nodded, interjecting, " Oh yeah, I heard about that, I didn''t think they were going to go along with it," she shrugged.


    Damon smiled and looked at everyone faces wanting to see their reaction, "I just found out that I have a chance to fight for a spot in the show."


    "..."


    Everyone''s eyes widened in surprise, and they paused for a moment.


    Then, their faces broke into smiles. "Congrattions, man! That''s amazing news!" Ash eximed.


    "Wow, that''s huge!" Ashley added, her voice filled with excitement.


    Ty nodded his head in approval. "That''s great, Damon. You deserve it."


    Svena smiled warmly. "I''m so happy for you, Damon. You''ve worked so hard for this."


    The group continued to offer their congrattions, their voices filled with enthusiasm and support.


    Ash leaned back in his chair, letting out a dramatic sigh as he looked at Ty. "Big guy, it looks like it''s just you and me left. Soon, we''ll have another star among our midst," he said, his tone exaggerated foredic effect.


    Svena interjected, a hint of yfulness in her voice. "Hey, what about me?"


    Ash turned to her, a teasing look in his eye. "Haa, don''t act like you won''t be signed anytime soon," he said, his words with unhidden confidence.


    The group didn''t disagree with Ash''s assessment.


    Svena had an outstanding record, and her skills had already attracted attention from other promotionalpanies.


    It was only a matter of time before she received a lucrative offer.


    The lunch continued, now more upbeat than before, with Damon''s good news still affecting the mood.

 Chapter 98: Chapter 98: Rivalry

    Monday - 13th February 2027(a yearter)


    In the gym, the trainees were not training. Instead, half of the ce was gathered around an octagon cage, looking with excitement.


    Some people were saying, "You think he can defeat him now?" Others were nodding in agreement, while a few were shaking their heads in doubt.


    One person said, "I mean, it''s a no-brainer. Look at the size of him." They gestured towards the figure standing confidently outside the cage, his muscles rippling beneath his skin.


    Despite the impressive physique, someone else chimed in, "I heard he''s been so close to defeating his Muay Thai coach." This sparked a flurry of interested nces and whisperedments.


    The gym''s usual sounds of grunting, punching, and kicking were reced by the sound of eager chatter and spection.


    Inside the cage, Damon stood tall, his messy hair almost covering his face.


    If someone had ced a picture of him from two years ago beside him now, they would be astonished at the transformation.


    Gone were the days of his skeletal frame; his body had filled out, and muscles were now visible beneath his skin.


    Damon''s weight had increased to 180 pounds, but he didn''t appear buff or bulky. Instead, he looked athletic, with a lean and toned physique that spoke to his dedication to training.


    More importantly, he looked healthy, with a radiant glow that came from within.


    A confident smile yed on his face as he gazed at Ash, his eyes shining with a sense of self-assurance.


    Damon was convinced he could win inbat, and it was clear to everyone present.


    However, that wasn''t the reason people had gathered to watch.


    The crowd hade to witness a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu match, a test of skill, strategy, and endurance.


    After all, if this was abat fight, Damon had already won.


    His size alone would prove advantageous, and most importantly, his mastery of Muay Thai.


    Damon''s main martial art was based on striking(Muay Thai), and Ash had been defeating him using striking.


    However, Damon''s skills had improved significantly since then.


    The only reason Ash had been able to defeat Damon in the past was because of Damon''s meager skills at the time.


    But now, Damon was a force to be reckoned with. He could beat Ash in abat fight, but he didn''t want it to be that way.


    Ash had beaten him in his own environment where he thought he excelled, striking, so Damon wished to beat him in his own environment, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, specifically on the ground.


    Damon wanted to prove that he was not only skilled in Muay Thai but also in Ash''s own specialty.


    He wanted to show that he could adapt and ovee, even in unfamiliar territory.


    I mean, it wasn''t exactly an unfamiliar territory since he trained in it, with Coach Jos¨¦''.


    Svena and Ty were standing among the crowd, their eyes glued on the cage.


    Ashley was noticeably absent, having left for another city where she had a match scheduled.


    She had been in training camp for months, preparing for a UFA match, so she couldn''t be here to watch these to finally squash their rivalry.


    While Ash would go and support his sister when it was time, Damon wouldn''t be able to go.


    He had his own match, and he had to fight someone so that he can get the spot on the show.


    As the crowd quieted down, Ash stepped forward, his voice ringing out clearly. "Are you ready, DC?" he asked, his eyes locked on Damon.


    Damon nodded, his expression confident. "As long as you are," he replied.


    Damon and Ash circled each other, eyes locked, each step careful. Their feet lightly bounced, shifting weight, testing distance. Neither wanted to make the first move, waiting for the right moment.


    Ash darted in first, grabbing at Damon''s cor to set up a takedown.


    Damon lowered his stance, gripping Ash''s wrist and breaking the grip, shoving him away.


    Ash came in again, quicker this time. He shot for a single leg, trying to drive through Damon''s hips.


    Damon sprawled, his legs shooting back, pressing his chest onto Ash''s shoulders to block the takedown.


    Ash didn''t give up. He adjusted, wrapping his arms tighter around Damon''s leg, trying to pull it in. Damon shifted his weight, pushing Ash''s head down while working his leg free.


    "Not this time," Damon said, his voice low.


    Ash grunted, frustrated, but stayed persistent. He switched to a low ankle pick, grabbing Damon''s ankle and yanking hard.


    Damon lost his bnce for a moment but quickly regained it, hopping back, trying to stay upright.


    Ash moved faster now, transitioning to a double leg. His shoulder hit Damon''s midsection.


    Damon''s back hit the cage, and Ash drove his weight forward, trying to bring him down.


    Damon widened his stance, using the cage to brace himself. His hands pushed on Ash''s head and shoulders, stopping him from getting deeper.


    "Come on, Ash. You can do better," Damon taunted, smirking.


    Ash gritted his teeth and changed tactics. He dropped to his knees, going for a deep single-leg again.


    Damon saw iting and pivoted, circling off the cage and spinning away. Ash scrambled back to his feet, resetting his stance.


    They circled again, each taking a few breaths.


    Ash moved in once more, and this time Damon let hime closer.


    Ash grabbed for his cor again, looking for a grip to control him, but Damon snapped his arms up and over, breaking the hold.


    Damon went for a cor tie of his own, pulling Ash''s head down while stepping forward, trying to snap him down.


    Ash resisted, bending at the waist to stay upright. Damon kept the pressure, then released, pushing Ash back.


    Ash stumbled slightly but quickly recovered, staying light on his feet.


    "Almost had you there," Damon said, eyes sharp.


    Ash didn''t respond, focused on his next move. He faked a low takedown, then popped up quickly, grabbing Damon''s arm and spinning into an arm drag.


    This was the first time Ash had not spoken. Any trash talking in a fight.

 Chapter 99: Chapter 99: Table turned

    "Almost had you there," Damon said, eyes sharp.


    Ash didn''t respond, focused on his next move. He faked a low takedown, then popped up quickly, grabbing Damon''s arm and spinning into an arm drag.


    He pulled Damon off-bnce for a second and quickly moved to take his back.


    Damon felt it and immediately dropped to a knee, turning into Ash before he could secure the position.


    He grabbed Ash''s wrist, controlling it, and used his other hand to post on the ground, pushing himself back up to his feet.


    Ash wasn''t giving up. He drove forward again, grabbing for Damon''s waist, trying to lock his hands. Damon fought the grip, digging his elbows in and keeping Ash''s hands from locking around his hips.


    They struggled for a moment, pushing against each other. Damon shoved Ash back, creating space again.


    "You sure about this, Ash?" Damon asked, voice steady.


    Ash just smiled, wiping sweat from his face, then dove in once more. This time he got under Damon''s hips, lifting him slightly off the ground. Damon quickly wrapped his legs around Ash''s waist, pulling him into full guard as they hit the mat.


    Ash immediately started working to pass Damon''s guard, pushing on his legs and trying to slide a knee through. Damon stayed calm, controlling Ash''s wrists and keeping his legs tight.


    "Now we''re talking," Damon said quietly as Ash struggled.


    Ash shifted, trying to break free of Damon''s guard. He pushed down on Damon''s knee, trying to create space for a pass. Damon reacted by shifting his hips, keeping his guard closed and strong.


    Ash switched to another tactic, posturing up and trying to rain down punches. Damon quickly controlled his wrists, stopping the strikes before they could gain momentum.


    "You''re slowing down, Ash," Damon said, tightening his grip on Ash''s wrists.


    Ash ignored him and leaned back, trying to force his knee through Damon''s guard. He made some progress, almost breaking it, but Damon adjusted, turning his hips and threatening a triangle choke.


    Ash immediately pulled back, avoiding the triangle, but it gave Damon the opening to switch to an armbar attempt. Damon shot his legs up, locking Ash''s arm in, and began to extend.


    Ash grunted, twisting his body and pulling his arm out just before Damon could fully lock it in. Damon let go and reset his guard, not letting Ash pass.


    "Close one," Damon said, grinning as Ash backed off.


    Ash moved forward again, pushing his forearm against Damon''s neck, trying to control his posture.


    Damon reacted by breaking Ash''s grip and pulling him down into his guard again, controlling his posture.


    Ash moved his hips, trying to angle for a pass, but Damon was ready. He pushed on Ash''s hips, creating enough space to slide his own legs out and transition to an open guard.


    As soon as Damon''s legs were free, he quickly went for an ankle lock, twisting Ash''s leg as he locked it in.


    Ash grimaced, but he spun with the hold, preventing Damon from finishing the submission. Ash kicked out and freed his leg, standing back up.


    They both got to their feet, breathing harder now but still sharp.


    Damon cracked his neck, stepping forward. "You really want this?"


    Ash didn''t respond, just shot in again, aiming for a quick single-leg. Damon reacted by sprawling hard, this time catching Ash under his weight. He spun around, taking Ash''s back as Ash scrambled on the ground.


    Damon locked in a seatbelt grip, controlling Ash''s body, and started to work his hooks in. Ash struggled, keeping his arms tight and defending his neck.


    For a moment, they were still, both breathing heavily. Damon slowly worked one arm under Ash''s chin, threatening a rear-naked choke.


    Ash grabbed at Damon''s wrist, fighting off the choke as best he could.


    Damon tightened his grip, the choke getting deeper. Ash squirmed, trying to twist out of it.


    Damon held on, squeezing slowly, but Ash managed to pull Damon''s arm down just enough to stop the choke from fully locking in.


    Ash turned into Damon, breaking the grip and escaping back to a neutral position. Damon let him go, stepping back and letting Ash stand up.


    "Still hanging in there," Damon said, slightly impressed.


    Ash didn''t waste time, shooting in again, trying to catch Damon off guard. Damon defended with a sprawl, controlling Ash''s head and resetting once more.


    They circled again, both a bit slower now but still determined.


    Ash shot in again, this time with more aggression, and Damon wasn''t fast enough to sprawl.


    Ash caught him in a deep single leg, pulling Damon''s leg in tight and driving him backward.


    Damon tried to hop out of it, but Ash swept his other leg, sending Damon crashing onto his back.


    Ash immediately scrambled on top, securing side control.


    Damon grunted, trying to shrimp out, but Ash locked down his hips with his knee, pinning him to the mat.


    Damon struggled to move, but Ash was already setting up for a better position.


    "Got you now, big guy," Ash muttered, his voice smug.


    Damon grimaced as Ash dropped his weight heavier, making it hard to breathe.


    Ash moved methodically, controlling Damon''s attempts to escape.


    He slid his knee across Damon''s torso, shifting into a more dominant side control.


    Damon tried to bridge, but Ash held him down, controlling his head with one arm while his hips smothered Damon''s movement.


    "You thought you had me earlier," Ash said, his voice growing cocky. "But you forgot who you''re messing with."


    Damon struggled to free his arms, but Ash was already securing a head-and-arm choke setup.


    Ash leaned in, tightening his grip, slowly applying pressure to Damon''s neck and shoulder.


    Damon felt the squeeze, his breath getting short, but he stayed calm, waiting for the right moment to defend.


    Ash smirked, seeing Damon''s breathing change. "What''s the matter? Getting tired? Should''ve stayed standing."


    Damon nted his feet, trying to bridge again, but Ash anticipated it.


    He floated on top, keeping his bnce, then dropped back into side control before Damon could escape.


    "Just rx," Ash said, his tone mocking. "You''re not getting out of this."


    Ash leaned forward, putting more weight on Damon''s chest. He transitioned to full mount, sitting heavily on Damon''s torso.


    Damon felt the shift and tried to buck him off, but Ash''s position was solid.


    Damon pushed against Ash''s chest, trying to create space, but Ash easily ttened his arms down, trapping them.


    Ash dropped his hips lower,pletely controlling Damon''s torso. Damon struggled beneath him, but Ash''s control was tight.

 Chapter 100: Chapter 100: Victor!

    "You''re not going anywhere," Ash said, grinning. "Might as well tap now."


    Damon''s eyes flickered with frustration as he tried to shift his hips. Ashughed, seeing the effort.


    "Come on, man, you''re supposed to be better than this," Ash teased, pping Damon lightly on the cheek. "What happened to all that talk?"


    Damon clenched his jaw, refusing to give in, but he was trapped. Ash had him fully mounted, and each attempt to escape only made Ash''s position stronger.


    Ash moved higher up on Damon''s chest, pinning his arms even tighter. He leaned forward, face close to Damon''s. "This is too easy," he whispered.


    Damon breathed heavily, focusing, knowing he had to find a way out before Ash could lock in a submission.


    But Ash wasn''t giving him any space. Ash lowered his hips, putting all his weight onto Damon, making it impossible for him to breathe deeply.


    "Starting to feel it now, huh?" Ash asked. "That''s the weight of a real grappler."


    Ash leaned back, lifting one of Damon''s arms and sliding his leg through, setting up an arm triangle choke.


    Damon''s vision started to blur as the pressure increased. Ash slowly tightened the choke, grinning as Damon''s struggles grew weaker.


    "Not so tough now," Ash whispered, squeezing harder.


    Damon fought to stay calm, but Ash had full control, dominating him on the ground.


    The smirk on Ash''s face widened as he felt Damon''s resistance weakening.


    Damon knew Ash was overconfident. He couldn''t escape the arm triangle by force, but he didn''t need to. Instead, he yed it smart.


    With Ash pressing down, focusing on tightening the choke, Damon moved his legs, adjusting his hips slightly.


    Ash didn''t notice¡ªhis attention was on closing the submission. Damon''s legs shifted to give Ash just enough space to think he had full control.


    Ash leaned into the choke, feeling like victory was near, but Damon had other ns.


    He used Ash''s forward momentum to his advantage, gripping Ash''s knee subtly with his hand, trapping it against his body.


    Then, in a swift, calcted move, Damon bridged hard into Ash, using the angle of his body to shift the pressure off his neck just enough to disrupt the choke.


    Ash felt the change toote. Damon quickly trapped Ash''s leg and used the momentum to roll.


    Ash tried to adjust, but Damon''s sudden leverage threw him off bnce.


    In one clean motion, Damon reversed the position, rolling them both over until Ash was on his back, with Damon now in Ash''s half guard.


    Ash looked shocked for a split second, but Damon wasn''t done.


    He immediately worked on breaking free of Ash''s half guard, using shoulder pressure to keep Ash pinned down.


    With his upper body controlled, Ash was forced to defend his leg.


    "You think you''ve got me figured out?" Damon growled as he pushed down on Ash''s knee, opening space for his leg to escape.


    Ash gritted his teeth, trying to regain control, but Damon quickly slid his leg free, transitioning into side control.


    Ash tried to scramble, but Damon''s grip on him was tight. Damon used his hips to smother Ash''s movement, locking him down.


    "You''re good, Ash, but you underestimated me," Damon said, his tone steady but serious.


    Ash twisted under him, trying to escape, but Damon kept his weight centered. He wasn''t going for brute strength¡ªhe was using technical precision.


    Ash made one more desperate attempt to roll, and that''s when Damon saw his opening.


    As Ash turned, Damon quickly slid his knee across Ash''s torso, moving into full mount.


    Ash''s eyes widened, realizing toote that Damon had trapped him. Now Damon was the one on top, and he wasn''t letting go.


    Damon leaned forward, his hands pressing down on Ash''s chest, controlling his posture.


    Ash struggled beneath him, but Damon had him pinned, locking Ash''s arms out of the equation.


    Damon stayed calm, methodical, using pressure to sap Ash''s energy.


    "Not so confident now, are you?" Damon said, eyes locked on Ash''s, who was grunting with effort, trying to escape.


    Ash pushed against Damon''s chest, trying to create space, but Damon''s hips stayed heavy, his knees tight.


    Ash attempted to buck him off, but Damon rode the movement, staying stable and bnced on top.


    Ash tried to bridge again, but this time, Damon isted Ash''s arm, sliding into a high mount.


    Ash''s face showed a sh of panic as Damon shifted his weight, trapping Ash''s arm under his leg, pinning it.


    Damon moved quickly, securing Ash''s other arm with a grip, setting up for an armbar.


    Ash knew what wasing and tried to twist out of it, but Damon was two steps ahead.


    As Ash turned, Damon spun smoothly, locking his legs around Ash''s arm and extending it straight.


    Ash struggled, using his free hand to try and break Damon''s grip, but Damon''s position was perfect.


    He slowly increased the pressure, bending Ash''s arm back.


    "Time to tap, Ash," Damon said calmly, his eyes locked on his opponent.


    Ash fought for a few more seconds, trying to roll out, but Damon''s hips were locked tight.


    The armbar was deep. With no other choice, Ash tapped, frustration clear on his face.


    Damon let go immediately, standing up and looking down at Ash, whoy on the mat, breathing hard. Damon gave him a quick nod.


    "Smart beats strong every time," Damon said as he dropped to the ground as well, sitting down.


    He smirked, continuing. " Unfortunately for you, I have both"


    The cage door swung open, and Svena and Ty entered.


    Svena threw a towel to Damon, who caught it with a grin, wiping the sweat from his face.


    Ash, still lying on the mat, looked up at them with a mock offended expression.


    "Hey, what about me?" heined, his voice humorous. "I''m the one who got beat up here."


    Svena smiled sweetly. "I only had one towel, sorry Ash."


    Ty chuckled and shook his head. "Don''t worry, buddy, I got you." He pulled out another towel from behind his back and tossed it to Ash, who caught it with augh.


    Ash stood up, wrapping the towel around his neck, and walked over to Damon. "Good fight, man," he said, with a nod of respect. "You got me good."


    Damon smiled, pping Ash on the back. "You underestimated me, that''s all,"


    "Now I have to get ready for my fight next week."

 Chapter 101: Chapter 101: Progress

    A few days passed, and Damon was lounging in his room, enjoying thefort of his bed.


    The softness of the nket and the warmth of the sunbeam streaming through the window had almost lulled him into a nap.


    As he drifted off to sleep, Damon''s body suddenly jolted, and he jumped up, looking around frantically.


    He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, and cursed under his breath, "Damn dream."


    He had been having one of those unsettling dreams where you feel like you''re falling, and it feels so real that you wake up with a start, feeling like you''re still plummeting downwards.


    Damon sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering fear.


    Today was a quiet day, with no training scheduled, because he was leaving for the fightter.


    He had been waiting for Victor toe pick him up, but for now, he just rested, trying to calm his racing heart.


    Damon''s mind started to wander, thinking about the uing fight and what it would be like to face his opponent.


    He hadn''t been in a real match for 2 years, that was long, he felt nervous, he was confident obviously, but was still such a long time, made it so foreign.


    But his training had been useful for the past year, he hade close to defeating Kru Somchai, he knew his progress wouldn''t be so fast without the system help.


    His stats had increased over a year, with 365 days meant 300 coins to use, and with that, he had increased his strength, stamina, and agility.


    He had chosen Agility over Speed for a reason. Since he wanted to progress his BJJ, he needed a very agile body.


    Strength: D+


    - Speed: E+


    - Stamina: D+


    - Endurance: C+


    - Agility: D


    Something Damon realized, although he wasn''t sure about it, was that just because someone had D rank strength did not mean they could defeat an E rank.


    If there was a Heavyweight E rank and a Bantamweight D rank or higher, he would not be able to match the power of the Heavyweight.


    He felt that these ranks weren''t additional strength or supernatural in some way. It was like more potential, improving how much ess you had on your full power.


    Again, this was more of a theory. Since the system couldn''t talk back or answer his questions, he could only make up answers and hope to be right.


    But deep down, he felt he was right cause when he had been increasing his weight, he had felt his strength and power increase, but the rank hadn''t changed a lot at that time.


    Damon shook his head, sighing, and pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.


    He didn''t want to dwell on the uing fight and his nerves anymore.


    Instead, his mind wandered to Joey.


    They had been hanging out from time to time, grabbing coffee or catching fight events together.


    Damon remembered thest time they hung out, Joey had been telling him about his studies.


    Turns out, Joey was majoring in Journalism, with a focus on being a Reporter.


    Damon had been surprised, but also impressed. Joey seemed happy and serious about it, and Damon had to admit, he was proud of him.


    He couldn''t help but think, Imagine he was in a UFA press, and suddenly someone asked a question, he turnes and he sees Joey asking some dumb questions.


    But then, he heard his mother''s voice calling out for him.


    "Damon!"


    He jumped out of bed, his heart rate increasing slightly. He hadn''t expected his mother to call for him so urgently.


    He quickly made his way out of his room and into the living area, forgetting to put on a shirt.


    As he entered the kitchen, he was greeted by the savory aroma of cooking food.


    His mother was standing by the stove, expertly stirring a pot of stew. Damon''s stomach growled in anticipation.


    "Mom, you''re cooking?" he asked, confusion painted on his face. It wasn''t evening yet, and he hadn''t expected his mother to start cooking so early.


    Aoife turned around, a warm smile on her face. "Of course, dear. After all, you''re leaving soon, and I don''t know when I''ll see you again."


    Damon chuckled, opening the fridge to grab an apple. "But Mom, I''m not leaving yet. This is just a fight to get the spot, then I''ll leave."


    Aoife''s expression turned serious, her eyes clouding over with concern. "I know, dear. But I still want to make sure you''re well-fed before you go."


    Damon took a bite of his apple, looking at his mother with a questioning gaze. "So, what do you need?"


    Aoife hesitated for a moment before responding. "Oh, there''s someone at the door. Can you please get it?"


    Damon''s curiosity was piqued. Who could be visiting at this time of day? He nodded, taking another bite of his apple before heading towards the door.


    As Damon reached the door, he stretched his hand to open it, and when he did, he was met with a sight that made his heart skip a beat.


    Standing before him was the stunning Svena, her blonde-brte hair cascading down her shoulders like a golden waterfall.


    Her piercing blue eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.


    Damon''s gaze drifted down, and he realized he wasn''t wearing a shirt, his chest bare for Svena to see.


    He felt a flush rise to his cheeks as he hastily apologized, "Oh, sorry, I should have dressed before opening the door."


    Even though he has been probably shirtless in front of her in the gym, it felt weird when the setting was his home.


    Svena''s eyes snapped back up to his face, a hint of a smile ying on her lips. "It''s fine," she said, her voice husky and confident.


    Just then, Aoife''s voice echoed from the kitchen, "Damon, who is it?" Damon hesitated for a moment before responding, "Well, do you want toe in and meet my mom?" He scratched his head, feeling a bit awkward.


    Svena raised an eyebrow, "Your mom?" she questioned, her toneced with curiosity.


    Damon nodded, stepping aside to let her in. "Yeah,e in." Svena stood there for a moment, her eyes scanning the apartment before she smiled and entered.


    As she stepped inside, Damon caught a whiff of her perfume, a subtle blend of floral and citrus that left him breathless.


    He watched as she moved into the apartment, her hips swaying slightly as she walked.


    Aoife''s voice called out again, "Damon, who is your friend?" Damon hesitated, unsure how to introduce Svena.


    But before he could respond, Svena turned to him, her eyes locked onto his, and smiled.


    She was also curious on how Damon was going to introduce her.

 Chapter 102: Chapter 102: Dinner with Lana

    As they entered the kitchen, Aoife''s eyes widened slightly, taking in the sight of Damon walking alongside the beautiful Svena.


    She beamed with excitement, but quickly contained it, not wanting to make a scene. "Oh, and who''s this youngdy?" she asked, her voiceced with curiosity, looking at Damon expectantly.


    Damon felt a surge of nervousness, his mind racing with thoughts of how to introduce Svena.


    ''Why am I freaking out about this? She just a friend,  yeah, just a friend''


    And his nerves settled. "Mom, this is Svena. She''s... uhh... my friend," he said, finally sounding certain.


    Aoife titled her head, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Oh, are you sure?" she teased, her voice light.


    Damon chuckled nervously, feeling a bit defensive. "Of course, Mom, I know who my friends are."


    Svena smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling with kindness. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Cross," she said, her voice husky.


    Damon excused himself, "Okay, let me go put on a shirt while you guys get to know each other." He smiled, then walked towards his room, leaving Svena and Aoife alone in the kitchen.


    As Damon walked away, Svena couldn''t help but nce at his back, her eyes catching sight of a scar running from his shoulder to lower back.


    She had been curious about it before but never asked, knowing that everyone has their secrets.


    Aoife smiled warmly, "Well, Svena, please, feel at home. Mind helping me dish?" She gestured to the stew simmering on the stove.


    Svena nodded, her long hair swaying slightly as she moved. "Of course, not Mrs. Cross," she said respectfully, her eyes scanning the kitchen as she took in the cozy atmosphere.


    The aroma of stew filled the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread, making Svena''s stomach growl with anticipation.


    She smiled, feeling a sense of warmth andfort in the Cross'' kitchen.


    ...


    ..


    As they sat down at the table, Damon couldn''t help but notice the way Svena''s eyes sparkled in the light.


    His mother, Aoife, smiled warmly at her, asking, "So Svena, you''re such a beautiful youngdy, tell me about yourself?"


    Svena''s cheeks flushed slightly as she began to talk, her voice husky and confident.


    Damon listened intently, his eyes darting back and forth between Svena and his mother.


    He was surprised by how easily Svena opened up to Aoife, sharing stories about her interests and hobbies.


    Aoifeughed and nodded, her eyes shining with warmth, as she asked follow-up questions.


    As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, with Svena and Aoife chatting like old friends.


    Damon found himself feeling a sense of wonder at how quickly they had connected.


    He shook his head, smiling to himself, as he took another bite of his food.


    After a while, Aoife stood up, her eyes filled with amusement. "Well, why don''t I leave you kids alone? I''m sure Lana here came for a reason, so I''ll excuse myself."


    She gathered the dishes, leaving Damon and Svena in an awkward silence.


    "Well," As they both spoke at the same time, the air was filled with a brief moment of awkward silence.


    Damon''s smile broke the tension, and he gestured for Svena to continue. "You go first," he said, his voice warm and inviting.


    Svena nodded, her long hair swaying slightly as she moved. "Well, I came here to pick you up..." she trailed off, her voice hesitant.


    She avoided eye contact, her gaze drifting to the side, as if searching for the right words.


    Damon''s eyes locked onto hers, his expression curious. He waited for her to continue, but she didn''t.


    Instead, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "Oh, that''s very nice of you, I should get my bags already," he said, his voice smooth and polite.


    As he turned to leave, he paused, his eyes meeting Svena''s once more. "Also, Lana, thanks for eating with us, you''re amazingpany," he said, his voice sincere.


    The words lingered around, and for a moment, they just looked at each other.


    Then, turned around, a slight smirk appeared for a moment on his face before he quickly make his way to his room, leaving Svena alone in the dining area.


    Her face flushed, a soft pink hue spreading across her cheeks. She looked down, her eyes focusing on the table, as if trying to process what had just happened.


    As she sat there, lost in thought, her mind was messy.


    Svena''s eyes snapped back to attention, and she stood up, smoothing out her dress.


    She was ready to leave, but a part of her didn''t want to break the spell that had been cast.


    ..


    ..


    In Damon''s Room.


    Damon walked into his room, expecting to see his usual messy space, but instead, he found his mother, Aoife, standing by his bed, his bag already packed and ready to go.


    He paused, a smile spreading across his face. "Mom, thank you," he said, his voice filled with gratitude.


    Aoife walked towards him, her eyes shining with warmth, and enveloped him in a tight hug.


    Damon hugged her back, feeling a sense offort and security in her embrace.


    The hug was long, and for a moment, they just held each other.


    As they broke apart, Damon was about to take a step back when Aoife held his hand, her grip gentle but firm. "Damon, that young woman out there," she said, her voice low and serious.


    Damon was about to interrupt her, but she held up her hand, and he stopped.


    "She''s wonderful, and I''m sure you''re not blind to see she likes you, and you like her as well," Aoife continued, her eyes locked onto his. Damon felt a flush rise to his cheeks, but he didn''t look away.


    "Of course, I don''t want to intrude too much and tell you what to do with your love life," Aoife said, her voice softening. "But... she seems to have been through a lot." She trailed off, her eyes filled with concern.


    Damon nodded, as he thought of Svena and her mysterious past.


    Even with their closeness, they both hadn''t revealed the dark parts of their pasts, while he knew about her being from a wartorn country, he didn''t know the details.


    Aoife continued, her voice filled with warmth. "And so have you, so be there for her, just as she can be there for you."


    Damon''s eyes widened as Aoife said, "What do you young kids say? I saw this online... oh, don''t fumble a ten."


    Damon paused, augh escaping his lips. "That''s a bit cringeing from you, Mom," he teased.


    ''Let''s hope she doesn''t get more brainrot''


    But then, his expression turned serious, and he hugged Aoife again. "Thank you, Mom," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.


    Aoife hugged him back, her eyes shining with tears. "I just want you to be happy, Damon," she whispered back.

 Chapter 103: Chapter 103: Road to the Fight

    "Wait, you''re driving?" Damon asked, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked at the car in front of him.


    Svena was standing beside it, holding the keys and smiling confidently.


    "Yep," she said, her voice smooth and assured. She opened the trunk, and they ced Damon''s bag inside.


    It wasn''t a big bag, just a small one with his fighting gear and some change of clothes.


    Since he wasn''t leaving for the show yet, he hadn''t packed much.


    As they closed the trunk, Svena walked over to the driver''s side door and opened it. "Let''s go," she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.


    Damon got into the passenger seat, feeling a bit surprised that Svena was driving.


    He hadn''t expected it, but he was happy to let her take the wheel.


    As they settled into their seats, Svena started the car. The engine roared to life, and she revved it, making Damon smile. "2 years? And i didn''t know you like cars?" he asked, his eyes fixed on her.


    Svena nodded, her hair swaying slightly as she moved. "Yeah, I do," she said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "I love the feeling of being behind the wheel, the power and control, and i guess it isn''t long since i started liking it."


    Damon chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers. "I can see that," he said, his voice teasing. Svena grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement.


    "Okay, then Miss Petrova, take us away," he said, smiling at her. She giggled.


    Her hands hovered over the steering wheel, ready to put the car in motion.


    But then she paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "Ohh, I almost forgot," she said, her voice filled with a sudden excitement. "Open the dashboard."


    As Damon opened the dashboard, he was met with a surprise. Inside, he found a folded paper, which he retrieved and unfolded.


    His eyes widened as he saw a card with his face on it, and his name printed in bold letters: "PROFESSIONAL MIXED MARTIAL ARTS FIGHTER".


    The card listed his information.


    Damon''s breath hitched as he realized what this was - his official fighter''s license.


    He looked up at Svena, who was grinning back at him, her eyes shining with excitement. "Is this what I think it is?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.


    Svena nodded, her smile growing even wider. "Yes, it is," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You''re officially a professional MMA fighter, Damon."


    Damon''s eyes returned to the card, his mind filled  with all kinds of emotions.


    He had worked so hard for this moment, and it was finally here.


    He looked up at Svena again and saw the pride and happiness in her eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with gratitude.


    Svena looked away, a hint of a smile on her face. "Well, I didn''t do anything, I just delivered it," she said, her voice softening.


    Damon''s eyes lingered on her, his expression warm. "Still doesn''t matter," he said, his voice filled with gratitude.


    He nced at her, and they both leaned in, their arms wrapping around each other in a tight hug.


    The car''s confines made the hug a bit awkward, but they didn''t let go. They held each other for a long moment.


    As if simultaneously, they pulled back, their faces inches apart. The atmosphere was now awkward.


    Damon didn''t know what to say, but he spoke anyway. "We... should go," he said, his voice breaking the silence.


    Svena nodded, her eyes locked on his. "Yeah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.


    The car moved forward, and Damon leaned back in his seat, his mind reeling. It wasn''t that they hadn''t hugged before, but this one felt... different. More intimate than any of the hugs they had shared before.


    Damon couldn''t help but think about what his mother said... maybe.


    Maybe there was something more between him and Svena. Maybe this was the start of something new.


    The drive didn''t stay awkward for long, as Damon had begun speaking, breaking the ice again and effortlessly shifting the mood.


    The awkward moment, while not forgotten, hadn''t been mentioned again, and the tension had dissipated.


    The drive wasn''t exactly long, and before they knew it, they were arriving at their destination.


    The building loomed before them, arge structure with a sign that read "Training Center" in bold letters.


    As they pulled into the parking lot, Damon could feel his excitement rising.


    ''Supreme Fighter, huh?''


    They entered the building, where Victor greeted them with a warm smile.


    He assisted them with the sign-in process, and Damon expressed his gratitude for the fighting license.


    This moment was a significant milestone for Damon, as having a license was crucial for his participation in The Supreme Fighter show.


    Without it, he would face significant obstacles and possibly even be barred from entering thepetition.


    After all, a license was a fighters lifeline, in thepetition business, if you were banned or stripped of it, you might as well forget fighting in UFA or other promotionalpanies.


    So, getting it made him an official fighter. He could join UFA and sign with them, if... no when he wins the Supreme Fighter.


    Afterpleting the procedures, such as signing Damon to confirm his arrival, it was said, fighter''s needed to arrive here a two weeks before the fight, this was so that they can go through medical procedures.


    Testing for enhancement drugs, injuries, or anything that might have a negative impact on the fight, and before the fight as usual, he would have to go through the weigh-in again


    The hotel wasfortable and convenient, Victor was man with deep pockets, and he liked Damon, so he made sure his favorite fighter got the best treatment.


    Maybe Svena also had a hand in it by convincing him to spoil on Damon, but Victor didn''t seem to mind.


    After all this was a breakthrough for all of them, when Damon wins ,he will enter the show, and no matter if he doesn''t win the show, his name will be known, after all the UFA would offer those who perform well a contract as well.


    But of course, the goal was to be the Supreme Fighter.

 Chapter 104: Chapter 104: Weigh-ins and Weaknesses

    Two weeks flew by quickly, and everything was going smoothly.


    Damon, Svena, and Victor spent their days at the hotel and the local gym, where Damon maintained a steady routine of light workouts to stay active without exhausting himself.


    Kru Somchai, his usual coach, hadn''t arrived, and Victor had taken on the role of coaching Damon for the uing fight.


    Damon respected Victor for his guidance and support, but he had doubts about Victor''s ability to coach him in the ring.


    However, after discussing his concerns with Svena, she reassured him that Victor was an excellent coach and the best person guidance to ask for.


    Damon decided to trust their judgment and put his faith in Victor''s coaching.


    As the days passed, Damon grew morefortable with Victor''s guidance, and his confidence in his abilities began to grow.


    Victor''s coaching style was different from Kru Somchai''s or Coach Jos¨¦, but Damon found himself adapting quickly.


    With each passing day, Damon felt more prepared, both physically and mentally, for the challenges ahead.


    In one of those days, Damon had asked Victor a question that had been troubling him for years.


    What is Tactical Awareness? This was something he failed to understand.


    On his Status the Rank had increased to C-Rank, this had made him shocked.


    And Victor''s answer had made it make sense.


    Tactical awareness was a crucial aspect of fighting, and Victor had exined to Damon.


    It meant being able to read and understand the situation in real time, making strategic decisions based on the environment, the opponent''s actions, and one''s own strengths and weaknesses.


    He learned that recognizing an opponent''s patterns, such as repetitive movements or preferred techniques, was essential in anticipating their next move.


    Controlling the range and distance between oneself and the opponent was also vital, as it could mean the difference betweennding a decisive blow or avoiding a devastating strike.


    Timing and rhythm yed a significant role in tactical awareness.


    A fighter needed to know when to attack and when to defend, disrupting the opponent''s rhythm while maintaining their own.


    This required a deep understanding of one''s own strengths and weaknesses, as well as those of the opponent.


    Energy management was another critical aspect that Damon should master, as he was still wed in this one.


    A fighter needed to be aware of their stamina and conserve energy to avoid burnout, all while identifying when their opponent was tiring.


    Adaptability was also key, as a fighter needed to be able to adjust their strategy mid-fight to exploit weaknesses or counter their opponent''s n.


    The environment itself was also a crucial factor,


    A fighter needed to understand the space they were in, using the cage or ring effectively to trap an opponent or escape from pressure.


    And finally, self-awareness was essential, as a fighter needed to know their own strengths and tailor their tactics to optimize their sess in the fight.


    He realized that he had learned some of these skills during his Muay Thai training with Kru Somchai, but he also acknowledged that he still had much to learn.


    Damon''s understanding of tactical awareness made him appreciate his coaches'' intelligence.


    H had chosen Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Muay Thai as his primary martial arts, but he now realized that these styles had limitations in a Mixed Martial Arts setting.


    Muay Thai was excellent for striking, but Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, although useful for groundwork,cked effective takedowns.


    This was why Coach Jos¨¦ had sought help from Ty and his coach, who were skilled in wrestling, to improve Damon''s takedown techniques.


    If Damon could go back in time, he would choose wrestling over BJJ.


    Wrestling was more versatile, offering grappling, takedowns, and ground work, making it an ideal choice for MMA.


    However, he didn''t regret learning Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, as it was still a valuable skill.


    Instead, he nned tobine all his knowledge, including wrestling, to create a unique fighting style.


    After all, that''s what MMA was, learning from different styles andbining them to create a unique fighting style that suited you.


    He could learn from every martial art, Boxing, Sambo.... in the end, he would be able to cover up his weaknesses.


    But he pushed all those thoughts away as he made his way to the scale.


    Today was the day of the weigh-in and the fight.


    Damon arrived at the venue, noticing that it was quiet and empty, with no audience or fanfare.


    Only officials and other fighters were present, all focused on the task at hand.


    Damon wasn''t nervous about making weight, having checked his weight repeatedly and relying on the system to help him maintain it.


    He confidently made his way to the octagon cage in the center of the room, then walked over to the scale located at the side.


    Standing on the scale, Damon wore only his shorts, his chest bare.


    He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs, and looked straight ahead.


    The official operating the scale adjusted the weights, his hands moving precisely as he worked.


    After a moment, he nodded and wrote something down on a clipboard. "He''s good, 183," he said, looking up at Damon.


    The official handed him a piece of paper, which Damon took, his eyes scanning the information printed on it.


    With the weigh-inplete, Damon could focus on the fight ahead.


    The paper The Official handed, had just that, it wasn''t really detailed information, just a name, martial art, and all that.


    It seems his opponent was already decided. He made his way towards the chairs on the ce, that''d what the paper said.


    Which was to sit on the chair until his name was called forward and he would begin his match.


    And so he waited, the process was slow, as each fighter went through the way in, once done would join him on the seats.


    But not everyone had made weight, there was some who were above and had been turned back.


    Damon couldn''tprehend someone missing weight that much. He could understand 1 to 4, maybe even 5 pounds off, but 10?


    Yeah, buddy shouldn''t havee in the first ce.

 Chapter 105: Chapter 105: Audition Fight I

    The day was passing quickly, and the fights had already started.


    Damon sat in the waiting area, listening to the silence around him.


    He was focused on his own uing fight, a bit nervous and excited.


    As he waited, Damon found out that coaches were not allowed to coach during the fights.


    Fighters would have to rely on their own skills and strategies to win. Damon didn''t have a problem with this rule.


    He had fought many times without a coach in his corner, and he was confident in his ability to adapt and make decisions on his own.


    The fights were scheduled to have two five-minute rounds, with a third round serving as a tiebreaker if necessary.


    If the round still couldn''t decide on a winner after the third round, the fight would go to a judge''s decision.


    Damon knew the format very well. He had experienced it first hand.


    Suddenly, the door opened, and a fighter made his way out.


    He looked disappointed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Everyone stared at him, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and pity.


    He didn''t look at the other fighters; instead, he kept his head down and made his way out of the building.


    He was already wearing his normal clothes, indicating that his fight was over.


    The room fell silent once again. Then, a man stuck his head out of the door. "Damon... Cross," he called out.


    Damon raised his head, looking up from his thoughts. He stood up, his movements smooth. The man looked around the room, his eyes scanning the faces of the fighters. "Randy Stewart," he called out.


    Another fighter stood up, about the same size as Damon. They stared at each other, their eyes locked in a brief moment of intensity.


    Damon nodded his head, a slight acknowledgement of his opponent.


    He made his way towards the door, his footsteps echoing through the silent room.


    As he entered the next room, he saw the familiar sight of the octagon cage.


    This was the same room where he had made his weigh-in earlier.


    The cage looked imposing, its metal bars gleaming under the bright lights.


    The room was very quiet, devoid of the usual noise and excitement that came with a fight. There were no fans to cheer, nomentators to call the fight.


    A person pointed him to a room, indicating where he should change. Damon nodded and made his way to the changing area.


    He changed into his gear, in and simple, putting on his usual MMA gloves and slipping in his mouthguard.


    He made his way out of the changing area, leaving his bag behind.


    As he got out, he saw his opponent, Randy Stewart, already standing in the cage.


    Damon took a deep breath, feeling a burst of adrenaline.


    Randy Stewart had a really toned body, his muscles visible under his skin.


    Damon couldn''t help but notice the definition in his arms and legs.


    Simr to Damon, Randy had a strong physique, but Damon''s abs were not visible enough.


    He thought to himself, ''Hey, it''s working progress.'' Damon had been working on his core strength, but he knew he still had a way to go.


    He got into the cage, his feet making a soft thudding sound on the canvas.


    The cage door closed behind him with a loud ng, and he heard the sound of the lock clicking into ce.


    Damon looked to the side of the ring, where the judges were chatting among themselves.


    They were seated at a table, their eyes fixed on the cage, waiting for the fight to begin.


    The referee stepped into the cage, his gaze shifting between Damon and Randy.


    He raised his voice to ensure both fighters could hear. "Alright, fighters, you know the rules. Protect yourself at all times, follow my instructions, and keep the fight clean. If you want to touch gloves, do it now. Otherwise,e out fighting."


    Damon and Randy nodded, and the referee stepped back. He signaled for the fight to start.


    Damon assumed his Muay Thai stance, his feet positioned firmly on the canvas.


    His knees were slightly bent, hands held high, and his weight bnced between his legs.


    His stance was sharp and precise, reflecting the progress he had made over the past two years.


    Randy took a different stance. He stood with his feet wider apart, one foot slightly forward, and his hands low.


    His elbows were out, and he seemed to be ready for an unconventional boxing approach.


    The bell rang, signaling the start of the fight.


    Damon moved in with deliberate steps, throwing a low kick aimed at Randy''s left leg.


    Randy lifted his leg to check the kick, absorbing some of the impact. Damon quickly followed with another low kick to Randy''s right leg.


    Randy checked that kick too, though he seemed to be having some trouble with Damon''s uracy.


    Damon continued to focus on his low kicks, alternating between the inside and outside of Randy''s legs.


    Each kicknded with a thud, but Randy managed to block or check most of them.


    Damon''s kicks were precise and controlled, aiming to wear down Randy''s defenses.


    Randy responded by advancing with a series of jabs, his hands moving rapidly.


    Damon blocked the jabs with his forearms and stepped back to avoid getting caught off guard.


    Randy threw a right cross, which Damon ducked under, avoiding the punch.


    Damon countered with a quick knee to Randy''s midsection.


    Randy grunted but stayed on his feet. He stepped back, trying to regain hisposure.


    Damon took advantage of the moment, closing the distance and delivering a number of low kicks to Randy''s legs.


    Randy seemed to grow frustrated. He tried to switch up his approach by throwing abination of punches, aiming to overwhelm Damon.


    Damon used his footwork to move in and out of range, dodging the punches andnding asional counter kicks.


    Randy''s boxing stance and approach appeared less effective against Damon''s Muay Thai technique.


    Damon continued to target Randy''s legs with low kicks, noticing that Randy was starting to favor his right leg.


    Randy threw a wild left hook, which Damon ducked and then pivoted to his left to avoid further attacks.


    Damon responded with a roundhouse kick to Randy''s midsection, whichnded with a solid impact. Randy stumbled back, breathing heavily.

 Chapter 106: Chapter 106: Audition Fight II

    Damon kept his pressure on, throwing another low kick to Randy''s left leg.


    Randy winced and tried to check the kick but was unable to fully defend.


    Damon noticed Randy''s movements slowing down and continued his strategy of targeting Randy''s legs to weaken him.


    Randy tried to adapt by mixing in some body shots and a few uppercuts.


    Damon absorbed the blows and retaliated with an elbow strike, catching Randy off guard.


    Randy was visibly hurt but pressed on, throwing a series of punches in an attempt to turn the tide.


    Damon maintained hisposure, using his Muay Thai stance to keep his bnce and deliver precise strikes.


    He threw another low kick, followed by a sharp knee to Randy''s midsection.


    Randy stumbled again, clearly struggling to keep up with Damon''s relentless attacks.


    As the round progressed, Damon''s low kicks began to take their toll on Randy.


    Randy''s movements were slower, and his defense was bing less effective.


    Damon continued to exploit Randy''s weaknesses,nding clean shots and staying out of range of Randy''s punches.


    He didn''t throw any punches to Randy that made any damage or impact, this was his n.


    The round ended, and both fighters returned to their corners.


    Damon was breathing steadily, his eyes focused and determined. Randy, on the other hand, looked exhausted and was limping slightly.


    The break provided a chance for both fighters to recover, but Damon''s strategy had clearly put him in a strong position.


    As the fighters returned to their corners, the judges exchanged quick words, their eyes frequently shifting towards Damon.


    Their murmurs were brief but focused, clearly paying close attention to his performance.


    Damon sat on his stool, his breathing steady as he reviewed his strategy.


    He smirked, confident that Randy would expect more leg kicks.


    Damon was prepared to deliver just that, knowing it would keep Randy focused on them... hehehe


    The ringside helpers moved in, taking away the stools and clearing the corners. The cage was readied for the next round.


    The bell rang again, signaling the start of the second round.


    The second round began, and Damon immediately went back to his strategy, throwing another low kick aimed at Randy''s left leg.


    But Randy had switched his stance, adapting quickly. He lowered his base, taking a wider stance, more squared up, almost like a kickboxer now.


    He was watching Damon''s legs closely, anticipating the kicks.


    Damon threw another low kick, this time to Randy''s right leg, but Randy checked it cleanly, lifting his shin and absorbing the impact.


    Damon didn''t flinch, knowing he had to keep Randy on edge.


    He followed with another kick, this time to the inside of Randy''s thigh.


    Randy stepped back, managing to avoid most of the impact.


    Randy countered by stepping forward, throwing a crisp right hook aimed at Damon''s body.


    Damon shifted, raising his guard and absorbing the blow with his forearm.


    Randy immediately followed with a jab, trying to close the distance.


    Damon leaned back, letting the punch graze his chin before resetting his stance.


    Damon fired another low kick, but Randy was getting used to them now.


    He checked the kick and countered quickly with a straight right.


    Itnded clean on Damon''s shoulder, making him step back. Randy saw an opening and lunged forward with a quick uppercut.


    Damon slipped just enough to avoid it, but the force made him lose his bnce slightly.


    Damon reset quickly, he knew he was getting caught by some of Randy''s punches, but he wasn''t fazed. He wasn''t ready to throw punches just yet, he waited for the right moment.


    He snapped another low kick to Randy''s lead leg. Randy winced but stepped forward, throwing abination of a jab and an overhand right.


    The jab nced off Damon''s guard, but the overhand came crashing through,nding on Damon''s temple.


    Damon absorbed the blow, his legs wobbling slightly, but he recovered immediately.


    Randy was pushing the pace now, sensing he might be able to turn things around.


    He threw another right hook, but Damon parried it with his forearm, stepping back to create space.


    Damon circled to his left, keeping his distance and resetting his stance once more.


    Without warning, Damonunched another low kick.


    Randy checked it again but winced. The damage to his legs was umting, and Damon could see it.


    Even though Randy had adapted, his movement was slowing, his footwork less crisp.


    Randy moved in again, throwing a feint with his left hand, followed by a quick right straight aimed at Damon''s chest.


    Damon stepped back but wasn''t quick enough to avoid it fully. The punchnded, pushing Damon back into the cage.


    Randy followed with a left hook to the body, but Damon covered up, absorbing the shot on his arm.


    Randy tried to clinch, grabbing at Damon''s head, but Damon quickly escaped, pushing Randy back with a shove to his chest.


    Damon fired yet another low kick, this time targeting the outside of Randy''s left leg again.


    Randy gritted his teeth as the impact caused him to stumble, but he managed to stay on his feet.


    Damon''s eyes narrowed. He smirked again.


    He could see that Randy was getting morefortable with the leg kicks, but Damon wasn''t done yet.


    He threw another one, hard and fast. Randy checked it cleanly but looked ufortable.


    Damon stepped forward again, throwing a quick fake jab, but instead of following with punches, he snapped yet another low kick to the inside of Randy''s leg.


    Randy winced, his leg visibly reddened from the repeated strikes.


    Randy retaliated with a sharp one-twobination, his punchesing in fast.


    Damon absorbed the first jab on his guard but caught the cross on his ribs. He stepped back, feeling the sting, but didn''t flinch.


    Damon stayed patient, staying on the outside, circling, always keeping Randy guessing. He wasn''t ready to let his hands go just yet.


    Or not, seeing himfortable with the kicks, this was his chance.


    Damon thought, "This is it."


    He stepped back, feinting another low kick toward Randy''s leg. Randy immediately lifted his leg to check it, just as Damon had expected.


    Randy had learned Damon''s pattern: every kick came without follow-up punches, or so he thought.


    That split-second of predictability was all Damon needed.

 Chapter 107: Chapter 107: Audition Fight III(Final)

    As Randy''s leg lifted, his upper body opened up, exposing his face and torso.


    Damon, who had been carefully watching Randy''s every movement, seized the opportunity.


    The kick was just a fake. In an instant, he switched tactics, using his entire body to power a brutal right hand.


    The punch was perfectly timed, catching Randypletely off guard.


    CRACK!


    The moment the punch connected, Damon''s bnce faltered from the force, but it didn''t matter.


    Randy''s eyes widened in shock. His body froze for a moment, stiffening as the force of the blow hit him.


    He stumbled back, his bnce gone, and his mind raced, panic setting in as he realized Damon had broken his pattern.


    His upper body was exposed, and there was nothing he could do to defend.


    No... Randy''s face contorted in panic, his defenses shattered.


    Damon, feeling the impact of the punch, lost his bnce for a second, but he didn''t stop.


    As Randy''s body was stumbling down to the ground.,


    Damon stumbled forward, closing the distance. His momentum carried him into a flurry of follow-up punches.


    Randy tried to raise his arms to protect himself, but it was toote.


    Damon''s punchesnded clean, some hitting Randy''s face, others smashing into his chest.


    Randy''s legs kicked out as his back hit the ground, the loud BANG sounding through the octagon.


    Damon didn''t relent. With Randy down, Damon drove his fists down, each one pushing Randy further into the canvas.


    The fear was clear in Randy''s eyes, he was trapped, his earlier confidencepletely shattered.


    Every punch from Damon drove home the fact that he had been outsmarted, caught in a moment where he thought he had control.


    As Damon''s fists rained down on Randy, the referee quickly intervened.


    He dashed forward, pushing Damon off with urgency.


    Damon immediately stepped back, not needing to be told twice.


    He stood up straight, raising his head high, feeling the moment.


    If there had been a crowd, Damon knew they would be going wild, cheering for him, for the way he had dominated the match.


    The energy of victory coursed through him. He had done exactly what he needed to do, and the fight was over.


    The judges exchanged brief nces, their heads nodding slightly.


    It was a gesture Damon caught, a silent acknowledgment of his performance.


    He smirked, his mind filled with excitement. ''I''m in the house, baby!'' he thought. ''Now, it''s time to be Supreme!''


    He shifted his gaze toward Randy, who was slowly getting to his feet. Randy''s body seemed heavy, his movements sluggish.


    Damon could see the damage his final punches had caused.


    The hammer fists he delivered while Randy was on the ground had left noticeable marks on his face.


    Randy''s cheek was swollen, a deep red patch forming under his left eye.


    His forehead had a small bump, and his lips were slightly split.


    Damon watched as Randy''s chest rose and fell heavily.


    His opponent''s skin glistened with sweat, and his legs wobbled slightly as he found his footing.


    Damon''s eyes stayed on the damage he had inflicted, the bruises, the swelling, thebored movement. Each kick he had thrown had left its mark.


    Randy blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision.


    His breathing was uneven, his body hunched slightly as he attempted to straighten up.


    His hands moved to his legs where Damon had brutally targeted.


    The fighter who had stood confidently at the start of the match was now worn down, battered by a well-executed strategy.


    Damon felt a sense of satisfaction as he took it all in. He had executed his game n perfectly. He hadn''t rushed, hadn''t wasted energy.


    He had worn Randy down, chipped away at his defenses until the final moments, where Randy couldn''t do anything but take the punches.


    His mind shifted back to the fight itself. The faked kick.


    The way Randy had raised his leg to check, thinking he had read Damon''s next move.


    But Damon had already anticipated that, and the punch he threw had broken Randy''s rhythm, throwing him off bnce and leaving him vulnerable.


    That moment had turned the tidepletely, and Damon had capitalized on it fully.


    As Randy finally stood, still hunched over slightly, the referee gave Damon a nod of approval.


    Damon raised his hand in a small, confident gesture, not over the top, but enough to show that he knew he had earned the win.


    He had passed the test. He had made it through the audition fight.


    And now, his eyes were on the next step, The Supreme Fighterpetition. This was just the beginning.


    The referee raised his hand and pointed towards Damon, signaling to the judges that the fight was over. Damon was the winner.


    There was no announcement, just a nod from the referee to confirm the result to the officials sitting ringside.


    Damon turned, walking calmly out of the octagon.


    His body still pulsed with adrenaline from the fight, but he kept his movements controlled.


    As he stepped out of the cage and moved into the back area, a man wearing ck clothes approached him.


    The man had "TSF" written on the front of his shirt in bold letters, and just below it, "UFA."


    ''TSF¡­ The Supreme Fighter,'' Damon thought, recognizing the initials immediately. The "UFA" was just as familiar to him, Ultimate Fighting Association. This was official.


    The man ced a firm hand on Damon''s shoulder, stopping him. "Congrattions on your win," he said, his voice steady and businesslike.


    "Now, we''re going to ask you to wait for us. Please go to that room right over there," he continued, pointing to a door across the room.


    Damon''s eyes followed the man''s hand,nding on a door marked "Waiting Room."


    He gave the man a small nod of acknowledgment and made his way toward the area where he had first changed into his gear.


    His gym bag was still there, resting on a bench where he''d left it before the fight.


    He grabbed the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and took onest look around the room.


    Without wasting time, Damon headed for the room the TSF official had pointed out. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

 Chapter 108: Chapter 108: The Lounge

    Damon entered the room and immediately noticed its rxed vibe.


    The lounge was simple butfortable. Arge sofa took up most of the space, and several fighters were seated on it, talking andughing amongst themselves.


    Their voices filled the room, but as soon as Damon stepped in, they went quiet, turning their attention toward him.


    He paused, offering a casual nod, "Sup, guys."


    One of the fighters, a guy with a bit of a beard, nodded back, followed by a few others. "Ayy, another one," the bearded guy said.


    "Congrats, man. Go through that door over there," he pointed to the far side of the room, "there''s a locker room. You can find showers in there."


    Damon nced at the door he pointed to and gave a quick thanks.


    The group had already started to go back to their conversation,ughter and chatter resuming as if nothing had happened.


    "I''m telling you, bro, she was moving like..."


    Damon, feeling the adrenaline still pulsing from the fight, made his way toward the door they''d indicated, ready to cool off and take a moment to collect himself.


    As Damon stepped into the locker room, it waspletely empty.


    The quietness felt differentpared to the lively lounge he had just left behind.


    He set his bag down on one of the benches,ying out his clothes for after the shower.


    The fight had left his muscles tense, and he was more than ready for the cold water to help him rx.


    Stripping out of his gear, Damon made his way toward the showers.


    He turned the handle, letting the cold water hit him hard. His body flinched instinctively as the cold ran down his skin.


    A deep, sharp breath escaped him as the cold bit at his muscles.


    Cold showers were something he had gotten used to over time.


    At first, he was hesitant. Heughed a little at the memory of how much he used to hate it.


    There was a time when he''d brace himself, barely able to handle the shock of cold water.


    But now, it was routine, something his body had adapted to, even though it still caused that initial flinch.


    As the cold water cooled his body, Damon let his mind drift back to the fight.


    He had done well, and he knew it. Unlike many of his past fights where he had gone in with little more than instinct, this time, he had a n, a strategy that worked.


    He had kept calm andposed through the whole match, reading Randy''s moves, setting him up, and delivering that final blow with precision.


    He was impressed with himself. Damon let the water run down his face, thinking about how far he hade as a fighter.


    This fight wasn''t just about winning. It was about proving to himself that he had grown, that he was evolving as apetitor.


    Damon stood under the cooling water a moment longer, letting the sensation wash over him.


    His mind swirled with thoughts of the future, the possibilities stretching before him.


    He could feel it. His chances of winning The Supreme Fighter felt real.


    Actually, scratch that, his chances of making it in the UFA felt real. But he also knew the game was more than just about fighting well.


    Winning fights was the core of the sport, sure. But thendscape had shifted.


    Lately, fighters could win and still not get the recognition they deserved.


    Being technically sound wasn''t enough anymore. The fans craved excitement and spectacle.


    If you didn''t put on a show, if you didn''t have a personality that grabbed attention, you risked beingbeled as boring.


    And a boring fighter didn''t sell fights.


    Damon thought back to some of the recent champions.


    Even those at the top could get criticized if their style wasn''t shy enough. It wasn''t fair, but that''s how it worked now.


    Of course, this wasn''t every fan or an opinion everyone had. After all, he loved fighting, but still.


    If your fights didn''t sell, you could forget about getting a title shot, no matter how skilled you were.


    It was a harsh reality. Even worse, without marketability, good fights didn''te your way. You got stuck in the grind.


    He turned the shower off, running a hand through his wet hair.


    But as he thought about it, Damon didn''t believe he was a boring fighter.


    Maybe that was his ego talking, but deep down, he knew he had something different, something that people would want to see.


    He had the ability to make every fight feel intense.


    The way he fought, especially recently, was strategic but always pushing. He didn''t think itcked excitement.


    Shaking off the thoughts, Damon stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. He didn''t need to stress about that yet.


    That was something to worry about after he won The Supreme Fighter. For now, the goal was simple: focus on one fight at a time and keep doing what he did best.


    He toweled off, his muscles already feeling rxed, the tension from the fight slowly easing away.


    He knew that if he kept winning, the attention woulde.


    That was all he needed to do, win. But in the back of his mind, he couldn''t help but think about the long road ahead, the real battle waiting for him in the UFA.


    He pushed those thoughts into the back of his mind. One step at a time, he reminded himself. Right now, his focus was on The Supreme Fighter.


    Everything else could wait.


    Damon dressed quickly, going through his usual routine, deodorant, a quick check in the mirror, making sure everything was in ce.


    Once he was done, he grabbed his bag, double-checking that nothing was left behind.


    Satisfied, he slung it over his shoulder and made his way out of the locker room.


    Stepping back into the lounge, the atmosphere was still rxed.


    The other fighters hadn''t moved much from where they were sitting, still chatting andughing as they waited.


    Damon joined them, finding an open spot on the couch. No one said much as he sat down, just a few nods of acknowledgment.


    It was an unspoken understanding. Everyone here was in the same boat, waiting for the next step in the audition process.


    The minutes passed slowly as they all waited for the auditions to finish. Some of the fighters were scrolling through their phones, while others chatted quietly about their own fights, sharing quick snippets of what went down in the cage.


    Damon leaned back, pulling out his phone. He opened WhatsDown and texted Svena, telling her about what had happened.

 Chapter 109: Chapter 109: End of Auditions

    The day dragged on as more fighters continued to filter in.


    Damon spent a good portion of his time chatting with Svena on WhatsDown, updating her on the events of the day and discussing his thoughts about the fight and the uing challenges.


    And well, just banter on the texts.


    The lounge, though simple, had its distractions.


    A TV mounted on the wall, connected to a game console, drew the attention of a few fighters.


    They were engrossed in a heated match of UFA V, thetest video game simtion of their sport.


    The sounds of the game, along with the asional cheers and groans from the yers, provided a backdrop of entertainment amidst the waiting.


    Despite the long wait, the atmosphere in the lounge was far from dull.


    Conversations flowed easily, and there was an underlying camaraderie among the fighters.


    They shared stories of past fights, debated strategies, and exchanged tips.


    It was a reminder of the shared experiences that bound them together, even if they might end up aspetitors.


    Damon nced around, appreciating the easygoing vibe of the ce.


    And it wasn''t like they were starving.


    Food was brought in regrly, snacks, drinks, and a variety of options to keep everyone satisfied.


    The fighters chatted and rxed, making the best of the downtime.


    One of the guys, ck hair that was cut in a fade, sat down next to Damon, looking around his age and appearing friendly. "Ayy bro, what you up to?"


    Damon nced away from his phone, meeting the guy''s gaze. "What up!" he responded, giving him a casual dap.


    "I''m Kevin," the guy said, settling infortably.


    "Damon," he replied.


    Kevin sighed, his frustration evident. " Damnn, this is too long, man. I thought it was supposed to be 16 people."


    Damon chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, it''s 32. But from the looks of it, only 1 is missing, so we won''t wait long."


    Kevin nodded thoughtfully. "That''s true. Hey, who do you think will be the coaches?"


    Damon paused, considering the question. He was curious, too.


    The possibility of being coached by a UFA fighter he looked up to was exciting.


    It was a chance to learn from someone who had made it big in the sport.


    He leaned back, letting his mind wander to the potential coaches.


    The idea of getting insight from top fighters, seeing their techniques up close, and learning from their experience was thrilling.


    Kevin spoke, breaking Damon''s train of thought. "I''m thinking, since it has to be a middleweight fighter, they won''t send the champion. So maybe it''ll be a fighter not ranked, or maybe a ranked fighter."


    As Kevin spoke, the door to the lounge opened, and a new fighter walked in.


    Damon recognized him as thest participant, making the total number of fighters 32.


    Damon couldn''t help but smile, relieved that the waiting was finally over.


    The new fighter made his way toward the locker room, and the atmosphere in the lounge shifted to anticipation and relief.


    Damon turned back to Kevin, continuing their conversation.


    "Yeah, that makes sense," Damon said. "It''d be wild if they brought in a big name, but I guess it''s more likely to be someone who''s been around for a while but isn''t at the top."


    Kevin nodded. "Exactly. It''s more about finding someone who can still teach a lot but isn''t in the spotlight all the time."


    Damon thought again and shook his head. "Nah i take it back, I think it''ll be a big name. After all, this show is restarting. They need people watching."


    Just then, a man in ck, who had led them to the lounge earlier, walked in with a smile.


    "Okay, guys, you''re all here," he said.


    At that moment, the locker room door opened, and the final fighter from the showers joined them.


    "Just in time," the man said. "So, you''re all here. All 32 of you have got a spot on The Supreme Fighter show. I''m sure you know what happens next."


    They all nodded.


    "Great. You have a week to prepare and say goodbye to your loved ones. The house you''ll be staying in will be secluded from the world. Next week, I expect to see you all here on time. Shooting starts then. Thanks foring today.


    See you next week."


    The man left the room.


    One of the guys muttered, "Fuck you," though the man was already gone. He added, "I could have been doing something better than waiting here."


    A few othersughed. Damon packed up his bag and got ready to head out.


    As Damon made his way out, he stopped by Kevin, who was still lounging on the sofa. He reached out, giving Kevin another friendly dap.


    "I''m heading out now," Damon said, trying to keep his tone casual. "I guess we''ll see each other next week."


    Kevin looked up, returning the gesture with a nod. "See ya," he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice, but with a friendly smile.


    Damon turned and walked towards the exit. He passed through the lounge and into the room where he fought


    The sound of cleaning crews busy with their work filled the space.


    The cage, which had been the center of so much focus earlier, was now being wiped down and readied for the next event.


    As Damon continued down through the roon, he nced around, taking in the scene.


    The lights of the arena cast a bright re on the freshly cleaned floor, and the echoes of footsteps and faint conversations filled the space.


    His gaze was drawn to a group of people near the judges'' table.


    Among them, Damon spotted someone he recognized from countless UFA events, Ronan ck, the CEO of the UFA.


    Ronan stood out even from a distance, hismanding presence unmistakable.


    Damon watched him for a moment, noting the way Ronan interacted with the staff, his demeanor calm and authoritative.


    Damon couldn''t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness.


    He was aware of how significant Ronan ck was in the world of MMA.


    The CEO''s role in shaping the future of fighters and the direction of the UFA was something Damon had always followed closely.


    As he continued walking, he allowed himself a brief moment of self-reflection. ''That guy''s going to wrap a belt around me,'' he thought, feeling confidence fill him.


    He chuckled quietly to himself, not caring if anyone noticed.


    It was a cocky thought, but... who would stop him.

 Chapter 110: Chapter 110: A serious talk witha Victor I

    Damon arrived at the hotel parking lot, his mind focused on the uing week.


    He had called Victor and Svena earlier, and they had agreed to meet here before heading out together.


    As Damon walked towards the entrance, he was suddenly hit with a strong force.


    Before he could react, he was embraced tightly. The familiar scent told him exactly who it was.


    "Lana," he mumbled into the hug, returning it with equal warmth.


    "Ahem!"


    Suddenly, someone cleared their throat, interrupting the moment.


    Damon pulled back, recognizing Victor''s presence.


    He looked up to see Victor standing with his arms folded, his expression unreadable.


    Svena, still holding onto Damon, turned around at the sound.


    Her face showed a hint of confusion and nervousness as she noticed her father.


    Victor''s presence was imposing, and it was clear that Svena was unsure how to handle the situation.


    Victor strode over to Damon with a confident stride.


    The intimidation in his posture was very heavy, but it softened as he approached. Without a word, Victor pushed Svena gently aside and wrapped Damon in a firm, congrattory hug.


    "Congrattions, kid," Victor said, his voice filled with genuine pride. "You made it to The Supreme Fighter. Didn''t doubt you for a second."


    Damon stood still for a moment, absorbing the unexpected gesture.


    He had never experienced a supportive male figure in his life, and Victor''s approval struck a deep chord.


    It was a feeling of warmth and validation he hadn''t known he needed.


    Victor released Damon from the hug, a satisfied smile on his face.


    The moment was brief but meaningful. Damon looked at Victor, feeling a mixture of happiness and awe.


    This was a new experience for him, and it was one he appreciated deeply.


    Svena, watching the exchange, seemed to rx a bit, her nervousness fading as she saw the genuine bond between Victor and Damon.


    As Damon and Svena made their way to their cars, it was clear they were nning to ride together. Victor, however, stopped them in their tracks.


    "Lana, you drive alone. I need to have a word with Damon," Victor said with a serious tone.


    Svena turned to protest but saw Victor''s stern expression.


    Despite not being her biological father anding into his familyter in her life, she held a deep respect for Victor.


    He had earned the title of "Dad" through his actions and support.


    Reluctantly, Svena nodded and said her goodbyes to Damon before getting into her car. She drove off, leaving Damon and Victor behind.


    Damon turned to Victor with a chuckle. "You''re not nning to kill me, are you?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.


    Victor shook his head, a hint of a smile appearing. "Wouldn''t dream of it. Get in the car."


    Damon nced at the BMW parked nearby, then slid into the passenger seat as Victor unlocked the door for him.


    Victor started the engine, and they drove out of the parking lot, leaving the hotel behind.


    The drive was smooth and quiet, with the city lights shing past as they headed toward their destination.


    Damon nced at Victor, sensing that this conversation was more than just casual talk.


    The drive was silent, and Damon began to wonder if they would even talk.


    His thoughts drifted to his mother, and he realized he needed to call her to tell her about his win and confirm his departure.


    This would be the first time he''d be away from her for an extended period.


    He had mixed feelings, he would miss her, but he also looked forward to the freedom, even if it meant being cut off from the outside world.


    The Supreme Fighter would be all about training. No phones, no TV, just a focus on improving his skills.


    As he pondered, he noticed the road ahead bing rougher.


    As they arrived near arge tree by ake, Victor stopped the car. He took out a tablet and got out, saying, "Come on."


    Damon followed him, joining Victor who was standing with his hands in his pockets.


    Victor looked at Damon and said, "Well, I should get this over with then." He nced up and then turned to face Damon.


    "Is this about Lana?" Damon asked, confused.


    "No and yes," Victor began, his voice softening. "When I adopted Lana, she was a young teenager, about 14 or 15. She had lost so much and experienced things that would break a grown man. I won''t go into details¡ªit''s not my story to tell, especially with how close you two are¡ªbut I need to warn you." His voice cracked slightly.


    Damon could see how deeply Victor cared for Svena.


    Victor continued, "I didn''t think I''d be doing this, but... look, Damon, I don''t know what''s going on between you and my daughter.


    She seems happy, so I''m okay with it. But I need you to understand something.


    She''s not a toy. She''s not someone you experiment with and then leave.


    I know I don''t need to tell you this because I believe you''re a good guy, raised well.


    But as a father, I need to say this: if you hurt my daughter, I will hurt you back."


    Victor pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag. Damon had never seen him so serious before.


    "I don''t think that''ll be necessary," Damon said. "I would never hurt her."


    Victor chuckled and said in a tired tone, "I know, kid. My wife told me I had to say this. I can spot a yer from a mile away, like Ash. But you, I don''t think you''re like that. Still, it''s what dads do."


    Damonughed along with Victor, feeling a mix of relief and respect.


    Victor took another drag from his cigarette, letting out a long, slow breath as he looked out at the tranquilke.


    "But I am serious though," Victor said, his tone turning more earnest. "If you do hurt her¡­"


    Damon''s expression became serious. He met Victor''s gaze with a firm nod, fully understanding the weight of the warning.


    Victor then flicked the cigarette butt into theke, watching as it bobbed for a moment before sinking.


    He turned back to Damon, the tension in his posture easing. "Well, enough about that mumbo-jumbo. Let''s talk about what I really brought you here for."

 Chapter 111: Chapter 111: The Old Fight

    Victor pulled out the tablet he had been carrying, his expression unreadable as he swiped through a few screens.


    Damon, standing beside him, looked on in confusion, unsure of what Victor was about to show him.


    Finally, Victor opened up a video. "Watch this," he said, passing the tablet over to Damon.


    Damon took the tablet and pressed y. The screen lit up with the familiar scene of an arena, a fight was about to start.


    As he watched the footage, it dawned on him that this was a UFA match, but it seemed a bit older, like something from a past generation.


    He waited as the match intro yed, curious about what Victor wanted him to see.


    Damon pressed y and leaned closer to the screen as the grainy footage began.


    The arena was packed, the crowd buzzing with excitement.


    The camera panned around the octagon, focusing on two fighters standing in their respective corners.


    One wore blue shorts, the other green. Their faces weren''t clearly visible due to the pixtion, but the tension in the air was palpable.


    Thementators'' voices crackled through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the UFA Light Heavyweight Championship match, and we''ve got two top-tier fighters here tonight! In the blue corner, we''ve got the undefeated powerhouse, Victor Steele, known for his relentless aggression and knockout power.


    And in the green corner, we have the submission expert, The Champion Raul ''The Constrictor'' Ramirez, a man who can wrap you up like a boa constrictor and squeeze the fight right out of you!"


    Damon''s interest piqued. A light heavyweight championship? He didn''t expect this.


    ''Victor Steele? Is this him? No way right, guy looks nothing like Vic''


    The referee signaled the start of the match, and the two fighters approached each other cautiously.


    The crowd''s roar was barely contained as the fighters began to exchange jabs, each testing the other''s defenses.


    Victor, the man in blue, immediately took control of the center of the octagon, his movements precise and confident.


    His striking was sharp,nding crisp jabs and hard low kicks that echoed through the arena.


    "Steele is looking sharp tonight!" one of thementators said, excitement building in his voice. "He''s keeping the pressure on Ramirez, not letting him getfortable in the early moments of the fight."


    Damon watched as the fighter in green struggled to find his rhythm.


    Raul attempted to close the distance, hoping to engage in a clinch or shoot for a takedown, but every time he tried, Victor countered with a stiff jab or a well-ced kick to the body.


    Damon was impressed. The way Victor moved, the way he dominated the fight, it was clear he was in control.


    "Look at Steele''s footwork," the secondmentator chimed in. "He''s staying light on his feet, keeping Ramirez guessing, and those body shots are adding up."


    As the first round wore on, Victornded a clean overhand right that stunned Raul.


    The crowd erupted as Victor followed up with a series of brutal punches, backing his opponent up against the cage.


    Raul tried to cover up, but Victor''s punches broke through his defense, and it looked like the fight might be over.


    "He''s pouring it on! Steele is relentless!" one of thementators yelled. "This could be it!"


    But Raul, despite being rocked, managed to survive the onught.


    He ducked under a punch and clinched with Victor, dragging the fight into the grappling realm where he was mostfortable.


    The two fighters grappled against the cage, Victor using his strength to prevent the takedown while Raul searched for any opening.


    The second round began, and Victor continued to dominate on the feet.


    He peppered Raul with more low kicks and a few head kicks that were partially blocked.


    Damon could see the fatigue setting in on Raul''s face, his attempts to close the distance bing more desperate.


    Victor, on the other hand, seemed to be gaining confidence, throwing a mix of high and low attacks that kept Raul off bnce.


    "Steele''s got to be careful not to get overconfident," thementator warned. "Ramirez is dangerous when he''s in trouble, and all it takes is one mistake for him to lock in a submission."


    Midway through the second round, that mistake happened.


    Victor, growing bolder, threw a high kick that Raul managed to catch. In one swift motion, Raul pulled Victor''s leg in and shot for a takedown.


    This time, it worked. Victor fell to the ground, and the crowd gasped as Raul quickly transitioned to top position.


    "Ramirez has him on the ground now! This is his world!"


    Raul wasted no time, moving fluidly as he secured side control, then advanced to a full mount.


    Victor struggled underneath, trying to buck Raul off, but Raul''s experience in grappling was very strong.


    He maintained control, slowly working to iste one of Victor''s arms for a submission attempt.


    Victor, sensing the danger, bridged explosively and managed to reverse the position,nding on top of Raul.


    The crowd erupted again as Victor rained down heavy punches.


    "Steele turns the tables! What a reversal!"


    Just when it seemed like Victor had regained control, Raul made his move.


    With lightning speed, he hooked one of Victor''s legs and locked it in ce, transitioning into a leg lock.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he saw Raul wrap his body around Victor''s leg, tightening the grip.


    "Oh no! Ramirez has the leg! He''s got that leg lock in deep!" thementator shouted.


    Victor grimaced, trying to free himself, but Raul''s grip was iron-tight.


    He twisted Victor''s leg at an unnatural angle, cranking on it with all his might.


    Victor''s face contorted in pain, but he refused to tap. Damon could see the struggle in every fiber of his body.


    "Steele is in trouble! He needs to tap!" the secondmentator screamed.


    But Victor didn''t tap. He gritted his teeth, his hands wing at Raul''s body, trying to pry himself free.


    The crowd held its breath as Victor''s leg bent further and further.


    "Tap, Steele! Tap before it''s toote!"


    Then, in an instant, it happened. A sickening crack echoed through the arena, followed by Victor''s agonized scream.


    His leg broke, swinging grotesquely as the referee rushed in to stop the fight.


    "Oh my God! His leg is broken! His leg is shattered!" thementator yelled, his voice filled with shock and horror.


    The camera zoomed in on the scene, the gruesome image of Victor''s leg hanging unnaturally.


    The referee waved off the fight as medical personnel rushed into the octagon, trying to stabilize the injury.


    Thementator''s voice was frantic. "Victor Steele''s leg is broken! This is a disaster! What a tragic end to a championship fight!"


    Damon''s heart pounded in his chest as the camera zoomed in on Victor''s face.


    Despite the poor quality of the footage, Damon could see the pain etched in his expression.


    But there was something else that struck him. The man on the screen, the fighter whose leg had just been shattered, it looked like Victor.


    He froze, the tablet trembling slightly in his hands.


    ''Bu-ut how? This is''


    Thementator''s voice confirmed what he had feared. "Victor Steele''s leg is broken, and the fight is over!"


    Damon looked up at Victor, standing by theke, calm and quiet.


    The realization hit him hard. He hadn''t known that Victor had fought, let alone that he had suffered such a career-ending injury.


    Victor met his gaze, his eyes hard but not unkind. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke as he looked out at the water.


    As he had lit another cig.


    "Now you know," Victor said quietly. "That was myst fight."

 Chapter 112: Chapter 112: Shattered Dreams

    Damon couldn''t help but blurt out, "But how, you''re¨C"


    Victor nced at him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Standing here? Surgery, kid. They put a steel rod in my leg."


    He chuckled, as if trying to lighten the mood, but the heaviness of the situation lingered.


    Victor paused, taking a slow drag of his cigarette before continuing. "After that event, I was dead set on getting back into the ring. I thought, ''It''s just a break, I can heal.'' But the truth is, I couldn''t. It wasn''t safe, not with my leg like that. And that... that ate away at me."


    Damon listened, feeling the pain of Victor''s words.


    He had never seen this side of the man before, the vulnerability beneath the confidence.


    "I had one dream in life," Victor went on, his eyes clouded with memories. "To be the UFA champion. That was it. I was inches away from it, and I couldn''t finish. Couldn''t get it done."


    Damon could see the emotion behind Victor''s usually stoic exterior, the years of frustration and pain.


    Victor took another drag, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he brought the cigarette to his lips. "Losing, that''s one thing. People lose all the time, you know? You take your hits, you train harder, you fight your way back. But when they tell you your career''s over... when they say you''ll never achieve the one thing you spent your whole life chasing...


    It destroys you, man. It kills something inside."


    Damon felt a lump form in his throat.


    He had never thought about it that way, the idea of having a dream so close, only to be told it was permanently out of reach.


    He could feel the ache behind Victor''s words, the bitter taste of unfulfilled potential.


    Victor looked up, his eyes meeting Damon''s. "That''s why I do what I do now. Why I help guys like you. Maybe if I can help someone else get there... maybe it''ll mean something."


    Damon swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. He felt the weight of Victor''s words settle into his chest. "I... I didn''t know."


    Victor gave a shortugh, the sound hollow. "Not something I like to talk about much." He looked back at the water, his voice low. "But now you know."


    Victor''s tone shifted as he spoke again, more regretful now. "But I gotta say, I did lose myself back then," he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of the past. "Macey was even close to divorcing my ass. I was so obsessed with making someone a champion that I didn''t see what I was doing to the people around me. But she endured... stuck by me."


    Damon nodded. He knew who Macey was, even though they had never met.


    From what Victor had mentioned before, Damon could piece together it was his wife


    He could understand her point of view now more than ever.


    Victor continued, tossing the cigarette away. "Then, about nine years ago, I met this little girl. She was 14, taking refuge. Once we adopted Svena, everything changed. Being a father... man, that changes everything.


    You realize there''s more to life than... chasing broken dreams."


    He paused, then startedughing, a sound filled with irony. "And after all that obsession and wasted years, none of the fighters in my gym have ever been a champion. So... yeah."


    Damon chuckled with him, feeling the lightness return for a moment. "Well, it takes time, right? I''m sure someone wille around."


    Victor smiled, a knowing glint in his eye as he looked at Damon. "Oh, I''m sure he will." His gaze lingered, filled with silent confidence.


    Victor patted himself down and stretched. "Okay, we''re done here," he said, preparing to leave.


    But before Victor could take a step, Damon stopped him with a smile. "Hey, Victor... thank you. For everything. I wouldn''t be here without you."


    Victor paused, then gave Damon a firm pat on the shoulder. "Don''t mention it, kid. You''ve grown on me."


    As they walked toward the car, Damon spoke up again, "Wait, so Lana''s 23? That makes her two years older than me."


    "Yeah, you never asked..." Victor trailed off, then smirked. "You''re not that clueless about women, are you?"


    Damon didn''t respond, keeping his focus ahead. "Aight, Mr. Steele, let''s close this conversation," he said, opening the car door.


    Victor burst outughing. "What? I knew you weren''t a yer, but I didn''t think you were this clueless!"


    Both men got into the car, continuing their yful banter as they drove off.


    The tension from earlier eased, reced by the bond they had formed over time.


    The car drove off, merging onto the quiet road as the sun began to dip below the horizon.


    Victor kept his hands steady on the wheel while Damon leaned back in his seat, watching the scenery blur by.


    It''s true that chasing dreams oftenes with struggles, setbacks, and moments of doubt, but those challenges shape us.


    Every failure, every hardship, is a step forward in growth, even if it doesn''t feel like it in the moment.


    Sess isn''t always about making it to the top but understanding and appreciating the journey, the resilience it builds, the lessons learned.


    And when things get tough, remembering the people who support you, those who believe in your potential, can reignite that fire.


    Even if the road feels lonely, continuing the fight for yourself is just as important.


    Your value doesn''t diminish with setbacks, it only grows with the strength it takes to keep moving forward.


    It''s a reminder that persistence, even in the face of adversity, creates character and shapes a future far richer than sess without struggle ever could.


    And the truth is, some of the greatest lessons in life don''te from the victories but from the losses.


    Every time you fall, you learn a little more about yourself, your limits, your weaknesses, but also your strengths.


    You begin to understand that failure isn''t the opposite of sess, it''s part of the process.


    It teaches you resilience, patience, and the value of hard work.


    When you face failure, it''s easy to doubt yourself.


    To think maybe you weren''t cut out for this or that maybe the dream wasn''t meant for you.


    But those are the moments that test your will.


    That''s when you decide whether you''re going to let it break you or use it to build you into something stronger.

 Chapter 113: Chapter 113: Let The Show Begin

    Damon stepped out of the white van, dragging his suitcase and carrying two bags over his shoulders.


    Walking into the Training Center.


    The facility was massive, filled with state-of-the-art equipment and buzzing with the energy of fighters and trainers preparing for their sessions.


    Over the past week, he had taken the time to say his goodbyes.


    He had spent quality moments with his mother and had shared several heartfelt conversations with Svena.


    Despite their close connection, nothing romantic had happened between them.


    Damon felt a lingering sense of anticipation, as if a final push might elevate their rtionship to something more.


    But he refrained. He was heading away for a month or more, and he didn''t want to leave things unresolved or make promises he couldn''t keep.


    Before arriving, Damon had gone to the hospital for a blood test. He assumed it was to check for performance-enhancing drugs.


    He felt bad for anyone who might be disqualified for weed, as for PEDs well...


    As he walked further into the Training Center, Damon noticed the fighters standing in clusters, their voices low, and their faces tense.


    The room was filled with anxiety. Damon scanned the group, trying to gauge the mood.


    He spotted Kevin, who was leaning against a wall, looking restless. Damon approached him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Eyy, bro."


    Kevin turned around, his smile fading as he took in Damon''s serious expression. "Yoo Damon, you good?"


    Damon nodded, ncing around at the other fighters. "Yeah, just trying to figure out why everyone''s so quiet."


    Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The officials just announced that elimination matches will happen today."


    Damon''s eyes widened. "Wait, how''s that going to work? I thought we were supposed to be split into teams by the UFA coaches first."


    Kevin shrugged, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah, that''s what we were told. But now only 16 of us will make it into the house. The coaches will be watching these elimination matches to decide who they want on their teams."


    Damon''s stomach tightened at the news. He looked around, seeing the nervous energy in the room, and realized the stakes were higher than he had anticipated.


    He gave Kevin a firm nod. "Got it. Thanks for the heads-up." Appreciating the gesture.


    Kevin gave a small, encouraging smile. "You got this."


    Damon took a deep breath and straightened up.


    He moved towards the area where the fighters were gathering for the elimination matches.


    Two hourster, an official stepped forward, silencing the room with his presence.


    "Alright, everyone, here''s how it will work. We''ll call out names, and if your name is called, head to the office," he said, pointing to a door across the room.


    The mood of the room shifted very quickly. Nervous nces and hushed conversations spread among the fighters. "Are those the ones disqualified?" someone whispered, eyes darting toward the door.


    The official cleared his throat and began reading names. "Daniel Barkley."


    A fighter, his face pale and eyes wide, moved toward the door, his footsteps heavy and uncertain.


    "James Davison."


    A tall man, his posture stiff, gave a curt nod before heading to the office. His eyes betrayed a mix of boredom and concern.


    The official continued, calling two more names. With each name, the tension in the room grew so thick you could cut it with a knife.


    Fighters exchanged worried looks, their hands fidgeting, their breaths shallow.


    When the official finally finished reading, he folded the paper and scanned the room with a firm gaze.


    "Four of you will skip the first round of eliminations due to the actions of others. The rest of you will face the eliminations as nned. Go change into your gear and meet me back here."


    A collective sigh of relief was followed by a wave of nervous energy.


    Fighters hurried to the lounge room.


    As the fighters began to disperse, the official''s voice cut through the murmur.


    "Ethan Grove, Mandy Lane, Carlos Rodriguez, and Mason Reed, you four will stay behind. You won''t be participating in this round."


    The four named fighters exchanged relieved nces, their faces lighting up with unexpected joy.


    A few fighters cast envious looks their way, but most simply shrugged, resigned to the situation.


    Damon, having not heard his name called, felt a wave of relief and excitement.


    Fighting was what he loved, and he wasn''t about to let himself be weighed down by envy.


    Damon lifted his baggage, checking that it was securely fastened before heading to the locker room.


    He quickly changed into his fighting gear, the familiar fabric settlingfortably around him.


    Outside, the cameras continued their relentless filming, capturing every moment of the day''s drama.


    Damon was sure they were amplifying the tension to stir up more excitement and animosity among the fighters, with the disqualification and the surprise eliminations.


    He knew the eliminations would spark tension. Fighters who had formed bonds would feel the sting of seeing their friends go.


    Even if they weren''t close, the departure of a familiar face could create friction in the group.


    But Damon didn''t give a damn about who was who''s friend. He wasn''t here to make friends; he was here topete.


    As he finished adjusting his gear, his focus sharpened.


    As Damon walked toward the hall where the octagon cage was set up, he noticed a group of fighters already distancing themselves from their so-called ''friends.''


    It was no surprise,petitiveness ran deep in everyone who stepped into the ring.


    If they had to face one of these former allies and lose, the stakes were even higher.


    Reaching the cage, Damon and the rest surrounded the cage.


    The official stepped forward and surveyed the crowd with a serious expression.


    "Good," the official said, his voice cutting through the murmur of the fighters. "I will call out two names. When your name is called, step into the cage and give your best performance to secure your ce in the house."


    Damon took a deep breath. He wished he was picked first, while he wanted to see how everyone fought, he didn''t want to stay here and watch fights while waiting for his.

 Chapter 114: Chapter 114: Elimination I

    Inside the octagon, a match was about to begin, the 10th match of the day to be precise, as only 2 matches were left after this


    Only the fighters, the officials, the judges, and the referee were present, creating an environment of raw, unfilteredpetition.


    Damon stood at the edge of the crowd of fighters, his gaze fixed on the cage as the 10th elimination match of the day began.


    The bell rang, signaling the start of the first round.


    Aric Lee and Benjamin Cole faced each other in the center of the cage, their eyes locked for some time, each were here for the same thing but only one of them could achieve it.


    Aric, seemingly looking like a powerful aggressive striker, his muscles were outlined rippling.


    Benjamin, equally skilled but with a more measured approach, braced himself for the onught.


    Aric began with abos of quick jabs, aiming to gauge Benjamin''s defense.


    His right hand shot out with precision,nding a sharp jab to Benjamin''s jaw.


    Benjamin staggered slightly but quickly regained his footing before he could get taken advantage if.


    He responded with a low kick aimed at Aric''s lead leg. The kicknded solidly, causing Aric to flinch and wince as he adjusted his stance.


    Damon watched intently, noting how Aric''s movements were both aggressive and calcted.


    He could see the strain on Benjamin''s face as he absorbed the impact, his leg visibly pained by the low kick.


    Aric, unfazed, pressed forward with a flurry of punches. Each strike was delivered with power, his fists connecting with Benjamin''s arms and torso.


    Benjamin, using his defensive skills, blocked some of the punches but struggled to keep up with Aric''s speed.


    As Aric pressed the attack, he forced Benjamin back against the cage.


    Benjamin, showing his grappling background, clinched with Aric, trapping his arms andnding a number of knee strikes to Aric''s midsection.


    The knees hit with a thud, causing Aric to grunt. Damon observed Aric''s reaction, noting how he used his strength to break free from the clinch.


    Last time he had used a clinch In a match was during a backyard fight, so he couldn''t help but smile.


    With a powerful elbow strike, Arded a blow to Benjamin''s head, causing him to stumble.


    Aric seized the opportunity and stepped back to create space. Benjamin, visibly shaken, tried to regroup.


    His movements were slower, and he took deep breaths to steady himself.


    Aric, sensing Benjamin''s vulnerability, continued his assault with high kicks and punches.


    Aric''s aggression seem unending. He moved in with a sharp right hook thatnded cleanly, sending Benjamin to the mat.


    The crowd of fighters and officials watched in silence, their focus was on the action in the cage.


    Damon, standing among them, watched without an expression in his face, unless it was a powerful or a unique move, he wouldn''t react, he had be immune to violence.


    Benjamin struggled to get back on his feet, using the cage to pull himself up.


    His movements were sluggish, and he appeared disoriented.


    Aric, showing no signs of mercy, moved in with a series of precise strikes.


    His punches connected with Benjamin''s head and body, each onending with a resounding impact.


    Damon could see the exhaustion and pain etched on Benjamin''s face as he tried to defend himself.


    As Benjamin tried to cover up, Aric decided to change tactics.


    He stepped back, creating distance between them.


    Aric feinted a left hook, drawing Benjamin''s attention.


    In a split second, Aricunched a powerful roundhouse kick aimed directly at Benjamin''s head.


    The kick connected with a loud snap, sending Benjamin sprawling to the canvas.


    The referee, observing the impact, immediately moved in to assess Benjamin''s condition.


    Aric, breathing heavily but victorious, stood over his opponent.


    His face showed relief and satisfaction as he realized the fight was over.


    The judges, who had been watching intently, nodded in agreement as the official raised Aric''s arm in victory.


    Damon''s eyes remained fixed on the cage, his focus unwavering.


    He watched as the medical team entered the cage to attend to Benjamin.


    The fighter''s head was cradled in the hands of the medics, their expressions serious as they assessed the extent of the damage.


    Damon knew that the brutality of a fight always showed its effect when the fight was over. Adrenaline was one hell of a drug.


    As Aric walked out of the cage, the other fighters around Damon exchanged nces.


    They looked at Aric in awe. That was an impressive knockout, and no one denied it.


    Damon stood there watching, with impatience beginning to creep in.


    With only two matches remaining, he knew he could be either the next fighter in the cage or thest to go.


    The minutes dragged on as he waited, each second wishing he could just fight already. There was no opportunity to leave. He wanted to win this after all.


    The official pped his hands, drawing everyone''s attention. The fighters, already on edge, turned their heads toward the center of the ring.


    "Okay, for the next match, let''s get Bobby Day," the official announced.


    A fighter stepped forward, moving confidently towards the cage.


    Bobby Day was a muscr  figure with a calm look. He didn''t seem too worried.


    His gaze briefly met Damon''s, carrying a hint of challenge before he looked at the other 2 fighters who hadn''t fought as they could be his opponent.


    "And Damon Cross," the official continued, his voice echoing in the spacious room.


    Damon''s shoulders rxed slightly in relief. He nodded to himself and made his way to the cage.


    As he walked, he locked eyes with Bobby, the intensity of the moment building between them.


    The cage door nged shut behind him, sealing their fates in the octagon.


    The fighters took their positions, their eyes never leaving each other.


    ''Alright no fuck ups, cool mind, calm moves'' he was going to start with his normal strategy, nothingplicated, just start with chipping on the legs, and try to learn how he fights.

 Chapter 115: Chapter 115: Elimination II - Testing Waters

    The cage door locked behind Damon, and the sound of thetch echoed in the room.


    There were no fans, just the eyes of other fighters fixed on the octagon.


    The environment felt stripped down, raw, with only the fighters and the officials paying close attention to what would happen next.


    Damon stood across from Bobby, sizing him up as the two men slowly began circling each other.


    Bobby was calm. His stance was low, bnced. He was light on his feet, moving with an ease that suggested he wasfortable in this setting.


    His eyes never left Damon''s, watching, reading.


    Damon felt his legs ready. He was going to start with low kicks, the same way he always did.


    There was no need to rush or make any reckless moves. He needed to get a feel for how Bobby would react, how he would handle the kicks.


    Without hesitation, Damon took a step forward, closing the gap slightly, and snapped his right leg out, aiming at Bobby''s lead leg.


    The kick connected with a sharp thwack against Bobby''s shin.


    Bobby didn''t flinch. He stayed firm, absorbing the impact and barely adjusting his stance.


    Damon took note. Strong legs, solid base.


    Bobby didn''t respond immediately. Instead, he stayed patient, continuing to circle, looking for his moment.


    Damon stayed light on his feet, keeping his distance, but always within range.


    He threw another low kick, this time a little harder, aiming for the same spot on Bobby''s lead leg.


    Again, the kick connected, and again, Bobby absorbed it, this time taking a small step back to reset his stance.


    Damon watched Bobby''s bodynguage closely. He was testing his defense, trying to see if Bobby would crack under pressure.


    So far, Bobby seemed steady, unfazed by the leg kicks.


    Damon threw a third low kick, mixing up the rhythm, aiming just above the knee this time.


    Bobby lifted his leg, checking the kick with his shin.


    The impact vibrated through Damon''s leg, but it didn''t stop him. He stepped back, reset, and kept circling.


    Bobby finally decided to throw something back.


    He stepped in, throwing a quick one-twobination, a jab followed by a straight right.


    Damon saw iting and slipped the jab, but the right hand grazed his guard. It wasn''t powerful, more of a probing punch, just like Damon''s kicks.


    They were both feeling each other out.


    Damon stayed patient.


    He wanted to see how Bobby reacted to punches. He moved in closer, threw a quick jab to Bobby''s guard, testing his defense.


    Bobby''s hands were up, blocking the jab easily. Damon stepped out again, not ovemitting, keeping things simple.


    He threw another jab, followed by a right cross, but Bobby''s guard was solid.


    His defense was tight, his hands up high, blocking everything that came his way.


    Damon knew he wasn''t going to break through Bobby''s guard easily. He needed to stay calm, work on breaking him down over time.


    Bobby threw a low kick of his own, testing Damon''s legs now.


    The kicknded on Damon''s lead leg, but it wasn''t too heavy. It was more of a test, just like Damon had been doing earlier.


    Damon took the kick in stride, keeping his bnce, and immediately fired back with another low kick of his own, again targeting Bobby''s lead leg.


    The kick connected, and this time, Bobby took a step back, his stance shifting slightly.


    Damon kept the pressure. He feinted a jab, causing Bobby to raise his guard, then threw a quick left hook to Bobby''s ribs.


    The punchnded cleanly, but Bobby tightened up, absorbing the impact without much reaction. Damon stepped back again, staying cautious.


    Bobby threw another jab, this time aiming higher, toward Damon''s head.


    Damon slipped the punch, but as he moved, Bobby followed up with a quick inside leg kick.


    The kick hit Damon''s inner thigh, but it didn''t do much damage. Damon backed up a step, then immediately came back in with a hard right leg kick.


    This time, he put more power into it, aiming at the same spot on Bobby''s lead leg.


    The kicknded hard, and Damon saw Bobby wince slightly, his leg buckling for a split second before he reset his stance.


    Good, Damon thought. He was starting to chip away at Bobby''s base.


    Bobby seemed to notice the shift in momentum.


    He started to press forward more aggressively now, throwing a quickbination of punches, a jab, a cross, then a hook.


    Damon blocked the jab and cross with his forearms, but the hook nced off the side of his head. It wasn''t clean, but it made contact.


    Damon stayedposed, stepping out of range again. He couldn''t let Bobby dictate the pace.


    He threw another low kick, targeting the same spot on Bobby''s leg.


    The kicknded, and this time Bobby reacted more visibly, his leg buckling slightly again.


    Bobby threw another jab, followed by a straight right.


    Damon blocked the jab, slipped the right hand, and countered with a quick right cross of his own.


    The punch connected with Bobby''s jaw, but he took it well, barely flinching as he backed up a step.


    Damon followed up with a quick left hook, but Bobby ducked under it, his head movement sharp.


    He countered with a body shot, a quick right hook to Damon''s ribs.


    Damon felt the impact, but it wasn''t enough to slow him down. He stepped out of range again, resetting.


    Deciding to switch things up, he feinted a low kick, causing Bobby to drop his hands slightly, then threw a quick one-two punchbination, aiming for Bobby''s head.


    Bobby''s guard was up, blocking the punches, but Damon followed up with another low kick, this time hitting Bobby''s calf.


    The kicknded cleanly, and Bobby cringed, his leg starting to show signs of wear.


    Bobby responded with a leg kick of his own, hitting Damon''s thigh with a solid thud.


    Damon felt the impact but stayedposed, immediately returning fire with another low kick, this time hitting the outside of Bobby''s knee.


    The two fighters continued circling, exchanging kicks and punches, neither one willing to fullymit to a big move just yet.


    They were both ying it smart, looking for openings, trying to wear each other down.


    Bobby''s defense was solid, his movements calcted.


    But Damon had patience, and so did Bobby.

 Chapter 116: Chapter 116: Elimination III - Rising Heat

    Damon circled Bobby slowly, his eyes focused, calcting each move. Bobby was still calm, measured.


    Choosing to stay with his n. His next kick shot out just as fast as the others, aimed at Bobby''s lead leg.


    It connected again with smack, but Bobby didn''t flinch. He ate it like before, his stance still solid, his movement steady.


    Damon could tell Bobby wasn''t just here to defend.


    He was waiting. Damon kept testing him, throwing in a few more quick punches, trying to find an opening.


    Each jab met Bobby''s gloves. His guard stayed tight, his defense still unbroken. A quick jab followed by a cross, but nothing broke through.


    Then, out of nowhere, Bobby fired back with abination of his own.


    A fast jab cracked out toward Damon''s face. Damon slipped the punch, but Bobby followed with a straight right hand, this time with real force behind it.


    The power of the punch nced off Damon''s guard, sending a jolt through his arm. Bobby was showing a little more power now.


    Damon knew he had to adjust.


    He stayed calm, moving back just enough to avoid Bobby''s follow-up low kick.


    As soon as Bobby reset, Damon fired a leg kick of his own,nding it hard on Bobby''s thigh.


    Bobby took a step back but didn''t break his rhythm. He was patient, but the power in his movements was starting to build.


    Bobby''s nextbination came faster, another jab, then a quick left hook to the body.


    Damon blocked the jab but the hook slipped through,nding hard on his ribs.


    The impact was stronger than before, and Damon felt it. His body tightened as he took the shot, but still keeping his pace.


    Damon stepped forward, firing back with a quick right cross, aiming for Bobby''s head.


    Bobby ducked under it smoothly, but Damon immediately followed with a hard left kick, targeting Bobby''s lead leg again.


    The kick connected, and this time, Bobby flinched slightly, his leg starting to show some signs of wear.


    But Bobby wasn''t backing down. Instead, he came forward more aggressively.


    He snapped a heavy low kick into Damon''s leg, this time with real intent.


    The power of the impact was different, heavier. Damon felt his leg bend slightly from the force, but he kept his bnce.


    Bobby pressed forward, throwing a quick one-two punchbination, his fists moving faster now.


    Damon managed to block the first punch, but the second hit his guard with a solid thud.


    The power behind Bobby''s punches had shifted. He wasn''t just testing anymore; he was starting to put real weight into his strikes.


    Damon blinked, feeling the change in the fight.


    Bobby was stronger than he''d shown at the start, and his strikes were beginning to take a toll. But Damon wasn''t the type to back down easily.


    As Bobby stepped in with another heavy jab, Damon parried it, pivoting to the side, and fired off a hard low kick, aiming at Bobby''s leg again.


    Itnded cleanly, but Bobby pushed forward, not giving Damon room to breathe.


    He threw another quick hook to Damon''s body, then followed up with a straight right to his head.


    Damon blocked the shots, but he could feel the pressure building.


    The match was picking up speed. Both fighters were starting to trade more aggressively, their strikes heavier, more focused.


    Damon could feel the intensity rising between them.


    Bobby threw anotherbination, jab, cross, hook each punch packed with more power than thest.


    Damon blocked and slipped the strikes, then countered with a hard right cross, catching Bobby on the jaw.


    Bobby stepped back, but Damon didn''t give him space.


    He pressed forward with a hard low kick, aiming at Bobby''s calf, then followed with a quick jab-crossbination.


    The fight was heating up, both fighters pushing each other harder now.


    The slow, methodical start was gone. This was a real fight.


    Just as the pace reached its peak, the bell rang, signaling the end of the first round.


    The sound rang through the octagon, and both fighters immediately stopped, their bodies still tense, ready for more.


    The referee quickly stepped between them, arms outstretched, separating the two men.


    Damon and Bobby stood there for a moment, both breathing heavily, their eyes locked.


    Neither had gotten the upper hand yet, but both knew the real fight had just begun.


    As they turned and walked to their corners, the fighters watching from the sidelines murmured, knowing the next round would be even more aggressive.


    With both fighters now having learned a bit about each other, they''ll begin using that information to their advantage.


    Damon sat down on the stool, his muscles still buzzing from the intensity of the first round.


    His breath came in steady, controlled inhales and exhales.


    One of the fighters in his corner handed him a water bottle, and Damon poured it over his head, feeling the cool liquid run down his face and neck.


    As he nced across the octagon at Bobby, he saw him breathing heavily butposed.


    Damon could see the minimal damage on Bobby''s leg now, a slight swelling on his thigh where the repeated kicks hadnded.


    But Bobby''s power had surprised him, and he knew that if he wasn''t careful, Bobby could take control in the next round.


    Closing his eyes for a brief moment, his mind running through the first round, breaking down everything he had seen.


    As he opened his eyes, the strategy was clear in his mind. He could feel his legs ready to move again, his hands itching for the next exchange. The n was solid¨C


    Two key points of his strategy, movement and Bobby''s head.


    Bobby was strong, no doubt about it. He had the kind of power that could shift the momentum of a fight with a single punch.


    But that power required a solid foundation, a foundation Damon was already chipping away at with those leg kicks.


    The key, Damon realized, wasn''t just to hurt Bobby physically; it was to frustrate him.


    If Bobby couldn''t get a steady stance, he wouldn''t be able to throw his heavy shots effectively.


    And that meant Damon couldn''t afford to stand still either.


    He had to be unpredictable, constantly shifting, darting in and out, making Bobby chase him.

 Chapter 117: Chapter 117: Elimination IV: Change of Plans

    The more Damon moved, the harder it would be for Bobby to nt his feet and generate the power he needed.


    Bobby liked to stay in one spot, get into a rhythm, and if Damon could disrupt that rhythm, he''d turn Bobby''s strength into a weakness.


    Damon had also noticed something else about Bobby. His head stayed right in the same spot, tucked behind that high guard.


    Bobby had solid defensive fundamentals, but he didn''t move his head. Damon knew what that meant, Bobby was relying on his arms to block strikes, not his upper body or head.


    That was a dangerous habit.


    Damon thought about the clean hooks to the body he''dnded earlier. He could tell they had made an impact, even if Bobby hadn''t shown much reaction.


    If Damon could keep working those body shots, he''d force Bobby to drop his guard lower and lower to protect himself.


    Once Bobby started worrying about his body, his head would be an easy target.


    All Damon needed was one clean shot, a perfectly timed high kick, or a sharp uppercut, and Bobby''s head would be wide open.


    Of course... not literally.


    He could see it now: feint low, wait for Bobby to drop his hands, and thene up high, right where Bobby wouldn''t expect it.


    This would end just like how he ended the audition match before.


    His mind circled around these two ideas. Keep moving, keep targeting the legs, and make Bobby pay for every second he stayed still.


    That was how Damon would break him.


    The bell rang for the second round, and Damon pushed off his stool, his body loose but his mind sharp.


    He had felt Bobby out in the first round, learned his rhythm, and now it was time to put his n into action.


    As they met in the center of the cage, Bobby''s guard was still high, his head tucked safely behind his arms.


    Damon bounced on his toes, light, quick. He knew Bobby would be expecting the same slow pace, but Damon was ready to turn it up.


    Damon started with a jab, testing Bobby''s reaction.


    Just like before, Bobby lifted his guard, but Damon wasn''t aiming for his head.


    Instead, he slipped in a quick hook to the body,nding clean against Bobby''s ribs.


    Bobby grunted but stayedposed, backing up slightly.


    Damon kept the pressure. He threw another jab, followed by a hard low kick to Bobby''s lead leg.


    The kicknded with a solid crack, and Bobby shifted his stance, absorbing the hit. Damon could tell the leg kicks were starting to add up.


    Bobby''s movement was just a little slower, his stance a little shakier.


    But Bobby wasn''t backing down. He fired back with a sharp right hand, followed by a leg kick of his own.


    Damon saw the punching and slipped it, but the leg kick caught him, the sting sharp against his thigh.


    Bobby pressed forward now, throwing a jab-crossbination. Damon blocked the jab but felt the cross slip through, grazing his cheek.


    He stepped back, resetting, but Bobby didn''t let him breathe. He fired off another low kick, this timending clean on Damon''s calf.


    Damon felt the impact, his leg throbbing, but he didn''t slow down.


    He needed to keep moving, keep Bobby off bnce. He threw a quick one-two, then dropped low,nding another hard hook to Bobby''s ribs.


    This time, Bobby winced. Damon could see he was starting to break him down.


    Damon followed up with a hard leg kick, targeting the same spot on Bobby''s lead leg. Bobby''s leg buckled slightly, his stance shifting again.


    Damon kept up the pressure, mixing in jabs and body shots, forcing Bobby to drop his guard little by little.


    But Bobby wasn''t done. He threw a heavy overhand right, catching Damon on the temple.


    The shot rocked him, and he stumbled back. Bobby rushed in,nding a body shot that made Damon wince.


    Damon''s vision blurred for a second, but he stayed on his feet, shaking it off.


    Bobby smelled blood. Heunched a flurry of punches, jab, cross, hook, all aimed at Damon''s head.


    Damon covered up, his forearms absorbing most of the damage, but he could feel the power in Bobby''s strikes.


    Bobby was picking up the pace, looking to end it.


    He was no longer standing still.


    Damon knew he couldn''t let Bobby take control. He circled out, resetting his stance.


    e fired a quick jab, then another hard low kick. The kicknded clean, and Bobby''s leg lowered a bit again. Damon saw the opportunity.


    He feinted high, and when Bobby raised his guard, Damon dug a hard hook into his body.


    Bobby doubled over slightly, his face grimacing in pain. Damon followed up with another leg kick, this time putting everything into it.


    The impact echoed through the cage, and Bobby''s leg nearly gave out.


    But Bobby wasn''t backing down. He threw a desperate uppercut, catching Damon on the chin.


    Damon''s head snapped back, and he felt his knees wobble for a second.


    But that second was enough for Bobby, who lunged forward, his knee flying up toward Damon''s head.


    Damon instinctively shifted his weight, turning his body just enough for the knee to nce off his shoulder instead ofnding flush.


    It was close, too close. A split second slower, and that knee would''ve knocked him out cold.


    Damon didn''t waste a moment. As Bobby''s forward momentum carried him in, Damon wrapped his arms around Bobby''s neck and head, locking him into a tight clinch.


    Their bodies tangled, and Damon pulled Bobby''s head down, forcing him to stay close, preventing another wild strike.


    Bobby tried to push back, his hands grabbing at Damon''s arms, but Damon stayed calm, using his leverage to control the position.


    He knew Bobby had power, but up close like this, it was all about technique.


    Damon pressed his forehead into Bobby''s chest, keeping his base solid while digging a couple of sharp knees into Bobby''s ribs, each onending with a solid thud.


    Bobby grunted, trying to create space, but Damon kept him locked in, working the clinch and wearing him down.

 Chapter 118: Chapter 118: Elimination V: Adapt and Overcome

    Damon had to admit, he may have miscalcted. Bobby wasn''t going to stand still like he had in the first round.


    Clearly, Bobby had a n of his own, one that involved more than just absorbing punishment. Damon needed to find a new strategy.


    Adapt and improve. That was how fighters grew.


    With Bobby locked in the clinch, Damon decided to use his Muay Thai advantage.


    He threw a sharp elbow toward Bobby''s temple. The strike nced off, but it was enough to keep Bobby on the defensive.


    Despite the pressure, Bobby wasn''t struggling as much as Damon had expected.


    Clearly, Bobby had some experience in the clinch too, but Damon was doing the most damage.


    Damon fired off another knee to Bobby''s midsection.


    Each strikended with a satisfying thud, and he could feel Bobby''s body tighten with every hit.


    He kept his grip tight on the back of Bobby''s neck, controlling the pace, forcing him to react rather than attack.


    Bobby, however, wasn''t going down easily. He shifted his weight, trying to get his arms free to break Damon''s grip.


    Damon felt Bobby''s strength as he wrestled for position, but he wasn''t about to let go.


    Instead, he pressed his forehead into Bobby''s chest, maintaining control, and delivered another knee, this time targeting the inside of Bobby''s thigh. Bobby winced.


    Damon was getting into a rhythm now. But he couldn''t get toofortable.


    He could feel Bobby trying to disrupt his control, shifting his hips, looking for a way to create space.


    Damon had to think ahead, and he knew that the next move would decide whether he stayed on the offensive or let Bobby slip away.


    He wasn''t about to let that happen.


    Another elbow followed, sharper, and aimed directly at Bobby''s ear.


    As they grappled, Damon focused on maintaining control, his grip tightening around the back of Bobby''s neck.


    He could feel Bobby''s muscles tense, readying for a counterattack.


    Then it hit him: he had noticed Bobby''s reliance on his strength, and that could be his downfall.


    Bobby''s head was tucked tightly behind that high guard, limiting his options.


    Damon decided to bait him.


    He rxed his grip slightly, giving the illusion of letting up, hoping to draw Bobby into a false sense of security.


    Bobby took the bait. Sensing an opening, he shifted his weight and threw a heavy punch aimed at Damon''s head.


    Damon was ready. As Bobby''s fist flew toward him, Damon ducked under the punch, using the momentum to spin Bobby around.


    In one fluid motion, he positioned himself behind Bobby, transitioning into a loose rear-naked choke.


    But instead of applying pressure, Damon kept it light, waiting for Bobby to react.


    Bobby, feeling the shift, instinctively dropped his weight, trying to shake Damon off.


    Damon could feel the tension in Bobby''s body as he attempted to break free.


    The clinch wasn''t working in Bobby''s favor anymore.


    With each attempt to dislodge Damon, Bobby was losing precious energy.


    Damon saw an opportunity.


    He shifted his grip to the top of Bobby''s head, using his forearm to press down on Bobby''s neck, forcing him to stay lower.


    It was a risky move, but Damon felt he could keep Bobby off bnce.


    With a quick knee to the back of Bobby''s leg, he unbnced him, sending Bobby stumbling forward.


    Damon quickly followed up, stepping back to create space.


    He feigned a low kick, watching Bobby''s reaction closely.


    Just as Damon anticipated, Bobby instinctively lowered his guard to defend against the perceived attack.


    That was exactly what Damon had been waiting for.


    With uracy, Damonunched a perfectly timed high kick, his foot connecting with the side of Bobby''s head in a crisp arc.


    The impact echoed through the arena like a thunderp, and Damon could see the shock in Bobby''s eyes before they zed over.


    Bobby''s body crumpled to the mat, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze.


    The fighters erupted in a small cheers and ps, but all Damon could focus on was the execution of his strategy, a perfect blend of patience and opportunism.


    As the referee rushed in to check on Bobby, Damon stepped back, his chest heaving with effort.


    He raised his arms, soaking in the moment of victory, knowing he had turned the tide with a spectacr finish, he was sure watchers were going crazy over the finish.


    Bobbyy on the canvas momentarily dazed, the fight abruptly concluded by abination of skill and strategy.


    Damon felt a rush of adrenaline, a sense of aplishment.


    As the referee dered the match over and raised Damon''s hand, the pping ended.


    Damon made his way out of the cage, still pumped up with adrenaline.


    He grabbed a water bottle, opening it, as he poured it over him self and took a long drink.


    Spotting Kevin near the end of the fighters, he noticed his friend''s wide grin. "Damn, bro, that was a crazy match!" Kevin eximed, awe on his voice.


    Damon dapped him up, smirking. "Haha, what did you expect from yours truly?"


    Kevin chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, better than mine at least. I won by decision. I need to step my game up."


    "Don''t worry about it too much," Damon reassured him as they walked toward the locker room, "After this, the coaches will pick their teams. I''m sure we''ll all learn from them."


    Thest fight was already beginning or had begun as they slowly made their way to the locker room.


    Entering the locker room, there wasn''t a lot of people, a few fighters, sitting in a group chatting.


    Kevin tossed a towel over to Damon, who caught it. "You think you''ll get picked first? You really showed what you can do out there."


    Damon shrugged, a modest smile on his face. "I hope so, but I''m sure there were other guys who performed better."


    "Also, if that happens, I might end up with a target on my back, but I don''t mind," Damon said, a smirk ying on his lips.


    The thrill ofpetition ignited something in him, he weed the challenge.


    Kevin chuckled, nodding his head. "Aight, I''m gonna bounce. Gonna catch thest match."


    "See ya," Damon replied, giving him a friendly nod back as Kevin headed out.


    Damon turned back to his locker, he took a deep breath, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, then began to unpack his gym bag.


    He pulled out his clothes andid them out neatly.

 Chapter 119: Chapter 119: 16 Fighters

    As Damon walked out of the locker room, despite the shower, he could still feel the adrenaline in him.


    His mind reyed every moment, the clean strike that ended the match, the feeling of Bobby''s body giving way beneath his perfectly timed high kick.


    He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.


    Yet, despite the victory, there was a part of him that refused to linger too long in the moment.


    The next challenge was already on his mind, what will happen at the houses, coaches, the next eliminations.


    Instinctively, Damon reached for his pocket to grab his phone, eager to check any messages from Lana or scroll through updates on the matches.


    His hand met only an empty pocket. He paused for a second, confused, until the memory came back, no electronics allowed during the show.


    He had left his phone at home with his mom purpose, knowing they would probably confiscate it if he wanted topete.


    It felt strange, almost unnatural, to be disconnected in such an important moment.


    He shrugged to himself, shaking his head with a smirk.


    ''Guess I''ll have to wait a little longer'' he thought, turning his attention back to the present.


    The locker room was quieter now, with some voices from the remaining fighters low, sounding far.


    Damon took a moment to gather his belongings, checking his gear and making sure everything was packed neatly.


    Each motion was slow, almost meditative, a way to calm the rush still coursing through him.


    As he stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.


    Damon''s thoughts drifted toward his system as he walked, specifically the gacha wheel he hadn''t touched in a while.


    There was a reason for that, after all. He was saving up for something bigger, a Mega Spin.


    Unlike the regr spins, which were fairlymon, the Mega Spin required ten normal spins to activate, and Damon wasn''t about to waste his chances on something less.


    He had his sights set on those Mega Spins, knowing the rewards could be game-changing.


    So far, he had earned four spins. Winning spars didn''t count, which made it harder to collect them.


    Only victories in official matches added to his tally. But tonight''s victory? It gave him 1 Spin, adding to the three he had, making it 4.


    The thought gave him a quiet sense of satisfaction, knowing his patience was paying off.


    As he considered his next moves, he couldn''t help but wonder how the fans were reacting.


    They were watching every moment of The Supreme Fighter, and he imagined their excitement after seeing his knockout finish.


    Damon wasn''t the kind of guy to let the hype get to his head, but he knew how important it was to make an impression.


    The fans, the coaches, everyone was watching closely.


    ''What are they thinking of me right now?'' he wondered, a small smirk creeping onto his face.


    He was sure people were talking about thatst round, the way he had controlled the fight.


    He pushed the door open, stepping into the hallway.


    The sound of fighters in the cage reached his ear, it was thest fight of the first elimination match.


    Damon made his way over to the side of the cage and spotted Kevin next to the crowd of fighters. He walked up and stood next to him.


    Damon arrived, expecting to see an even fight, but his eyes widened as he watched.


    One man was being tossed around the cage like a ragdoll, barely able to defend himself.


    The fighter dominating had a small beard and dark brown skin.


    Damon recognized him, it was Kofi, the guy who had been talking a lot in the loungest week.


    But now, Kofi looked different, focused, and fierce. The easygoing attitude was gone.


    "Kofi?" Damon muttered, turning to Kevin. "What the heck is happening?"


    Kevin, also in awe, shook his head. "That''s Kofi, man. That motherfucker is a beast."


    Damon turned his attention back to the fight.


    Kofi threw hard punches, each onending with a loud smack against his opponent''s body and head.


    The other man tried to block, but Kofi''s strength was too much.


    He grabbed his opponent, mming him against the cage, then hit him with a knee to the ribs.


    The crowd murmured as Kofi kept pressing forward. His opponent''s movements became sluggish, barely able to stand.


    Kofi backed him into a corner, then fired a right hook to the jaw. His opponent copsed, hitting the canvas hard.


    The referee rushed in, signaling the knockout. Kofi stood over his opponent, breathing heavily, his fists still clenched. The fight was over.


    Damon couldn''t help but think, Damn, forget about fans remembering my knockout, they''ll remember this guy.


    He watched Kofi''s size, he was big, even for a middleweight.


    Some people just had that presence, and Kofi was one of them.


    Damon could already see that if Kofi decided to move up to heavyweight, he could definitely make it work.


    But then, as Kofi raised his hand in victory, a friendly smile spread across his face,pletely shifting his appearance.


    He suddenly looked harmless, almost as if the fierce fighter from moments ago had disappeared.


    As Kofi stepped out of the ring, the officials began separating the fighters. Those who had been eliminated were led to the front, apart from the group who had advanced.


    A man in a suit appeared in front of them, his voice calm but firm. "Well, guys, you all performed well and showed great spirit, but unfortunately, your journey in The Supreme Fighter ends here. We''d like to congratte those who advanced."


    Damon stood still, watching as the camera panned to their faces, capturing the moment for everyone watching.


    As the eliminated fighters exited, the man continued, introducing himself. "I''m Stephen Jones, and you and I will be seeing each other a lot in this show."


    He paused, giving the remaining fighters a moment to process before continuing. "But enough about me. I think it''s time for the moment we''ve all been waiting for, the appearance of the coaches and, most importantly, the team selection."


    Everyone held their breath, waiting to see which fighers would be coaching them


    Each fighter had their own guesses, whispers, and rumors of who the coaches might be swirling through their minds.

 Chapter 120: Chapter 120: The Coaches

    The fighters lined up in a straight row, shoulder to shoulder, their eyes scanning the room, waiting.


    Each of them stood still, some adjusting their stances, others rolling their shoulders to ease the tension.


    The sound of shuffling feet filled the space as a few fighters whispered among themselves, their voices low, barely audible.


    Damon kept his gaze forward, his mind focused on what wasing next.


    He could hear the asional murmurs from the fighters next to him, but he stayed quiet.


    There was no point in guessing now, they''d all find out soon enough.


    The line of fighters was smaller now, only 16 of them left.


    Those who didn''t make it had already left the arena, their journey in The Supreme Fighter over.


    But for those still standing, the next step was told, the coaches would soone out and begin picking their teams.


    Eight fighters on each side.


    Damon shifted his weight slightly, feeling the firmness of the floor beneath his feet.


    His breathing was steady, but his chest felt tight with the pressure of the moment.


    He nced to his left and saw one of the fighters clenching his fists, his knuckles white.


    To his right, another fighter bounced lightly on his toes, his eyes darting around the room, full of energy.


    For now, though, all they could do was wait.


    But...


    They didn''t have to wait long.


    Stephen stepped forward, his voicemanding the room. "Okay, let''s introduce the first coach."


    All eyes snapped to the entrance as tall man strode in.


    His presence alone was enough to send a wave of tension through the fighters.


    Towering and broad-shouldered, He had had a lean, wiry frame packed with coiled muscle.


    His close-cropped dark hair framed a chiseled face, with a thick beard that entuated his sharp jawline.


    His piercing eyes, cold and calcting, scanned the fighters with the intensity of a man who knew only victory.


    His cauliflower ears and scarred knuckles told the story of countless battles, each one reinforcing his undefeated status.


    He wore a in ck hoodie, the kind you''d expect from someone who lived and breathed the fight game, with an air of confidence that felt unshakable.


    The room went silent.


    This wasn''t just any fighter, this was Balim Chemasov, the man who had crushed every opponent, feared for his relentless aggression and incredible strength.


    Everyone stared at him, realizing they were standing in the presence of a modern rising legend.


    Balim gave them a brief nod, his expression unreadable, before offering a small greeting. The fighters exchanged uncertain nces.


    Stephen spoke again, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "And now, the second coach."


    The door opened once more, and in stepped another man. His presence was immediately recognizable.


    Built like a coiled spring, his muscr frame moved with the confidence of a seasoned veteran.


    His face, clean-shaven, revealed a strong jaw and a pair of kind yet focused eyes that carried the weight of countless battles.


    His dark brown hair, cropped close on the sides but longer on top, gave him a sharp, disciplined look.


    He wore a gray T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, casual but fitting for someone who knew exactly what he was doing.


    Despite his approachable demeanor, there was a certain intensity in the way he held himself, a man who had walked through wars and emerged stronger every time.


    The fighters stared, just as shocked as they had been with Balim''s entrance.


    Donald Whittier wasn''t just another name either. He was the kind of fighter who had faced the best in the world and proven himself time and time again.


    A former UFA Middleweight Champion.


    Donald gave a slight smile, more rxed than Balim but no less formidable. He nodded to the fighters, his eyes locking with each one for a moment.


    Stephen smiled, clearly pleased as he watched the fighters'' reactions.


    This was exactly the kind of response the UFA had hoped for.


    With every contestant staring in awe at the two titans who had just entered.


    If the fighters were this shaken, Stephen could only imagine the media frenzy, the fan excitement.


    Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier, together as opposing coaches, it was a dream match for any fight fan, and the shock on the contestants'' faces was proof enough that the UFA had set the stage perfectly.


    Stephen knew this season would be one for the history books.


    The reaction from fans was immediate and wild, flooding Chirper in real-time as post after post rolled in, faster than anyone could keep up.


    @FightFanatic24:


    "Yo! BALIM CHEMASOV and DONALD WHITTIER as coaches?!? This season''s gonna be INSANE! #TeamChemasov all the way!"


    @MMAAddict69:


    "Bro, Who let Ronen ck cook?! I''m screaming!!! #GOATVsGOAT"


    @CasualFighter101:


    "Donald Whittier''s cool and all, but Chemasov is gonna eat this man for breakfast. Sorry, not sorry. ?? #TeamBalim"


    @Aricthemanaric:


    "Whittier looks like he just walked off a modeling shoot while Balim looks like he fought a bear and won. I know which team I''m picking. ???? #TeamBalim"


    @TheRealRonenck:


    " If you put 100 fighters in a room only James Jonas ising out #PFP #IloveJonas"


    @WhittierNation:


    "Are you kidding me with this disrespect? Whittier''s gonna outss Balim with that slick technique. Chemasov fans can cryter. #TeamDonald #RealSkill"


    @JustHereForDrama:


    "Balim Chemasov vs. Donald Whittier is basically a bear fighting a fridge. I don''t know what''s happening but I''m here for it. ?? vs. ?? #UFA"


    @NotoriousSkeptic:


    "Undefeated? Pfft, Chemasov''s fought a bunch of nobodies. Whittier''s gonna show him what a real fighter looks like. #Overrated"


    @ChemasovCult:


    "Donald Whittier is a good fighter. A GOOD fighter. But Balim Chemasov is a FREAKING FORCE OF NATURE. ?? #TeamBalim #NeverLost"


    @ArmchairFighterExpert:


    "Chemasov is just muscle and beard. Whittier''s technique is on another level. Prepare for an upset, folks! #TeamWhittier"


    @MemeLordMMA:


    "Damn, everyone here acting as if they''re going to fight here. You know Ronan ck won''t allow himself to lose money from this fight. #MadnessIing"


    The posts kepting, a mix of hype, humor, and heat, as the fanbase went into full-blown meltdown over the announcement.


    Everyone had an opinion, and the world was buzzing with anticipation.

 Chapter 121: Chapter 121: The Team Selection Begins: Smeshing Away

    Stephen looked at the lined-up fighters, then turned his gaze toward the coaches. "Now that we have the coaches, Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier, wee," he greeted them with a nod of respect.


    Both coaches gave a slight nod in return, their expressions calm.


    He then shifted his attention back to the fighters. "With the coaches here, we move on to team selection. Here''s how it will work: both coaches will take turns to select a fighter."


    The fighters exchanged nces, some shifting nervously on their feet, others adjusting their stance, trying to appear calm.


    Damon nced down the line, seeing a few fighters with tense shoulders and clenched fists.


    "Also," Stephen continued, "the coaches have been watching your matches closely, so your performance will have an impact on their decisions."


    Damon stood still, his arms loose at his sides, his chest rising and falling steadily.


    That didn''t scare him. His match had gone well, and he had knocked out his opponent with a clean high kick.


    He nced over at the coaches, watching their eyes scan the line of fighters.


    He shifted his weight slightly, ncing at Kevin out of the corner of his eye.


    Kevin was bouncing on his feet, trying to stay loose, but Damon could see the tightness in his friend''s face.


    Damon smirked to himself. He knew Kevin was anxious, but he had no doubts about his own standing.


    Damon''s gaze drifted back to the coaches. Honestly, he didn''t mind which team he ended up on.


    Balim and Donald were both beasts in their own right, fighters with a wealth of experience.


    Either way, he was going to learn from the best.


    Stephen nced at the coaches again, giving them a small nod. "Let''s begin."


    Balim and Donald exchanged nces as if silently deciding who would get the first pick.


    Balim shrugged and nodded, looking somewhat disinterested. "You go first," he said, his voice calm, almost bored.


    Donald nodded back, epting the offer. "Sure," he replied. A staff member handed him a sheet of paper with the names of the remaining fighters and details of their victories.


    He scanned the list quickly, his eyes locking onto a name. Without hesitation, he spoke. "I''ll take Damon Cross."


    Damon blinked in surprise. While he expected to be picked early, he hadn''t anticipated being the first choice.


    He nced around at the other fighters, many of whom were as surprised as he was.


    Kofi, with his dominating performance, had seemed like the more obvious choice for first pick.


    Still, Damon didn''t waste time. He stepped forward, the sound of the other fighters pping filling the room.


    His steps were confident as he moved toward Donald, standing behind his new coach.


    He extended his hand, nodding respectfully. "Hello, coach."


    Donald returned the nod, his expression calm. "Good to have you, Damon."


    Balim nced at the remaining fighters, not even bothering to look at the list.


    He pointed toward Kofi, his expression rxed yet confident. "I take him, what''s the name... Kofi," he said, his voice carrying the same casual, direct tone he was known for.


    The fighters pped for Kofi as he nodded and walked over to Balim.


    It wasn''t just a random pick.


    Balim had noticed Kofi''s wrestling background on his folder when he read at the back and knew he would be a strong addition to his team.


    Kofi stood next to Balim, who gave him a quick nod, satisfied with his choice. "Good, we smesh together," Balim added, the hint of a grin on his face.


    Everyone chuckled briefly at Balim''sment, but the moment passed quickly as attention shifted back to the selection.


    Donald looked around, taking his time before making his next pick. "I''ll take Ivan Novak," he said with a nod, his tone calm but decisive.


    A guy with a clean-shaven face and short hair, Ivan had a rough, hardened look about him.


    Without hesitation, he made his way over to Donald''s side, his steps steady and purposeful.


    Donald gave him a nod of acknowledgment, and Ivan took his ce among the growing team.


    Stephen looked at everyone, raising his voice to get their attention. "Now that everyone is in ce, your coaches will have a talk with all of you. Afterward, you''ll head to the House."


    The fighters all nodded, understanding what was next.


    They were then led into separate rooms, Team Whittier to one room, and Team Chemasov to another.


    The two teams were now officially divided, ready to hear from their coaches, and prepare for the challenges ahead.


    In the room, Team Chemasov stood in a line, all eyes on Balim.


    He paced in front of them, his intense gaze sweeping over each fighter. His presence wasmanding, the room felt still under his control.


    Balim stopped, crossing his arms as he faced the group. "Listen, guys," he started, his ent thick, his tone sharp, just like Khamzat. "We smesh. You understand? I don''t care how you fought before, what matters is now. You are with me, we train hard, we work hard, we be champion.


    No excuses."


    He looked directly at Kevin, then Kofi, before scanning the rest. "You want to win? You fight. You train like animals. No soft training, no ying around. We fight hard every day.


    You tired? Too bad. We smesh tired."


    He pointed at the group, his voice growing more intense. "I don''t care who stands in front of you, you break them. Every fighter, same, doesn''t matter who. You train with me, you fight with heart, you fight with mind. We be best team, or you go home."


    The room stayed silent, but the energy was undeniable. Balim stepped back, giving onest nod. "We smesh. Now, get ready."


    Everyone seemed pumped after Balim''s speech.


    The idea of hard work and relentless fighting excited them, and they nodded with determination.


    But a few fighters stood at the back, visibly shaken. Balim''s intense words had clearly hit them differently.


    They understood the pressure now, this wasn''t going to be an easy ride.


    The expectations were high, and the reality of training with someone as relentless as Balim began to sink in.


    Still, no one said a word. They knew what was ahead, and whether excited or nervous, they were ready to prove themselves if they wanted that contract

 Chapter 122: Chapter 122: The Whittier Way

    In the room where Team Whittier gathered, the fighters stood in front of their new coach, Donald Whittier.


    His demeanor was calm yet focused, much like how he carried himself in the octagon.


    He looked around the room, making eye contact with each fighter before speaking.


    "Alright, boys," Donald started, his tone direct but approachable, "First things first, we''re here to win. That''s the goal. But I want you to know, this isn''t just about going hard for the sake of it. We''re going to be smart. We''re going to train efficiently, with purpose."


    He paused, his eyes scanning the room, gauging the reactions of the fighters. "I''ve seen how each of you fought, and I know there''s talent in this room. But there''s always room to improve. We''re not just going to train your bodies, we''re training your minds. In this sport, it''s as much mental as it is physical.


    You have to stay sharp, make the right decisions under pressure, and most importantly, keep pushing no matter what."


    Donald folded his arms, stepping forward slightly. "I''m here to guide you through it. I''ve been where you are. I know what it takes to fight at the highest level, to grind through the toughest situations. We''ll train hard, but we''ll train smart. You''ll work on everything, technique, strategy, conditioning, so when you step in that cage, you''re prepared for anything."


    He gave a slight smile, easing some of the tension in the room. "At the end of the day, it''s about heart. You give everything you''ve got, and I''ll give you everything I''ve learned. We''re in this together, as a team. Let''s make sure we''re thest ones standing."


    The fighters seemed to rx slightly, appreciating Donald''s calm and collected approach.


    They could feel his experience and leadership through his words.


    Damon stood at the front, smiling and nodding at every word Donald spoke.


    As the meeting wrapped up, Donald spoke again. "Alright, that''s it for now. You all head to the houses, get to know each other, and settle in. We''ll meet here soon to start training. Go on."


    The fighters began to file out of the room, ready to head to their new living quarters.


    As they stepped out the room, almost simultaneously, the fighters from Balim''s team exited their room as well.


    For a brief moment, both teams mixed together, forming onerge group.


    But instinctively, the fighters gravitated toward their respective teammates, naturally separating themselves.


    Soon enough, the fighters lined up again, unsure of who or what they were waiting for.


    They stood quietlyl. Suddenly, the door swung open, and in walked a man.


    A wave of murmurs spread through the group. It was Ronan ck, the CEO of the UFA, and no one had expected to meet him so soon.


    The whispers continued, as the fighters exchanged nces.


    Ronan strode in confidently, a slight smirk on his face.


    His presence alonemanded the room. Without missing a beat, he greeted everyone, "Alright, listen up!"


    His voice was sharp, direct, and full of energy. "I know you''re all excited, nervous, whatever, but let me tell you something, you''re here because you earned it. You didn''t get here by luck."


    He paused, looking over the fighters, his eyes intense. "This is The Supreme Fighter. This is where you separate the boys from the men,You''re in the big leagues now, and if you think you''re gonna coast through, you''re dead fucking wrong. I don''t care how badass you thought you looked in yourst fight. You''re all starting scratch here."


    Ronan continued pacing in front of the fighters. "You think the fans are watching now? Wait until they see what''sing. Every single one of you has a target on your back. These people wanna see who''s got what it takes to be the next big thing, and I''m here to tell you, this isn''t for the weak. This is where you show the world why you''re here."


    "You got two of the best fing coaches in the business, but none of that matters if you don''t have the balls to step up and prove why you''re here. This isn''t just about talent, it''s about how fucking bad you want this. You gotta eat, sleep, and breathe this shit."


    He stopped, pointing to the group. "You''re not just fighting for yourself. You''re fighting for your future, for a career. You wanna be a superstar? You gotta act like one, train like one, and fight like one."


    Ronan then nced at Damon and a few others. "I don''t give a shit if you knocked someone out or barely scraped by, you''re all back to fing zero. Next fight could make or break your ass, so you better be ready to bring it. No fucking around. You don''t bring it, you''re gone. Simple as that."


    He pped his hands together, signaling the end of his speech. "Alright, that''s it. Get your heads on straight, get ready to work, and don''t waste this shot. You''ve got a hell of a journey ahead. Let''s see who''s gonna rise to the top."


    As Ronan finished up, he gave onest look at the fighters before turning to the two coaches, signaling them to follow him out.


    Without saying a word, Ronan walked, with Balim and Donald by his side.


    In the distance, the fighters could hear Balim''s voice. "Eyy, Ronan! When do I get my title fight, brother? I smash everyone, give me fight!"


    Ronanughed in response, their conversation fading as they walked away.


    The fighters mostly minded their own business, though a few couldn''t help but wonder how that conversation would go.


    Soon after, they were led to their buses, ready to be taken to the house.


    There were two minibuses waiting outside.


    Team Whittier made their way to one, while Team Chemasov headed to the other.


    The fighters went along in quietly, each lost in their own thoughts.


    The separation between the teams now felt real, with each group sticking to their own.

 Chapter 123: Chapter 123: The Villa I

    Damon took a seat on the minibus, and soon enough, everyone else found their spots, quietly settling in.


    As the bus rumbled forward, Damon leaned back in his seat and about to close his eyes, ncing around briefly to see that everyone else was minding their own business.


    Seizing the moment, Damon decided to check out his system status, something he hadn''t done in a while.


    Making sure no one could see, he opened it discreetly.


    Almost immediately, notifications began to ping in his head.


    A new quest popped up, tied to The Supreme Fighter.


    DING!!


    [QUEST: The Supreme Fighter]


    Task: Win the show and be the Supreme Fighter.


    .


    .


    .


    Task 1: Get a spot in the house (Completed)


    Reward: 50 Coins


    .


    .


    Task 2: Win the Round of 16 and make it to the Quarterfinals (Pending)


    Reward: 100 Coins


    .


    .


    Task 3: Win the Quarterfinals and make it to the Semi-finals (Pending)


    Reward: 500 Coins


    .


    .


    Task 4: Win the Semi-finals and make it to the Finals (Pending)


    Reward: 1000 Coins


    .


    .


    Task 5: Win the Finals and be the Supreme Fighter (Pending)


    Reward: System Feature (Simtion) and a UFA six-figure contract.


    Damon''s eyes widened as he read through the tasks, nearly gasping out loud but managing to hold it back.


    The rewards were incredible, the sheer amount of Coins was more than he had ever imagined.


    But what really caught his attention was the final reward: a system feature called Simtion and the UFA contract.


    The contract made sense, it was what every fighter on the show waspeting for, but what in the world was the Simtion feature?


    It made Damon''s mind race as he tried to figure out what it meant.


    The system always had surprises, but this was somethingpletely new.


    Looking at it all, Damon reflected on how drastically his life had changed over the past two years.


    From being homeless with his mother, struggling to get by, to now living in high-ss hotels with everything he could ever want, even luxuries like a TV.


    It was a life he never could''ve imagined before.


    But despite all theforts, Damon had never taken the time to sit back and rx.


    He hadn''t even watched a movie in all that time. The only thing that ever lit up that TV screen when he was sat there was UFA fights.


    If he wasn''t watching, he was training. Everything else, including pop culture, didn''t even cross his mind.


    ''Maybe if I kept up with all that stuff, I''d know what the hell this ''Simtion'' thing is, he thought to himself. Is it from a movie or something?''


    Damon sighed.


    ''Well, I''ll find out sooner orter'', he thought.


    ''All I have to do is win the show''. Easier said than done, though.


    He knew thepetition was fierce, and as thepetition continued, fighters would only get harder.


    Sigh...


    He looked around and noticed the other fighters had already started mingling, talking quietly among themselves.


    Damon, however, wasn''t in the mood for conversation.


    As he tried to calm down, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. The sound of the bus engine filled his head.


    ''Just focus on the next step'' he told himself. As the bus made its way to the house, Damon stayed quiet.


    It didn''t take long for the bus to finally arrive. Damon''s nap was broken by the gentle rumble of the busing to a stop.


    He sighed, realizing how good those short naps felt after a fight.


    He was about to stretch when a tap on his shoulder snapped him back to the present.


    He turned to see one of the fighters from his team. Damon tried to remember his name. "Thank you... Ivan," he said, finally recalling it.


    Ivan was the fighter who had been picked right after him during the team selection.


    Damon had also seen Ivan''s fight.


    The man was impressive.


    He had won by knockout as well. While it wasn''t as clean as Damon''s high kick or Kofi''s ragdolling dominating performance, it was still an impressive disy, especially since Ivan''s opponent had put up a real challenge.


    Ivan nodded, his voice carrying a thick Russian ent. "No problem. We arrived."


    Damon sat up, blinking away thest bit of drowsiness as he looked out the window. His eyes widened slightly.


    ''Damn, he thought, this isn''t just a house... it''s a damn vi.''


    As they all stepped off the bus, the fighters were greeted by the sight of the massive vi before them.


    The ce was bigger than anything most of them had ever seen in person.


    For guys like Damon, who came from humble beginnings, it was overwhelming.


    For all of them, fighting had be the way to change their lives, and The Supreme Fighter offered that one chance to break into the UFA.


    The sheer size of the vi made the group stand in awe.


    Even though they knew they wouldn''t be staying here forever, the thought crossed many of their minds;


    ''What if one day, this could be mine?''


    They couldn''t help but imagine what life would be like if they won it all, having a vi like this, the lifestyle, the attention, maybe even the women that woulde with the sess.


    It was a dream they could taste.


    But for now, they would just enjoy the moment, knowing this was the first step toward making those dreams a reality.


    They grabbed their luggage, each fighter dragging their suitcases behind them as they made their way through the gate.


    The wheels of the suitcases rumbled over the ground, along with the sounds of murmured conversations as they took it all in.


    As they entered, Damon noticed the bus that had carried Team Chemasov parked nearby.


    It didn''t take long to realize what that meant, Team Chemasov had already arrived.


    The two teams were about to share the same space, and thepetition was about to get a little closer.


    Damon knew the deal.


    While everyone here was an adult, it was inevitable that some idiots would start drama for no real reason, maybe to boost their poprity or grab the audience''s attention.


    There were always those guys looking to stir up trouble.


    He mentally prepared himself for the shit that was bound to unfold in the house.


    Drama, egos, and unnecessary beef were all part of the game, especially with a show like The Supreme Fighter.


    He knew he''d have to keep his head down and focus on what mattered, winning.


    But still, if someone poked, then he would do the same... harder.

 Chapter 124: Chapter 124: The Villa II : Roommate And Teammates

    Damon and his team made their way into the house, walking through the entrance with their bags in tow.


    The ce was just as impressive inside as it was outside, but something else quickly caught their attention,ughter echoing from the living room.


    As they stepped further in, they could hear the muffled voices of the fighters who had already arrived, members of Team Chemasov.


    Theughter grew louder, and soon enough, the words became clear.


    "Look at them finally showin'' up!" one voice said, barely holding back a chuckle.


    "Yeah, about time. Hope they fight better than they walk in," another added, the room erupting into moreughter.


    Damon exchanged nces with his teammates, knowing full well the kind of tension that was already brewing.


    He wasn''t surprised. Trash talk was inevitable, and some of the fighters clearly wanted to start building that tension early.


    Damon smirked slightly but kept walking. He wasn''t here for the nonsense. They''d handle it in the cage.


    Damon made his way through the house, scanning the rooms as he passed. He spotted one downstairs, empty.


    That worked fine for him. He didn''t care much about where he slept, as long as he had a ce to rest.


    As he stepped inside and began setting down his things, he heard the door creak behind him. Turning around, he saw Ivan standing in the doorway.


    "I share room with you," Ivan said, stepping inside without hesitation.


    The room had bunk beds, so it was clear the fighters would have to pair up and share rooms.


    Damon nced at Ivan, surprised he hadn''t chosen one of the rooms upstairs.


    "You don''t want any of the rooms upstairs?" Damon asked, knowing some fighters had likely gone straight for the second floor.


    Ivan shook his head, setting his suitcase down on the side of the bed. "Room is room. Don''t matter where. Only thing that matter is fight," he said in his rough, broken English, his voice carrying that heavy Russian ent.


    Damon nodded, understanding the mindset. It was all about thepetition for guys like them. The rest was just background noise.


    Damon couldn''t help but respect Ivan''s mindset. A lot of things in this environment could distract you from your goal, and being able to ignore the materialistic stuff was a strength in itself.


    "You''re from Russia, right?" Damon asked as he nced around the room, noting the private bathroom with a shower and toilet¡ªnothing fancy, but enough for what they needed.


    Ivan nodded. "Yes, I move here for UFA, you know. But guys here... talk too much, not fight much," he joked with a slight grin.


    Damon chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Haha, that''s true. Well, I''m Irish."


    Ivan raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You not American? You sound American."


    "Yeah, I grew up here, but... I''m really Irish," Damon exined. "Japan too, I guess, but I''ve never been there," he added, shrugging off his Japanese heritage. It wasn''t something he often talked about.


    His father had been an abusive bastard, and any connection to his Japanese side always reminded him of that.


    Still, part of him wished to visit Japan one day, just to see that part of his identity from a different perspective.


    Ivan nodded slowly, seeming to pick up on Damon''s brief moment of reflection. "Maybe one day, you go. See it for yourself."


    "Yeah, maybe," Damon replied, offering a small smile before moving to unpack his things.


    They both started unpacking their clothes in silence for a moment before Damon spoke up again. "What do you think of the guys here?" he asked, curious to hear Ivan''s take on thepetition.


    Ivan paused, thinking for a second. "Strong," he said simply, his response short but honest.


    Damon nodded, finishing off his unpacking. He stretched, feeling the stiffness from the bus ride settle in his muscles. "Alright, I''m gonna check out the others," he said, deciding it was time to explore.


    It was still the afternoon, so sleep wasn''t on his mind just yet.


    He figured now was a good time to get familiar with the house and maybe catch up with some of the other fighters.


    As Damon walked out of his room, he could hear voices from the other team talking down the hallway.


    He recognized Kevin''s voice, from the opposite team.


    "Aight, look, name your top three in UFA," Kevin said, sounding yful.


    Another voice quickly followed, "Mmh, shit, let me think, you put me on the spot here."


    Laughter echoed from the room, and then the fighter responded, "Okay, number one, James Jonas. Number two, JSP, mmmh... three, Kamil Murnamadov."


    There was a brief silence beforeughter broke out again, and someone chimed in, "That''s a crazy list you got there."


    Damon shook his head with a small smile, amused by the casual banter.


    He didn''t spot any of his own teammates in the living room, where the other team seemed to be hanging out.


    Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, he continued his exploration of the house, hoping to find where his team had gone.


    He stepped out into the backyard and immediately noticed his teammates sitting under arge gazebo, its wide canopy providing shade from the afternoon sun.


    It was the perfect spot to rx, and they seemed to have imed it for Team Whittier.


    Damon could see how quickly the division had already set in, with each team naturally keeping to their own spaces.


    Team Chemasov was nowhere in sight,as they hung out at the living room.


    As he walked further outside, Damon couldn''t help but admire the backyard.


    The pool sparkled under the sunlight, and the wide-open space gave the entire area a sense of luxury.


    This ce is amazing, he thought to himself, taking in the view before heading over to join his teammates under the gazebo.


    As Damon approached the gazebo, he could hear the conversation already in full swing.


    The guys seemed to be getting to know each other, chatting about the basics of life before they got into the serious stuff.


    "So, where''s everyone from?" one of the fighters asked, leaning back in his chair and taking a look around.


    "Philly, born and raised," a tall guy with a shaved head replied. "Been fighting outta there for a few years now."


    Another fighter with a thick ent chimed in, "Brazil, man. We breed fighters down there, you know that," he said with a grin.


    A third fighter, with long hair tied in a bun, nodded. "California here. It''s all sun and surf, but I''ve been training in San Diego, best spot to train, no distractions."


    The guy from Philly raised an eyebrow. "No distractions, huh? You''re telling me all that sunshine and beach life doesn''t mess with your focus?"


    The California fighter shrugged. "You learn to tune it out. Besides, the real distractionse from people. You gotta learn to stay locked in."

 Chapter 125: Chapter 125: The Villa : Beer!!!

    Damon approached the group with a grin. "Eyy, what''s up, guys?"


    "Oh, hey, looky here, it''s the main man Damon!" the California guy joked, causing the others tough as they greeted him back.


    Damon pulled up a chair and sat down, joining the conversation. One of the fighters turned to him, curious. "So, where you from, Damon?"


    "Me? Well..." Damon blew out a puff of air, thinking for a second. "I grew up here in the States, but I was born in Irnd. Lived there for a bit."


    "Oh, nice!" one of the guys responded with a grin. "Wouldn''t have guessed if you hadn''t said. So, what city did you live in?"


    "Stockton, with my mom," Damon replied, keeping it brief. "Got into some small events, then moved here to L.A., trained, and now I''m here."


    Damon purposely left out the part about being homeless.


    He didn''t want to give anyone ammo for trash talk, especially with thepetition heating up.


    You never knew who might use something against you, and he figured it was better to stay cautious.


    "So, what''s your guys'' names?" Damon asked, shifting the focus back to the group.


    Even though they had all been introduced during the team selection, it wasn''t like anyone remembered each other right off the bat, except for the first picks, which had been him and Kofi.


    One by one, the fighters reintroduced themselves, the banter flowing easily as they got to know each other a bit more.


    The atmosphere was still rxed.


    The California guy leaned back,ughing as he told his story. "Bro, I''m telling you, that man was crazy. His girl got taken away, so what does he do? He goes and takes her mom and that guy''s mom and has a threesome. Like, who does that? That''s next level!"


    The group burst outughing, Damon included. "Cali is wild, man," Damon said between chuckles. "Been here for two years, and I''ve seen things I still don''t understand."


    Everyoneughed again, but the conversation slowly quieted down. One of the guys, ncing at the house, noticed that three of their teammates were still inside while it was just the five of them out here.


    He looked back at the group, a bit more serious now. "What do you guys think of the other team?" he asked, breaking the silence.


    His question hung in the air for a moment as everyone fell quiet, thinking it over.


    Damon was the first to speak. "I don''t know, but you know what to expect in ces like this. Everyone''s here for the same reason."


    They all nodded in agreement. The Philly guy grinned and broke the tension, "Well, I think they''ll all lose, you know." Heughed, and the others joined in, the mood lightening once again.


    They all knew thepetition was tough, but for now, it was just about keeping things rxed before the storm of fights that woulde soon.


    As they chilled, sounds and yells from the house sounded so loud they reached them.


    Damon narrowed his eyes at the sound but quickly leaned back again, shrugging it off. Whatever.


    Not long after, two of their teammates came outside, carrying boxes and grinning widely. "Guess what we got, suckers!" one of them announced.


    Damon nced at the box they were carrying. It was beer. He noticed everyone''s eyes light up at the sight.


    "Wait, is that even allowed here?" the Brazilian guy asked, looking a little nervous. He clearly didn''t want to risk getting kicked out of the house for breaking any rules.


    The California guy smirked, unfazed. "I''m sure these two didn''t sneak it in, so they must''ve found it here. And they wouldn''t put something around that they didn''t want us touching."


    Without hesitation, he grabbed the box, opened it, and started passing the bottles around. "Here we go!"


    Damon saw a bottleing his way and caught it midair. Around him, the others popped theirs open and started drinking with no hesitation, enjoying the moment while they could.


    He stared at the bottle for a second, debating whether to join in.


    Damon ced the bottle down, choosing not to drink. He didn''t want anything messing with his focus or affecting his performance, especially not when thepetition was about to heat up.


    One of the guys noticed and raised an eyebrow. "Don''t want it?"


    "Nah, I don''t drink," Damon replied casually. It wasn''t entirely true¡ªhe did drink on asion, but not often, and definitely not during a situation like this.


    He wasn''t a casual drinker, and he wasn''t about to start picking up bad habits, especially when so much was on the line.


    They looked at him, some surprised. The Philly guy shook his head, chuckling. "Nah, bro. All the Irish dudes I''ve met are heavy drinkers. I mean, look at Collin Ncgyver, that guy is insane."


    Damonughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, not all of us are like that. Besides, I''m here to win, not party."


    The othersughed along, though a couple still looked skeptical.


    Damon just shrugged it off, keeping his mind focused on what really mattered, getting through this show and making a name for himself in the UFA.


    "Well, man, you need to loosen up," one of the guys said with a grin. "I mean, if everyone''s drinking, no one''s got an advantage."


    Damon didn''t respond immediately. He just took a deep breath, letting thement slide.


    He''d already said his piece, and he wasn''t going to be drawn into a debate over it.


    If they kept pushing, he might as well keep to himself and stay focused.


    Instead of reacting, he leaned back in his seat, quietly watching the others.


    He wasn''t here to make waves or enemies, but he also wasn''t going topromise his own approach just to fit in.


    And so they drank, bottles clinking andughter echoing through the yard. Damon sat back, observing the scene.


    From the loud talking andughtering from the house, it was pretty clear that the other team was probably doing the same, drinking and letting loose.


    Damon smirked to himself, shaking his head slightly. Everyone''s gettingfortable, he thought.


    But in the back of his mind, he knew this was just the calm before the storm.

 Chapter 126: Chapter 126: Drunk Drama I

    As the day passed, the drinking continued, and the mood grew lighter.


    Laughter filled the yard and house, and even without music, some of the fighters started dancing, swaying to their own rhythm.


    It was a carefree moment, a brief escape from the intensepetition they all knew wasing.


    Everyone seemed happy, letting loose and enjoying the break from the pressure.


    Damon soon realized he wasn''t the only one who chose to avoid the alcohol.


    Ivan, his roommate, didn''t drink either, keeping to himself quietly.


    But what really surprised Damon was seeing Kofi from the other team staying away from the beer as well.


    Despite Kofi''s lighthearted personality and his dominant presence in the cage, Damon half-expected him to be the type to join in and dance around with everyone.


    But no, Kofi refrained, although he still hung out with his team,ughing and talking along with the rest of them.


    There were a few others who also didn''t indulge, but the majority of the house didn''t seem to care.


    Damon yawned as he looked up at the sky from under the gazebo, feeling the fatigue of the day catching up with him.


    Unsure if tomorrow would be a free day or the start of training, he figured it was better to rest early and be prepared.


    He nced around at the others who were stillughing and enjoying themselves. Standing up, he stretched and said, "Well, gentlemen, I''m going to take my leave."


    "Already? Come on, bro, just one sip, it won''t hurt," one of the guys called out, trying to get him to join in.


    Damon just shook his head as he started walking away. He wasn''t about to give in to that.


    As he got far enough that their voices faded, the guy who had offered him the sip muttered, "Well, that guy''s boring. Good luck making it in UFA," followed by his own loudugh.


    No one else joined in, and after a moment of awkward silence, the conversation shifted back to other topics, like thement hadn''t even been made.


    Damon entered the house, the muffled voices of Team Chemasov, as they chatted quietly in the living room.


    It seemed their mood had mellowed a bitpared to earlier.


    He made his way toward his room, noticing that Ivan had already settled in and taken the top bunk, which was fine since Damon had asked for the bottom.


    As he nced over, he saw Ivan putting on small earsets.


    Damon paused for a moment, confused. Aren''t electronics banned here? he thought.


    But then again, maybe it was just inte-connected devices that were restricted. Music might be fine.


    Shrugging it off, Damon grabbed his towel and headed for the shower.


    The hot water felt good against his skin, washing away the tension from the long day.


    It was exactly what he needed to unwind before getting some rest.


    As Damon closed his eyes under the shower, the warm water cascading over him, his thoughts drifted.


    It hadn''t been long since he''d left, but damn, he already missed his mother and Svena.


    A soft smile crossed his face as he whispered her name, "Svena."


    After a while, he finished up and stepped out of the shower.


    He dried himself off and slipped into his sleep clothes, simple shorts and a white shirt. He yawned as he made his way to the bottom bunk.


    Lying down, he pulled the nket over himself, closed his eyes, and let the exhaustion take over. Before long, he drifted off to sleep.


    Suddenly, Damon''s eyes snapped open.


    It wasn''t a nightmare or anything else disturbing, it was the loudughtering from the living room.


    The noise had grown louder, enough to pull him out of his much-needed rest.


    He sighed, not wanting to start any drama on the first night.


    Damon shifted in bed, pulling the nket up higher and trying to block out the noise, hoping they would eventually keep it down.


    He focused on calming his mind, willing himself to fall back asleep despite the interruption.


    The noise from the living room only got louder. Damon could now clearly hear bits of the drunken conversation.


    One voice slurred, "Bro, I''m tellin'' ya, I could take that dude in one round, easy!"


    Anotherughed. "Nah, you? You can''t even stand straight right now. You''d get knocked out by a stiff breeze, man!"


    "I''m serious! You see thatst fight? I got robbed, straight up! Ref was blind."


    Someone else chimed in, "Yeah, whatever, man. How ''bout we get some more drinks, huh? Keep this party going!"


    Damon groaned, frustration bubbling over. "Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his face. He wasn''t going to get any sleep with this going on.


    Damon stood up, shaking his head in frustration. He nced over at Ivan, who was fast asleep, his earsets ying music.


    Smart move, Damon thought. Now he understood why Ivan had chosen that approach, avoiding the noise, avoiding the drama, and just sleeping through it all.


    But Damon couldn''t sleep, not with the noise getting louder.


    He knew how drunk people were; once they got to this point,mon sense might as well not exist.


    Approaching them could stir up unnecessary trouble, and he wasn''t in the mood for that.


    He sighed, debating whether he should put up with the noise or find a way to drown it out himself.


    Another shout echoed through the house, followed by more drunkenughter.


    Damon clenched his fists, taking a deep breath. ''Fuck it'' he thought.


    He got out of bed, marched toward the door, and headed straight for the living room.


    As he stepped inside, he immediately noticed the scene, several of the fighters were shirtless, including Kevin, who was knocked out on the couch.


    The two making all the noise were the blonde brothers he remembered from the team selection and their fights. They were the source of the racket.


    Damon walked up to them, doing his best to keep calm. "Hey guys, could you please keep it down? We''re trying to sleep."


    The two brothers stopped talking, their eyes turning to Damon. For a second, there was an awkward pause as they stared at him, sizing him up.

 Chapter 127: Chapter 127: Drunk Drama II: Snap!

    The brothers exchanged nces, their eyes scanning Damon up and down before nodding at each other. "Mmh," one of them grunted, their drunken gazes settling on him.


    Damon repeated himself, calmly but firmly. "Can you please keep the noise down? Just trying to rest."


    The two brothers looked at each other again, then back at Damon. After a beat, one of them slurred, "Sure, man, sure. We''ll do that."


    Damon nodded, thankful that it had gone smoothly without any trouble.


    He gave them a nod of appreciation, and they returned it, though still swaying slightly in their drunken state.


    He turned and walked back to his room, hoping that would be the end of the noise for the night.


    As Damon walked back, he paused for a moment to listen.


    The house had finally gone quiet. He smiled to himself, relieved that his request seemed to have worked.


    Returning to his room, he climbed back into bed, letting out a small chuckle. "Maybe they''re not metal heads after all," he muttered, feeling the tension leave his body.


    He closed his eyes, trying to summon the sleep that had been so rudely interrupted earlier.


    Within moments, the quiet and calm began to take over, and his exhaustion finally pulled him back toward rest.


    Just as sleep began to take him, theughter from outside returned, louder this time.


    Damon''s eyes shot open, and he could hear the unmistakable voices of the drunk brothers.


    "Yo, can you believe that guy?" one of them slurred, as they began the mockery. "Like we''re in some kinda fuckin'' library or something," he scoffed, his brotherughing in response.


    "Yeah, what''s his problem? Thinks he''s gonna win The Supreme Fighter just because he knocked one dude out? Pfft."


    "I know, right? ''Please keep it down,'' my ass," the first one sneered. "Bet he''s one of those dudes that cries when he loses a fight. ''Mom, I got punched in the face!''" The mocking tone was followed by exaggerated sniffling and moreughter.


    "''Can you keep it down, please?'' Like we''re kids or something," he sneered, the sound of a bottle clinking followed.


    "Yeah, like we''re supposed to just sit here quiet ''cause he wants to sleep? Fuck outta here," the other one scoffed. "What does he think this is, a fuckin'' sleepover?"


    They both erupted into moreughter. "Bet he thinks he''s some kinda tough guy,ing in all serious. ''Hey guys, can you please keep it down?''" The first brother mimicked Damon in a high-pitched voice, followed by another round of obnoxiousughter.


    As Damon pushed open the door to the living room, the two brothers, stillughing loudly, were startled when they saw him standing there.


    Damon''s face was hard, all the politeness he''d shown earlier now gone. "I said keep the noise down," his voice firm, cutting through the drunken atmosphere.


    The shorter of the two brothers, slightly swaying on his feet, looked at Damon and smirked. "Or what?"


    Damon narrowed his eyes, his patience quickly wearing thin.


    Meanwhile, outside at the gazebo, the team was still in high spirits,ughing and drinking, unaware of the tension brewing inside the house.


    One of the fighters, the guy from Philly, took a swig from his beer, then furrowed his brow as he heard something different amidst the usual sounds of the house.


    "Yo, you hear that?" he said, looking toward the house. "Sounds like something''s going on in there." He stood up, setting his beer down on the table. "I''m gonna check it out."


    The others shrugged but stayed put, continuing to enjoy the moment as the Philly guy walked toward the house, curious about the noise.


    Back in the house, before Damon could respond, the taller brother chimed in with a mocking grin. "Yeah, or what? You gonna fight both of us? Why don''t you turn around and take a fuckin'' shit while you''re at it?"


    Damon''s expression didn''t change, but his voice was ice-cold as he replied, "You don''t live alone in this house, so shut the fuck up."


    The brothers blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting such a blunt response.


    The younger brother pushed his older brother to the side, ring at Damon with cocky eyes. "Lookie here, bitch. This is our house, and the man of the house does whatever the fuck he wants. No one tells the man of the house what to do."


    His speech was slurred, but Damon could see the arrogance in his expression.


    Logan nced over at his older brother with a smug look, then back to Damon, his voice full of sarcasm. "Or what, boy? Did your father not teach you how to act in front of the man¨C"


    Damon didn''t give Logan a chance to finish his sentence.


    His face twisted with anger and pure hatred as he lunged forward, shoving Logan hard.


    In a split second, before anyone could react, Damon speared Logan straight through the table, the wood splintering on impact.


    Logan barely had time to register what had happened before Damon was on top of him, fists raining down in a number of ground-and-pound punches.


    Each hit connected with Logan''s stunned face, giving him no chance to defend himself.


    Brian''s eyes widened as he saw his brother get taken down.


    His drunken state quickly faded, the reality of the situation hitting him like a cold ssh of water. Panicking, Brian rushed to his brother''s aid, grabbing Damon and trying to pull him off.


    "Dude, stop! You''re gonna get us all kicked out!" Brian shouted, his voice filled with desperation as he tried to deescte the situation, realizing the consequences if things got worse.


    The Philly guy burst into the room, his eyes wide as he saw Damon on top of Logan, fists flying.


    He immediately grabbed Damon by the shoulders, helping Brian pull him back.


    Logan, now free, scrambled to his feet, rage in his eyes as he charged at Damon. "You fucking pussy! You cheap-shot piece of shit! Sneakin'' up on me like that, huh? You ain''t shit!"

 Chapter 128: Chapter 128: Drunk Drama III: The Irishman

    Logan swung wildly at Damon, a couple of his punchesnding, but none doing much damage. "Fucking pussy! You think you''re tough? Come on, you little bitch!"


    Damon, held back by Brian and the Philly guy, spat in anger, his thick Irish ent stronger than ever. "Ye fuckin'' eejit! Come at me again, I''ll knock yer teeth down yer feckin'' throat! Think ye''re hard? I''ll show ye how hard a real man fights, ya bleedin'' gobshite!"


    Logan kept cursing, "Fucking cheap-ass bastard! Spearing me through a table like some coward! Face me like a fuckin'' man!"


    "Ye call that fightin'', ye gobshite?! Ye wouldn''tst a second if ye weren''t pissed outta yer head! Come at me, I''ll feckin'' end ye!" Damon roared, still struggling against the arms holding him back, his rage uncontained as he hurled more Irish curses at Logan.


    Brian, still struggling to keep his brother back, shouted, "Logan, chill the fuck out! You''re gonna get us all thrown out!"


    The Philly guy, still holding Damon, muttered, "Jesus Christ, what the fuck did I just walk into¡­"


    .


    .


    .


    .


    Damon was the kind of guy who kept his cool, almost always.


    But there were two things that would set him off like nothing else: insulting his mother, or mentioning his bastard of a father.


    Those were the triggers that brought out the real him.


    Normally, he had adapted so well to the American ent that you wouldn''t even think he was Irish when he spoke.


    But when he was truly angry, all of that control went out the window.


    The Irishman inside him came roaring out in full force, thick ent and all.


    As for where he learned those vicious curses? Where else than the source of his anger, his father, Taro Saito.


    A man who had shown him the kind of rage Damon swore he''d never inherit, and yet, in moments like these, it surfaced.


    It wasn''t about control anymore.


    The real Damon, the one who carried years of pent-up resentment and fury, had taken over.


    .


    .


    .


    .


    Damon''s face was twisted with pure rage now.


    He was beyond caring about the consequences.


    He red at Logan with eyes full of venom and shouted, "Ye fucking gobshite! I swear on me ma''s grave, I''ll bash yer head into the feckin'' ground and piss on what''s left of it!"


    Logan kept pushing, egging Damon on with more insults, but Damon was done holding back. "Ye think I won''t do it, ye bastard? I''ll put yer face through the floor so hard ye''ll wish ye''d never been born!"


    As he fought against the hands that were pulling him away, his words were raw and very serious.


    Every inch of him was ready to act on those threats if Logan dared to get any closer.


    Hearing the shouting and chaos from inside, the fighters who had been outside under the gazebo rushed in, curiosity and rm on their faces.


    The ones who had been sleeping bolted out of their rooms, drawn by the sounds of two maniacs screaming at each other.


    They arrived just in time to see Damon and Logan still hurling insults, Damon barely being restrained as he tried to break free. Both men were on the verge of exploding again.


    "Get him the fuck out of here!" someone shouted, and a few fighters grabbed Damon, dragging him into a separate room before things could escte any further.


    As the door shut behind him, Damon finally stopped yelling, his breathing heavy and eyes still raging with anger.


    The room was quiet.


    The fighters around him gave him space, knowing thest thing they needed was for him to snap again.


    The fighters left Damon in the room, closing the door behind him.


    As they stood outside, they exchanged confused nces.


    "What the hell did they say to make him snap like that?" one of them muttered, shaking his head.


    The others shrugged, equally unsure, their minds still trying to piece together what had triggered Damon''s explosive reaction.


    With nothing else to go on, they made their way back to the living room, where the drama had started, hoping to get some answers from the brothers or anyone who had seen what went down.


    As the fighters arrived back in the living room, they walked straight into another argument already in full swing.


    Logan, still riled up from the earlier altercation with Damon, was shouting at one of the guys who hade in to check on themotion.


    "You think you''re some kinda tough guy, huh? Just '' you pulled him off me?" Logan spat, his face red and voice slurred from the alcohol.


    The other fighter, a tall guy from Philly, wasn''t having it. "Bro, you were gettin'' your ass handed to you! I didn''t pull him off for your sake, trust me," he said, stepping closer, his voice calm but full of irritation.


    Brian, Logan''s older brother, was trying to y peacemaker but wasn''t doing a great job. "Come on, Logan, just drop it, man. You''re drunk, and you''re talking out of your ass."


    Logan wasn''t backing down. "Fuck that! This guy thinks he''s better than me, too? You wanna see what happens when you mess with me?"


    The Philly guy scoffed. "Man, you don''t want this. Just sit your drunk ass down before you embarrass yourself more than you already have."


    Logan stepped closer, fists clenched, ready to escte things again. "Oh, you think I''m scared? You think I''m fuckin'' scared of you?"


    The tension in the room skyrocketed as more fighters stepped in, trying to stop Logan from making things worse.


    The whole room felt like it was seconds away from exploding again.


    Logan, still seething with anger, spat out his words with venom. "The whole Whittier team is a bunch of pussies!"


    Thatment made the room go silent for a split second, and then everything almost erupted again.


    One of Damon''s teammates stepped forward, ring at Logan. "You talkin'' shit now? You didn''t have much to say when Damon was pounding your face in."


    Logan scoffed, "That was a cheap shot, and you know it! Come at me head-on, and see what happens."


    Another fighter from Team Whittier clenched his fists, stepping closer. "Bro, keep runnin'' your mouth, and you''re gonna wish you hadn''t. You''re drunk and actin'' tough, but you''ll get folded real quick if you keep this up."


    Brian, trying to calm the situation, grabbed Logan''s arm. "Logan, man, just shut the fuck up already. You''re digging a deeper hole."


    Logan yanked his arm away from Brian and sneered. "Nah, I don''t need to listen to you either. Fuck Whittier''s team and anyone who thinks they cane at me!"

 Chapter 129: Chapter 129: Media Reaction: Overnight Fame

    The fights inside the house quickly spread to social media, where videos of the fights between Damon and the brothers were posted right away.


    Chirper, the social media tform buzzing with The Supreme Fighter fans, exploded with reactions.


    @FightFreak101:


    Yo, did y''all see Damon SPEAR that dude through the table?! This man is NOT ying around. #TheSupremeFighter


    @Chamalochama:


    Looks like Team Whittier''s Damon isn''t taking any disrespect in the house. That spear? Man just sent a message. #NoNonsense #SupremeDrama


    @IrishFightingPride:


    Damon bringing that Irish fire to the house! Ain''t nobody gonna mess with him now. Man had them boys SHOOK. #IrishPride #DamonForTheWin


    @MMA_Junkie:


    Logan tried to start something, but Damon finished it. You can see it in his eyes¡ªdude wasn''t ying. #HouseFights #TeamWhittier


    @Gordonaking:


    So are we gonna ignore the fact Logan was acting like an ass and deserved to get speared? Drunk or not, he was BEGGING for it. #TeamWhittier #LoganGotWhatHeDeserved


    @FightFam2024:


    Lowkey though, if the producers don''t step in, this house is gonna turn into a full-on brawl. These guys are already at each other''s throats. #DramaCentral #FighterHouse


    @I_lovecatgirls:


    Damon''s putting Whittier''s team on the map already. Logan better watch his mouth next time. #TeamWhittier #DamonCross


    And just as many fans praised and hyped up Damon, there were just as many throwing shade, criticizing his actions, and questioning his temper.


    @NotoriousKnockout88:


    Damon''s got a temper, but losing your cool like that? That''s not gonna fly in the UFA. Man''s not ready for the big leagues if he can''t handle some trash talk. #WeakMindset #StayComposed


    @TheeagleWrestlesYou:


    Damon acts like he''s tough, but all I see is someone who snaps too easily. A real fighter knows how to keep his cool. He''s gonna get his ass handed to him soon. #Unprofessional #FakeToughGuy


    @DaxKOHallowayFan:


    What''s with this Damon guy? First night in the house, and he''s already acting like he''s Collin? Dude, chill out. It''s a longpetition. you''ll burn out fast with that attitude. #NotChampMaterial #Overhyped


    @IssyStyleBender:


    Spearing a dude through a table? This isn''t WWA, man. Damon''s acting like a hothead. That''s not what champions are made of. #FightSmart #BadLook


    @FedorIsForever:


    That rage might look good on TV, but it''s not gonna win you fights when it counts. He''s just another wannabe hothead who''s gonna crumble. #Overrated #NotARealFighter #collinistrash


    @Diegops209:


    All this over some noise? If that''s enough to make you snap, good luck when the real pressure hits. Dude''s gonna fold. #ThinSkin #FightOrFlight


    @Bigboy22:


    Just a Femu Collin Ncgyver, you are not HIM Lil bro.


    It wasn''t just Chirper that was going nuts, though. Posts on other social media sites were also going crazy.


    Many of the videos on TikThick, which ranged from analysis breakdowns to fan edits, showed Damon as a badass.


    MyTunnel shorts were no different, packed with clips of his fight highlights, knockout moments, and training footage.


    The training footage came from Victor''s Gym.


    The gym''s social media page had always had a professional look, but it had never gotten as much attention as it was now.


    As Damon Cross became more well-known, videos from the gym that showed his hard, focused training and tough sparring sessions became very popr.


    It was clear that the effect was there, even though some posts praised Damon and others were more critical.


    The name Damon Cross was everywhere, and one thing was clear: whether the attention was positive or negative, Damon Cross was trending.


    But just like that, not all the attention Damon was receiving was positive.


    Some fans, almost like stalkers, and possibly even a few reporters, began digging deep into his past.


    The inte was ruthless, and it didn''t take long for his history to be a hot topic.


    It was crazy how quickly people could uncover details, and soon enough, the posts began flooding in.


    Some people started by criticizing Damon''s early career, mocking the fact that he used to fight in flyweight despite being so tall.


    @SizeKing69:


    "LMAO, how was this dude ever in flyweight? Did he fight with his legs tied together? ?? #TallAF"


    @WeightssWarrior:


    "Yo, Damon Cross at flyweight?? Man must''ve been skin and bones. Not surprised he moved up. #Undersized"


    But things took a turn as more personal details surfaced.


    Somehow, people were getting ess to information that wasn''tmon knowledge. Damon''s past,his struggles with homelessness, his rough childhood, became public.


    @SympathyFighter:


    "Damn, didn''t know Damon was homeless for a while. Respect for making it out of that. #TrueGrit"


    @HypeCynic:


    "I don''t care if he was homeless or whatever, doesn''t change the fact that he''s just another fighter. #Overhyped"


    @FightFanatic:


    "Man was living on the streets and still made it this far? Say what you want, that''s tough. #FighterSpirit"


    However, not everyone was empathetic.


    @HeartlessMMA:


    "Homeless? Sounds like a bum to me. Bet he was fighting for spare change before the system saved him. #NotImpressed"


    And then, without warning, a post appeared that no one sawing.


    It was just one post, buried in the endless stream of updates andments about Damon Cross.


    This one, however, was different, it imed that Damon came from a home gued by domestic abuse.


    @Anonymous123:


    "Heard Damon grew up in a house with domestic abuse. Sad if true, but it exins a lot."


    At first, it didn''t gain much traction. It sat there unnoticed, barely a blip in the whirlwind of attention.


    Only twoments had been made.


    @Enimenisgoat:


    "Yo, this is low even for Chirper. Leave the man''s personal life alone dont make shit up. #Respect"


    @Yourfatherisgay:


    "How about you crawl back under the rock you came from? No one cares about your trash post, you basement dweller."


    Although the post didn''t gain traction, most people dismissed it as the work of a keyboard warrior, just another hater trying to stir up drama.


    Many zed over it, not paying it any serious attention, scrolling past as they focused on other discussions.


    But like a ticking bomb, it quietly ticked away, waiting to explode.


    It was only a matter of time before someone with influence or arger following noticed it, and once that happened, there was no telling how quickly it would spread.


    For now, though, it remained ignored, a shadow lurking in the background of Damon Cross''s rising fame.

 Chapter 130: Chapter 130: Called in

    When the sun rose in the morning, it lit up the house with a bright glow.


    A lot of the fighters were still tired from the night before and were just sitting around inside their rooms.


    There were bottles all over the floor, and the house still smelled like alcohol.


    The house, which should have been lively, was now full of groans and the sound of someone stumbling around after drinking too much the night before.


    Everyone was tired from drinkingst night. Each fighter had a headache and was holding a water bottle while trying to figure out what happened.


    Damon woke up, feeling refreshed. Unlike most of the other fighters, he hadn''t touched a drop of alcohol the night before.


    He was clear-headed, but the events ofst night were still fresh in his mind.


    He remembered one of the producers pulling him and Logan aside, telling them they had been called up to talk at the office.


    Damon took a deep breath. He felt embarrassed about his reaction.


    He didn''t want to get kicked out, and he felt uneasy about how he''d reacted the previous night.


    Maybe he''d overreacted, but it was toote now. What''s done is done.


    Thepetitors may not have known what the media was saying, but they could feel the excitement.


    There was something in the air, a feeling that everything happening inside the vi was being talked about outside.


    If only Damon knew how many fans he had gained from his so-called "embarrassing" moment.


    Ironically, that was exactly what people loved about The Supreme Fighter.


    Fans did more than just watch the fights. They were interested in the fighters'' real personalities.


    Not the masks and personas they used in the UFA to make matches more appealing.


    Damon''s raw, unfiltered reaction had made him more rtable, and it was that authenticity that had won over so many.


    .


    .


    .


    He stepped into the shower, the warm water washing over him, helping to clear his mind.


    He let it cascade down his body, the steady flow a contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts in his head.


    If he got kicked out now, all the hard work he had put into getting this far would be for nothing.


    The UFA was within his reach, and he knew getting another chance like this would only be harder if he messed this up.


    As the water hit his face, he let out a sigh of anger and regret.


    Things with Logan had gotten bad too quickly. Usually, Damon didn''t lose his cool, butst night was different.


    He let the steam envelop him, trying to focus on the day ahead.


    No matter what happened with the producerster, he had to keep his mind sharp.


    As Damon got out of the shower and dried off, he knew he had to go into the day with a clear head.


    No overthinking or interruptions. Do one thing at a time.


    He took a deep breath and wrapped the towel around his waist.


    When Damon was done getting ready, he looked up and saw Ivan still sleeping soundly on the top bunk.


    Damonughed quietly as he shook his head. The guy had slept through all the chaos the night before, he couldn''t believe it.


    Even as things got worse with Logan and the other fights, Ivan didn''t seem to care at all.


    Damon thought to himself with a smirk, "Must be nice to sleep that deeply."


    Damon quietly left the room so as not to wake up Ivan. As he walked into the hallway, he could feel how quiet the house was.


    As Damon stepped outside, the vi was eerily quiet.


    It seemed the other fighters were still struggling to shake off their hangovers, likely still glued to their beds afterst night''s chaos.


    The house was very quietpared to the night before when there was a lot of noise andughing.


    He walked over to the parked car outside, which was already waiting for him it seems.


    Without a word, he got in, settling into the backseat as the driver pulled away from the vi.


    The road stretched ahead, winding back toward the city, and for the first time in a while.


    As the car sped down the empty road, he stared out of the window, letting the passing scenery distract him from what awaited him back in the city.


    It seemed Damon and Logan had been put in separate cars for the drive, which made perfect sense.


    Thest thing the producers would want was another fight breaking out in the middle of the road.


    Damon leaned back, shaking his head at the thought. It was smart on their part, though.


    Afterst night''s altercation, putting them together would''ve been a recipe for disaster.


    Damon felt his chest get a little tighter as the car pulled up in front of the sports center. The driver looked back at him, and smiled.


    "Just go inside." "They''ll get you where you need to go," the driver said in a cool voice.


    Damon gave a quick "thank you" nod and then pushed the door open and walked out.


    He stopped for a second and took a deep breath while standing on the sidewalk.


    His jaw clenched slightly, nerves creeping in, but he quickly shook them off. This was something he had to face.


    He straightened his shoulders and walked toward the entrance.


    As the ss doors slid open, the cool air from inside hit his face.


    A receptionist looked up and gave him a polite nod, as if she already knew why he was there. The wee area was quiet.


    Damon nodded back, and his face looked serious but focused.


    The receptionist got up and waved for Damon to follow her. She took him down a short hall to a door that was closed shut.


    She told him with a smile, "Just knock, and he''ll see you." "Don''t worry, you won''t get kicked out."


    Her smile did little to ease the knot in Damon''s stomach, but he gave her a small nod of thanks.


    As she turned and walked away, leaving him alone, he stood in front of the door for a brief moment, taking another deep breath.

 Chapter 131: Chapter 131: Facing the Boss

    Damon knocked on the door and waited, hearing a confident voice from inside.


    "Get in," the voice called.


    Taking another deep breath, Damon steadied himself and opened the door.


    He had been doing a lot of that today, deep breaths. A small shake of the head helped him remember to keep his mind on the task at hand.


    When he walked into the office, he saw a bald man in a ck shirt talking to someone else.


    The man turned his attention to Damon.


    Damon knew exactly who he was looking at, the CEO of UFA, Ronan ck.


    Damon stepped forward and greeted Ronan politely.


    He had seen enough videos of the UFA boss to know that while Ronan ck could beid-back, his no-nonsense attitude was famous.


    Damon knew he was walking a fine line and couldn''t afford to mess it up. This wasn''t fun for him.


    So, he kept his tone respectful.


    Ronan leaned back in his chair and looked over Damon quickly. His face was nk. "Oh, you''re here. He pointed to the chair in front of him and said, "Kid, sit down."


    Damon sat quietly.


    "So, look," Ronan started, leaning forward, his hands sped on the desk, "I called you in separately because I don''t want a fucking fight in the office. You know what I mean? I''ve already dealt with enough bullshit this morning."


    He rubbed his bald head, clearly irritated. "We run a fucking business here, not a high school yground. You get that, right?"


    Damon nodded quickly, staying silent.


    Ronan''s voice hardened. "This shit can''t fly, man. I get it, people talk, tempers re, but you gotta handle that shit better. If you keep snapping like that, you''re gonna fuck up your whole career before it even starts. I''ve seen it before, guys with all the talent in the world, and they piss it away because they can''t keep their head straight."


    He paused, staring Damon down. "I don''t give a shit what happenedst night. You spear a dude through a table on this show, it''s great TV, sure. But you think that''s what gets you to the UFA? Fuck no. You wanna be a hothead, go do that somewhere else.


    You wanna be a pro? Get your shit together."


    Ronan leaned back again, crossing his arms. "Look, you''ve got potential, kid. But don''t make me regret letting you stay. You''re not out yet, but if you pull another stunt like that, I''ll personally drag your ass out of the house myself. Understand?"


    Damon swallowed, then nodded. "Yes, sir. Understood."


    Ronan shook his head, half-smiling. "Good. Now, get the fuck outta here before I change my mind."


    Damon nodded and left the room. Ronan leaned back in his chair and looked back at the person he had been talking to earlier. He had a sly grin on his face.


    "Looks like I''ve got my first match-up," Ronan said, rubbing his hands together. "This shit''s gonna bring viewers in like crazy with how that clip is trending."


    The guy nced toward the door Damon had just walked through. "You think he''s got a shot at winning the whole thing?"


    Ronan shook his head, and his smile got a little smaller. "No, I don''t see it. He''s going to tire out quickly. I believe that Kofi kid has what it takes. Not only does he have the skills, but he also has the focus."


    The guy nodded, considering Ronan''s words. "Yeah, Kofi''s a beast. It''ll be interesting to see how it ys out."


    "Either way, this season''s gonna be fucking wild."


    .


    .


    .


    As Damon left the office, his tense expression finally rxed, and a small smile crept across his face.


    Relief washed over him, he was still in thepetition. He''d dodged a bullet, and that was something to be thankful for.


    He told himself, "Never again." He didn''t want to be in this situation where everything he had worked for was at risk.


    The stakes were too high, and Damon knew he had to keep his cool if he wanted to make it to the top.


    He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and ready to get back to the house.


    He was more determined than ever to keep his mind on the bigger picture.


    The receptionist smiled at Damon as he walked by, indicating that she was curious. She asked with a slight lean, "So, how''d it go?"


    Damon smiled back, his relief still fresh. "Just like you said, thank you," he replied.


    She nodded, her smile widening. "d to hear that. Just to ask you this..." She paused, biting her lip slightly before continuing, her voice dropping a little. "Can I get your number? I know you don''t have your phone with you, but when the show''s over, I''ll give you a call." Her eyes lingered on him, the look tempting and yful.


    Damon blinked, caught off guard. He chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck.


    Just as Damon was about to respond, either to reject or ept the receptionist''s tempting offer, the door to the lobby swung open.


    His attention immediately shifted toward the entrance.


    He turned to see who it was and, when his eyesnded on Logan, his heart burned with frustration.


    There was a wave of anger in him that made him want to break Logan''s smug face, but Damon clenched his hands and held back, forcing himself to stay calm.


    With a smile on his face, Logan walked in with a sense of confidence, like nothing had happened.


    Damon didn''t even get a look from him. Logan looked straight at the receptionist instead, who quickly turned her attention from Damon to Logan.


    The receptionist turned around, smiled at Logan, and led him to Ronan''s office right away.


    Damon shook his head and let out a sharp breath. Because he had been calm, he avoided another fight.


    Following onest look at the front desk worker and Logan leaving to the office, Damon turned away, left the building, and stepped outside into the fresh air.

 Chapter 132: Chapter 132: Training I

    Inside the gym, it was noisy, with people breathing hard and gloves hitting pads with a sharp sound.


    As fighters moved across the mats, they locked up in pairs to practice.


    They were all wearing their training gear, with mouthguards on, gloves on, and shin guards tight on each leg.


    In the middle of it all, the guy from Phdelphia and the guy from Brazil circled each other. They were already in the middle of a spar.


    Both of them were focused, and as they moved, drops of sweat ran down their faces.


    As he looked for a way in, the Philly fighter kept his hands up and his feet moving quickly.


    Across from him, the Brazilian maintained a wide stance, his dark eyes sharp and focused.


    They were wearing standard protective gear, but that didn''t stop the intensity.


    Philly threw a quick jab, testing the distance, but the Brazilian slipped it with ease and fired back with a hard kick to the body.


    The shin guard didn''t fully dull the thud of impact as itnded, and Philly grunted, stepping back to reset.


    Coach Whittier kept a close eye on them both as he walked around the mats with his hands on his hips.


    As he walked by, his sharp eyes caught every mistake and every improvement.


    "Miles, keep your hands up," Whittier called out. His speech was calm but firm, and it could be heard over the gym''s noise. "You''re dropping them when you jab. Keep your elbows tucked in."


    Philly guy, whose name was Miles, nodded, adjusting his guard and tightening his stance.


    He threw a few more jabs, this time keeping his elbows in tighter, but the Brazilian, whose name was Felipe, was quick.


    He feinted a jab, then came in with a brutal low kick, his shin cracking against Miles'' leg.


    Whittier was now moving behind Felipe and watching how he moved. "Felipe, good movement," Whittier said with a nod. "Butmit to your strikes. When you feint, make him believe it. Step in hard."


    Felipe immediately did what he was told and hit Miles in the jaw with a right cross, which snapped his head back.


    Even though Miles staggered a little, he quickly recovered up and hit Felipe on the chin with a left hook.


    "Nice recovery, Miles!" Whittier stepped in closer and called. "But don''t smother your punches. You''re getting too close. Keep your distance and let your shots breathe."


    The two fighters went around again, each trying to use Whittier''s advice to improve their moves.


    Miles was ready for Felipe''s next low kick.


    He checked the kick, pivoting out of range and firing a quickbo to Felipe''s body.


    "That''s better! Work the body, Miles!" Whittier''s voice was encouraging but still firm. "Stay light on your feet. Don''t let him nt. Make him chase you."


    Miles grinned through the mouthguard, clearly picking up momentum.


    He bounced lightly on his feet, throwing punches while staying mobile.


    But Felipe wasn''t backing down.


    He charged at Miles with a barrage of punches, hoping that his aggression would be too much for him to handle.


    Whittier, who was always sharp-eyed, saw that his n was wed.


    "Felipe, you''re getting too wild," Whittier called out, stepping closer. "Keep it tight. Don''t overextend, or you''re giving him openings."


    Felipe nodded, pulling back just a bit, recalibrating his attack.


    Whittier was a very hands-on coach. He wasn''t just watching and giving orders.


    He stepped in when needed, showing both fighters how to adjust their stances or throw cleaner shots.


    It was clear that he had a lot of experience, and Miles and Felipe were taking in all of his advice.


    "It''s not just about who hits harder or faster," Whittier said, pacing between them. "It''s about who''s more precise. Timing, control, and uracy, that''s what''s gonna win you fights in the cage."


    Both fighters took his words to heart, their movements bing sharper, more calcted as they continued sparring under Whittier''s watchful eye.


    As they locked into their rhythm and worked hard to get better, the only sounds were sweat, grunts, and the thuds of hits.


    Donald Whittier didn''t just focus on Miles and Felipe; he made his rounds across the entire gym room, his sharp eyes scanning each fighter as they sparred.


    He moved with purpose, stopping to give advice or fix the smallest of ws in their technique.


    His coaching style was calm but direct, his attention to detail making it clear that he was studying his team carefully.


    This wasn''t just about getting through the day''s training, it was about understanding their fighting styles and figuring out where he could help each one improve.


    Whittier stopped by another pair sparring near the far side of the gym.


    One fighter was throwing wild punches, his footwork sloppy, while his partner struggled to avoid them.


    Whittier stepped in, gently tapping the fighter''s gloves down. "Slow down. Focus. You''re too wild. Keep it tight and controlled," he said, showing him how to keep his stance solid.


    Across the room, another fighter was working on his kicks, but his form was off.


    Whittier walked over and ced a hand on the fighter''s shoulder, adjusting his posture. "Your hips, they''re too stiff. Loosen them up. The poweres from there, not just your leg."


    At most, this wasn''t the full-on training Whittier wouldter implement.


    This was him getting to know his team''s strengths and weaknesses, observing how they moved, fought, and reacted under pressure.


    Whittier was patient but methodical, carefully picking apart each fighter''s technique to see where they could improve.


    Meanwhile, in the other training room, Team Chemasov was experiencing a very different atmosphere.


    Balim Chemasov, known for his relentless intensity and aggressive style, was pushing his team to their limits.


    Fighters in Team Chemasov were sweating profusely, gritting their teeth as they went through rigorous drills and sparring rounds that seemed to have no end in sight.


    Balim shoutedmands, his voice carrying a heavy ent, urging his fighters to move faster, hit harder, and never back down.


    "Come on, push! You think this is hard? In the cage, no one give you time to breathe!" he barked, his eyes sharp as he watched every movement.


    Team Whittier, though intense in its own right, was more controlled and technical.


    Whittier was less about brute force and more about refining their technique, making sure every strike, kick, and movement was precise.


    But in Team Chemasov''s room, it was all about sheer aggression and endurance.


    While Whittier quietly observed his fighters to study their potential, Chemasov was throwing his team directly into the fire, testing their willpower, toughness, and how far they could push themselves.


    The contrast between the two teams'' training was stark, and it was only the beginning.


    The fighters on both sides had no idea how much they would be molded, both physically and mentally, under the guidance of these two very different coaches.

 Chapter 133: Chapter 133: Training II: Low-Kicks

    Damon stood across from Ivan in the sparring ring, both wearing full training gear, their gloves raised and eyes locked on each other.


    The gym was filled with the sounds of other fighters training, but to Damon, it was just him and Ivan right now.


    The Russian had good striking, and his background in sambo was evident in how he moved, bnced, calcted, and always ready to counter.


    Damon took a Muay Thai stance, light on his feet, and tested the waters with a low kick aimed at Ivan''s lead leg.


    The sharp p of his shin against Ivan''s thigh echoed through the gym.


    Ivan absorbed the hit, his face unreadable, and stepped back, adjusting his stance slightly. Damon noted the way Ivan moved, strong, deliberate.


    Another low kick from Damon. This onended harder, a thudding connection that made Ivan''s leg twitch slightly.


    Damon kept his guard high, but he wasn''t rushing into any punches just yet.


    His focus was on chopping down Ivan''s legs, one strike at a time.


    The low kicks kepting, each one a little faster and harder than thest.


    Ivan blocked a couple, but each sessful strike made him flinch just a bit more.


    Damon could see the wear starting to show in Ivan''s movements.


    His stance shifted, and his bnce wavered slightly.


    Damon knew this was the opening he needed, but he didn''t rush it.


    Another low kick followed, then another, each aimed at the same spot.


    Damon was relentless, circling around Ivan, making sure the Russian couldn''t nt his feet long enough to throw anything solid back.


    They reset after a brief exchange, the air in the gym heavy with concentration.


    Ivan rubbed his leg subtly, trying to mask the growing pain.


    Damon bounced lightly on his toes, his eyes never leaving Ivan''s.


    As the sparring session restarted, Damonunched another low kick.


    He could see Ivan anticipating it now, trying to adjust his guard and maybe counter.


    But Damon was quicker, his shin slicing through the air and connecting cleanly with Ivan''s leg once again.


    Whittier, who had been walking around the gym observing other sparring matches, now stood near the edge of the ring, watching Damon closely.


    His arms were folded across his chest, his sharp eyes taking in every movement.


    Damon kept firing low kicks, almost rhythmic now. It was clear that his strategy was to weaken Ivan''s base, but Whittier frowned slightly.


    As much as Damon''s kicks were effective, he was taking too long to switch up his approach.


    Ivan, though visibly ufortable from the repeated attacks on his legs, managed to throw a few jabs back.


    They were blocked easily by Damon, but the message was clear, Ivan wasn''t going down without a fight.


    Damon paused for a moment, considering his next move, but his instinct took him back to what had been working: another low kick.


    Heunched it hard, but this time Ivan checked it with his shin, absorbing the hit better than before.


    Whittier stepped forward, his voice cutting through the sounds of the gym. "Alright, stop. That''s enough."


    Damon immediately lowered his hands, breathing hard but controlled, while Ivan dropped his guard as well, rolling his shoulders as he shook out the stiffness in his legs.


    Whittier stepped into the ring, his expression calm but serious. "Damon, I get it, you''ve got great kicks. But you''ve been throwing the same one for too long now. You can''t just keep relying on the low kick, even if it''s working. You''ve got to mix it up, or someone like Ivan here", he nodded toward the Russian," is gonna figure you out and counter."


    He looked directly at Damon. "You have the tools, use them. Low kicks are good, but don''t forget you''ve got hands too. And knees, and elbows. You''re Muay Thai, so be Muay Thai. Don''t just chop down the tree,break the whole damn thing apart."


    Damon nodded, taking in Whittier''s words. He''d gotten toofortable with the low kicks, too focused on just one approach.


    He realized that Ivan had been toughing it out, waiting for his chance to turn the tables.


    Whittier then turned to Ivan. "And you, Ivan, your striking''s solid, but you''re letting him dictate the pace. If you feel him taking over, you''ve got to push back harder. Don''t just wait for the perfect moment, or it might nevere."


    Ivan nodded, his face serious. "Understood, coach."


    Whittier pped his hands together, signaling the end of the sparring round. "Alright, both of you, take a break. I want you fresh for the next session. We''ll work on blending everything together. We''re not just focusing on one thing¡ªyou need to be well-rounded fighters if you want to win."


    Damon and Ivan stepped out of the ring, grabbing their water bottles and towels.


    As Damon took a sip, he reyed the sparring session in his mind, already thinking about how to incorporate Whittier''s advice into his next round.


    He nced over at Ivan, who was stretching out his legs, the faint marks of Damon''s kicks still visible on his thighs. Ivan caught his eye and gave him a nod of respect.


    "Good kicks," Ivan muttered, wincing slightly as he moved his leg.


    "Thanks," Damon replied with a small grin. "Good blocks, but next time, I''ll switch it up."


    Ivan chuckled. "Next time, I won''t let you kick so much."


    They both knew the next round would be different, and they both weed the challenge.


    It had been a few days since Damon''s meeting with the CEO, and ever since he returned to the house, he had kept to himself.


    The events of that night were still affecting him, and while most of the fighters went about their daily lives, Damon decided to avoid any interactions that were not necessary.


    Even his old friend Kevin hadn''t gotten much out of him. Damon kept his distance from the opposite team, avoiding potential conflicts.


    The tension from hisst fight was still there, and he wasn''t eager to stir things up again.


    But not everything was cold and distant. Ivan, Damon''s roommate, was the fighter he had suddenly bonded with.


    There was something about Ivan''s straightforwardness that Damon respected.


    The Russian fighter was genuine and honest, never sugarcoating things, and never involving himself in unnecessary drama.


    In the few quiet moments they shared, whether after training or just winding down in the room, Damon found himself talking to Ivan about fights, life, and their goals.


    Though Ivan was a man of few words, what he did say always carried weight.


    They shared amon understanding, focus on the fight, and let everything else fall to the wayside.

 Chapter 134: Chapter 134: Training IIi: Fine-Tuning the Fight

    Whittier pped his hands again, his voice cutting through the sounds of the gym. "Alright, boys, let''s get back to it, shall we? Time to sharpen up."


    Damon and Ivan nodded, adjusting their stances as they prepared to resume their sparring session.


    The sound of gloves being tightened echoed in the room as Damon bounced lightly on his toes, feeling the familiar tension in his legs.


    Across from him, Ivan stood firm, his eyes locked on Damon''s every movement.


    The two squared up, and as soon as Whittier gave the signal, Damon moved in first, starting with his favored approach, a sharp, well-ced low kick aimed at Ivan''s lead leg.


    His shin connected with a satisfying thud, sending a ripple through Ivan''s stance, but Ivan was quick to adjust, stepping back slightly to avoid taking another full-force blow.


    Damon kept up the pressure, immediately following with another low kick, his Muay Thai instincts kicking in.


    He knew that chopping down Ivan''s legs would slow the Russian''s movement, making him easier to deal with.


    But as the sparring continued, Damon found himself stuck in a pattern. Another low kick. Then another. And another.


    He wasn''t fully utilizing the advantages he had, his height and reach.


    Instead of stepping back and creating distance, Damon stayed within striking range, failing to maximize his range to keep Ivan at bay.


    Whittier stood by, watching closely, his eyes narrowing as he noticed Damon''s w.


    The kicks were solid, no doubt, but Damon wasn''t making use of his full skillset.


    Ivan, on the other hand, took the hits well but had his own weaknesses.


    As Damon continued to pepper him with kicks, Ivan''s response was to close the distance, looking for an opening to use his Sambo.


    But his approach was too predictable, he would lower his guard, telegraphing his intentions, and Damon quickly capitalized on it.


    Damon threw a quick jab, followed by a left hook, catching Ivan''s cheek as the Russian ovemitted on an attempt to grab hold of him.


    Ivan stumbled back slightly, his handsing up to protect his face.


    Damon saw the opening and pressed forward, aiming a hard right cross, but Ivan managed to block it just in time.


    The sparring continued, and while Damon''s strikes werending, Whittier could see the same issue over and over, Damon wasn''t moving enough.


    He wasn''t using his footwork to circle around or create angles.


    He was standing almost toe-to-toe with Ivan, negating his own reach and giving Ivan more chances to strike back.


    Ivan, despite his own ws, wasn''t giving up easily.


    He managed to close the distance again, this time forcing Damon into a clinch.


    Damon tried to throw a knee, but Ivan''s grip tightened, locking Damon''s arms down as they grappled for control.


    It was a test of strength now, and Ivan''s Sambo training was showing.


    He managed to twist Damon slightly, off-bncing him just enough tond a quick elbow to the body.


    Damon grunted but broke free from the clinch with a sharp shove.


    He took a step back, resetting, but once again, he wasn''t using his reach to its full potential.


    Instead of staying on the outside and picking his shots, he stayed in the pocket, throwing more low kicks and body shots, his movement limited.


    Whittier watched for a few more moments, letting them continue.


    Damon''s kicks werending, but he was failing to take advantage of the openings they created.


    Ivan, meanwhile, was starting to read the pattern, adjusting his stance to absorb the kicks and waiting for his moment to counter.


    Finally, Whittier pped his hands again, signaling for them to stop.


    "Alright, alright, that''s enough," Whittier said, walking over to them. "Good work, but Damon, you''re making things harder for yourself than they need to be."


    Damon nodded, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his face. He knew what wasing.


    "You''ve got the height and reach advantage, right? So why the hell are you fighting like you don''t? You''re staying right in front of Ivan, and that''s not where you need to be. Keep your distance. Use your jab more, and for God''s sake, move. You''re letting him close the gap too easily."


    Whittier turned to Ivan, giving him a nod of acknowledgment. "Ivan, you''ve got strong clinch work, but you''re telegraphing your entries. Every time you go for the grab, you''re giving it away. Mix it up more, fake high, then shoot low. Don''t let him see iting."


    Both fighters nodded, absorbing the feedback.


    Whittier looked between them, his voice calm but firm. "You both have strengths, but you''re making it easier for each other. Damon, keep Ivan on the outside. Don''t give him the chance to close the distance. And Ivan, you''ve got to be smarter about when you engage. If you can''t get inside, you''re gonna struggle."


    He stepped back, gesturing for them to reset. "Let''s go again. This time, Damon, I want to see you use that reach. Keep moving. And Ivan, make him work to stay on the outside."


    Damon took the advice to heart as they prepared to spar again.


    He adjusted his stance, bouncing more lightly on his toes, ready to change his approach.


    This time, he wouldn''t just rely on the low kicks. It was time to put everything together.


    Whittier watched closely as Damon and Ivan squared off again, both fighters resetting after his feedback.


    He could see the potential in both of them, raw, unpolished, but undeniably there.


    Damon''s Muay Thai was solid, especially his powerful kicks, but Whittier knew there was more to him.


    If Damon could fully utilize his reach and footwork, he could be a dangerous striker who could pick opponents apart from a distance.


    Whittier had also seen notes on Damon''s Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu background.


    The kid had submissions in his toolkit, something Whittier knew they''d tap intoter.


    For now, though, striking was the focus.


    Ivan, on the other hand, was a force of nature.


    His background in Sambo,bined with his raw power, made him a tough opponent for anyone.


    A state champion in Russia was no small feat, considering the talent pool over there.


    His grappling was clearly his bread and butter, but Ivan''s striking wasn''t to be underestimated either.


    Whittier crossed his arms as the two fighters squared off again, observing their stances, their footwork.


    This wasn''t just about letting them fight, it was about seeing where they could be refined, where their weaknesses could be strengths.


    "Let''s see what you''ve got," Whittier muttered to himself, keeping his eyes fixed on both fighters as they began to engage again.

 Chapter 135: Chapter 135: Training VI: Sharpening the Edge

    Damon squared up against Ivan once more, the words from Whittier still ringing in his head.


    This time, Damon knew he had to be smarter, use his reach, keep Ivan at a distance.


    Bouncing lightly on his toes, Damon felt the familiar tension in his legs, but now he was more focused. He wasn''t just throwing low kicks, he had a n.


    Ivan stood opposite him, his eyes sharp, his stance lower than before, ready to pounce.


    The Russian was no slouch. Damon knew that. He could already see the adjustments Ivan had made from Whittier''s advice.


    As soon as Whittier gave the nod, the sparring resumed.


    Damon circled to the left, throwing a quick feint with his jab, testing Ivan''s reaction.


    This time, he stayed further back, just out of range of Ivan''s counters. He wanted to keep Ivan guessing, keep him on his toes.


    Ivan shifted his weight, trying to close the distance.


    Damon snapped out a jab, then immediately threw a low kick to Ivan''s leg.


    The shin cracked against Ivan''s calf with a solid thud, but this time, Damon didn''t stand still.


    He pivoted away, resetting, creating distance once more.


    "That''s it," Whittier muttered under his breath, observing Damon''s improved movement.


    Damon threw another jab, followed by a quick one-twobo.


    Ivan raised his guard, deflecting the punches, but Damon wasn''t done. Heunched a teep kick, driving Ivan back, forcing him to reset.


    Damon grinned slightly; he could feel the rhythming together.


    Ivan wasn''t passive, though. As soon as Damon created distance, the Russian stepped in with a sharp overhand right, trying to catch Damon off guard.


    But Damon had learned from thest round. He leaned back, narrowly avoiding the punch, then fired a swift front kick to Ivan''s midsection.


    Ivan grunted, stepping back as the kick connected.


    Damon stayed on the outside, circling, keeping his jab snapping out, peppering Ivan''s guard.


    But he wasn''t just looking to outbox Ivan, he wanted to mix it up, surprise him.


    He watched Ivan closely, seeing how the Russian moved, how he responded.


    Ivan, on the other hand, tried to find his own rhythm.


    He faked a clinch attempt, but instead of charging in like before, he threw a quick body shot, followed by a looping hook.


    The body shot was stopped by Damon, but the hook got through and hit him in the jaw.


    Damon''s head snapped to the side, he quickly straightened up and shook it off.


    "Good shot," Damon muttered, acknowledging the hit.


    Ivan grinned, knowing he hadnded something solid. But Damon wasn''t backing down. He was waiting for the right moment.


    As the sparring continued, Damon threw a few more kicks, mixing them in with his punches.


    But now, something was brewing in his mind. He had been working on a specific move, something he hadn''t quite mastered yet.


    But now, he was feeling confident.


    He decided to go for it.


    Damon feinted another jab, then leaned forward slightly, as if he was preparing for a low kick.


    Ivan braced, lowering his guard to prepare for the impact.


    But Damon''s foot swung upward in an arc, going high instead of low.


    It was the question mark kick.


    The kick came out of nowhere, and Ivan didn''t see it until it was toote.


    Damon''s foot snapped up and over Ivan''s guard, catching him on the side of the head.


    Ivan stumbled back, clearly caught off guard by the unorthodox strike.


    Whittier, standing on the sidelines, couldn''t help but smile at the execution.


    The kick had been smooth, and even though it wasn''t perfect, it was close.


    Damon was pushing himself, trying to expand his arsenal.


    Ivan shook his head, clearing the cobwebs from the unexpected kick. But he wasn''t out of it yet.


    He reset, his eyes narrowing as he realized Damon was starting to mix things up.


    The two circled again, this time with both fighters more cautious.


    Damon grinned, seeing that his kick hadnded clean.


    He could feel the momentum shifting in his favor, but he knew Ivan wouldn''t go down easy. The Russian was tough, and he had a good chin.


    Ivan, determined not to let Damon control the pace, lunged forward, looking to clinch. But this time, Damon wasn''t having it.


    He sidestepped, throwing a quick uppercut as Ivan missed the grab.


    The punch grazed Ivan''s chin, and Damon followed up with another low kick, chopping at Ivan''s legs again.


    This time, Damon stayed light on his feet, bouncing in and out, using his reach to keep Ivan at bay.


    He knew Ivan''s strength was in closing the distance, so he made it difficult, forcing Ivan to work harder for every step forward.


    "Better. That''s what I want to see," Whittier called out, clearly impressed with Damon''s adjustments.


    Ivan, sensing the shift, switched tactics. He faked another clinch attempt but threw a spinning backfist instead.


    Damon barely ducked in time, the fist whizzing past his head.


    Damon retaliated with a body kick, the smack of his shin echoing through the gym as itnded cleanly on Ivan''s ribs.


    The sparring continued for another minute, with both fighters trading blows, each testing the other.


    Damon was beginning to use his reach more effectively, keeping Ivan on the outside.


    And while Ivan managed to get a few good shots in, Damon was in control.


    Finally, Whittier pped his hands again, signaling the end of the round.


    Both Damon and Ivan stepped back, breathing heavily, but satisfied with the work they had put in.


    "Good work, boys," Whittier said, nodding at both of them. "Damon, that question mark kick was slick. Keep working on that, and it''ll be a weapon for you. Ivan, good adjustments on the entries, but you''ve got to be quicker on the counters. Don''t let him getfortable."


    Damon and Ivan nodded, both appreciating the feedback.


    They bumped gloves, acknowledging each other''s efforts.


    It had been a good sparring session, and both knew they were sharpening themselves for the battles ahead.

 Chapter 136: Chapter 136: Announcement

    "Okay, gather around in the main hall!" Whittier''s voice boomed across the gym.


    The fighters stopped mid-spar, exchanging confused nces.


    Damon, still catching his breath from the sparring session with Ivan, wiped the sweat from his face with a towel and looked toward the exit.


    No one knew what was going on because their coaches had already left the room.


    "What''s going on?" Ivan muttered as he put his towel over his shoulder.


    Damon gave a shrug and shook his arms around. His body was still buzzing with energy. "No idea, but I guess we''ll find out soon."


    Across the facility, in the other gym where Team Chemasov trained, the same thing was happening.


    Fighters from both teams paused their sessions, unsure of what wasing next.


    Balim Chemasov had also given his team the same instruction.


    It was intense as the fighters came out of their rooms and made their way to the main hall.


    Something big was about to happen, and everyone could feel it.


    As soon as both groups walked into the main hall, Damon saw right away that they were very different.


    Team Chemasov was drenched in sweat, their faces flushed, clearly pushed harder than Team Whittier in their training.


    Damon''s eyes scanned the opposing fighters, but they stopped on the two brothers, Logan and Brian.


    Logan, as expected, red at Damon, his eyes hard and cold, still carrying the tension from their previous altercation.


    Brian, on the other hand, gave Damon a quick look that made his face tighten. He then quickly turned away to avoid his eyes.


    As both teams lined up, with some space between them, the tension in the room was obvious.


    Both teams lined up next to each other, with a clear space between them.


    On one side, Team Whittier stood with their fighters lined up in a straight line. On the other side, Team Chemasov stood parallel to them and kept the same order.


    Each fighter kept a respectful distance from the other team, with both groups aware of theirpetition standing just a few feet away.


    The coaches stood in front of their respective teams, Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier side by side, presenting a united front despite theirpetition.


    Both team of fighters were lined up, and it was getting tense as they waited for whatever news had brought them all together.


    Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Ronan ck walked in. His sure presence took over the room right away.


    When the fighters heard his footsteps, they stood straight, knowing this wasn''t a normal visit.


    When Ronan walked in, some of the fighters couldn''t help but sneak peeks at Damon and Logan, knowing what had been going on between them.


    Exchanged looks carried across the room, but neither Damon nor Logan acknowledged them.


    Both fighters stood tall, keeping their focus ahead.


    Ronan''s expression remained unreadable as he strode to the front of the room, his gaze sweeping across the teams.


    Ronan ck walked to the middle of the room and looked over the fighters who were there. He had a small smile on his face.


    He sensed the excitement bubbling beneath the surface, the tension between the fighters.


    He loved moments like this, the calm before the storm.


    "Alright, everyone," With his characteristic blend of confidence and authority, Ronan''s voice roared, filling the hall. "You''ve all put on a solid performance in training, but let me be real with you, it''s not about just training. The Supreme Fighter is about who can show up when it matters most. And you know what that means¡­"


    He took a moment to let the fighters look at each other. Their energy went from nervous anticipation to eager focus.


    "It''s time," Ronan said, his smirk growing into a grin. "Time for the first match-up."


    The fighters were all excited, and Ronan saw that some of them were standing a little taller.


    People in the group widened their eyes, clenched their hands, and gave each other small nods.


    It finally hit home howpetitive things were really about to get.


    "You''ve been sparring, you''ve been sweating, but this is where it gets real. First elimination''sing, and some of you..." he dragged out the words, relishing the tension, "won''t make it past this round."


    A few fighters moved around on their feet, making small moves that showed how tense they were.


    They cracked their knuckles, jumped on their toes, and rolled their shoulders back to rx.


    Ronan looked them over, his eyes sharp and calcting. "Now, I know some of you are itching to prove yourselves," he said, his voice lowering but still carrying through the room. "But here''s the deal, you better be ready, because the first match is gonna set the tone for the entire season."


    Damon kept his gaze locked on Ronan, standing steady, though he could feel his adrenaline spiking.


    He nced briefly toward Ivan, who stood beside him, stone-faced as usual, processing every word Ronan was saying.


    From the other team, Logan cracked his neck, shooting a nce in Damon''s direction, a smug expression creeping across his face.


    Ronan caught the subtle exchange between Damon and Logan, and he didn''t miss the tension that crackled in the air between the two of them.


    He had seen enough in his career to know exactly where this was heading.


    Ronan continued, ignoring the tension building between Damon and Logan. "So here''s what''s gonna happen," he said, pacing slightly in front of the fighters. "The coaches are gonna do a coin toss, and the winner will get to choose one fighter from their team and one from the other team to fight."


    All eyes shifted to the coaches, who were now eyeing each other with a nod of understanding.


    The fighters looked at each other, and it hit them hard what was about to happen.


    Everyone knew that the matches would be nned out.


    Once more, Ronan''s voice broke the silence. "For the uing rounds, it''ll be the same. But here''s the twist: the coach of the fighter who wins that round will have the power to choose the next matchup."


    The fighters'' eyes became more focused. As the knockout rounds began, the pressure began to build.


    Ronan nced over the group once more, his tone firm. "Does everyone understand?"


    There was a quiet agreement among the fighters. Some nodded, while others just clenched their hands in a silent way.


    Thepetition was truly beginning now.

 Chapter 137: Chapter 137: First Match-up

    "Okay then, let''s fucking do this," Ronan said, his voice loud andmanding as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it up for everyone to see.


    Ronan turned to the two coaches, Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier, his eyes flicking between them. "Heads or tails?" he asked.


    Balim was the first to speak. His deep voice was cool and sure. "Heads."


    Ronan then turned to Donald, who gave a half-smirk, ncing at the fighters before cracking a joke. "Well, guess I don''t have much of a choice, do I? It''s tails then," he said with a chuckle.


    Some of the fighters couldn''t help butugh, which took their minds off of things for a moment.


    Ronan let out augh himself, shaking his head before flipping the coin into the air.


    Everyone''s eyes followed it as it spun in the air before Ronan caught it and pped it onto the back of his hand.


    Damon stood in line, his eyes locked on the coin as it flipped in the air. His heart raced in sync with the spinning coin.


    He watched closely as Ronan caught it and pped it onto the back of his hand with a sharp "pah."


    Ronan nced around the room, the suspense building with every second.


    He lifted his hand slowly, revealing the coin''s result, but it slipped and spun off bnce.


    "Aw, fuck," Ronan cursed, shaking his head. "Alright, here''s what we''ll do. I''ll throw it down this time."


    Everyone nodded, the stress rose again. With his attention fixed on the coin, Damon felt a rush of excitement.


    Ronan tossed the coin into the air again, and it spun rapidly before finally hitting the floor with a metallic clink.


    All eyes followed its descent as it rolled for a second, beforending t.


    Everyone held their breath, waiting for the result.


    Ronan and the coaches stepped closer, leaning in to get a better look at the coin on the floor.


    The fighters stood still, their eyes darting between the coaches, waiting for a reaction.


    Whittier''s face slowly turned into a smile that was easy to see.


    Some of his fighters looked at each other with excitement, but the tension stayed high.


    Meanwhile, Balim had a grin on his face too, making it hard for anyone to tell what the result actually was.


    His expression was as calm as ever, giving nothing away.


    The whole room was tense for a moment because no one knew who had won the coin toss.


    But they didn''t have to wait long. Ronan''s smile widened as he announced, "Team Whittier gets to pick. Donald Whittier, it''s your call."


    Damon''s heart was beating fast, and he couldn''t help but smile.


    He looked at Whittier and begged in his head to be picked.


    He could feel his energy rising, and he was dying to finally get those brothers, especially Logan.


    But Damon knew it wasn''t his choice to make, so he stood there, forcing himself to stayposed. He clenched his fists, hoping Whittier saw the hunger in him.


    Whittier stood in silence for what felt like an eternity, his eyes scanning over the fighters. Finally, he broke the tension.


    "We''ll choose Damon Cross," he said.


    Damon''s heart fluttered, and his thoughts immediately screamed, '' thank fucking you.''


    He stepped forward as the other fighters pped, the sound filling the room.


    Ivan smiled beside him, giving Damon a firm pat on the back. "Good luck, brother," Ivan said in his thick ent.


    Damon nodded, stepping forward with renewed determination.


    The anxiety in the room was high as everyone looked at Ronan.


    Everyone wanted to know who Damon would be paired with.


    Damon''s heart raced, hoping for a matchup that would let him prove himself.


    Ronan stood tall and looked very pleased with how things were going. He smiled as he soaked up the excitement.


    He lived for these moments, where the drama brewed, and tension built.


    Though Ronan had given the fighters plenty of speeches about professionalism, he knew the truth. Drama sold.


    Ronan wasn''t just a businessman; he was a showman, and this was his stage.


    Even now, he could almost taste the views rolling in.


    If the media had gone wild over Damon spearing Logan through a table, a sanctioned fight between them would blow up, so he expected Whittier to match them up.


    Ronan''s mind was already working. If two top fighters had been involved in something like this, the fight would be a goldmine, and if there was one thing Ronan loved, it was his bag.


    Whittier smiled, his gaze drifting slowly across Team Chemasov. The room fell dead silent, and every fighter held their breath.


    Logan stood there, cocky and ready, assuming he''d be passed over or that Damon wasn''t even a thought.


    But Whittier didn''t look his way. Instead, his eyesnded on Kevin, Damon''s friend from the other team.


    A gasps went through the fighters as a whole. Was Whittier about to throw in a curveball?


    Ronan''s eyes narrowed, his irritation evident.


    He looked like he wanted to strangle Whittier for dragging this out.


    The anticipation was building, and Ronan could sense the tension going through the roof.


    Whittier paused for just a second longer, then with a slight smirk, he finally spoke, "I''ll take Logan."


    Logan straightened, a smug smirk already forming across his face.


    Damon''s pulse quickened. This was it.


    The fight everyone wanted was happening.


    Logan marched up to Damon, his chest puffed out as he got in his face.


    Damon turned slowly, eyeing him with that cool, detached stare.


    Logan leaned in, his voice dripping with cockiness. "I''m gonna beat you, and show you who''s daddy."


    Damon smirked, not taking a single step back, just staring into Logan''s eyes before giving him a light shove.


    Logan''s face twisted in anger, but before he could react, someone grabbed his arm, holding him back.


    Damon moved forward, smiling and leaning in closer, his voice low yet piercing. "Better keep that same energy in the ring, you little shit. I''m gonna dance around your sorry ass, turn your head into a fuckin basketball."

 Chapter 138: Chapter 138: Reactions

    The media frenzy surrounding the uing fight between Damon and Logan reached a fever pitch.


    It wasn''t that either fighter had a massive following yet, but everyone knew that fights fueled by bad blood were the ones that captured attention.


    The animosity between the two fighters had lit a fire under the fanbase, and now, the buzz was impossible to ignore.


    This fight was no longer just aboutpetition; it was about pride, ego, and respect. And fans of The Supreme Fighter were eating it up.


    Chirper blew up as soon as the announcement hit.


    @FightNightHype:


    "Yo, Damon vs Logan is THE fight to watch. They already hate each other, this is gonna be straight FIRE. #SupremeFighter #NoMercy"


    @MMABanter:


    "Man, you can tell Whittier knew exactly what he was doing with this pick. Damon gonna mop the floor with Logan. #TeamWhittier #WhittierCooked"


    @let_mebang:


    "This is what we signed up for!! Damon speared that dude through a TABLE. Now he''s gonna speer his soul in the cage. Logan''s in trouble. #NoMercy #SupremeDrama"


    @KO_King:


    "I hope Logan''s ready to catch these hands. Damon''s been training like a beast, and this fight''s gonna show it. #DamonCross #KOIing"


    @Pu55yD3stro7er:


    "No way Logan''s walking out of this one without some serious damage. That boy talked too much and now Damon''sing to collect. #TeamWhittier #FightNight"


    @michelbiay:


    "Logan said Damon''s a pussy... Let''s see who''s still standing after this one. My money''s on Damon to break this guy in half. #BadBlood"


    @JiuJitsuJunkie:


    "Can we just talk about how Whittier set this up like a mastermind? Picked Logan out of all the fighters, just to watch Damon wreck him. Genius move. #WhittierCooked #Mastermind


    @TheRealFighter7:


    "Logan''s got big talk, but can he back it up? I don''t see it happening. Damon''s got that killer instinct. #SupremeFighter #DamonVsLogan"


    The media hype wasn''t just focused on Damon. Logan had his share of supporters too. Fans of the Supreme Fighter loved a good underdog story, and Logan''s cocky persona drewparisons to one of the most infamous trash talkers in the UFA, Collin NcGyver.


    On Chirper, debates were sparking up as Logan''s fans began to rally behind him, iming his big mouth didn''t mean a guaranteed loss.


    After all, they argued, fighters like NcGyver had built entire careers off their trash talk and backing it up in the cage.


    @LoganSupporter7: "All y''all sleeping on Logan just ''cause he talks shit. That don''t mean he''s gonna lose. Look at Collin NcGyver. Same energy, same fire. Logan''s about to shock everyone. #TeamLogan #SupremeUpset"


    @BrawlKing: "People think just ''cause you run your mouth you can''t fight? Logan''s bringing the heat. Don''t act like we haven''t seen guys like NcGyver back it up before. #CollinVibes #LoganVsDamon"


    @TrashTalkAndKO: "Y''all act like Logan''s all talk. Just wait. He''s got skills. Big mouths win fights too, just ask Collin NcGyver. #TeamLogan #TalkAndWalk"


    Of course, not everyone was sold on Logan''s chances.


    @EagleSmashedHim: "LMAO, big mouths only win when they can back it up. Take a look at your boy Collin, didn''t The Eagle smash him? Logan''s about to get the same treatment from Damon. #TheEagleSmashedYourBoy #LoganIsNext"


    @MMAElite99: "Sure, Logan talks like NcGyver, but he fights NOTHING like him. Big mouth or not, Damon''s gonna humble him. #DamonVsLogan #LoganIsNoCollin"


    @SmashBro: "Logan better hope he''s got the skills to match that mouth. ''Cause the way Damon''s looking, he''s about to get smashed. Just like Collin did. #TheEagleSmashedYourBoy #LoganVsDamon"


    The debate raged on, with both fighters gaining attention in ways they hadn''t anticipated.


    Whether they liked it or not, the world was watching, and everyone had their opinions on who woulde out on top in this heated grudge match.


    Then there were fans who weren''t convinced that Logan even came close to Collin NcGyver''s legendary trash talk.


    @DoubleChamp: "What the fuck is wrong with people? When did Logan ever sound like Collin? His trash talk was straight-up trash. Dude''s not even in the same league."


    But amidst all the noise, a surprising detail about Damon began to circte.


    @FanGirl09: "Wait, did you guys know Damon is Japanese as well? ??"


    @ThirstyAF: "OHH THAT''S HOT! I can really see it now! ??he''s soo tall#myloveisyours"


    @MemeMasterFlex: "Haha, a samurai leprechaun. This season just keeps getting better."


    The mix of hype, humor, and heated debate ensured that the uing match between Damon and Logan was fast bing one of the most anticipated bouts in The Supreme Fighter''s history.


    While the buzz around Damon and Logan''s fight was heating up on Chirper and other social media tforms, the excitement remainedrgely confined to The Supreme Fighter''s growing fanbase.


    In the grander scheme of the fight world, many hardcore MMA fans weren''t paying much attention.


    For them, The Supreme Fighter was just another reality show, good for some drama but not quite on the level of the real deal in the UFA.


    They preferred to focus on established names, big fights, and major title bouts.


    Some even expressed their indifference or outright disinterest.


    @RealFightFreak: "I mean, cool story, but wake me up when they actually fight in the UFA. All this reality show drama means nothing if they can''t make it there.


    @JabsAndCrosses: "It''s entertaining, I guess, but none of these guys are on the radar of real MMA fans yet. Talk to me when they''re fighting in the big leagues."


    @FightClubOnly: "I''ll watch the highlights, but I''m not gonna invest my time in this drama. Show me realpetition, not this reality TV stuff."


    Despite this, Damon and Logan''s brewing rivalry was still significant within The Supreme Fighter bubble.


    It may not have captured the attention of the wider MMA fanbase just yet, but for those invested in the show, this fight had be a must-watch.


    The question was, could either of them turn this small, contained fame into something that resonated beyond the confines of the reality show? That was still up in the air.


    For now, Damon and Logan''s names were on the lips of a niche, but passionate, group of fans.


    What came next would determine whether their poprity stayed small or grew into something muchrger.

 Chapter 139: Chapter 139: Training Camp I

    Both teams were currently deep in training, pushing themselves to their limits.


    It had been a day since the big announcement of Damon vs. Logan.


    Since that moment, the atmosphere in the house had shifted drastically.


    Even though the tension was apparent, no physical altercations had broken out... yet.


    It was like a pressure cooker waiting to explode.


    Both Team Whittier and Team Chemasov had kept their focus on the uing fight.


    Damon stayed quiet, focused on his preparation.


    He was more driven now than ever, locking in on the uing bout like aser.


    Logan, on the other hand, carried himself with a cocky confidence that was starting to get under the skin of those around him.


    He talked a lot, always mentioning how he was going to "smash Damon", courtesy of Bm.


    His trash talk didn''t sit well with a lot of people, but he was putting in the work during training, and that made his confidence dangerous.


    In the training room.


    Damon stood in the center, gloves off, ready to drill, while across from him stood one of Whittier''s training team members, a seasoned wrestler with years of grappling experience.


    He had helped Whittier through learning and avoiding any wrestling moves.


    Whittier had made the call to focus on wrestling defense, especially given the unknowns surrounding Logan''s fighting style.


    But with Balim Chemasov as his coach, they had to assume wrestling would y a major role in Logan''s strategy.


    Damon''s Muay Thai was solid, his Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu was strong, but there was a gap when it came to defending against takedowns.


    That was about to change.


    "Alright, Damon, listen up," Whittier''s voice cut through the background noise of the gym. "We''re gonna drill the basics first, how to sprawl and defend against a single-leg and double-leg takedown. Logan might try to shoot on you, especially if he knows you''re a striker. We''re not giving him that chance."


    Damon nodded, and as he stood across from the wrestler, sweat was already running down his forehead.


    The rest of the team watched from the sides, knowing they''d soon get their own turn in the wrestling defense drill.


    The wrestler, a stocky guy with a low center of gravity, stepped forward and got into position. "We''re gonna go slow first," he said, his voice calm and professional. "I''ll show you what to do when someone shoots in for a takedown."


    Without warning, the wrestler dipped low and shot forward, aiming for a double-leg takedown.


    His hands sped around Damon''s legs with precision. Damon instinctively dropped his weight, but Whittier stopped them.


    "Whoa, whoa," Whittier said, stepping in and tapping Damon''s shoulder. "That''s good, but we''re going to break it down even further. You want to react before he grabs your legs."


    Whittier got into position himself, demonstrating. "When you see the shooting, the first thing you do is sprawl. Push your hips back and down, keeping your legs out of reach. Your hands go to his shoulders or his head, pushing him down into the mat."


    Damon nodded, watching closely as Whittier showed the mechanics of a sprawl.


    The wrestler reset, and this time, as he shot in for the takedown, Damon sprawled, throwing his hips back and pushing down on the wrestler''s shoulders. It wasn''t perfect, but it was an improvement.


    "Better," Whittier said, circling around them. "You''ve gotta be faster. The moment you see him lower his level, you''re already pushing those hips back. You don''t want him getting a hold of your legs, or it''s game over."


    They repeated the drill, the wrestler shooting in again and again while Damon worked on his timing, sprawling with more precision each time.


    "Nice! Now we''re getting somewhere," Whittier said with a nod. "But sprawling alone isn''t enough. Sometimes the takedown''s too fast, and you don''t get the sprawl in time. If that happens, you''ve gotta know how to defend once they get a grip."


    Whittier called for the wrestler to demonstrate the single-leg takedown.


    The wrestler moved in again, but this time, instead of going for both legs, he grabbed one of Damon''s legs and pulled it up, forcing Damon off-bnce.


    "Alright, stop," Whittier said, stepping in again. "This is where a lot of guys panic. But what you need to do is stay calm. First, bnce on your free leg. Then you''re gonna push down on his head and turn your knee out to break his grip."


    He showed Damon the technique, guiding him through the motion of pushing down on the wrestler''s head and twisting his knee outward.


    Damon followed the steps, feeling how the pressure made it harder for the wrestler to hold on.


    "Good, now let''s drill it," Whittiermanded.


    They went at it again, and this time, when the wrestler grabbed Damon''s leg, he reacted faster.


    He pushed down on the head, turned his knee out, and managed to break free of the wrestler''s grip.


    "That''s it!" Whittier said, smiling. "Now, keep that up, but don''t just defend. After you break free, immediately follow up with strikes or use your Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Get the guy to the ground and keep him there."


    They reset, and the sparring intensified.


    The wrestler shot in, and Damon sprawled, pushing his hips back and stuffing the takedown attempt.


    But the wrestler was relentless, quickly switching to a single-leg grab.


    Damon reacted, pushing down on the head, twisting his knee, and this time, adding a quick push to shove the wrestler away.


    "Perfect!" Whittier called out from the side, pping his hands. "Now, you''re getting it."


    The rest of the team watched closely, their turning up next, but all eyes were on Damon. His focus wasser-sharp, and it showed.


    For the next round, Whittier called for something different. "Damon, I want you to try the takedown now. Let''s see you shoot in and mix it up."


    Damon, morefortable in striking than wrestling, hesitated for a second but quickly nodded.


    He squared up with the wrestler, ready to attempt the takedown.


    "Remember, get low and fast," Whittier instructed. "Shoot in and drive with your legs, not just your arms."


    Damon moved in, lowering his level and shooting for the legs.


    His form was still a bit rough, but he managed to get a grip on the wrestler''s legs.


    He drove forward, taking the wrestler down onto the mat with a grunt.


    "Good! But faster next time. Wrestling is all about speed and timing," Whittier said, his voice encouraging but firm.


    They continued the drill, alternating between takedown defense and takedown attempts.


    Damon was improving with each round, his instincts kicking in more naturally now.


    As the session continued, the rest of the team rotated in, each fighter taking turns defending against takedowns.


    It was clear that Whittier wanted his whole team prepared for what mighte in their fights.


    Whether they were strikers or grapplers, everyone was learning how to defend and initiate takedowns.


    For Damon, this was a crucial part of his training.


    He knew that Logan''s wrestling might be strong, but now, with Whittier''s help, he felt more confident in his ability to handle whatever came his way.


    With each round, Damon''s defense became sharper, his reactions faster.


    The sparring wasn''t just a lesson in wrestling, it was a test of his adaptability.


    Whittier''s voice cut through the noise once more. "Alright, let''s take a break. Good work, Damon. We''ll keep drilling this, but you''re getting there. Keep that same focus."


    Damon wiped the sweat from his face, feeling the burn in his muscles but also the satisfaction of progress.


    He knew there was still a lot to work on, but with each session, he was getting closer to bing a more well-rounded fighter.

 Chapter 140: Chapter 140: Training Camp II

    One of the other fighters threw them some water bottles as Damon and the wrestling Coach sat down on the mats, both of them drenched in sweat from the hard workout.


    Damon caught his and twisted off the cap, gulping down the cool liquid.


    The coach took a sip of his own water, then turned to Damon, giving him a knowing look. "This isn''t your first time learning takedowns or wrestling, is it?" His tone was casual, but Damon could hear the curiosity behind the question.


    Damon blinked, surprised at how quickly the coach had picked up on that.


    Back at Victor''s gym, Damon had trained takedowns with Tye''s coach,


    Tye was known for his grappling, and Damon had spent a lot of time trying to close the gaps in his own game by working with him and his coach, beforeing to this show.


    But he hadn''t expected anyone here to pick up on that so fast, since he didn''t think he had learned that much.


    He nced at the coach. "How did you know?" Damon asked, keeping his tone even, though he was curious.


    The coach smirked, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Well, I''ve trained this art for years. If I can''t even recognize a bit of mastery when I see it, then I must suck."


    He chuckled, but then his expression turned serious. "You''ve got good takedowns. But at this level, ''good'' isn''t enough. You''repeting against guys who''ve been doing this their whole lives. Wrestling isn''t your main focus, but you don''t need to learn everything. That''s what Mixed Martial Arts is all about.


    You learn enough to cover your weaknesses and gain an advantage, while building on what you''re already great at."


    Damon nodded, his mind turning over the coach''s words.


    It made sense.


    He had a foundation, but refining those moves, making them sharper, could be the difference in his fight with Logan, or any fighter.


    He didn''t need to be a wrestler, just someone who could defend and attack with enough skill to keep his opponent guessing.


    The coach continued, "Look, you already have a primary martial art. Your Muay Thai is solid. But there''s always room to extend your striking game. Add some boxing, karate, whatever helps you sharpen your edge in a fight. Mixed Martial Arts isn''t about being the best at one thing, it''s about being good enough at everything to outsmart your opponent."


    Damon took the advice in like a sponge and nodded his head.


    It made more sense the more he thought about it.


    He didn''t need to oveplicate things, just build on what he already knew and keep evolving.


    "You''ve got potential, kid," the coach added. "Just keep refining those tools. The more well-rounded you are, the harder you''ll be to beat."


    Damon took a second drink of water. His muscles hurt, but he felt clear-headed. "Thanks, coach. I''ll work on it."


    The coach pped him on the shoulder, his grip firm. "I know you will."


    Damon stared ahead, his mind already thinking of how he could incorporate this knowledge into his training, not just for the uing fight with Logan but for his overall growth as a fighter.


    It was all about bing harder to read, harder to beat, and ultimately, unstoppable.


    This fight with Logan was going to be his first big test, but it was far from thest. He had to be ready for everything.


    But Damon knew that in this uing fight, Logan wasn''t the only thing he had to defeat.


    His temper had always been his greatest challenge.


    Watching Logan''s constant trash talking, Damon was almost certain the guy would be running his mouth inside the octagon, too.


    This wasn''t just going to be a physical battle, it was going to be psychological warfare as well.


    Logan would try to get inside his head, throw him off bnce, and make him lose control.


    That''s where the real dangery, not just in Logan''s strikes or takedowns, but in his ability to push Damon to the edge mentally.


    Damon stood up and took a deep breath to get his mind ready for what was toe.


    He nced at the coach, who gave him a knowing nod, as if to say, "Keep your head on straight, kid."


    Damon nodded back.


    With that thought locked in, Damon walked away, heading over to mingle with the other fighters.


    In the other training room, Team Chemasov was immersed in their own intense preparation.


    Everyone was paying close attention to Balim Chemasov as he worked closely with Logan and pushed him through each tough task with the usual ferocity.


    "Come on, brother!" Balim barked, his thick ent adding ayer of urgency to the training session. "You want to be champion, huh? You want to smash? You don''t smash by beingzy!"


    Logan grunted as he absorbed the impact from the heavy pads, his body drenched in sweat.


    Each punch, each kick was met with a correction or an encouragement from Balim, who circled him like a wolf, always watching, always analyzing.


    "More power! Don''t be soft, brother! I show you how to be strong. If you want to win, you have to break him!" Balim shouted, his voice echoing across the room.


    "Use your kicks, make him respect you. Then take him down. You know how to wrestle, but you must make him fear your hands first!"


    Balim, true to his aggressive style, wasn''t just training Logan''s physical attributes, he was working on his mentality.


    The idea wasn''t just to beat Damon; it was to overwhelm him, dominate him, break his will.


    "Always forward, brother, always forward!" Balim emphasized, pushing Logan to keep pressing the attack. "Damon, he''s tall, yes? So what? You take his legs, make him slow, then take him to the ground. Easy. You wrestle, yes, but first, you must hit hard.


    You must smash!"


    Logan, drenched in sweat, followed every instruction, but even through his exhaustion, he grinned.


    He relished the brutal training, feeding off Balim''s intensity and no-nonsense approach.


    "Come on, Logan, push! Faster! You want to win, you must push harder! No one gives you anything. You take it!" Balim growled, smacking the pads harder as Logan threw a flurry of strikes.


    Logan''s footwork was improving, and his strikes had power, but Balim wasn''t satisfied. He never was.


    "Hands up! Hands up, always! You drop your hands, and boom, he knocks you out. You don''t let him breathe, understand?" Balim''s tone was unforgiving, but that''s exactly what Logan needed.


    Every few minutes, Balim would demonstrate a move himself, showing Logan how to use his kickboxing to set up takedowns, how to break down a tall opponent like Damon, and how to keep the pressure on without gassing out.


    "This is your fight, brother. You must believe that. When you go in there, you make him afraid. He thinks he''s smart, but he hasn''t faced a beast like you. You don''t fight him, you smash him."


    Logan, breathing heavily but visibly pumped up, nodded vigorously.


    Under Balim''s intense guidance, he wasn''t just preparing for a fight, he was preparing to destroy.

 Chapter 141: Chapter 141: Build Up

    There was no doubt that Damon and Logan were pushing themselves to the edge during training camp for both teams.


    Both fighters knew they had limited time to prepare, with The Supreme Fighter''s rapid schedule offering little room for error or wasted moments.


    Damon, under Whittier''s guidance, was starting to blend his Muay Thai with his newly sharpened wrestling defense.


    Each day in the gym felt like a battle in itself, and Damon''s focus had never been clearer.


    Every morning he woke up, the thought of the uing fight with Logan sharpened his senses.


    Whittier''s approach was about refining Damon''s already strong skills, making sure he stayed calm,posed, and ready for anything Logan might throw his way.


    Damon knew he was getting better every day, but he also understood the time constraints.


    Every minute mattered.


    The fight was just around the corner, and Damon couldn''t afford to make any mistakes.


    On the other side, Logan, fueled by Balim''s relentless intensity, was transforming into a beast.


    The wrestling coach''s grueling sessions, paired with Balim''s fierce striking drills, were designed to turn Logan into a relentless force inside the octagon.


    There was no time to rx, no moment to rest.


    Logan''s body screamed for a break, but his mind was locked on one thing: smashing Damon.


    The stakes were high. This wasn''t just about winning the fight; this was about sending a message.


    Logan had put immense pressure on himself.


    He had talked the talk, taunted Damon, and built up the fight to a level where losing wasn''t an option.


    He couldn''t afford to look weak after all the bravado, especially not in front of his team, his coach, or the millions watching.


    Every day, Logan reyed his trash talk in his head, knowing he had to back it up in the octagon.


    For Damon, the stakes were just as high, if not higher.


    Losing to Logan, someone who had relentlessly gotten under his skin, wasn''t just about losing a fight, it would be a blow to his pride.


    The tension in the house was palpable.


    Whenever the fighters returned from training, the atmosphere would be thick with anticipation and simmering resentment.


    Whenever Damon and Logan found themselves in the same room, the trash talk began.


    Logan never missed an opportunity to take a jab, whether it was during meals, downtime, or even in passing nces.


    "Better hope you don''t fold in the first round, Damon," Logan would say with a smirk, loud enough for everyone to hear.


    Damon, more controlled, would often just smile back, refusing to let Logan get the satisfaction of a reaction, but the energy in the room would shift immediately.


    There was no denying that both men were ready to tear into each other.


    The whole house felt like a battlefield waiting for that first punch tond in the octagon.


    And it wasn''t like Logan was aplete dick, at least not in his own mind.


    He knew he had said some wild things when he was drunk, but once the words were out, there was no taking them back.


    Instead of apologizing or backing down, Logan decided to ride the wave of his own trash talk.


    He figured if he owned it, then it would give him even more confidence going into the fight.


    In truth, part of Logan knew he''d crossed a line with Damon, but he wasn''t going to show any weakness.


    To him, it was all part of the game. If he could get inside Damon''s head, throw him off bnce before they even stepped into the octagon, then it was worth it.


    There was no walking back the insults now. He''d talked big, and now, more than anything, he had to back it up.


    Damon didn''t back down, and neither did Logan.


    Their personalities shed so hard it was almost impossible for the two to be civil, and Brian wasn''t exactly helping.


    He backed up his brother, feeding into the hostility.


    It had reached the point where the other fighters couldn''t help but get sucked into the drama, either taking sides or doing their best to avoid it altogether.


    But no matter how hard they tried to distance themselves, the tension in the air was undeniable, thick enough to be felt by everyone in the vi.


    Whenever Damon and the brothers entered a room, the energy shifted.


    Conversations would stop, and the atmosphere would immediately be heated, everyone bracing themselves for yet another verbal confrontation.


    What started as trash talk quickly devolved into a series of insults.


    Damon was casually sipping his juice in the kitchen when Kevin walked in, sporting an awkward smile.


    "Ayy Damon, you good?" Kevin asked, trying to keep things light even though there was a lot of tension between their teams


    Damon gave a short nod and smiled. "Keeping up," he replied, his tone casual but with an edge.


    Just as Kevin was about to wish Damon good luck for his fight, Brian strolled into the kitchen.


    He nced at the two of them and let out a mocking chuckle.


    "What you two up to, eh? Kissing in the kitchen? A quicky before the big day?" Brian sneered.


    Damon didn''t even bother turning around.


    He took onest sip from his ss, set it down on the table, and with a smirk, shot back, "Should ask you and your brother that. Seem real close. Sharing beds too?"


    As he walked past Brian, he made sure to shoulder him lightly, his smirk still in ce.


    This was the kind of thing that had be routine in the house, a constant back and forth, a spark of drama that never seemed to die down.


    But tomorrow, only one would be the winner.


    All the trash talk, all the tension, and all the bravado would mean nothing when the cage door closed behind them.


    It would be just Damon and Logan, no more words, no more distractions, just the fight.


    By tomorrow, one of them would walk out with their hand raised.

 Chapter 142: Chapter 142: Weigh In-Face Off

    Damon arrived at the facility with his team.


    His teammates were talking, and their excitement was contagious.


    But Damon kept his mind on the fight and didn''t pay attention to what was going on around him.


    "Yo, what round do you think Damon''s knocking Logan out?" one of the fighters said with a grin, nudging Ivan. "Man''s already put him through a table once!"


    The othersughed, nodding in agreement. "Second round, maybe? Logan''s tough, but Damon''s got this."


    "He''s gonna fold faster than awn chair," another chimed in, pping Damon on the back with a wide grin.


    Damon understood the hype. He appreciated the confidence they had in him, but he wasn''t about to walk into the cage with the same mindset.


    Every fighter in thispetition was here because they could fight, and Logan wasn''t an exception.


    Damon knew better than to underestimate an opponent, no matter how much trash talk had been exchanged.


    He kept his eyes forward, his mind running through the game n Whittier had drilled into him over the past week.


    As Team Whittier entered the room, they saw that Team Chemasov was already there, waiting.


    The room was bright, with an octagon set up in the middle, and chairs arranged around it.


    Coaches Donald Whittier and Balim Chemasov stood near their teams, quietly observing as the fighters entered.


    The man in charge of the weigh-in stepped forward, holding a clipboard. "Alright, we''re doing the weigh-in for Damon Cross and Logan Walker. Please step up."


    Damon gave a quick nod to his teammates before walking forward.


    His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, focused.


    Logan stepped up as well, a smirk on his face, as if he couldn''t wait to stir something up.


    Damon didn''t bother looking at Logan. He kept his gaze straight ahead.


    Logan, however, took every chance to steal nces at Damon, his smirk only growing wider.


    The official looked over at Damon. "Alright, step on up."


    Damon gave a short nod, his expression steady as he reached down to pull off his shirt.


    The room went silent for a brief moment as his toned, muscr frame came into view.


    His body wasn''t overly bulky, but the lean muscle was evident, each movement making his muscles shift under his skin.


    His abs were starting to take shape, not fully defined yet, but enough to catch the eye.


    His 6''2" frame, abination of hard work and natural athleticism, looked every bit like a fighter''s.


    There were no tattoos, no ink to mark his skin, just a body built forbat, honed over the years in the gym and in the cage.


    He had thought about getting a tattoo one day, maybe something meaningful, but for now, he was all business.


    Damon stepped out of his pants, left standing only in his underwear as the official signaled for him to approach the scale.


    His mind was sharp, focused, blocking out everything else.


    He''d done this enough times not to be distracted, but as he nced up, he caught a glimpse of Ronan ck standing near the coaches.


    Ronan''s sharp eyes were fixed on him, watching closely.


    He thought for a split second about what the CEO was thinking, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind because he knew he had to focus.


    Putting his feet on the scale, the cold metal barely felt like it hit them as he stood tall and flexed his muscles.


    He stood with his back straight, letting the scale settle, feeling every set of eyes in the room on him.


    He forced himself to rx by taking a deep breath.


    The pressure of the expectations was heavy, but it wasn''t enough to distract him.


    The official nced down at the numbers on the scale, giving a nod. "185 even!" he called out, loud enough for everyone to hear.


    There was a moment of silence, then a few murmurs from the crowd.


    It was a perfect weight for middleweight, showing that Damon hade in exactly on point.


    He had prepared well, nost-minute struggles, no draining weight cuts.


    Damon had put in the work, and it showed.


    He stepped off the scale, his body still flexed, giving his muscles onest show before reaching for his clothes.


    It was Logan''s turn next. Without a word, he started peeling off his clothes, mirroring Damon''s actions.


    His body, though shorter at 5''11", was just as impressive, if not even more chiseled.


    His muscles were tight, well-defined, and his confidence seemed to radiate from every inch of his frame.


    Logan might have been shorter, but his bodynguage screamed confidence. He was here to fight.


    As he stepped up to the scale, there was a visibleparison between the two.


    Where Damon towered, Logan lookedpact, ready to spring into action at any moment.


    He flexed his muscles, a cocky grin shing across his face as he waited for the official to read the weight.


    "185 even!" the official called, just as Logan had expected.


    There were approving nods all around. Both fighters had hit the mark perfectly, showing they were serious about this match.


    No one had cut corners. No one had taken shortcuts. It was all business now.


    As Logan jumped off the scale, his cocky grin returning, he walked right up to Damon.


    They stood chest to chest, neither willing to back down or break eye contact.


    It was a silent standoff, both men sizing each other up.


    Damon was the first to break the silence, his voice steady and taunting. "You''re quiet. You nervous?" he said, smirking just enough to get under Logan''s skin.


    Cameras shed, capturing the intensity of the moment as media and spectators leaned in, eager to see any spark ignite between them.


    Logan''s smirk faltered just a bit, but he quickly recovered. "We''ll see," he replied, his voice low and almost venomous.


    But before anything else could escte, Ronan ck strode over, his presence immediately diffusing the growing tension. "Good job, boys," Ronan said, his voicemanding but calm.


    "You made weight, you''ve done your part. Now go to the back, suit up, and get ready. We''re here to put on a fucking show."


    Both Damon and Logan nodded, though neither broke their stare.


    Ronan pped both of them on the shoulder, turning them toward the back.


    They headed to the back, nked by their respective coaches, along with the assistant coaches who had been working closely with them throughout training camp.


    Donald Whittier and the rest of Team Whittier followed Damon, speaking quietly, offeringst-minute pointers and encouragement.


    On the other side, Logan walked with Balim Chemasov and his team, their tone more intense, less about pep talks and more about final instructions for the fight.


    Meanwhile, the other fighters from both teams, along with a few officials and staff members, made their way to the chairs set up near the octagon.


    They settled in, ready to watch the uing match.


    These fighters weren''t just there to spectate; they were taking mental notes, sizing up theirpetition, studying every move, every mistake.

 Chapter 143: Chapter 143: The Journey Begins here

    In the backroom, Damon finished putting on his fight attire, adjusting the waistband of his shorts as he looked into the mirror.


    His eyes traced the name on his pants, Whittier Team, stitched proudly above the UFA logo.


    But it wasn''t the team name that made him pause, it was that logo. UFA.


    He stared at it for a long moment, letting it sink in. He was here. Really, really here.


    The realization hit him harder than any punch he''d ever taken.


    All the years of grinding, the countless sacrifices, and the pain of those early days, it had all led him to this moment.


    It wasn''t just any fight, it was everything he had worked for wasing together in that one fight.


    Two years ago, he had been on the streets with his mother, scraping by, fighting in backyards just to survive.


    That day¡­ that fateful day when he got knocked out.


    He lost a match, but in return, he gained something more valuable than he could ever have imagined, the system.


    Since then, his life had flipped upside down.


    He had gone from a nobody to someone who was now standing on the verge of something big.


    Something life-changing. And now, as he stood here, it finally began to set in.


    He was making his dreame true, not just for himself but for his mother, for all those hard nights they''d endured together.


    Damon''s thoughts drifted to the first autograph he''d ever signed, for that kid he''d met in Stockton.


    ''Stockton'', he thought, a small smile creeping onto his face. It felt like a lifetime ago.


    He missed it in a way, the gritty streets, the rawness of it all. But he wasn''t that same kid anymore.


    He''de too far to look back now.


    He shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. This wasn''t the time for nostalgia.


    He needed to focus, to get his head in the game. The moment was too big to let his mind wander.


    Turning back to the mirror, he exhaled deeply, clenching his fists, trying to center himself.


    He looked at his reflection, at the strong, disciplined fighter staring back at him.


    ''This is it'', he told himself.


    This is where it all begins.


    With a deep breath, Damon continued hyping himself up, feeling the energy build inside him.


    His body was ready, his mind was sharp, and now¡­ now it was time to show the world what Damon Cross was made of.


    Damon stepped out of the backroom and entered the locker room, where the rest of the team was sitting.


    Even though they looked calm, he could tell that their eyes were still full of excitement.


    Whittier nced at Damon with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his face.


    "Took you long enough," Whittier said, crossing his arms. "Thought you were having cold feet for a second there."


    Damonughed, shaking his head. "Never," he replied with confidence.


    He nced at his coaches, ready for anyst-minute advice. "Any tips or advice before we head out?"


    Whittier leaned forward, his expression bing more serious. "You''ve got all the tools, Damon, just remember what we worked on. You''re taller than Logan, so use your reach. If you control the distance, you control the fight."


    Another coach chimed in, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, you''ve got the length. Keep him at the end of your jab, and don''t let him close that distance. Logan''s probably looking to take you down, especially with that wrestling background of his. Keep him away from you, don''t give him what he wants."


    Whittier tapped his chin thoughtfully, then added, "And mix it up. Don''t be predictable. You''ve got Muay Thai, the art of eight limbs, show him that. Start off with your usual low kicks, soften him up, but don''t linger on them for too long. Switch it up. Use your punches, elbows, knees.


    Make it hard for him to guess what''sing next."


    Damon listened carefully, soaking in the advice like a sponge.


    Another coach stepped forward, cing a hand on Damon''s shoulder. "Stay sharp, stay light on your feet. You''ve trained for this. You know what to do. Just trust yourself, keep him guessing, and don''t give him any room to work."


    "Got it," Damon said, locking eyes with Whittier. "I''m going to control that distance. I''ll stay unpredictable."


    Whittier smiled, giving Damon a firm nod. "Good. Now go out there and show everyone why you''re here."


    A lot of people were excited in the big room. The cage was set up in the middle, and lights from above lit it up.


    On either side, the two teams sat in their respective corners, wearing their colored shirts, Team Chemasov in red and Team Whittier in blue each side a sea of contrasting colors.


    Logan had just finished his entrance, pacing around inside the cage, bouncing on his toes with a smug grin stered on his face.


    The room''s energy spiked as the door swung open for the next entrance.


    All eyes turned toward Damon, who stood tall, Team Whittier''s shirt hugging his frame as he made his way toward the official.


    His coaches trailed closely behind him.


    The sound of pping and whistling filled the room as his team rallied behind him, offering encouragement.


    Music thumped faintly through the room, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat.


    Damon kept his eyes on the path ahead and took slow, deliberate steps.


    He could feel the pressure, kept his nerves in check.


    As he approached the official, he pulled off his shirt, revealing his lean, chiseled physique.


    He handed the shirt to one of his coaches without a word.


    The official stepped forward, giving him a quick nod before beginning the pre-fight checks.


    "You got your mouthguard in?" the official asked, eyes scanning over him.


    Damon nodded, showing the mouthguard briefly before clenching his jaw back down.


    "Cup in ce?" the official continued, tapping Damon''s waist lightly to signal the check.


    "Yeah," Damon replied firmly.


    With a quick motion, the official dipped two fingers into a jar of Vaseline and smeared it over Damon''s cheekbones and brow.


    The grease shined under the bright lights, ensuring there''d be less friction for cuts during the fight.


    The final touch of preparation.


    "All set. Go get ''em," the official said, giving him a pat on the back.


    Damon gave a subtle nod and turned toward the cage. As he walked forward, the noise from his team grew louder.


    The cage door opened, and the metal nged, weing him inside the octagon.


    He stepped over the threshold, his muscles loose but primed, every step bringing him closer to the center.


    He couldn''t hear anything else now, no music, no crowd, just the quiet hum of focus in his mind as he made his way to his corner.


    It was game time.

 Chapter 144: Chapter 144: Elimination I: Damon Cross Vs. Logan Walker

    The cage door mmed shut with a loud ng, echoing through the room like a final call to battle.


    Damon and Logan stood across from each other, separated by only a few feet of canvas, the steel fencing surrounding them in every direction.


    Referee Hank Binn, known for his calm demeanor and sharp eye, stood between the fighters.


    His presence alonemanded attention, his reputation for controlling even the most chaotic fights preceding him.


    He raised his hand, his deep voice cutting through the ambient noise. "Alright, fighters, listen up. You both know the rules. Protect yourself at all times, follow my instructions at all times. If I tell you to stop, you stop. Touch gloves now if you want."


    Damon''s eyes locked onto Logan''s, neither fighter even considering the offer of touching gloves. Their hands remained by their sides, their focus unshakable.


    Hank gave a small nod, not surprised in the least. He stepped back, giving them space. "Alright, let''s keep this clean. Let''s fight."


    Outside the cage, the coaches were poised, sitting on the edge of their seats, ready to shout tips and instructions.


    Whittier sat with his arms crossed, a sharp look of focus on his face.


    His wrestling coach sat beside him, leaning forward, already tense and ready to yell out guidance.


    Across the cage, Balim Chemasov and his team sat equally ready, with Balim''s usual calm intensity radiating from him.


    His striking coach sat next to him, hands on his knees, already leaning into the fight.


    The tension inside and outside the cage was electric.


    Both coaches knew that as soon as the fight began, it would be a battle not only of skill but of strategy, yelling tips and corrections in the heat of the moment could be the difference between victory and defeat.


    Both fighters took their stance, eyes locked. There was no turning back now.


    The bell rang, sharp and piercing, signaling the start of the fight.


    Damon stepped forward cautiously, his hands up, already thinking of his strategy.


    He wanted to take it slow, test the waters first, establish his distance.


    His game n, as Whittier had drilled into him, was to keep Logan at bay with his low kicks, controlling the range and dictating the pace.


    He circled to his left, feeling out the distance, his eyes locked on Logan, who mirrored his movement.


    Damon''s first kick snapped out with a sharp thud,nding cleanly on Logan''s lead leg. Logan grunted, barely flinching as he took the blow.


    Damon fired off another quick low kick, this time aiming for the inside of Logan''s thigh. It connected with a solid smack.


    But Logan wasn''t here to y the waiting game.


    Instead of backing off or adjusting to Damon''s patient approach, Logan charged forward aggressively, closing the distance in an instant.


    His gloves came up high, and he immediately pressured Damon with a barrage of strikes.


    A stiff jab followed by a wild overhand right forced Damon to retreat, his hands instinctivelying up to cover.


    Damon backpedaled, his mind racing. This wasn''t the cautious back-and-forth he had expected.


    Logan was in his face, forcing the action early, trying to overwhelm him with sheer aggression.


    Logan followed up with a looping hook, which Damon managed to block, but the force of the blow pushed him back further into the cage.


    Logan kepting, mixing in feints with stiff jabs, trying to trap Damon against the fence.


    Damon felt his back brush against the cage, and instinctively he pivoted, slipping out to the side before Logan could pin him.


    But Logan was relentless.


    He lunged forward again, this time faking a jab before ducking low, clearly hunting for a takedown.


    Damon reacted quickly, sprawling as Logan shot in, his hips sinking back to defend the takedown.


    Logan, however, didn''t give up on his attack, mping his arms around Damon''s waist and driving forward with all his strength.


    Damon gritted his teeth, fighting to stay upright as Logan tried to muscle him to the ground.


    For a brief moment, it looked like Logan might seed, his grip tightening as he lifted Damon slightly off the mat.


    But Damon''s footwork held steady.


    He circled again, using his leverage to break Logan''s hold and shove him off, creating just enough space to reset.


    Logan growled in frustration, immediately closing the gap once more, firing off a flurry of punches.


    Damon slipped most of them, but a sharp left hook clipped him on the side of the jaw, snapping his head back slightly.


    Feeling the sting, Damon knew he had to adjust quickly.


    Logan wasn''t going to let him dictate the pace, so he needed to make Logan pay for his reckless aggression.


    Logan came forward again, throwing a wild right hook, but this time Damon stepped back just enough to avoid it.


    As Logan ovemitted, Damon snapped out a crisp teep kick, his foot sinking into Logan''s midsection, forcing him to pause for a moment.


    Damon took advantage of the brief window, firing off another hard low kick, this onending flush on the same leg he had targeted earlier.


    Logan winced but pushed through the pain, still charging forward like a man possessed.


    Logan swung another heavy hook, but Damon ducked under it, slipping to the outside.


    He countered immediately with a sharp right cross, followed by a left hook that grazed Logan''s temple.


    Logan staggered for a brief second, but his toughness showed as he quickly regained his footing and lunged forward again.


    Damon''s legs moved quickly, circling around the cage, keeping his distance.


    He peppered Logan with quick jabs, trying to slow the onught. Logan, though, was in full attack mode.


    He lunged forward, catching Damon with a stiff jab that snapped his head back.


    Then, without warning, Logan shot in again, this time faster, wrapping his arms around Damon''s waist and driving him into the cage.


    Damon''s back hit the fence with a dull thud. Logan was relentless, pressing his weight into Damon as he attempted to drag him to the mat.


    Damon''s hands immediately shot down to control Logan''s wrists, fighting the takedown with everything he had.


    His feet shuffled along the cage, trying to maintain his bnce.

 Chapter 145: Chapter 145: Elimination II: Damon Cross Vs. Logan Walker

    "Stay on your feet!" Whittier yelled from outside the cage, and his voice could be heard over all the noise.


    Damon twisted his body, using his forearm to push Logan''s head down, making it difficult for him toplete the takedown.


    Logan grunted in frustration, but he kept his pressure on, forcing Damon to stay on the defensive.


    Damon''s mind raced. He knew he couldn''t stay pinned against the cage like this.


    He needed to create space, get Logan off him, and get back to controlling the distance.


    With a sharp twist of his hips, Damon managed to free one leg and nt his foot on the cage.


    In one swift motion, he pushed off, breaking Logan''s grip just enough to slide out from the side.


    He was free, but Logan wasn''t slowing down.


    Logan charged again, this time throwing a wild overhand right, but Damon ducked under it and countered with a sharp elbow to Logan''s cheek.


    The strikended cleanly, snapping Logan''s head to the side.


    Damon followed up with a hard knee to the body, causing Logan to gasp in pain.


    Logan stepped back for a moment, clearly feeling the effects of the body shot, but he quickly shook it off, resetting his stance anding forward again.


    Damon took a deep breath, knowing he had to stay sharp.


    Logan was tough, and his aggression was hard to handle, but Damon could see the cracks starting to form.


    He just needed to stay patient, pick his shots, and avoid getting caught up in the whirlwind of Logan''s attacks.


    He fired off another leg kick, this onending hard on Logan''s already battered lead leg.


    Logan winced, his movement slowing slightly, but he pressed forward anyway, swinging a heavy right hand at Damon''s head.


    Damon ducked under the punch and fired back with a quick left hook of his own, catching Logan on the chin.


    Logan stumbled back slightly, his feet unsteady, but his eyes burned with determination.


    He wasn''t going down easy.


    As Logan came forward again, Damon knew it was time to mix things up.


    He feinted another low kick, drawing Logan''s attention to his legs, then suddenly snapped his leg up high, executing a perfect question mark kick.


    Logan''s eyes widened, caught off guard by the unexpected strike.


    The kicknded flush on the side of his head, sending him stumbling back, clearly dazed.


    Outside the cage, Whittier smiled, impressed with Damon''s timing and creativity.


    Damon pressed forward, sensing an opportunity, but Logan quickly recovered, shaking off the effects of the kick and resetting his stance.


    The fight was far from over.


    Both fighters stood at the center of the cage now, breathing heavily but still ready for more.


    Logan wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes locked on Damon.


    Damon, meanwhile, kept his guard high, his legs bouncing lightly as he prepared for the next exchange.


    The battle was fierce, and neither fighter was backing down.


    Damon took a deep breath, resetting his stance and making the decision to take control. If Logan wanted a brawl, Damon was going to give him one, but on his terms.


    With renewed aggression, Damon surged forward, no longer looking to just keep the distance.


    He pressed the action, throwing a sharp one-twobination that forced Logan to retreat.


    Logan''s guard came up high, but Damon wasn''t done.


    He followed up with a hard body kick that smacked against Logan''s ribs, causing a grunt of pain.


    Logan tried to reset, but Damon didn''t let him breathe. He stepped in close, firing a quick jab that snapped Logan''s head back.


    Logan, now on the defensive, threw out a wild hook in retaliation, but Damon saw iting and slipped to the side.


    He countered immediately with a hard right cross, the punchnding flush on Logan''s jaw.


    Logan stumbled back, his eyes wide as Damon pressed the advantage.


    Damon wasn''t going to let him off easy.


    He followed up with a powerful left hook to the body, then another leg kick, hammering Logan''s lead leg.


    Logan winced, clearly feeling the damage starting to pile up.


    From the corner, Whittier yelled, "That''s it, Damon! Keep the pressure, but stay smart!"


    Damon kept the pressure on, now dictating the pace of the fight.


    He threw a series of quick jabs, keeping Logan at bay, then suddenly shifted gears with a hard elbow aimed at Logan''s temple.


    Logan ducked just in time, but Damon immediately transitioned into a clinch, throwing a knee up into Logan''s midsection.


    Logan gasped, doubling over slightly, but Damon wasn''t done.


    He broke the clinch and threw a hard right hook that clipped Logan''s chin.


    Logan staggered back, his eyes blinking rapidly as he struggled to regain his footing.


    Sensing the momentum shift, Damon poured on the pressure.


    He faked another leg kick, and as Logan dropped his guard to defend, Damon leaped in with a flying knee that just barely missed Logan''s face.


    The crowd outside the cage gasped, but Logan managed to slip out of the way at thest second.


    Logan, now visibly frustrated, tried to close the distance again, but Damon kept moving, circling to his left and firing off more jabs.


    Logan swung wildly, trying to find an opening, but Damon''s footwork kept him just out of reach.


    Logan''s frustration grew as he lunged in, desperate for a takedown.


    He shot for Damon''s legs, but Damon sprawled perfectly, stuffing the takedown and immediately retaliating with a sharp uppercut thatnded clean on Logan''s chin.


    Logan stumbled, clearly hurt now, but he refused to go down.


    He backed up toward the cage, his eyes wide and his breathing in ragged gasps.


    Damon stalked him, moving in like a predator, his strikesnding with precision and power.


    Logan fired off a desperate hook, but Damon ducked under it and countered with a hard right cross that mmed into Logan''s jaw.


    Logan''s legs wobbled, but he stayed on his feet, his heart keeping him in the fight.


    Damon pressed forward, throwing another leg kick that buckled Logan''s lead leg.


    Logan grimaced, limping now as he tried to regain his footing, but Damon wasn''t giving him any room to breathe.


    Another sharp jab followed by a vicious right hooknded square on Logan''s temple. His guard was faltering, and Damon knew he was close to breaking.


    But Logan wasn''t done yet. Out of sheer desperation, Logan threw a wild overhand right, hoping to catch Damon off guard.


    Damon barely slipped the punch, his reflexes keeping him one step ahead.


    He responded with a vicious body kick thatnded flush, sending Logan stumbling back into the cage.


    Damon could hear Whittier from the corner yelling, "Finish him! Don''t let him recover!"


    Damon stepped forward, his eyes locked on Logan, ready to end it.


    The fight had swung in his favor, and he wasn''t about to let the momentum slip away.

 Chapter 146: Chapter 146: Elimination III: Damon Cross Vs. Logan Walker

    Damon was ready to unleash a final barrage of powerful punches,mitting his entire body into the strikes.


    He could feel the adrenaline pumping.


    This was it, the moment to end the fight. He had Logan right where he wanted him.


    But just as Damon was about to throw his first punch, the sharp, shrill sound of the bell echoed through the cage.


    BEEHHHH!!


    The round was over.


    Hank Binn immediately stepped between them, his hands raised as he called out, "Stop! Stop!"


    Damon froze mid-motion, his fist hovering in the air. His breath came out in heavy bursts, his heart still racing from the intensity of the fight.


    He stepped back slowly, his eyes locked on Logan, who looked like he had just been granted a brief moment of mercy.


    Logan leaned against the cage, his chest heaving, his face battered and bruised but still standing. The referee''s intervention had saved him, for now.


    Damon shook his head, taking a deep breath, knowing he had to stayposed.


    He had been so close, but the round was over, and he would need to reset for the next.


    Damon walked back to his corner, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.


    For the first time in his career, he had a team backing him up, people in his corner who believed in him, and it felt different.


    As he sat down on the stool, Whittier and the other coaches immediately surrounded him.


    One coach handed him water, while another poured some over his head, cooling him down from the intense heat of the fight.


    Whittier crouched beside him, calm but firm. "You''re doing great, Damon. That aggression at the end? Beautiful. But listen, don''t get reckless. You''rending hard, but you need to keep that distance again, okay?


    Logan''s going to try to shoot on you if you get too close."


    Another coach chimed in, patting Damon''s shoulder. "Those leg kicks were perfect, man. You had him limping, but don''t just rely on them. Mix it up with body shots and knees. Use that Muay Thai, you''ve got the reach, so make him pay for every step he takes toward you."


    Whittier added, "He''s slowing down, but you can''t let up. Keep controlling the distance. That''s your fight, Damon. You control the distance, you control the fight. Logan''s tough, but he''s getting frustrated. Don''t give him any momentum."


    Damon nodded, absorbing their words as he gulped down water.


    His chest heaved with each breath, but he wasser-focused.


    The encouragement and advice settled his mind, and he knew what he had to do next.


    On the other side of the cage, Logan sat on his stool, breathing heavily, his face red from the strikes he''d endured.


    Bm Chemasov crouched beside him, his thick ent cutting through the noise in the arena.


    "You are too wild, brother," Bm growled, his voice low and intense. "I tell you, control, control. You rush too much. You want to fight him on ground, yes? Then be smart. Don''t just charge in like bull.


    Set it up!"


    He pped Logan''s thigh, emphasizing his point. "You have wrestling, yes, but you no get close if you keep walking into punches. You need to move head! Slip! Then shoot! Wear him down.


    He''s tired too, don''t forget."


    Logan''s striking coach leaned in, wiping sweat from his brow. "Your striking''s good, but you''re getting caught. Fake the overhand and go for the body, then get in for the takedown. Chemasov''s right¡ªyou need to time it better."


    Bm grabbed Logan by the back of his neck, pulling him closer. "You show him what wrestler can do. Take him down. Break him. This fight is yours if you control it. You let him hit you like that again, I will hit you after the fight!"


    Logan nodded, breathing heavy but more focused.


    Bm stepped back, watching closely as the seconds ticked down before the next round. "Now go show him. This is war."


    The time finished, and both corners stood up, taking out the stools as the coaches left the cage.


    Damon and Logan stood, bouncing on their toes, each man''s face set in determination.


    They both met in the center of the cage, eyes locked, not a word spoken but a thousand unspoken messages exchanged.


    BEEEEH!


    The sound of the horn signaled the start of Round Two.


    Another five minutes on the clock.


    Both fighters knew that if they couldn''t end it here, the third and final round would be the deciding factor.


    But by the look in their eyes, neither fighter wanted to leave the decision in the hands of the judges.


    Damon moved first, staying light on his feet, flicking out a jab to test Logan''s range.


    Logan, however, came in fast, throwing a hard overhand right, aiming to close the distance.


    Damon slipped just enough to avoid the punch, firing back a counter left hook that clipped Logan on the chin, sending a small shockwave through the cage.


    Logan wasn''t backing down.


    He lunged forward, attempting another takedown, but Damon sprawled, using his length to keep Logan at bay.


    Logan drove forward, his hands sping around Damon''s legs, but Damon dug his feet into the canvas, hopping backward to create space.


    Damon pivoted and threw a sharp inside leg kick, followed by a right cross that snapped Logan''s head back.


    Logan staggered but nted his feet, swinging a wild hook that Damon blocked.


    The power in the punch could be felt through Damon''s forearms, but he stayedposed, sticking to his game n.


    Damon moved in closer, feinting with his left hand before throwing a knee that just missed Logan''s midsection.


    The fight was bing a chess match of violence, both fighters looking for the opportunity to finish.


    Logan pressed forward again, determined to get the fight to the ground.


    He shot for another takedown, this time with more precision, grabbing Damon''s leg and driving him backward into the cage.


    Damon''s back hit the fence, and Logan managed to get one of Damon''s legs up, trying to sweep the other out from under him.


    But Damon reacted quickly.


    He mmed an elbow into Logan''s temple, loosening the grip around his leg.


    He followed it with another elbow, this time to the side of Logan''s head.


    Logan grunted, momentarily dazed, giving Damon the opening to push him off and circle back to the center of the cage.

 Chapter 147 Elimination IV: Damon Cross Vs. Logan Walker

    Balim''s voice cut through the noise, loud andmanding. "Be patient! Don''t rush!" he yelled at Logan from the side of the cage.


    Logan, breathing heavily, heard his coach but his frustration was evident.


    The round had just started, and he had already gone for more than two takedown attempts, each one failing to find its mark.


    Damon had sprawled, countered, and stayed light on his feet, making it difficult for Logan to execute his game n.


    Now, Logan took a step back, shaking his head as if to clear the frustration.


    He knew he needed to slow down, control his movements, and pick his moments.


    Damon, on the other side, felt a surge of pride.


    His training was being put to the test, and each failed takedown attempt by Logan only meant one thing: his work was paying off.


    Every sprawling drill, every counter-move drilled in camp was serving him well.


    Damon bounced on his feet, his muscles coiled, waiting for Logan''s next move.


    He was d his training was shining through in real time, it meant he wasn''t just surviving, he was learning, polishing his skills as he fought.


    Logan circled, eyes locked on Damon, and for the first time in the fight, he seemed to be taking his time.


    Damon wasn''t about to let his guard down, though.


    He threw a sharp jab, testing Logan''s patience, followed by a low leg kick that thudded against Logan''s thigh.


    Logan flinched but stayed calm, absorbing the kick as he took a step forward, his eyes still calcting.


    Damon smirked, feeling the fight slowly tilting in his favor.


    The patience of his opponent was a double-edged sword, it gave Logan focus, but it also allowed Damon to dictate the pace.


    Suddenly, Logan threw a quick one-twobination, forcing Damon to duck and weave.


    Damon countered with another leg kick, chopping at Logan''s base, making sure to keep him guessing.


    From the corner, Whittier yelled, "Stay on him, Damon! Keep working the legs!"


    Damon nodded subtly, keeping his distance and sticking to the n.


    Damon threw a powerful leg kick, which Logan managed to check, but Damon had no intention of letting up.


    He immediately followed with a quick left hook aimed at Logan''s side.


    Logan barely dodged it, his reflexes sharp, but in that moment of defense, Logan saw an opportunity and threw a counter punch.


    Damon, always watching, dropped low under the punch, expertly slipping it, and with a burst of power, he surged forward, driving Logan toward the cage with a solid push.


    Logan''s back hit the fence with a thud, and for a brief moment, the fight paused.


    Both men locked eyes, their breaths heavy, their bodies coiled like springs.


    Logan braced himself, expecting more of Damon''s measured strikes. But Damon had something else nned, something Logan wouldn''t seeing.


    Damon kept the pressure on, throwing a few sharp body shots to keep Logan on the defensive, making him focus low.


    Each punchnded with a satisfying thud against Logan''s ribs, forcing him to lower his guard.


    Damon was setting the trap, making Logan believe the fight was still focused on these short, hard strikes.


    Then, without warning, Damon shifted his weight, feinting a jab to Logan''s midsection.


    Logan instinctively dropped his hands to block, and that''s when Damon struck.


    With explosive power, Damonunched into the air, driving his knee straight toward Logan''s head.


    PAHHHH!


    The sound echoed through the room, a deafening crack that made the crowd gasp.


    Logan''s eyes widened in shock just as the knee connected flush with his jaw.


    The impact was brutal, his body instantly going limp as the force of the blow knocked him backward.


    Logan copsed, his body crumpling against the cage before sliding to the canvas,pletely motionless.


    The room fell silent for a split second, stunned by the suddenness of the knockout.


    The jumping knee hade out of nowhere, executed with perfect timing and devastating uracy.


    Damon stood over his fallen opponent, his chest heaving, the adrenaline coursing through his veins.


    The fight was over. He had set the trap, and Logan had walked right into it.


    But even as the silence lingered and the medics rushed to Logan''s side, Damon didn''t look down at his fallen opponent.


    Instead, something deeperpelled him to lock eyes with someone else. He turned his gaze toward Bm Chemasov.


    Standing over Logan''s unconscious body, Damon stared at Chemasov, his chest still heaving from the intensity of the fight.


    It wasn''t just a stare, it was something more, a subtle challenge, a deration without words.


    Damon didn''t know if it was his growing confidence, adrenaline, or something else driving him to do it, but in that moment, he felt the need to direct his attention to the legendary coach.


    Bm wasn''t one to miss such moments.


    He stood there, arms crossed, and though his fighter had just been knocked out cold, Chemasov''s expression didn''t waver.


    Instead of anger or frustration, he smirked, acknowledging the unspoken message Damon was sending.


    Damon smirked back.


    For a moment, the exchange between fighter and coach went unnoticed by most, still stunned by the ferocity of the jaw-breaking knee.


    But that silent connection, one of mutual respect, maybe even foreshadowing.


    It wasn''t until one of Damon''s teammates broke the silence with an excited cheer that the rest of the room snapped out of their daze.


    The cheers erupted, filling the space as Team Whittier surged toward the cage, pping and shouting in celebration.


    Damon''s team poured into the octagon, crowding around him, lifting his spirits even higher as they patted him on the back.


    All the while, medics were tending to Logan, who had started groaning as consciousness slowly returned.


    The fight was over, but for Damon, it felt like something much bigger had just begun.


    Hank Binn grabbed Damon''s wrist and stepped into the center of the cage.


    The noise of the surrounding fighters began to fade as the referee prepared to make the official announcement.


    With the microphone in his hand, Hank''s voice echoed through the arena.


    "And the winner by KO, advancing to the Quarterfinals... Damon Cross!"


    As he raised Damon''s hand high into the air, the cheers erupted once more.


    Damon''s teammates roared in celebration, pping him on the back while cameras shed from every direction, capturing the moment.


    This win was just a step toward his ultimate goal. He allowed himself a brief smile before ncing toward his coaches, giving them a nod of gratitude.

 Chapter 148 Media Frenzy and healing up

    The media exploded following Damon''s stunning knockout victory.


    Social media tforms like Chirper were buzzing with posts andments, with fans, analysts, and casual viewers all weighing in on the fight.


    @FightFreak101: "Bro, that knee?! Damon Cross just sent Logan to the shadow realm. I knew he was the real deal! #KOOfTheYear #SupremeFighter"


    @MMA_Takes: "Lol at all the Logan fans who thought he had a chance. Damon''s been a beast from Day 1. Called it! #TeamWhittier #DamonCross"


    @CasualObserver123: "Y''all acting like you didn''t hype Logan up to win. Now you''re switching sides? Sit down! Damon''s been the truth this whole time. #FakeFans #SwitchUp"


    @Cornhubisgood: "I gotta admit, I thought Logan''s wrestling would give him the edge, but DAMN, that knee was brutal. Damon came to y. Respect. #SupremeFighter"


    Even the analysts were jumping in, with some breaking down the technique behind Damon''s knockout and others trying to analyze where Logan went wrong.


    Commentators on sportsworks reyed the knee over and over again, emphasizing Damon''s precise timing and Logan''s rush into danger.


    @FightBreakdown: "Damon''s setup was brilliant. Feinted the punch, got Logan leaning, and then BOOM¡ªjumping knee straight to the chin. It''s all about controlling the distance. #TacticalKO #Masterss"


    But not everyone was on Damon''s side.


    Some die-hard "Logan" fans stuck to their guns if he even had fans.


    @LoganLoyalist(fake ount): "Logan''s still a better fighter. He just got unlucky. That knee was a fluke. Damon won''t make it much further, mark my words. #TeamLogan #LoganWalker"


    The battle between fans of both fighters raged online, with each side doubling down on their support.


    @SwitchKickKing: "Logan fans scrambling for excuses after he got put to sleep. Damon''s taking this whole thing, no cap. #KOOfTheSeason #DamonCross"


    @CasualFighter101:


    "Does the guy even have fans? Dude came outta nowhere and now everyone''s acting like they''ve been on his side since Day 1. ?? #BandwagonAlert"


    That post sparked some debate, with others quickly jumping in to defend Damon''s growing fanbase.


    @JjfightTom:


    "Y''all acting like Damon didn''t just knock Logan out cold. He''s got fans now, whether you like it or not. #RespectTheKO"


    @Maxykan:


    "Bro, after that knee? He just earned himself a whole fanbase. #DamonCross #KOKing"


    @Suiiiiiiiiiiii:


    "Damon doesn''t need fans, his skills are doing all the talking. Keep sleeping on him if you want to. #CrossedLoganOut"


    The conversations kept rolling in, with Damon''s knockout serving as the biggest highlight of the night.


    One ount added fuel to the fire with a bold statement:


    @JasmineGlow??:


    "He''s so hot when he KOed him."


    But someone below wasn''t having it:


    @ThirstControl:


    "Thirsty bitch."


    Meanwhile, the lowestment of the thread stood out:


    @Mathewfirstfan:


    "Damon is the GOAT, I once got his autograph."


    This sparked an entirely new conversation:


    @Ilovebigbulkymen:


    "Hold up, stop the cap. You acting like he''s Jon Jonas or something. ??"


    @KsovacisLanu:


    "So much zing, bro. The man ain''t even in the UFA yet."


    @IamHim:


    "He ain''t even a champion! Rx, my guy."


    @PhonePolice:


    "Someone take away this dude''s phone. He out here wildin''. ??"


    @ColdReality:


    "L take. Come back when he''s actually held a title."


    Thements quickly started piling up, but amidst the bacsh, a few voices came to defend Mathewfirstfan:


    @JustHereForTheKO:


    "Let the man enjoy the moment, y''all. Damon just made a statement, and this dude''s been a fan since day one. Respect. #DayOneSupporter"


    The debate continued, but the knockout had done more than win a fight, it had ignited conversations across the fanbase.


    Damon''s presence was clearly growing, for better or worse.


    Damon was in the shower, still grinning, letting the warm water wash away the sweat and the intensity of the fight.


    The adrenaline from the knockout still pulsed through him, and he couldn''t help but relive the moment in his mind, the sound of the knee connecting, and the satisfaction of victory.


    After a while, he decided to open his status interface. With a sharp DING!! the familiar screen shed before him.


    [CONGRATULATIONS ON ADVANCING TO THE QUARTERFINALS]


    REWARD: 100 COINS


    Damon grinned even wider. He knew exactly what he was going to do with the coins.


    Now, he had enough to buy the Speed Enhancement Elixir.


    It was something he''d been eyeing for a while now, he could now efficiently train his reaction and striking speed.


    "This is gonna be good," he thought to himself, his mind already nning how he''d incorporate the new advantage into his training.


    Thinking ahead, Damon considered where he might stand by the end of The Supreme Fighter.


    If things went well, he could reach an S rank or A rank by the time the show wrapped.


    But as much as that would be an achievement, he knew there were already plenty of fighters in the UFA who had that ranking.


    He wouldn''t be special just for reaching it. No, he had to go beyond that, he had to win.


    His eyes flicked back to the system''s coin count: 222 coins in total.


    He calcted it quickly, coins saved from yearly training at home, 50 from qualifying into the house, and 100 now, as a reward for advancing to the quarterfinals, and 7 from the training camp.


    Reflecting on the fight, he felt good. He hadn''t been hit much, and his strategy of maintaining distance had paid off.


    Not only did it keep Logan at bay, but it also minimized the damage he took.


    He opened the system''s elixir shop, scrolling through the items until he found what he was looking for: the Healing Elixir.


    It wasn''t ranked, so its quality never changed.


    The elixir would speed up his recovery by three days, plenty of time for people to notice but not enough to raise suspicion.


    People would probably just credit it to his "natural healing abilities."


    He made the purchase.


    [ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO PURCHASE THE HEALING ELIXIR?]


    [Y/N]


    Damon selected Y.


    [¨C20 SC]


    He smiled as the elixir appeared in his inventory. This was the edge he needed to keep going strong, to maintain that momentum.


    With this elixir, he''d be ready to continue training and push even harder without anyone knowing his secret.


    He didn''t feel bad about using the system''s elixirs. Why not use the edge he had?


    It wasn''t as if the elixirs stayed in his system once they did their job. They weren''t steroids or something illegal.


    They just sped up his recovery, and when the effects wore off, it was all him in the cage.


    While the others helped with training and would raise some eyebrows, again in the octagon, it was all him

 Chapter 149 Healing and Personal information

    As Damon held the elixir, he paused, the weight of it feeling oddly familiar in his hand.


    Thest time he had held one of these, he was back in Stockton, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to make sense of everything.


    He turned around now, ncing at the scar running from his shoulder to his lower back, a constant reminder of his past.


    He smiled wryly. No one in training had asked him about it.


    They didn''t need to. Everyone here had their scars, literal or not.


    Maybe not all of them had been beaten into their skin by their fathers like his had, but every fighter had a story.


    Some of their stories might even be worse than his.


    As he looked at his reflection, his thoughts shifted.


    As he grew, matured, and stood taller, he noticed his Japanese descent showing through more and more.


    It wasn''t something peoplemented on often, but it was there, a part of him he didn''t mind.


    He shook his head, pulling himself out of the spiral of thoughts.


    There was no point in stalling any longer.


    Damon uncapped the elixir and, with one swift motion, gulped down the entire thing.


    The familiar warmth spread through his body, a subtle but immediate effect.


    He could already feel the beginning of the healing process working its way through his muscles and bones.


    Damon took a deep breath and opened the system interface, something he hadn''t done in a long time.


    As the screen appeared before him, he nced at the information disyed:


    [


    NAME: Damon Cross


    NICKNAME: N/A


    AGE: 21


    WEIGHT CLASS: Middleweight


    TITLE:


    STATS


    Physical: D+


    Mentality: B+


    Condition: Exhaustion


    ]


    He frowned, confused. "What the hell?" Damon muttered to himself. Thest time he checked, the system gave him a lot more details than this. Now it seemed too basic, like a stripped-down version of the status he was used to.


    Then, at the bottom of the screen, he noticed a button: [Show Full Information].


    Without hesitation, he pressed it.


    Suddenly, the screen expanded, revealing a much more detailed breakdown:


    [


    PERSONAL INFO


    Name: Damon Cross


    Age: 21


    Nationality: Irish-Japanese


    Physical Information


    Weight: 86 kg / 185 lbs


    Height: 6''2" + (dyed growth due to malnourished condition)


    Reach:


    Arm: 74"


    Leg: 34"


    Fights


    Professional Fights: 3-0


    Unprofessional Fights: 63-1


    Total Fights: 67


    Fighting Style


    Muay Thai: 7.5/10 Mastery


    Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu: 7/10 Mastery


    Wrestling: 1.5/10 Mastery


    Physical Stats: D+(Avr)


    Strength: D+


    Speed: E+


    Stamina: D+


    Endurance: C+


    Agility: D+


    Mental Stats:C-(Avr)


    Tactical Awareness: C+


    Focus: B


    Health


    Current Health: Exhaustion


    Injury Status: No major injuries detected


    Achievements


    Current Ranking: 200+ (World Ranking)


    Division: Middleweight


    Promotional Ranking: N/A


    Damon''s eyes widened as he took in the full scope of his stats. It was a lot more than he had expected.


    Looking back at his height, that "+" symbol made him pause. Dyed growth? Was he still growing?


    He couldn''t help but feel a bit weird about it. At 6''2", he was already towering over most people, and the fact that both his Irish and Japanese heritage weren''t known for producing tall people made it stranger.


    Maybe he was only going to grow an inch or two more, but even that seemed unusual.


    Then again, his bastard of a father had been tall as hell, so maybe that''s where the extra height wasing from.


    His eyes flicked down to his fighting style stats next.


    Seeing the proficiency levels in Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and Wrestling gave him a sense of progress.


    He liked this system feature(proficiency), it was showing not just individual moves, but his overall mastery in each martial art.


    While there hadn''t been any major changes in his fighting abilities, he knew from looking at his physical and mental stats that he had made real progress since he first started.


    He let out a breath, about to close the interface, when something made him pause again.


    200+ ranked in world ranking.


    "Wait, what the hell?" he muttered, staring at it again. 200+? Holy shit.


    He''d known he was doing well, but seeing that number made everything real.


    He couldn''t help but let out a low whistle.


    It was surreal. Just two years ago, he was a homeless kid scraping by, and now he was ranked somewhere in the top 200 fighters in the world.


    He grinned, feeling the weight of that aplishment sink in.


    Damon stepped out of the bathroom, running a hand over his clean-shaven face. At 21, he still couldn''t grow much facial hair, but he shrugged it off. He quickly changed into his clothes and made his way out.


    As he entered the locker room, his teammates were gathered, chatting and exchanging congrattions.


    They smiled and nodded as Damon approached, clearly still happy from his knockout victory.


    Momentster, Whittier entered, his usual calm butmanding presence filling the room.


    He pped his hands together to get everyone''s attention.


    "A big congrattions to Damon for securing the win," Whittier began, his eyes scanning the group. "Because of that, we now have the power to choose the next matchup."


    He motioned toward Damon, using him as an example to encourage the others. "Damon executed the game n perfectly. He kept his cool, stayed focused, and didn''t let Logan get inside his head. That''s what we need from all of you in your fights."


    Whittier continued, "If you listen, train smart, and fight with precision like Damon did, we''ll keep control in thispetition. Remember, it''s not just about strength or speed, it''s about having the right mindset and sticking to the n. Damon''s fight is proof of that."


    The team nodded, clearly inspired by both Damon''s performance and Whittier''s words.


    The atmosphere was positive, but everyone knew the pressure was still on. The next fight was just around the corner, and everyone was hungry for their shot.


    Damon had set the tone for the team, his dominant victory a clear example of what needed to be done.


    All they had to do now was win and keep the momentum going.


    Whittier pped his hands together, his voice carrying through the room. "Alright, now go rest up for the day. Tomorrow, I''ll take you all out to wind down. Enjoy yourselves, but remember, after that, it''s back to training."


    Damon exchanged nces with his teammates, feeling relief and excitement.


    A day off was well-earned, but they all knew the real grind was far from over.


    The fights would only get tougher, and with each victory, the pressure to maintain their streak would grow.


    Still, a break would give them time to recharge before diving back into the chaos.

 Chapter 150 Congratulations From Kofi

    The mood in Team Whittier''s van was electric, buzzing with post-fight energy as they rode back from the facility.


    Damon sat near the front, quietly listening to his teammates, who were chatting excitedly, specting about the next fight and where Whittier might take them tomorrow.


    "Yo, I swear, Coach better be taking us somewhere with some food," said Miles, wiping his face dramatically as if exhausted from training. "I need something better than the crap we''ve been eating at the house. I want a damn steak."


    One of the other fightersughed. "Bro, all you think about is food. But nah, I''m with you. Maybe we hit up a nice restaurant, get some proper grub."


    "Man, I don''t care where we go, as long as it''s somewhere we can blow off some steam," another fighter, a wiry guy from California, Dn, chimed in. "Been locked in that house so long, I feel like I''m going crazy. I''m telling you, we hit the beach tomorrow, that''s it, I''m bringing a football or something."


    They allughed, but then the conversation shifted, turning toward the uing fight.


    "Okay, real talk though," Dn said, leaning forward, "who''s up next? Coach got the power to choose now. Y''all think it''ll be me?"


    "Nah, nah, I think Coach might pick me," said the fighter with a smirk, flexing his arms for show. "I''ve been ready to knock some heads. I''m thinking they''ll put me up against that big Russian dude from Team Chemasov."


    "Don''t underestimate him, man," Felipe warned, shaking his head. "I''ve seen him train, and that guy''s no joke. Big, strong, and skilled. Whoever goes up against him better be ready for a war."


    Miles shook his head, leaning back in his seat. "Man, I don''t care who''s next. We already sent their golden boy packing. Logan''s out, and that''s a big win. Whoever they send can catch these hands too."


    The conversation shifted to Damon. "Hey, Damon," Dn called out, "you think they''re gonna throw another wrestler at us? Maybe try and copy the same strategy? You took Logan out, but you think they''ll adjust?"


    Damon smirked, finally joining in. "They can send whoever they want. It doesn''t matter. We''ve been training for all of it. Wrestling, striking, either way, we''re ready."


    "Hell yeah, we are," the others chimed in, nodding and grinning.


    As the van rumbled down the road, the conversation remained animated, the fighters already looking ahead to their next challenge.


    Tomorrow''s break would be a momentary escape, but after that, it was back to the grind, back to the fights, and back to making sure Team Whittier stayed on top.


    Ivan stayed quiet for most of the ride, a small smile ying on his lips as he listened to the others talk. Then, out of nowhere, he spoke up in his thick Russian ent.


    "In Russia, we say¡­ ''If bear chase you¡­ you no need to run faster than bear, just faster than slowest friend,''" he said, chuckling to himself.


    The van went quiet for a second, everyone staring at Ivan, confused.


    Dn scratched his head,ughing awkwardly. "Uh, cool, man. I guess¡­?"


    Miles looked around, raising an eyebrow. "Did anyone understand that?"


    Ivan just shrugged, still smiling, clearly amused by his own joke.


    Damon grinned, shaking his head. "I think he''s saying don''t be the slowest guy¡­ or you''re bear food."


    The team burst intoughter, even though most of them still didn''t really get it. Ivan just nodded, satisfied that he''d shared his bit of Russian wisdom.


    Damon shook his head with a small grin.


    He had just been in a fight, his mind still sharp from the intensity, and yet Ivan''s joke had been easy enough to understand.


    Maybe the rest of the team was just a little slow tonight.


    "Or maybe they''re just dumb," he muttered to himself, chuckling as the conversation shifted back to spection about the next fight.


    He leaned back, letting theughter and light-hearted chatter wash over him.


    For the first time in a while, he felt a sense of calm, knowing that for now, his focus could rest.


    They arrived quickly at the vi, walking in just as the other team did.


    Logan wasn''t with them, probably sent home after his loss.


    There were rare situations where eliminated fighters were allowed to stay, but that wasn''t the case this time.


    However, having eliminated fighters stick around could be beneficial in certain situations, like if they needed ast-minute recement.


    Someone might get injured, miss weight, or even get kicked out.


    In those cases, a fighter like Logan could be brought back into thepetition.


    And then there was always the possibility of a wild card.


    Sometimes, shows like this threw in a twist, eliminated fighters could fight for a chance to re-enter thepetition, and a winner might get a second shot.


    So staying on standby wasn''t such a bad idea.


    But for now, Logan was gone.


    The house felt a little lighter with him out of the picture, but the tension wasn''t entirely gone.


    Both teams eyed each other warily as they headed inside, knowing thepetition was only going to get more intense from here.


    Especially Brian, who red at Damon like he had just killed his brother.


    In a way, Damon did, just not literally. That knee had ended Logan''s chances in thepetition, and Brian wasn''t about to forget that anytime soon.


    Whether Brian would get his revenge was another story.


    He''d have tost long enough in the tournament for them to be matched up, but that hunger for payback was clear in his eyes.


    Damon noticed the re but shrugged it off.


    He wasn''t going to let that kind of energy throw him off his game.


    If Brian wanted revenge, he''d have to earn his shot.


    They got into the house, and unlike usual, Team Whittier didn''t stay upte.


    With the coach nning to take them out tomorrow, they knew they needed full energy.


    The chatter that usually filled the rooms was quieter tonight, with most of the team heading to their rooms to rest up.


    Damon grabbed some water from the kitchen, thinking ahead to tomorrow''s break.


    As Damon sipped his water, he heard the sound of another ss being filled.


    He nced over his shoulder and immediately recognized the figure, dark-skinned, tall, and radiating quiet confidence. Kofi.


    Kofi took a casual sip of his water, then looked over at Damon, his expression calm but his eyes sharp.


    "Not bad, Damon," Kofi said in his deep voice, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "That knee was clean. Took him out cold."


    He paused for a moment, taking another sip, then added with a challenging tone, "But let''s see if you can keep that up. Things only get tougher from here, you know."


    Kofi''s words were easy-going on the surface, but there was an edge to them, like a quiet storm waiting to be unleashed.


    Damon could sense thepetitive energy beneath the casual delivery.

 Chapter 151 Fishing Day I

    Morning arrived faster than Damon had expected.


    As he blinked his eyes open, he could hear the faint beat of music from Ivan, who was already up, sitting on the top bunk with his headphones on, bobbing his head to the rhythm.


    Shaking his head, Damon stood up and headed for the bathroom.


    The cold ssh of water on his face helped him clear away thest traces of drowsiness.


    As the water ran down his face, he thought about the day ahead.


    Whittier was taking them out, but the downtime wouldn''tst long.


    Soon enough, they''d be back in the gym, pushing themselves harder than ever.


    With a deep breath, Damon dried off and steeled himself for the day.


    Damon pulled on the clothes that had been sent to them the night before, sturdy, lightweight pants with plenty of pockets, a breathable long-sleeve shirt that feltfortable against his skin, and a sleeveless vest with even more pockets.


    The outfit had a rugged feel, designed for bothfort and practicality.


    Outside, he noticed everyone else wearing simr gear.


    The pants were loose but flexible, perfect for easy movement, and the vests looked well-suited for carrying small equipment.


    On their heads, they each wore wide-brimmed hats, likely meant to protect them from the sun.


    It wasn''t immediately clear what they''d be doing, but from the look of the clothes, they were in for some kind of outdoor activity.


    The van pulled up, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and Whittier hopped out first, stretching his arms with a satisfied grin.


    He eyed the group, all decked out in their matching outfits. "Look at you lot, all dressed up. Looking chappy!" he said with a yful smirk.


    Damon adjusted the brim of his cap, ncing at the others.


    It was practical, but none of them had a clue what it was for.


    As they piled into the van one by one, the doors shut with a strong thud. As the van started to move.


    Everyone was eager to know what Whittier had nned, but nobody wanted to spoil the surprise too soon.


    Miles, the impatient one, couldn''t hold back any longer.


    He leaned forward, eyebrows raised in anticipation. "Alright, Coach, spill it. What''s the activity?"


    Whittier''s grin widened, clearly enjoying the suspense.


    He nced at Miles, then at the rest of the team through the rearview mirror. "I''ll give you five guesses," he teased, his voice carrying a mischievous tone.


    Miles leaned back, pretending to be deep in thought, tapping his chin dramatically. "Hmm, are we going hiking?" he asked, his eyes darting toward Whittier, trying to read his expression.


    Whittier shook his head slowly, that grin never leaving his face. "Not quite."


    A fighter in the back, stretching his legs, threw out another guess. "Camping?"


    Whittier nced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "Nah," he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.


    Dn, always the beach lover, leaned forward with a smirk. "We''re going to the beach, aren''t we?"


    Whittier chuckled, eyes flicking toward Dn in the rearview mirror. "Nope," he replied, drawing the word out just long enough to keep them all hooked. "You''re getting warmer, though."


    Damon shook his head, a faint smile on his lips as he watched the exchange.


    Everyone was clearly dying to figure out what wasing, throwing out guesses like darts, each one missing the mark but getting closer.


    Another fighter finally chimed in, throwing out one more wild guess.


    Whittier chuckled again, shaking his head as the van cruised along the road. "You''ll find out soon enough," he said, keeping them all in suspense, his grin giving nothing away.


    The van rumbled as it entered through a tall, rusted gate, the scenery around them changing as they drove deeper into the area.


    The road became rougher, surrounded by scattered rocks, patches of grass, and a few swampy areas with the smell of fresh water.


    The fighters leaned closer to the windows, trying to make sense of where they were heading.


    The sound of the gravel beneath the tires grew louder, and soon, they approached the edge of arge, shimmeringke.


    The van came to a slow stop near the shoreline, where the calm water stretched out before them.


    The reflections of the trees and sky danced on the surface as if inviting them in.


    Whittier turned off the engine and hopped out of the van with a satisfied grin.


    "Alright,ds," he said, pping his hands together, "Wee to your day off."


    He gestured toward theke, the surrounding greenery, and the boats waiting by the dock.


    Some of the fighters exchanged curious nces, while others grinned in anticipation. Miles squinted at the boats, realization dawning on him. "Fishing¡­ We''re going fishing?"


    Whittier nodded, chuckling. "That''s right. We''ve got boats, rods, and plenty of gear. Thought I''d let you guys rx a bit before we get back to smashing each other''s faces in."


    Damon stepped out of the van, taking in the scenery. The air felt different here, cleaner, lighter, and the sight of theke gave him a rare sense of calm.


    Damon nced around, noticing they had the entire ce to themselves.


    It looked like Whittier(cough... Ronan had gone all out, probably renting the spot for their private outing.


    Theke was peaceful, untouched by anyone else, which was rare for ces like this. But of course, the ever-present camera crew was following closely, capturing every moment.


    He chuckled to himself. Even on a day off, they couldn''t escape the cameras.


    It was part of the show, every smile, every joke, every second of rxation was still being recorded.


    But for now, the peaceful scenery and the idea of fishing offered a rare sense of calm away from the chaos of The Supreme Fighter.


    The others were already getting excited, walking toward the dock, checking out the boats and gear.


    Damon took a deep breath, ready to enjoy the day, even with the cameras in the background.


    Time to be a fisherman.

 Chapter 152 Fishing Day II

    Whittier returned with an 8-pack of beers in hand, a wide grin on his face as he handed them out to the guys.


    Damon raised an eyebrow, thinking about how alcohol might not mix well with training, but before he could say anything, Ivan leaned over, patting him on the shoulder.


    "We don''t drink to get drunk, we drink to rx," Ivan said in his thick ent, shing a toothy grin.


    Damon chuckled and shrugged, taking the can offered to him.


    He wasn''t much of a drinker, but the day was meant to unwind, and after the fight, a beer didn''t seem so bad.


    They all gathered by theke, their fishing rods in hand.


    Whittier was already showing them how to tie the knots, cast the line, and patiently wait.


    Miles, as usual, was struggling with even getting the bait on the hook.


    "Man, this ain''t it," Miles grumbled, fumbling with the fishing line. "Why does this feel harder than training?"


    "Probably ''cause you''re thinking too much," Dn called out from the other side of the dock, his line already cast out into the water. "It''s supposed to be rxing, not rocket science, bro!"


    Ivan, who had already mastered the technique in minutes, chuckled, casting his line with a smooth, practiced motion. "In Russia, we fish to survive winter, not for sport."


    Damon, still figuring out his own line, nced over at Ivan. "Didn''t know you were a pro at this too."


    Ivan shrugged. "Everything ispetition in Russia."


    As the group settled in, some cast their lines while others were still trying to figure out the basics.


    Whittier sat nearby, sipping his beer and asionally tossing out instructions. "Remember, it''s all about patience. You''re not gonna catch something right away. Feel the line. When you feel a tug, you pull."


    The jokes started soon after.


    "Dn''s over there like he''s gonna catch Moby Dick," one of the fighters joked, pointing at Dn, who was intensely focused on his line like he was trying to will a fish into biting.


    "Hey, I''m out here to get the big one, man," Dn shot back, pretending to reel in something massive. "Y''all will be jealous when Ie back with a 50-pound fish."


    "Yeah, right," Milesughed, casting his line once more. "You''ll be lucky if you don''t snag your own foot."


    A few minutes passed, and there was nothing but the sound of waterpping against the shore.


    Everyone had settled into the quiet rhythm of fishing, beers in hand andughter filling the ce.


    Suddenly, Ivan''s rod bent sharply, and he stood up quickly. "I got one!" he shouted.


    The group erupted, crowding around him as he began to reel in.


    Ivan''s face was focused, his arms working the rod like he was in a fight, reeling in the fish with deliberate movements.


    "Don''t lose it, man!" Dn shouted, half-joking, half-serious.


    Whittier stood up, his beer in one hand, watching with amusement. "Keep it steady, Ivan."


    Ivan grinned, the rod bending as he pulled. With onest hard yank, he lifted the fish out of the water, a decent-sized bass. The group cheered, pping and whistling.


    "Damn, looks like we know who''s eating well tonight!" Miles shouted.


    Ivan held up the fish, showing it off like a trophy. "In Russia, we call this ''easy.''"


    "Yeah, yeah, rub it in," Dn muttered, reeling in his empty line.


    The day went on like that, with a few others managing to catch something.


    Dn eventually got one, though it was much smaller than Ivan''s, and Miles ended up tangling his line so badly he had to start over twice.


    But theughs kepting, and the mood was light.


    At some point, Whittier sat down beside Damon, watching theke as the sun started to dip lower in the sky.


    "See? It''s not all about fighting, sometimes you gotta just enjoy the little moments," Whittier said, taking a sip of his beer.


    Damon nodded, feeling the calm settle over him. "Yeah, I guess you''re right."


    Damon finally decided to give it a try again, taking a deep breath as he stepped up to the edge of the dock with his fishing rod in hand.


    He had watched everyone else, and it seemed easy enough, cast the line, wait, reel it in. How hard could it be?


    Felipe, the Brazilian fighter, was standing nearby, already with his line cast out. "You gonna show us how it''s done, huh?" Felipe asked with a teasing grin, his ent thick but yful.


    Damon smirked. "Something like that. I think I''ve got it figured out."


    Felipe chuckled. "Better than me. I''ve been out here for an hour and all I''ve caught is this," he said, holding up an empty hook. "Not even a nibble."


    Damon rolled his eyes, more at himself than at Felipe, as he cast his line into the water.


    The ssh was satisfying, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him.


    He settled into the rhythm quickly, standing beside Felipe and watching the water ripple.


    "Maybe you''ll get lucky," Felipe said, shaking his head. "I think all the fish are scared off after Ivan caught that monster."


    "You just have to think like a fish," Damon quipped, mimicking a deep philosopher''s tone.


    Felipeughed. "Ah, is that the secret? No wonder I''m struggling."


    The two stood infortable silence for a while, the asional chatter from the rest of the group filling the background.


    Damon nced over at Dn, who was now on his third attempt to cast his line without getting it tangled, and shook his head.


    At least he wasn''t the only one who was new to this.


    After a few minutes, Damon felt something, a faint tug on the line.


    He blinked, not sure if he imagined it. He nced over at Felipe, who raised an eyebrow.


    "Feel something?"


    "Maybe..." Damon replied, his grip tightening on the rod.


    Then there it was again, a stronger pull this time. Damon''s muscles tensed, instinctively bracing himself like he would in a fight.

 Chapter 153 Fishing Day III

    "I think I got something!" Damon said, his voice filled with surprise.


    Felipe quickly stepped over, his eyes lighting up. "Reel it in, man! Steady, steady."


    Damon began to reel, feeling the resistance in the line.


    Whatever was on the other end wasn''t giving up easily.


    His arms flexed as he worked the rod, reeling slowly and keeping the tension just right.


    The others began to notice. Miles called out from the other side, "Yo! Damon''s got one!"


    The group gathered around as Damon fought to reel in his catch, the line pulling with more force than he expected.


    His heart beat fast a bit, and he couldn''t help but feel a rush of adrenaline.


    It wasn''t the same as stepping into the octagon, but there was a thrill in this challenge too.


    "Come on, Damon, don''t let it beat you!" Dn shouted, clearly enjoying the sight of someone else struggling for a change.


    Whittier watched from the side, a grin spreading across his face. "Keep it steady, you got this."


    With one final pull, Damon yanked the rod back, and out of the water came a decent-sized fish, flopping in the air beforending on the dock with a satisfying thud.


    The group erupted in cheers and ps.


    "Look at that!" Felipe eximed, giving Damon a hard pat on the back. "You''re a natural!"


    Damon couldn''t help but smile, a mix of satisfaction and relief washing over him. "Beginner''s luck, I guess," he said, holding the fish up for everyone to see.


    "Or maybe you''re just good at everything," Miles teased, shaking his head. "Man catches fish like he knocks out opponents."


    Dn nodded sagely. "Gotta respect the technique."


    As the day went on, the team settled into afortable rhythm by theke.


    The sun hungzily in the sky, casting a golden hue over the water, and the quietpping of theke set a peaceful tone.


    After Damon''s sessful catch, the group went back to their own attempts at fishing, but eventually, some began to gather around the coolers filled with drinks and snacks.


    Whittier cracked open another beer and took a long sip, watching the fighters rx. "Alright, boys, time to wind down. No more fishing for now. Let''s hear some stories."


    Miles popped up from his seat, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh man, I''ve got one! So back home, I once tried to fight two dudes at a bar¡­"


    The others immediately startedughing, some shaking their heads. "Here we go," Dn muttered.


    "Nah, for real!" Miles insisted, raising his hands in defense. "It was all because I refused to let this dude take my fries. Next thing you know, punches are flying."


    "Bet the fries didn''t survive," Felipe quipped, taking a sip from his beer.


    "Hell nah, they didn''t," Milesughed, shaking his head. "But I walked out with my dignity...and a ck eye."


    The fightersughed, enjoying the ridiculousness of the story.


    Whittier leaned back, clearly enjoying the camaraderie. "I''ve heard some wild excuses for bar fights, but fries? That''s a new one."


    The conversation flowed easily after that, with each fighter taking turns telling their own stories.


    Felipe, the Brazilian, had everyone in stitches with a story about how he once got lost in the Amazon during a family trip and had to be rescued by his cousin, who found him trying to fight a monkey over some fruit.


    "Man, I swear it was as big as me!" Felipe said, gesturing dramatically. "But I wasn''t backing down."


    "You were about to get your ass kicked by a monkey, weren''t you?" Damon chuckled, taking a sip from his water bottle.


    Felipe shrugged, grinning. "I won in spirit."


    More stories were exchanged as the beers kept flowing, and the atmosphere grew even more rxed.


    Ivan, normally quiet, told a dry, deadpan tale about surviving a Russian winter, which no one could tell if it was serious or a joke.


    "One time, it was so cold, I saw my breath freeze in the air," Ivan said with a straight face. "You can''t move, you just stand still and hope for spring."


    The group stared at him, unsure whether tough or be concerned.


    "Man, you Russians are built different," Dn muttered, shaking his head. "I wouldn''tst a day out there."


    Damon leaned back on the dock, gazing out at theke as the conversations continued.


    It was nice to unwind like this, away from the intensity of the house and the uing fights.


    As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the water, Whittier stood up, raising his drink. "Alright, boys, this is how a teames together. We fight together, we rx together. Tomorrow, it''s back to work, but today, enjoy it."


    The fighters raised their drinks, clinking bottles and cans together.


    Theyughed, talked, and told stories well into the evening, enjoying the peace before the storm ofpetition resumed.


    Some of the stories told earlier were clearly exaggerated, and everyone knew it, but that was half the fun.


    The ridiculousness of it all kept the mood light and theughs rolling.


    As the sun dipped lower in the sky and the team started packing up their gear, Whittier pped his hands to get everyone''s attention. "Alright, boys, we''re not done yet," he said with a grin. "We caught some fish, so now we''re heading to a spot I know that''ll cook it up for us. Pretty nice ce too."


    The fighters nced at the bucket, where their modest catch was kept.


    There wasn''t a ton of fish, but it was enough.


    Ivan''s massive catch stood out, easily dwarfing Damon''s fish, and Whittier had managed to reel in a couple himself.


    "Damn, Ivan, you sure you didn''t catch a shark?" Dn teased, staring at therge fish with wide eyes.


    Ivan just shrugged with a smirk. "Beginner''s luck," he said in his typical deadpan.


    Damon shook his head, ncing at his own fish next to Ivan''s. "Guess size really does matter, huh?" he joked.


    The othersughed as they loaded everything into the van, the good-natured ribbing continuing as they piled in for the next stop.


    They all climbed in, tired but in high spirits, looking forward to seeing how their catch would taste.


    The team had bonded well during the trip, and the anticipation of a good meal was the perfect way to wrap up the day.

 Chapter 154 End Of Fishing Day

    They finally arrived at the spot, a cozy, private venue nestled by ake.


    The UFA had rented the whole ce, ensuring it waspletely cut off from the outside world.


    No phones, no outside distractions, just the fighters and their team.


    The sun had set, casting a warm, golden glow over the water as they entered the restaurant.


    It was a rxed atmosphere, withrge wooden tables and dim lights, perfect for the team to unwind after their day of fishing.


    The dinner kicked off with plenty ofughs and even more stories.


    The fish they had caught was expertly prepared, and the fighters couldn''t stop joking about whose catch tasted best.


    Miles was the first to im victory. "Tastes like victory to me," he said, pointing his fork toward Ivan''s muchrger fish, which had already been devoured by the team.


    Ivan chuckled. "Big fish, but all same taste," he said in his broken English, making everyoneugh.


    Conversations flowed freely, and the dinner felt like more than just a meal, it was an important moment for their team bonding.


    Walls broke down as they shared stories not just about fighting but about their lives, their families, and what got them into the sport.


    Even Damon, who usually kept to himself, found himself opening up a bit more than usual.


    As the night wore on, the mood grew mellow, the earlier energy of the day reced by a quiet camaraderie.


    The team, satisfied and full, sat back in their chairs, enjoying the final moments of rxation before heading back to the intense world of training andpetition.


    But as fun as the night had been, reality soon began to creep back in.


    The day was over, and with it, the brief escape they''d all enjoyed.


    Whittier stood up, clinking his ss to get their attention. "Alright, boys. I hope you all enjoyed today because starting tomorrow, it''s back to the grind. The next fights areing up, and we''ve got work to do."


    The fighters nodded, some smiling, others already switching their focus back to thepetition.


    As they prepared to leave, the silence felt heavier. It was time to go back into seclusion.


    The outside world would have to wait. For now, it was just the fighters, their team, and the battle ahead.


    As the van rumbled down the road back to the vi, the fighters were in good spirits, the sound ofughter filling the air.


    Damon sat toward the middle, leaning back and listening to the easy banter bouncing around the van.


    One of the guys, Miles, stretched his legs out and smirked. "Yo, what do you think Team Chemasov''s doing right now? Probably sitting there all serious, acting like they''re the sh*t."


    Dn, who had a knack for making everyoneugh, snickered and leaned forward. "Man, they''re probably jerking each other off, trying to figure out how to take us down."


    The whole van burst outughing, the joke hitting just right.


    Damon shook his head, a grin spreading across his face, while Felipe chuckled from the back, shaking his head. "That''s messed up, man, but probably true."


    "They''re probably running drills right now, thinking we''re cking off," Miles added. "Meanwhile, we''re out here catching fish and having the time of our lives."


    "Better not be catching feelings over there," Dn joked, still cracking up from his earlierment.


    Theughter rolled on, a few of the guys wiping away tears fromughing so hard.


    Even Whittier, sitting in the front, turned his head slightly, shaking his head with a smile as he listened to the banter behind him.


    "You guys are crazy," Damon said, smirking, "but whatever they''re doing, it won''t matter. We''re ready."


    The others nodded, agreeing with Damon, but the mood was still light.


    The jokes andughter continued, the camaraderie evident as the van cruised through the night.


    None of them had gotten drunk, despite the beers earlier in the day.


    Whittier had kept a close eye on them, knowing full well the importance of staying sharp.


    Thankfully, none of them were lightweights, and they respected the boundary without any issues.


    As the conversations carried on, the fighters swapped stories and jokes, making the ride feel like a joy ride instead of a trip back to intense training.


    They all knew that tomorrow it would be back to the grind, but for now, they soaked in the good vibes.


    Miles leaned over to Damon, "You think they even know how to have fun? Bet Chemasov''s got them runningps or something."


    Damon shrugged, still smiling. "Let them run. We''ll be the ones knocking them out when it counts."


    Moreughter followed, the van''s interior filled with the sound of their voices, as they enjoyed the final moments of a well-earned day off.


    As the vi came into view, theughter gradually died down, reced by the quiet anticipation of returning to training. But for now, they''d had their fun, and that was more than enough.


    The van pulled into the vi''s yard, and the fighters stepped out, greeted by the cool night breeze.


    "Man, I''m tired," Miles said, stretching his arms wide. "I''m gonna take a shower and knock off for the day."


    A few of the others nodded in agreement, the excitement of the day catching up with them. They were worn out but in high spirits.


    "Same here," Dn chimed in, rubbing the back of his neck. "That fishing trip wore me out more than a full day of sparring."


    They all made their way toward the vi, walking slowly, their movements heavy with exhaustion.


    As they got closer to the vi, the sound of talking and faint yelling reached their ears, cutting through the quiet night.


    One of the fighters, always quick with a joke, smirked. "Are they waiting for us like good parents?"


    The others burst intoughter.


    "Yeah, ready to scold us for staying out toote," Dn added with a grin, earning a few more chuckles.

 Chapter 155 Tensions Boiling Over

    As soon as they stepped into the vi, the yelling and shouting became unmistakable, echoing through the hallways like thunder.


    "You fucking pussy, you''re a snake, you''re the reason my brother lost, you motherfucker!" a voice screamed, raw with anger.


    Another voice fired back, calmer but the threat wasn''t missed, "Ayy, be careful what you say, my guy, or you''ll end up like your brother¡­ toothless."


    "I dare you, bitch!" The first voice erupted again, louder this time. "I would kill your bitch ass, you fucking snake! You wanna know what we do to snakes in Florida!"


    Damon furrowed his brow, recognizing the voices instantly.


    Brian and Kevin. But why on earth would those two be going at each other like this? Curiosity took over, and Damon found himself stepping toward the source of the chaos.


    Behind him, one of the guys snickered. "Teammates arguing? Man, that''s never a good sign."


    Miles, always ready with a joke, grinned. "They''re probably just figuring out whose fault it is they suck."


    "Or maybe Brian''s just mad ''cause his brother got wrecked," Dn quipped, earning a round of chuckles from the rest of the team.


    Damon ignored the jokes and stepped closer to where the shouting continued, trying to piece together why Brian and Kevin, two people who hadn''t seemed to have much of an issue before, were suddenly at each other''s throats.


    Especially when Damon was the one who had defeated Logan, and Kevin had been more of an acquaintance than a true friend.


    The whole situation felt strange, and it only deepened Damon''s curiosity.


    Why was Brian losing it? Why was Kevin the target of his anger?


    From what Damon could piece together, it looked like Brian wasn''t just upset about Logan''s loss, he was cing the me on others.


    Maybe Brian needed a scapegoat, someone to direct his rage toward, and Kevin, for some reason, seemed to be that person.


    Damon couldn''t help but shake his head. ming someone else for his brother''s defeat?


    It didn''t make much sense, but then again, in a ce where emotions were always running high, logic wasn''t always in control.


    And Damon could attest to how quickly things could spiral out of control, his own beef with Logan had started for simr reasons.


    Logan had said something that struck a nerve, something that obviously provoked him.


    Even if Logan didn''t know about Damon''s trauma with his abusive father, the way Damon reacted made it seem like Logan had hit that wound intentionally.


    Damon knew he could''ve avoided it. He could''ve shrugged it off, but instead, he let his emotions take over.


    That was all in the past now, though. He had moved on, he had won.


    As he made his way to the backyard, the tension between Brian and Kevin pulled at his attention.


    Whatever was brewing between them, it was definitely getting heated.


    Damon wasn''t exactly eager to dive into someone else''s drama, but he was curious enough to see what had them at each other''s throats.


    When Damon stepped into the backyard, the scene was chaos.


    Team Chemasov''s fighters were busy trying to calm down their own teammates, with Brian and Kevin at the center of the yelling.


    Despite all themotion, there was one person who wasn''t part of the mess, Kofi.


    He was sitting calmly under a gazebo, watching the drama unfold as if it were a mildly entertaining TV show.


    Kofi noticed Damon the second he walked outside.


    Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, it felt like the chaos around them didn''t exist.


    Kofi nced at the heated argument, then back at Damon, smiling and shrugging, as if to say, "Not my problem."


    That smile, that casual shrug, it didn''t sit well with Damon. Something about Kofi''s easygoing demeanor felt off.


    He couldn''t put his finger on it, but every time he was around Kofi, it made his skin crawl just a little.


    Damon watched as Team Chemasov struggled to keep Brian in check, but the anger in his voice cut through the night.


    "You think you''re tough, huh? Acting all innocent now?" Brian spat, his face flushed with rage. "You''ve been plotting against my brother from the start, you two-faced asshole!"


    Kevin stood his ground, his expression calm but cold. "You''re delusional, Brian. Logan lost because he couldn''t handle the fight, in and simple."


    Brian pointed a finger at Kevin, his voice rising. "You sabotaged him! Don''t act like you''re some saint. You''ve been jealous since day one, and now you''re throwing him under the bus!"


    Another Chemasov teammate stepped in, trying to reason with him. "Brian,e on, man. This ain''t helping anyone."


    But Brian wasn''t having it. "Shut the fuck up! This is between me and him. He''s been a snake, and I''m not letting it slide."


    Kevin let out a shortugh. "You''re making excuses for your brother because you can''t face the truth. You''re just as weak as he is."


    Brian''s face twisted with fury, but before he could lunge at Kevin, more of his teammates grabbed him, pulling him back as he shouted, "You better sleep with one eye open, you fucking coward! I''m not done with you yet!"


    As soon as Brian spotted Damon, his eyes lit with a fresh wave of anger. He broke free from his teammates'' hold and stormed over, his steps heavy with aggression.


    "YOU FUCKING PUSSY!" Brian shouted, pointing directly at Damon. "LOOK AT YOU, STANDING THERE LIKE YOU''RE SOMETHING. YOU AND YOUR LITTLE BITCH FRIEND, CHEATING MOTHERFUCKER! YOU DIDN''T EVEN WIN THAT FIGHT FAIR!"


    Damon didn''t flinch. His gaze met Brian''s, steady and cold.


    His hands remained at his sides, but the tension in his body told a different story.


    "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Brian?" Damon said calmly, his voice low but firm. "Your brother lost because I outssed him. in and simple."


    Brian''s face turned red with rage. He stepped even closer, so close their faces were almost touching. "You fucking think you''re something special, huh? You think this shit''s over?"


    Kofi, under the gazebo, his grin wide and unbothered, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding in front of him.


    His eyes lit up in amusement as he watched the heated exchange between Damon and Brian.


    He casually leaned back, arms stretched across the back of the bench, as if he was watching a live performance rather than a team fight on the verge of breaking out.


    Every now and then, Kofi would nce at Damon, that grin never fading.


    It was almost like he thrived on the chaos, as if he enjoyed watching hispetition tear each other apart.


    He didn''t say a word, just sat there, silently taking it all in, entertained by the whole situation.


    When Brian''s teammate finally pulled him away, Kofi chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly as though the whole thing was a joke.


    He caught Damon''s eye for a second, gave a small nod, and then went back to sitting like a king watching his court fall apart.


    And again, Damon couldn''t quite put into words, Kofi''s grin didn''t sit well with him.


    It was too knowing, too smug, and it made Damon''s blood run a little hotter.

 Chapter 156 The Calm Before the Tempest

    [WHILE TEAM WHITTIER WAS STILL OUT]


    While Team Whittier was out on their fishing trip, the vi had taken on an almost serene vibe.


    Team Chemasov had the ce to themselves, and for the most part, it was unusually quiet.


    A few fighters sat on the living room, chilling in the living room, without electronics all they could do was just talk, and that was what they did.


    The tension that usually came withpetition was at bay, at least for the moment.


    In the backyard, a couple of the fighters hung out under the gazebo, enjoying the fresh air.


    The mood was rxed, a rare break from the intensity of their training sessions.


    Kofi, as usual, had found himself a spot under the gazebo where he could quietly observe everything around him.


    He wasn''t the kind to force conversation, but his presence alone drew attention, a silent reminder of his strength.


    A few of the guys passed a football back and forth near the pool, makingzy throws and catching with half-hearted effort, just enough to keep the energy flowing without exhausting themselves.


    Every now and then,ughter would break out from inside, and one of the guys in the gazebo would nce toward the noise, smile, and shake his head before going back to the peaceful quiet.


    The tranquility of the house almost felt unnatural. Everyone knew this was only temporary.


    While Kofi sat there, hisrge frame exuding strength and confidence, his demeanor was theplete opposite.


    Despite his intimidating build, his teammates knew him as easygoing, always quick with a joke, and always ready to share augh.


    But the peaceful vibe was shattered when a loud shout erupted from inside the vi.


    Heads turned in the direction of themotion, tension creeping back into the air.


    Kofi stood up, stretching his massive armszily, his muscles rippling as he moved. "I''ll check it out," he said casually, shing a small grin. "I need some water anyway."


    The others just nodded, unbothered, figuring it was nothing serious.


    As Kofi made his way toward the vi, they leaned back, continuing their rxation, unaware of the drama that was about to unfold inside.


    As Kofi stepped into the vi, the sound of crashes and muffled shouts echoed through the hallway.


    He poked his head into the living room, quickly scanning the scene. Only two of his teammates were lounging there, oblivious to the chaos.


    He smirked, already guessing who was at the center of the disturbance.


    There were three others outside, which meant one person was unounted for, Brian.


    "Figures," Kofi muttered to himself.


    Without hesitation, he walked toward the source of the noise, his grin widening.


    The sounds grew louder, more distinct as he approached the back of the house.


    It was about to get interesting, and Kofi wasn''t one to miss the drama.


    Kofi leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Brian with an unreadable expression.


    His lips twisted into a faint smirk as he took in the sight of Brian wiping tears from his face.


    "What''s up?" Kofi''s voice cut through the tense silence, his tone almost mocking.


    Brian, startled, quickly wiped his face, trying to pull himself together. "Fuck! You scared me, man... it''s nothing. Just... my little brother got eliminated, you know?


    This dream, it was his before it became mine."


    Kofi raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. He tilted his head slightly, looking Brian over, his expression hardening. "Your brother''s a good fighter... better than Damon."


    He said it like he believed it, but there was a coldness behind his words.


    A calcted detachment. To Kofi, it was just another way to stir things up.


    Deep down, he knew Damon was the better fighter, But that didn''t serve his purpose here.


    If Kofi was going to stir the pot, he needed to keep Brian''s emotions fueled.


    Brian looked up at him, almost hopeful, as if he needed to hear those words.


    Kofi didn''t miss it, Brian''s desperation, his weakness.


    He didn''t respect it. A man sitting there crying over his brother? Pathetic. Kofi never understood men like that.


    He shook his head, his expression almost disgusted, but he masked it quickly.


    Kofi leaned against the doorframe, a sly smile ying on his lips. "I mean, your brother was a monster, right? I don''t know how he lost to Damon¡­ not that I''m underestimating the guy. It''s just... he seemed to know every move your brother was gonna make.


    The takedowns, the setups¡­ like he had a blueprint." Kofi let the words linger in the air, his tone casual butced with just enough curiosity to nt the seed of doubt.


    Brian looked up, confused, his face still flushed from earlier. Kofi could tell the hook was starting to sink in, so he yed it cool, shrugging like it was no big deal. "But, well¡­ unless..." He trailed off, his voice fading as if he hadn''t meant to say thatst part aloud.


    Brian''s brow furrowed. "Unless what?" he asked, the desperation evident in his voice.


    Kofi smirked internally, knowing he had him. Gotcha.


    "Nah, man, it''s nothing," Kofi said, waving his hand dismissively. "Just some bullshit. I don''t wanna stir the pot or anything. You know how it is,petition makes you think all kinds of crazy stuff."


    Brian wasn''t letting it go. "No, seriously. What did you mean? Unless what?" He leaned forward, hanging on Kofi''s every word.


    Kofi paused, letting the silence grow heavier.


    His smirk faded, reced by a faux concerned expression, like he was debating whether or not to say more.


    He let out a long, exaggerated sigh, ncing around as if to make sure no one was listening.


    "Alright, look," he began, lowering his voice. "I don''t wanna say things that could hurt the team, man. But if I were to say... someone might be feeding info to the other side, it''d be bad for me. Really bad. You know how this stuff works.


    Rumors spread fast, and next thing you know, fingers are pointed."


    He stepped closer, speaking just above a whisper now. "But think about it. How did Damon know every move your brother was gonna make? Every single one?"


    Brian''s eyes widened, the gears in his mind turning. Kofi could see the doubt seeping in, the suspicion brewing. It was too easy.


    Kofi straightened up, shrugging as if he regretted even mentioning it. "But like I said, it''s probably nothing. Just some nonsense I thought of. Forget I even brought it up." He started to turn away, deliberately slow, knowing Brian wouldn''t be able to let it go.


    And sure enough, Brian called out to him. "Wait, what do you mean? Someone''s giving info? Who?"


    Kofi paused, not turning around right away.


    He let the silence drag out, building the tension just a bit more before ncing over his shoulder, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Look, man. I''ve been around long enough to know when something''s off. But I''m not pointing fingers. Just be careful, alright? You never know who''s ying both sides."


    Without another word, Kofi turned and walked away, leaving Brian stewing in his thoughts.


    As Kofi left the room, his smirk widened. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the seed of doubt he nted was already beginning to take root. Now, all he had to do was sit back and let it grow.


    Brian, meanwhile, stood there, his mind racing with possibilities.


    Could someone really be leaking information?


    He reyed the fight in his head, scrutinizing every detail, trying to find any sign that his brother had been betrayed.

 Chapter 157 What Just Happened?

    [PRESENT]


    With a confused look on his face, Damon watched as Brian stormed off. "What the hell was that all about?" he asked himself in a confused voice.


    Behind him, the rest of Team Whittier caught up, noticing themotion.


    "What just happened?" Dn asked as he ran up next to Damon.


    He was interested and amused. "That guy looked like he was about to throw hands or cry." "Maybe both."


    Felipe chuckled lightly, though his expression was more curious than anything. "Was that Brian? Man''s been on edge ever since Logan got taken out."


    Damon just shook his head. "Yeah, but still¡­ he''s ming the wrong people. I was the one who knocked Logan out, not anyone else."


    Miles crossed his arms, leaning back against the doorframe as he stared in the direction Brian disappeared. "Guy''s got some serious issues. Maybe losing runs in the family."


    Dn snorted, "Yeah, he needs to chill. His brother lost, it happens."


    Damon was quiet for a moment, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. Brian''s anger had been so misdirected, so irrational.


    Sure, Damon expected some bad blood, but to take it out on the wrong people?


    Felipe pped Damon on the back, "Hey, don''t sweat it. Dude''s probably just losing it. We got bigger things to focus on."


    Even though Damon slowly nodded, he still thought the whole thing was odd.


    He said, "Yeah... you''re right," but his thoughts kept going to Kofi, who had been sitting nearby with that smug grin on his face.


    Something wasn''t adding up.


    The group went back inside the house, and the strange event became less important as they got ready to rx.


    But Damon couldn''t shake the feeling that there was more to Brian''s outburst than just his brother''s loss.


    As Team Whittier entered the vi, Damon spotted Kevin sitting on the couch, looking tense.


    Damon, curious about the earliermotion, approached him while the rest of the team settled in. "Ayy bro, Kevin," Damon called out, "what''s up with Brian? What''s going on with him?"


    Kevin didn''t even look up right away, his face was serious and not amused.


    He gave Damon a quick look and spoke in a t, straightforward tone. "Look, bro, I don''t give a fuck about whatever you and Brian have going on. Just don''t drag me into your drama. I''m here to fight, learn, and win this shit, not turn into a drama queen."


    Kevin got up and walked out of the room without saying a word. His calm moves made it clear that he didn''t want to get involved.


    It wasn''t anger; he was purposely trying to stay away, so he could keep his mind on thepetition and avoid getting sidetracked.


    Damon watched him leave, feeling a bit thrown off by Kevin''s bluntness.


    He wasn''t expecting such a cold response, but at the same time, he got it.


    Kevin wanted to stay out of the mess.


    Damon sat back down on the couch, shaking his head, still processing the situation.


    Dn spoke up from the other side of the room with a smile before he could think about it any longer. "Looks like we''ve got divas in the house!"


    The whole teamughed out loud, and the conversation turned back to being cheerful.


    However, Damon couldn''t help but feel that things were slowly building up to something bigger than he could see at this moment.


    Damon didn''t expect Kevin to defend him.


    They weren''t close, far from it. They met on this show and didn''t know much about each other before.


    To add to that, they were in separate teams.


    Damon had just eliminated Logan, one of Team Chemasov''s fighters, so it wasn''t like he expected Kevin to stick his neck out for him.


    They weren''t tight like that.


    In fact, Kevin had every reason to keep his distance.


    Damon wasn''t exactly the favorite in the house after taking out Logan, and Kevin wasn''t going to risk his own focus or reputation by defending someone he barely knew.


    It made sense, and Damon didn''t take it personally. Everyone had their own priorities.


    But what really piqued Damon''s interest was the argument between Brian and Kevin. Why was Brian ming Kevin? And what the hell led him to use Damon of cheating?


    Whatever happened must''ve gone down while Team Whittier was on their fishing trip.


    But if this was something Brian had been suspicious of all along, wouldn''t the drama have started the night they got back from the fight?


    Damon reyed the events in his mind. Brian called Kevin a snake... and then used Damon of cheating.


    Was Brian suggesting that Kevin leaked information? Was there something else behind the scenes that Damon wasn''t aware of?


    He tried to piece it all together, but none of it made sense.


    What possible link could there be between Kevin and him that would make Briane to that conclusion?


    Before he could think about it any further, the guys in his team started chatting and cracking jokes.


    They noticed Damon deep in thought and asked him what was on his mind.


    "Yo, Damon, you good? You''ve been quiet since we got back," Miles asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Damon snapped out of it and gave a quick shrug. "Yeah, man. Just tired, that''s all."


    Felipe, sitting nearby, nodded. "Makes sense. That fight earlier, and all that fishing... no wonder you''re wiped."


    Dnughed, as he always does. "Man, I don''t know what was harder, knocking out Logan or trying to reel in those fish."


    Everyone chuckled at Dn''sment, and the mood lightened up as the guys started talking about random things.


    Miles leaned back and threw his hands up. "For real though, why do fish put up such a fight? It''s like they know they''re about to be dinner."


    Felipe joined in, smirking. "Yeah, but it''s more satisfying when you finally get one. Especially that monster Ivan pulled in. Thing could''ve fed a vige."


    Dn grinned, shaking his head. "I''m telling you, it was rigged. Ivan probably bribed the fish to make himself look good."


    Moreughter followed as they kept the conversation light, talking about everything from fishing to food to the next round of fights.

 Chapter 158 Speed and Reflex

    He wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked at his training partner across from him as he lightly bounced on his feet.


    They were deep into the speed and reaction workout, and his muscles hurt from moving all the time.


    A loud voice from the side of the gym said, "Keep it up, stay sharp! Don''t let anything catch you off guard; act quickly"


    Damon paid close attention to the tennis ball as it bounced back toward him. He caught it just as it was about to hit the ground.


    Miles, across from him, chuckled, "Man, you''re too quick. I''m over here struggling to keep up."


    Damon smiled and quickly flicked his wrist to throw the ball back. "Gotta stay sharp. You never know what''sing at you in a fight."


    Felipe and Dn were working on a different drill nearby. They were dancing their feet quickly across the gym floor while slipping and sliding under ropes that were stretched out across the floor.


    "You''re moving like a sloth, Felipe!" Dn teased, and he moved quickly and easily.


    Felipe shot him a look, ducking under the rope and firing back, "Yeah? Let''s see you keep this up for another round without tripping over yourself."


    Ivan worked on his precise footwork with one of the assistant coaches in a different corner. His big body moved with surprising grace for his size.


    Today, Whittier had been emphasising speed and bnce to make sure that all of the fighters could act on instinct.


    "Stay light on your feet, Damon!" Whittier barked and looked around the room with his eyes. "You''ve got the reach and power, but it''s useless if you don''t react fast enough to make them pay."


    Damon mentally took note as he moved on to the next drill, which was shadowboxing in front of a mirror with quick, sharp blows.


    His body was reacting faster, and he could feel that his mind was clearer and more focused.


    The reason for today''s focus on speed and reflex training wasn''t just a coincidence. It lined up perfectly with Damon''s own needs.


    When they arrived at the gym that morning, Damon had quietly approached Whittier, asking if he could focus specifically on speed and reflex drills.


    He had a goal in mind, to improve his reaction time after cashing in the coins for the speed enhancement elixir.


    Whittier, however, had taken the opportunity to extend that request to the whole team.


    "Everyone could use sharper reflexes," Whittier had said with a nod, making the entire team shift gears for the day.


    He could feel the elixir''s affects running through his body as he pushed himself through the drills.


    He was faster, more urate, and his moves were smoother than they had been before.


    He wasn''t about to let this advantage go to waste.


    He could sense the subtle changes, and it only fueled him to work harder.


    The elixir gave him a boost, but in the fights toe, it would be his work that made the difference.


    Miles, who had noticed Damon''s increased speed, shot him a grin between breaths. "You''re moving like lightning today, man. What''d you eat for breakfast?"


    As a coach who is always paying attention, Whittier had also seen the progress.


    Though he didn''t say anything, Damon could feel his coach''s eyes on him, watching the subtle shifts in his footwork, the precision in his strikes, the way he was putting everything into today''s training.


    It wasn''t just about looking fast. It was about bing faster.


    Whittier stood at the edge of the gym, arms crossed, watching closely as his fighters trained.


    He looked at Damon for a long time. The way he was moving was intense and sharp like it hadn''t been before.


    "That kid''s a monster," Whittier muttered to one of his assistant coaches. "The improvement he''s making is insane."


    He was still watching Damon bob and weave, his hits quick and smooth, and the coach next to him nodded. "You said it was him who suggested this speed and reflex training, right?"


    "Yeah," Whittier replied, not taking his eyes off Damon. "I had nned to focus on their boxing today, work on some fundamentals, but when Damon asked to work on speed, I figured why not squeeze in a session. It''s gonna be includedter on in their regimen anyway, so it fit."


    The assistant coach chuckled. "Guess it''s paying off early."


    While they were still practicing, time went by.


    Not only was Damon getting better, but other fighters were too.


    They were finding their own rhythm and getting better at moving and aiming through their improving speed.


    But none were improving at the same speed as Damon.


    His footwork had be lighter, his reactions sharper. It was like watching someone hit another level right in front of them.


    One of the fighters, Felipe, noticed too, taking a break between sets to shake his head. "Man, Damon''s on another level today," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow.


    "Yeah, he''s dialed in," Miles added. "He''s moving like he''s already in a fight."


    Whittier smiled slightly, hearing theirments. It wasn''t just about Damon, though.


    The whole team was improving.


    The training was pushing them all, but Damon was leading by example, setting the bar high.


    Whittier pped his hands sharply, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room.


    "All right, everyone!" He yelled, "Gather up!" His voice could be heard over the heavy breathing and the steady thud of gloves on pads.


    The fighters, who were drenched in sweat, slowed down right away and started making their way toward him.


    They looked at each other quickly, exchanging nces.


    Still trying to catch his breath, Damon wiped his face with the back of his glove. But his attention was fixed on Whittier.


    Whittier nodded as the team gathered around. "Good job today," he said, his eyes sweeping over each fighter. "You''ve all pushed hard, and I''m seeing the progress. But now, it''s time to get to the main training of the day."


    The room was silent, and the fighters looked at each other with interest.


    Damon stood still and waited with his arms crossed over his chest.


    "We''re focusing on striking next," Whittier continued, his voice taking on a more serious edge. "Head movement, footwork, and overall boxing."


    He took a moment to let the tension build and watch how they reacted.


    "And to make sure you''re learning from the best, I''ve brought someone in. The best boxer in the UFA..."


    Damon''s eyebrow went up, and he could see that everyone else was moving around, eager to hear what Whittier had to say.


    Whittier smiled, and the room got more and more excited as he finally said, "...Dax Halloway."


    A wave of shocked murmurs went through the group.


    As the fighters thought about what was going to happen, their eyes got bigger and they smiled.


    Just then, the door swung open, and every head turned to see the man standing in the doorway.

 Chapter 159 Learning From The Baddest

    When the door opened, Dax Halloway walked in. His presence was so powerful that the room seemed to move as he walked in.


    Dax, who was tall and lean, walked in with a confidence that couldn''t be faked, it was earned.


    Even though he had been in fights for years, he had a calm, almost rxed look on his face.


    His dark hair was neatly trimmed, and he wore a loose-fitting ck hoodie, sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos that decorated his arms like badges of honor.


    He moved with a casual swagger, the kind of walk that said he had nothing to prove, even though everyone knew he was a killer in the octagon.


    Damon watched as Dax made his way toward them, the fighters parting slightly to make room.


    His footsteps were light, almost as if he were gliding rather than walking, a sign of a man who knew exactly how to carry his body.


    Every movement was smooth, controlled, like a boxer always in rhythm.


    When Dax finally stopped, he shed a grin at the room, a light in his eye that instantly made the fighters respect him.


    His presence wasn''t loud, but it was powerful. You could feel his achievements just by looking at him.


    "Ayo, what''s up, boys?" Dax said, his voice carrying thatid-back, inder drawl that made him so rtable, yet his tone still held the authority of a champion.


    "Y''all know me, I''m Dax Halloway, and today, we''re gonna talk ''bout boxin''. Ain''t no fancy speeches, we''re just here to throw hands and learn."


    He looked around the room with a sharp but yful look in his eye. "I know y''all been grinding, sweating, gettin'' better every day. I respect that. But now we''re gonna take it up a notch, yeah?"


    A few of the fighters nodded, some exchanging nces as if trying to process that they were about to train with the legend himself.


    After all, training with Donald Whittier felt unreal already, but another was crazy.


    Dax took off his hoodie, revealing a form that was built for speed and endurance.


    His shoulders were broad, his chest solid but not bulky, this was the body of a fighter who knew how to go five rounds without gassing out.


    His arms, though not overly muscr, were corded with strength, the kind of strength that had broken opponents down piece by piece in the ring.


    He ran a hand through his hair, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Now, don''t be scared. I ain''t here to knock any of y''all out... today."


    His grin widened, the room chuckling nervously at the joke. "But for real, I''mma show you how to keep that head moving, how to stay slick, ''cause if you can''t get hit, you can''t lose, yeah?"


    Damon was speechless with awe.


    He had watched Dax fight countless times on TV, but seeing him up close, with that effortless confidence, was something else entirely.


    Dax''s reputation wasn''t built on arrogance, it was built on his skill, and Damon could feel the authenticity in every word.


    "I ain''t no superhero," Dax continued, his voice picking up, "I''m just a dude who learned how to oust and outthink anyone they put in front of me. So, if y''all ready to work, then let''s get it. We gonna have some fun."


    With that, Dax pped his hands and moved toward the center of the gym, beckoning them to follow him with a grin that promised they were about to learn some real tricks of the trade.


    After the warm-up and introductions, Dax Halloway stood in the middle of the gym. He still had a casual attitude, but he seemed more serious now.


    "Alright, so I see y''all been working hard," Dax said, bouncing lightly on his toes, demonstrating his impable footwork. "Now, it''s great that you can throw a punch fast, but if you ain''tnding that punch, it don''t mean shit. Speed''s cool, but uracy is what''s gonna make or break you."


    The fighters nodded, focused on his every word.


    "Now, I''m sure all of y''all know the basic 1-2bo, right?" With lightning speed, he executed a jab-crossbo in the air, surprising several fighters by slicing through the air with his fists.


    "Jab, cross, boom. Simple. But what I''m about to show you, we call it the double tap." Dax grinned more, a sly twinkle in his eye. "This one''s a lil'' trick I like to use to keep opponents guessing. It''s all about speed, timing, andnding those shots."


    He demonstrated it with lightning speed, throwing two jabs in quick session, followed by a fast cross.


    The punches were so fast that they seemed to blend into one fluid motion, the impact of his strikes making a slight snapping sound in the air.


    "You gotta be slick with it," Dax said, nodding at their wide-eyed expressions. "Throw that first jab, pull it back real quick, and then tap ''em again before they even know what''sin''. Then, bam,nd that cross."


    He motioned for the fighters to pair up with the mitt holders.


    "Alright, let''s see it. Don''t worry if you don''t get it right away, it''s all about building that rhythm. It''s like music. You feel me?"


    Damon paired up with one of his teammates, taking a deep breath.


    He had seen Dax throw those punches so effortlessly, but actually replicating the speed and precision was another thing entirely.


    Damon fired off a few attempts. Jab, jab, cross. Jab, jab, cross.


    But it wasn''t the same. His rhythm was off, and the second jab felt slower, more deliberate.


    He grunted in frustration, noticing the same struggle with the other fighters.


    Miles, across the gym, let out an exasperatedugh. "Yo, this is harder than it looks, man. I keep messing up that second jab."


    Felipe nearly tripped over his own feet while trying to maintain the flow, shaking his head. "Dax makes this look so damn easy."


    Even Damon, usually quick to pick up new techniques, found himself missing the rhythm.


    His punchescked the crispness Dax had disyed, and the second jab felt sluggishpared to the first.


    He wasn''tnding it like Dax did.


    Dax circled the fighters, watching them struggle with a half-smile. "Y''all getting there, but you gotta rx. Speedes when you''re loose. If you''re all tight, you''re just gonna slow yourself down."


    Damon nced over at Dax, who demonstrated the technique again, jab, jab, cross, with blinding speed.


    The sheer precision of it left Damon impressed. It was one thing to see it on TV, but up close, Dax''s speed seemed almost unreal.


    One of the coaches walked by, offering some tips to Damon, but the frustration was mounting. His body was getting quick, but he hadn''t yet mastered the smoothness that Dax had.


    "Don''t worry, kid, it ain''t supposed to be easy," Dax called out, noticing Damon''s struggle. "You keep at it. Trust me, once it clicks, you''ll be tapping dudes all day long."


    Damon grinned back, nodding. He couldn''t let it get to him, Dax was right. This was a skill that needed time to develop.


    For now, all he could do was keep trying, push through the frustration, and hope that eventually, it would all fall into ce.

 Chapter 160 Show Progression

    Dax pushed the fighters to hone their striking techniques over his two full days there.


    Whittier had been sure to make the most of every minute that Dax was avable, squeezing as much information as he could.


    Despite hisid-back demeanor, Dax didn''t take it easy on them.


    His sharp eyes missed nothing, and his guidance helped elevate everyone''s game.


    Even Whittier, usually hands-on during training, had taken a step back to let the BMF impart his expertise.


    The thing about martial arts, especially in Fighting, was that size and weight ss didn''t matter as much as knowledge.


    And when it came tobat, there was always something to learn, no matter how skilled you were.


    And when the teacher was someone like Dax, a fighter known not only for his speed and precision but also for his ability to overwhelm his opponents, the lessons hit differently.


    Each fighter in Team Whittier soaked up the lessons like a sponge, from footwork drills to masteringbinations, all under the watchful eye of the baddest himself.


    Weeks passed by, and with each week came new matchups, bringing victories, eliminations, and building tensions.


    Thepetition was heating up, and Team Whittier was in the thick of it.


    Damon, having already eliminated Logan, watched as seven more matches yed out, each with its own twists.


    At first, things were looking good for Team Whittier.


    Felipe secured a submission win, using his grappling skills to force his opponent to tap.


    Miles delivered a spectacr knockout, dropping his opponent with a clean right hand.


    Ivan, with his heavy hands, nearly knocked his opponent out before forcing a submission for another victory.


    But their winning streak was broken in an unexpected turn.


    In the next matchup, Kevin, who had been calm and methodical throughout thepetition, faced off against Dn from Team Whittier.


    To everyone''s surprise, Kevin dominated the fight. He didn''t just win, he made it look easy, effortlessly choking out Dn and handing Team Whittier their first loss.


    That defeat set off a chain reaction. Brian, Logan''s brother, came in determined to avenge his sibling''s elimination.


    His aggression and focus paid off as he secured a victory, pushing Team Chemasov ahead and dealing another blow to Whittier''s momentum.


    The third defeat came in brutal fashion.


    Another fighter from Team Chemasov, Aric Lee, overpowered his Whittier opponent, raining down heavy strikes until the referee had no choice but to step in.


    The morale in Team Whittier dipped after that, as it became clear that Team Chemasov had found their stride.


    But the most anticipated fight of the week was Kofi''s.


    From the moment Kofi stepped into the cage, it was clear he was operating on another level.


    His opponent barely had time to react before Kofi put him down with a brutalbination, earning a first-round knockout.


    The sheer dominance of the performance left even the most seasoned fighters in awe.


    Damon watched from the sidelines, taking it all in.


    He didn''t like Kofi much, but he couldn''t deny the man''s skill.


    Kofi wasn''t just strong, he was also smart and nned his moves very carefully.


    Damon had to admit, if they ever met in the cage, it would be one of his toughest fights yet.


    Despite the confidence Damon had in his own abilities, he knew that Kofi posed a real threat.


    A part of him acknowledged that facing Kofi would be a 50-50 chance at best.


    The man was a powerhouse, and everyone in the house was well aware of it.


    Still, Damon thrived on challenges. If the time came, he''d be ready.


    But for now, Kofi stood as the fighter to beat, a looming presence over thepetition.


    And with those results, the fighters who had made it to the Quarterfinals were set.


    TEAM WHITTIER


    1. Damon Cross


    2. Ivan Novak


    3. Felipe Santos


    4. Miles Carter


    TEAM CHEMASOV


    1. Kofi rke


    2. Kevin Edward


    3. Brian Walker


    4. Aric Lee


    The Quarterfinals were set up to be very interesting, and the tension building up to the Semifinals was apparent.


    The battle was about to get even tougher after each fighter had shown what they could do.


    The rivalries, victories, and defeats had sharpened the stakes.


    Every matchup from here on out would determine who truly belonged among the top, and everyone knew that a single mistake could end their journey.


    .


    .


    .


    With the fighters who had advanced to the quarterfinals set, the media exploded with chatter, but one name stood out above the rest: Kofi rke.


    His dominating performance had captured the attention of fight fans everywhere.


    "@KOKing: Kofi rke is the next big thing. Dude''s scary strong, no doubt he''s taking this whole thing! #Kofirke #TeamChemasov"


    "@MXiandh: Kofi''s looking like a future UFA champion. I don''t see anyone in this house stopping him. #SupremeFighter"


    But while Kofi had the majority of the hype, Damon Cross still had his share of loyal supporters. Fans of his cool demeanor and striking power weren''t ready to count him out.


    "@GiovanniTati: Y''all sleeping on Damon. Don''t forget that knee KO he dropped on Logan. Kid''s the real deal. #TeamWhittier #DamonCross"


    "@Diddler073: Damon''s got the technique. Kofi''s strong, but power''s not everything. #SupremeFighter"


    And of course, Ivan Novak had his own share of attention. Many fight fans never forgot about the sheer danger Russian fighters brought to the cage.


    "@Habibisking: Yo, Ivan Novak is a sleeper! Russians are always scary, and this guy''s a brick wall. He might just surprise everyone. #TeamWhittier"


    "@Breakhsg: I''m calling it now, Ivan''s taking the whole thing. Watch out for him. #DarkHorse"


    Don''t miss out on m-vl-em-pyr


    Brian Walker, still riding the emotions of his brother''s elimination, also had a growing number of supporters.


    "@Williamsigns: Brian''s fighting with something to prove. That anger''s either gonna push him to the top or burn him out. Either way, it''ll be exciting! #TeamChemasov"


    But not everyone was impressed by Kofi''s rise, especially with rumors swirling about his maniptive nature.


    "@RealFightTalk: Yo, Kofi is a maniptive psychopath for using Brian''s anger like that. Dude''s ying mind games. Watch out. #SnakeMove"


    A quick reply followed, dismissing the seriousness:


    "@CasualMMAFan: womp womp ?? Ain''t no one care, it''s a fight game!"


    The buildup to the quarterfinals had everyone talking, with Kofi, Damon, Ivan, and Brian all being talked about in one way or another.


    As the fighters geared up for the next round, the fans were ready for blood.

 Chapter 161 The Unexpected Pick

    The fighters stood in the training center, their bodies still tired from a hard exercise.


    Even though their bodies hurt and their breath was still heavy, they were focused on the decision that was about to made.


    In front of them were their coaches, Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier, with UFA CEO Ronan ck standing between them.


    Everyone was worried because they knew that with each round, the stakes would be higher.


    "Alright, folks, you know what time it is," "Ronan ck," he said, making the whole room hear him.


    He was in his element, relishing the intensity. "Team Chemasov won thest fight, which means Coach Chemasov gets the power to pick the next match."


    All eyes turned to Balim Chemasov, who stood confidently with his arms crossed. The man exuded an aura of dominance.


    His gaze slowly moved across his fighters, each of them standing tall, ready to be called into the fray.


    Across the room, Team Whittier stood silently, knowing they were at the mercy of Chemasov''s choice.


    They had fought hard, but losses were piling up, and the pressure was on to turn things around.


    Chemasov stepped forward, his sharp eyes narrowing as he assessed both teams. His grin was subtle but telling. "We choose¡­"


    "Who''s going to fight next?" one of the fighters murmured under his breath, barely audible in the quiet room.


    "Bryan!" Chemasov called out, pronouncing the name wrong, his thick ent twisting the word.


    Brian didn''t even flinch. He stood there, jaw clenched, a fire burning behind his eyes.


    He couldn''t care less about the mispronunciation. One, he was ready to fight, and two, what could he do? This was Balim Chemasov.


    Going against him wasn''t an option unless Brian had a death wish.


    He didn''t say anything even though he was angry, it was just below the surface.


    Some of the fighters chuckled, clearly amused by Chemasov''s mistake, but theughter quickly died down when they saw Brian''s expression.


    The guy was focused, and anyone who saw him knew he was ready to step into that cage.


    The tension in the room rose.


    Most of the fighters already knew what wasing next. It wasn''t hard to guess who Brian would be fighting.


    All eyes shifted toward Damon.


    Brian had wanted a shot at him ever since Logan''s elimination. Now, it seemed like the stage was set.


    But to everyone''s surprise, at least to Team Whittier, Chemasov didn''t call out Damon''s name as expected. Instead, with his thick ent, Chemasov looked over at Felipe and said, "We choose to smesh... Felipe," pronouncing the name wrong, much to Felipe''s amusement.


    The room shifted. Team Chemasov didn''t react with any surprise to the call.


    It was clear they had already discussed this, leaving Team Whittier to process the unexpected choice.


    Felipe blinked, taken aback for just a moment, before a grin spread across his face. "Guess I''m next," he muttered, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for the uing battle.


    Whittier nodded at Felipe, giving him a confident look. "You''ve got this, just stick to the n."


    Felipe smirked. "Smesh me, huh? We''ll see about that."


    The other fighters exchanged nces. This wasn''t the fight they had expected, but now all eyes were on Felipe.


    Felipe and Brian stood at the front, locked in a silent face-off.


    Their teammates watching closely, trying to gauge how this fight would go.


    Felipe, always quick with his words, leaned in slightly, smirking. "I''ll do to you what Damon did to your brother," he taunted, his voice was brimming with pride.


    Brian didn''t flinch. He didn''t respond with words or even a look of anger.


    He just stared at Felipe, his eyes cold, calcting, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.


    Whittier, standing off to the side, narrowed his eyes as he watched Brian.


    There was something different in his eyes, something dark, primal. Hunger.


    This wasn''t just about winning a fight for Brian. It was about revenge.


    The way he held himself, the silence he kept, spoke volumes.


    He wasn''t going to let his emotions slip out just yet. He was saving it all for the cage.


    Whittier''s gaze moved over to Balim, who stood with his arms crossed, a knowing grin tugging at his lips.


    Balim had seen it too. This wasn''t just a fight; this was a strategy.


    Instead of throwing Brian against Damon right away, they were fueling the fire, making Brian''s desire for revenge burn hotter.


    Whittier nodded subtly to himself. He had to admit, it was smart.


    Chemasov wasn''t just throwing Brian at Damon for a quick match-up. He was letting that desire build, letting it twist and grow.


    By the time Brian got his hands on Damon, it wouldn''t be a fight, it would be a war.


    Balim met Whittier''s gaze, his grin widening, as if saying, You see what I''m doing here, right?


    Whittier understood the game, but he also knew his team was ready for whatever strategy Chemasov had in mind.


    This was going to be one hell of a tournament.


    Not everyone caught the fire in Brian''s eyes, but Ronan ck did.


    He leaned back, arms crossed, his face carrying the kind of grin only a man who thrived on drama could wear.


    Things stayed interesting with this kind of moment, with the quiet strain and grudge building below the surface.


    And Ronan could already see the numbers this episode would pull in.


    Ronan knew better than anyone that audiences loved a good storyline, and this had all the ingredients.


    It wasn''t just about winning. This was personal.


    Ronan smiled to himself, imagining the viewership spiking when the fight went live.


    Sure, he loved the sport, but at the end of the day, it was about the bottom line.


    The more intense the drama, the higher the ratings.


    And with the hunger in Brian''s eyes, this fight was going to be a goldmine.


    As Felipe turned away from the face-off, Brian''s gaze lingered on him a second too long, like he was already nning the fight in his head.

 Chapter 162 Felipe Santos Vs. Brian Walker I: The Game Plan

    Days passed, and Team Whittier zeroed in on Felipe''s training camp.


    Every session was more intense than thest, with all eyes focused on the uing match against Brian.


    The strategy, as Whittierid it out, was straightforward, keep the fight standing as much as possible.


    Felipe''s striking was sharp, and that would be his best weapon.


    But Whittier wasn''t naive. He knew Brian''s wrestling could be a serious problem if the fight went to the ground.


    That''s where Felipe''s Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu came into y.


    If Brian managed to drag the fight down, Felipe needed to be ready to outmaneuver him with technique, rather than brute force.


    The key would be to stay calm, control the positions, and find openings to either escape or lock in a submission.


    Whittier stood with his arms crossed, watching Felipe work through drills. "Stay light on your feet, keep those hands up."


    Felipe nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration as he moved around the cage, shadowboxing while one of the assistant coaches called out instructions.


    The rest of the team watched closely, offering their own bits of encouragement between rounds.


    Miles leaned over to Damon, "You think he''s ready? Brian''s not going to let this stay on the feet for long."


    Damon shrugged, his eyes locked on Felipe as he practiced his footwork. "Felipe''s got the skill. It''s all about whether he can stick to the n."


    The sessions continued, each one designed to simte the different scenarios Felipe might face.


    They drilled defensive wrestling relentlessly, forcing Felipe to sprawl, scramble, and fight his way back to his feet over and over again.


    As the days ticked by.


    Felipe remained focused, determined to follow the game n.


    .....


    The room was filled with fighters as the weigh-ins had just wrapped up, and the fighters were now in the final moments before stepping into the cage.


    Both teams sat in their respective corners, the mood tense but electric.


    Team Whittier upied one side of the room, whispering among themselves, casting nces toward Team Chemasov on the opposite side.


    Damon sat quietly among his teammates, his eyes scanning the room as they waited for the fighters to emerge.


    Felipe and Brian were preparing for their showdown, and everyone knew this was going to be a high-stakes battle.


    Damon''s mind wasn''t on the match at hand, though.


    He was running through his own future matchups, knowing his time in the cage woulde again soon.


    Miles leaned over, breaking the silence. "How do you think Felipe''s feeling right now?"


    Damon shrugged slightly, his gaze still forward. "Focused, I hope. Brian''s gonnae out swinging, that''s for sure."


    Ivan, sitting next to Damon, uncrossed his arms, his thick Russian ent cutting through the quiet. "Felipe is tough, but Brian... he has fire in his eyes. This fight, not just physical for him. He fight with... how you say...


    vendetta?"


    The teams stayed seated, exchanging quiet conversations, waiting for the fighters to make their entrance.


    Damon leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. He knew this fight was going to be a turning point for both teams.


    The winner would go to the Semifinals.


    The music red through the speakers, and the door swung open as Brian emerged from the backroom, his face set in a determined scowl.


    His coaches followed close behind, offeringst-minute words of advice.


    Brian walked with purpose, his eyes locked on the octagon ahead.


    As he reached the official, he went through the usual routine: mouthguard checked, cup in ce, and Vaseline applied to his face.


    He barely blinked, his focus entirely on whaty ahead.


    With a final nod, he made his way into the cage, the metal door nging shut behind him.


    Brian circled the octagon briefly, bouncing lightly on his toes, shaking out his arms as if ready to explode at any moment.


    Then it was Felipe''s turn.


    The music changed, and the door opened once again.


    Felipe walked out, his demeanor calmer than Brian''s, though there was a hint of tension in the way he clenched his fists.


    He made his way to the official, who checked his gear with the same routine.


    As the Vaseline was smeared across his cheekbones, Felipe took a deep breath, turning briefly to look back at his teammates.


    He shed them a quick smile, a momentary gesture of confidence, but his eyes quickly returned to the task ahead.


    He stepped into the octagon, his movements fluid, his eyes immediately meeting Brian''s.


    The two fighters stood across from each other, the intensity building as they awaited the referee''s final instructions.


    Brian''s gaze didn''t waver, his jaw clenched, ready for whatever Felipe was about to bring.


    Felipe, on the other hand, kept his expression neutral, focused but calm, his body loose and prepared.


    The cage door nged shut once more, locking the two fighters in. There were no words exchanged.


    Referee Hank Binn, a towering figure in the cage, took a step forward, his hands gesturing for both fighters to step in closer.


    His voice was calm but firm, just like it always was when he demanded attention in the octagon.


    "Alright, gentlemen," Hank began, his eyes moving between Brian and Felipe. "You both know the rules. I want a clean fight. Protect yourselves at all times, follow my instructions at all times."


    He paused for a second, ensuring both fighters were listening.


    Brian''s nostrils red as he kept his eyes locked on Felipe, who stood focused, breathing steadily.


    "If you want to touch gloves, do it now," Hank added, his tone suggesting he didn''t expect either of them to.


    Neither fighter moved, both keeping their hands at their sides. Hank nodded, unfazed by the intensity.


    "Alright, back to your corners and let''s keep it clean. You ready?" Hank looked at Felipe, who gave a slight nod, his fists raised.


    "You ready?" Hank turned to Brian, who answered with a sharp nod and raised fists, his gaze never leaving Felipe.


    "Let''s do this," Hank called, stepping back as the tension in the octagon finally reached its peak.

 Chapter 163 Felipe Santos Vs. Brian Walker II: Out-wrestle

    Both fighters stood still and tense, waiting for the bell that would start the war.


    BEEEEEP!


    The fight began, and Brian wasted no time.


    He rushed forward, feinting a jab before quickly firing a heavy low kick that hit against Felipe''s leg.


    PAHH!!


    Felipe changed his steps as he tried to figure out the rhythm. As he circled, his footwork was still smooth.


    Felipe responded with a crisp jab, followed by a quickbination of punches, but Brian slipped just out of range and countered with a powerful hook that grazed Felipe''s chin.


    It was clear from the start that Brian wasn''t holding back.


    "Control the distance, Felipe! Don''t let him in close!" Whittier raised his voice, yelling from the corner.


    Felipe moved quickly, lightly bouncing on his feet, using his light striking background to keep things standing.


    He flicked a front kick toward Brian''s midsection, but Brian absorbed it, moving forward under constant pressure.


    Brian wasn''t just swinging wildly, he was calcted.


    He threw another kick, this time aimed higher, making Felipe react.


    With that, Brian used the opening to dive low for a single-leg takedown, aiming to use his wrestling to bring the fight to his world.


    Felipe sprawled, showing his recent improvements in defending takedowns, but Brian was relentless.


    As he charged forward, his strength stood out as he powered through Felipe, lifted him, and mmed him hard onto the floor.


    "Get up, Felipe! Get up!" Whittier shouted.


    But Brian''s wrestling was no joke.


    He moved quickly to half guard, pinning Felipe''s hips down, using his body weight to smother him.


    Felipe squirmed beneath him, trying to create space, but Brian''s control was tight.


    "Smeesh him," Chemasov yelled from the corner, his deep voice booming. "Brian! Don''t give space! Keep pressure!"


    Brian worked to pass the guard, throwing elbows from the top, but Felipe managed to block most of them.


    His BJJ instincts kicked in, and he caught Brian''s arm, threatening a kimura for a split second.


    But Brian, with his wrestling background, saw the threat and pulled out, standing back up and allowing Felipe to get to his feet.


    "Stay light! Move, Felipe!" Whittier urged, as Felipe reset, clearly aware that he had narrowly escaped danger.


    Felipended a sharp one-twobination, followed by a body kick that echoed through the arena.


    Brian sucked in his teeth and kept going.


    His pressure was starting to wear on Felipe, who was now visibly breathing heavier.


    Brianunched a high kick that Felipe just managed to block, but the force sent him stumbling back into the cage.


    He threw a lot of punches at Felipe while he was against the wall, hooks, uppercuts, knees, all aimed at wearing Felipe down.


    Felipe covered up, blocking most of the shots, but Brian was clearly the stronger, more focused fighter at this moment.


    "DON''T STAND THERE! GET OUT!" Whittier''s voice rang out.


    Felipe pushed off the cage, creating some distance and firing a swift jab-crossbo.


    But Brian, fueled by his hunger for victory, wasn''t backing down.


    He moved in again, this time mixing his strikes beautifully with his takedown attempts.


    Brian ducked under another jab and shot for a double-leg, scooping Felipe''s legs and mming him down hard.


    "YES, BRIAN! KEEP HIM DOWN!" Chemasov roared from the corner.


    Felipe fought from the bottom, his BJJing into y as he looked for sweeps and submissions, but Brian stayed smart, using his superior wrestling to neutralize Felipe''s attempts.


    He postured up, raining down heavy shots, one after another.


    Felipe''s face began to show signs of wear, his movements a bit slower, but he kept fighting.


    He was no pushover,nding a few strikes from the bottom and managing to scramble back to his feet.


    "You got this, Felipe! Keep moving!" Whittier encouraged, but even he could see that Brian was slowly taking over the fight.


    Felipe threw a spinning back kick, looked like karate, but Brian timed it perfectly, catching him and driving him back into the cage again.


    This time, he threw a knee to Felipe''s midsection, causing him to grunt in pain.


    The coaches were relentless with their calls.


    Chemasov barked orders in Russian while Whittier kept trying to get Felipe to adjust, to stay away from Brian''s relentless wrestling.


    Felipe fired another punch, but itcked the power from earlier in the round. Brian was still sharp, focused.


    He slipped the punch and connected with a stiff jab that snapped Felipe''s head back.


    Brian pressed the action again, firing a series ofbinations that pushed Felipe back.


    It was clear that every hit and kick was meant to hurt.


    Felipe was defending, but the momentum was shifting toward Brian.


    "Stay with it, Felipe!" Whittier yelled, but even he knew that Brian was the one in control now.


    Felipe, visibly tired, tried to rally, throwing a high kick that whizzed past Brian''s head, but Brian ducked under it and went straight for a takedown, mming Felipe onto the mat once more.


    With Felipe on his back, Brian began raining down heavy ground and pound, his focusser-sharp as he followed the game n to perfection.


    "Finish him!" Chemasov shouted, his voice booming.


    Brian postured up, delivering one more massive strike just as the bell rang.


    BEEEEEEEP!


    Hank Binn stepped in to separate the fighters as they both caught their breath.


    The round was tough, and even though Felipe fought hard, Brian was clearly the one with the upper hand.


    Whittier stepped in as Felipe sat down on the stool.


    He had a serious look in his eyes that showed frustration and determination.


    One of the coaches handed Felipe water, while another patted his shoulders, but Whittier wasted no time.


    "This is not what we nned, Felipe," Whittier said, his tone sharp but not panicked. "You''re trying to out-wrestle him. What did we say? That''s his game. You don''t want to y his game!"


    Felipe nodded and tried to catch his breath, but it was clear that Brian''s constant push had worn him out.


    "Stop letting him dictate the pace! You''re giving him exactly what he wants," Whittier continued, leaning in closer, his voice both firm and encouraging.


    "You''ve got better hands, you''ve got better kicks, so use them! Don''t engage in the clinch unless you have to, and for god''s sake, keep it standing."

 Chapter 164 Felipe Santos Vs. Brian Walker III: Finish HIM!!

    Felipe took a deep breath and tried to remember what was said.


    He looked over at his corner team, who were all nodding their heads.


    "Listen, you''re better than this," Whittier added, softening slightly. "I know you can do it. Focus on your footwork and distance. He''s gonnae in hard, so make him pay for it. When he gets too close, throw those body kicks. He can''t handle them."


    Felipe wiped sweat from his face, nodded, and took another sip of water.


    He was listening, but Whittier could see the frustration building.


    "You got this," Whittier said, giving him a firm pat on the back. "Now go out there and fight smart. Don''t let him control you."


    The stool was pulled out from under Felipe, and he stood up, shaking out his arms as he prepared to re-enter the battle.


    Brian stood up across the cage and looked at Felipe with his eyes.


    Even though the pace had been hard, Felipe''s energy was still high.


    On the other side of the cage, Balim Chemasov stood with a wide grin, patting Brian on the shoulder with a heavy hand.


    "Good, very good," Chemasov said, nodding in approval. "But now, no more ying. Time to stop ying with food, You smesh him now. Finish the fight!"


    Brian, still catching his breath, nodded, absorbing the words.


    Chemasov leaned in, his voice lowering but still intense. "He''s scared, you see? He don''t want to wrestle you. You make him suffer, yes? You take him down, and you end this. No more fun, now is time for kill."


    He pped Brian''s back, and the other coaches nodded in agreement. "Go now, finish. Show him what happens when he fight you."


    Brian looked straight at Felipe with eyes that were filled with determination. He understood what he needed to do.


    BEEEEEH!


    As the bell rang to start the second round, Felipe knew he had to make adjustments.


    As he moved back to find his range, his heart was beating fast.


    His feet moved quickly, his mind moving just as fast, looking for an opening.


    He flicked out a few jabs, testing the waters, but Brian had turned into a different beast.


    Brian stalked forward like a predator, his expression cold and focused.


    The punches that Felipe threw might as well have been tossed at a wall.


    Brian kept walking him down, each step forward making Felipe flinch as if expecting something terrible to happen.


    Felipe threw a sharp front kick, aiming to keep Brian away, but Brian swatted it aside with ease.


    He followed it up with a jab, then a cross, but none of his punches seemed to matter.


    Brian dodged the blows like he knew they wereing and got closer and closer.


    Brian''s head movement was subtle but effective.


    He wasn''t wild, no unnecessary slips, just enough to avoid getting hit while maintaining his pressure.


    Every time Felipe stepped back, Brian was already cutting off the angle.


    "Distance! Keep the distance!" Whittier shouted from the corner, his voice edged with concern.


    Felipe tried to listen, circling and flicking out another jab.


    But Brian''s aggression was overwhelming. With every missed punch, Felipe felt his confidence slipping.


    Brian finally made his move. He feinted another punch, and Felipe bit on it, ovemitting to his defense.


    In an instant, Brian shot forward like a missile, his arms shooting low as he executed a perfect takedown entry.


    Felipe reacted toote, his bnce alreadypromised, and Brian''s powerful arms wrapped around his legs.


    But Brian didn''t just want to take him down, he wanted to make a statement.


    He didn''t go for the drag; instead, he exploded upward, lifting Felipe clean off the mat.


    For a second, it was like Felipe was floating, helpless in the air as Brian held him up like a ragdoll.


    Everyone gasped.


    Then, in a move that sent shockwaves through the arena, Brian ran forward with Felipe hoisted in the air.


    His steps were heavy, every stride full of intent.


    It was like watching a train gathering speed. When he reached the edge of the cage, he mmed Felipe down with all his might.


    The thud echoed through the room as Felipe''s body hit the canvas with bone-crushing force.


    The hit was so strong that it shook the cage, making everyone in the gym wince.


    When Felipe took the smash, his body copsed under its weight, and he lost his breath right away.(not literally)


    The moment Felipe hit the ground, Brian didn''t waste a second.


    He was already in top position, his body like a vice as he locked Felipe down.


    Felipe''s legs scrambled to get a guard in ce, but Brian was too fast.


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    He immediately postured up, his eyes focused, his fists raised.


    And then the barrage began.


    Brian rained down heavy hammerfists, his knuckles crashing into Felipe''s arms and shoulders as he tried to cover up.


    Each punch felt like it could break bone.


    Brian switched to his elbows and directed them straight at Felipe''s face. Each one cut through the air like a de.


    Felipe tried to buck his hips, trying to create space, but Brian was glued to him, smothering any attempt to escape.


    Felipe reached up to push Brian away, but his arms felt weak, and Brian pped them aside as if they were nothing.


    "Get up! Move!" Whittier screamed from the corner, his voice desperate.


    Felipe tried to listen, but Brian''s pressure was too much.


    His vision was blurry from the strikes, and his head throbbed with pain as each punch found its mark.


    "That''s it, Brian! Finish him! No more ying!" Chemasov shouted, his broken English clear as day.


    Brian heard his coach''s words and nodded slightly, as if confirming the order.


    Brian postured up even higher, creating space between him and Felipe.


    He swung his elbow viciously across Felipe''s forehead, cutting him deeply right away.


    Felipe''s face was covered in blood that ran down and onto the mat.


    Felipe tried to block, but Brian wouldn''t give up. His eyes got big, breathing quickly.


    His next elbow hit Felipe right on the nose, making a sound like bones breaking.


    Blood sprayed from Felipe''s face, sttering across the canvas.


    "Fight back, Felipe!" Whittier screamed, but it was no use.

 Chapter 165 Late Stoppage

    Felipe tried to buck his hips, desperately trying to twist out from under Brian''s weight, but it was no use.


    The blows kepting, harder and faster.


    Brian''s face was twisted in determination, his teeth gritted as he threw elbow after elbow.


    Blood poured down into Felipe''s eyes, blinding him as he tried to cover up.


    The fighters in Team Whittier stood from their seats, their faces tense, as they watched their teammate get overwhelmed.


    Damon leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he saw Brian''s raw aggression take over.


    Felipe''s arms were growing weaker, barely able to block the onught.


    His legs iled beneath Brian''s weight, but his body was betraying him.


    He was stuck.


    Another elbow cracked against his cheek, and his arms went limp.


    Brian postured up, sitting tall on Felipe''s chest, his breath heavy, sweat dripping down his face.


    His eyes were cold as he looked down at his opponent.


    With onest burst of energy, he grabbed Felipe by the throat and pinned him to the mat.


    "Get ready to smesh!" Balim Chemasov roared from the corner.


    Brian hit Felipe with a number of hammerfists, each one stronger than thest.


    His knuckles smashed into Felipe''s already swollen face, blood sttering with every strike.


    Felipe''s head snapped to the side, his body barely responding as the punishment continued.


    Whittier jumped to his feet, his eyes wide with rm. "Ref! Stop the fight!" he shouted, banging the cage with his hands. "He''s done! Stop it now!"


    But Hank Binn hesitated, watching closely, waiting for apleteck of defense.


    Felipe''s hands twitched weakly, barely covering his face. His legs jerked, but there was no escape.


    Brian growled through clenched teeth, his breath ragged as he lifted Felipe''s head off the mat and mmed it down with force.


    The crowd cringed as the brutal movended, the sound of skull meeting canvas echoing through the gym.


    Whittier was nearly in the cage now, his voice frantic. "For fuck''s sake, Hank! Stop the damn fight!"


    Finally, Hank Binn stepped in, grabbing Brian and pulling him off Felipe''s limp body. "That''s it! It''s over!" Hank shouted, waving his hands as the crowd erupted.


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    Brian stood, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face as he red down at the motionless Felipe.


    The medics rushed into the cage, surrounding Felipe as they checked his injuries.


    Whittier stood near the edge of the cage, his face pale with frustration.


    He knew Felipe had been out of the fight long before Hank called it, but Brian had sent a brutal message.


    Brian came out to his team, his eyes still red from how intense the fight had been.


    As he made his way past Damon, their eyes locked, and for a brief moment, it felt like time froze.


    Neither of them blinked, each refusing to back down in that silent exchange.


    In that long moment, Damon saw it, the challenge, the threat. Brian didn''t need to say anything.


    The message was clear: what he had done to Felipe, he fully intended to do to Damon.


    It was a promise of violence, and Brian''s cold stare said it all.


    But Damon didn''t flinch.


    He stood there and watched Brian walk by. His mind was already working fast.


    He knew what Brian was trying tomunicate, but Damon didn''t buy it.


    There was no fear, no hesitation in his thoughts.


    If it came down to facing Brian, Damon was certain of one thing, he would destroy him.


    Damon scoffed quietly to himself, barely a whisper, "As if."


    He turned away, brushing off the stare-down like it was nothing.


    As Damon moved toward the ring, he watched Felipe slowly get to his feet.


    The medics were still checking him over, but it was clear that Felipe wasn''t in any condition to think, let alone speak.


    His face was swollen, his movements sluggish, and the look in his eyes said everything, they had lost again.


    No one from Team Whittier said a word. There was no need.


    The previous loss was still hanging like a sword over their heads.


    And now, with another defeat under their belts, they all knew what it meant, Team Chemasov would get to pick the matchups again.


    Damon clenched his fists, feeling the pressure build.


    He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a sharp breath. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his frustration boiling over.


    He hated this feeling of powerlessness, the way things seemed to be slipping from their control.


    Wanting to get some rity, Damon walked toward Whittier, who was already deep in conversation with Hank Binn, the referee.


    Whittier talked with Hank. He had a serious look on his face and a low, tense voice as he talked about how badly the fight ended.


    Damon walked up and spoke up, his jaw tight as he did so. He asked, "Coach, what''s the n now?" His voice was steady, but there was displeasure in it.


    Whittier turned, acknowledging Damon with a nod. "We need to regroup. We''re not out of this yet. But I won''t lie to you, Damon. They''re going to pick the next matchups, and we need to be ready for anything."


    He nced at the ring where Felipe was still being helped out. "We can''t afford another slip-up like that."


    Damon nodded, and he could feel his concentration picking up. "Whoever they pick next, I''m ready."


    Whittier looked at him, sensing the intensity in Damon''s eyes. "Good. Because we''re going to need you all sharp for what''sing."


    After the fight, the teams gathered separately in their respective locker rooms to discuss their future ns.


    In Team Chemasov''s locker room, the mood was celebratory but controlled.


    There were a few ps on the back and nods of approval from Balim Chemasov, but nothing over the top.


    Despite the victory, they knew this wasn''t the time to getcent.


    Brian sat with a towel draped over his shoulders, still catching his breath, while Kofi leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a faint grin on his face.


    Balim, always the calm and collected leader, pped his hands to get everyone''s attention. "Good job, Brian," he said, his thick ent adding weight to his words. "You did what you had to do, but now we n for the next fight. No more games."


    The room quieted down, everyone listening intently.


    They knew this wasn''t the time to bask in their win for too long.


    Balim wasn''t going to let them getfortable.


    Before speaking again, he looked around the room and stood still for a moment to look at each fighter. "We pick the next matchup. And next, we smesh them again."


    Balim spoke, and the room paid close attention to his steady, deliberate speech.


    "And the next target is..."

 Chapter 166 A Quick One: Kofi Clarke Vs. Miles Carter

    The bell went off sharply and loudly, resonating through the facility.


    In the center of the cage stood Miles and Kofi, two towering figures ready to go to war.


    Days had passed since thest elimination fight, and once again, Team Chemasov had chosen the matchup.


    Much to everyone''s surprise, they hadn''t chosen Damon to face Kofi or anyone else. Not yet.


    The house had been quieter with fewer fighters, but that only made the atmosphere more ufortable.


    The trash talking had stopped, and a strange, suffocating tension had taken its ce.


    Even Brian, who had been a big part of the drama before, had kept his mouth shut.


    But it wasn''t a peaceful silence, it was the kind that signaled something bigger wasing.


    Inside the cage, Kofi stood across from Miles, his massive frame dwarfing his opponent.


    Although Miles was a middleweight, he looked more like a welterweight because of the size difference.


    Kofi''s eyes were locked on his target, his face a mask of calm.


    The fighters circled each other cautiously, waiting for the first strike.


    Kofi stood across from Miles, his face expressionless.


    No smiles, no smirks, just cold, calcting eyes.


    Miles, on the other hand, kept moving quickly and lightly, but he couldn''t escape the weight of Kofi''s presence.


    It was like standing in front of a mountain.


    Kofi moved first.


    No feints, no testing the waters, just a thunderous right hand straight toward Miles'' guard.


    CRACK!


    The sound was like someone smacking a b of concrete with a sledgehammer.


    Miles blocked it, but the force sent him stumbling backward, his eyes wide with shock.


    It felt like he''d been hit with a brick, and his arms throbbed from the impact.


    Kofi didn''t waste time. He stalked forward, stone-faced, like a predator.


    His footwork was deceptively fast for a man of his size, and before Miles could properly set his stance again, Kofi was on him.


    Miles threw a jab, hoping to create some distance.


    Kofi swatted it away like a fly and responded with a swift body kick.


    THWAP!


    The kick mmed into Miles'' ribs, and he grunted, wincing as he tried to circle away. He knew he couldn''t take too many more of those.


    "Stay light, Miles!" Whittier called from the corner, his voice calm but urgent. "Don''t let him trap you!"


    Miles listened, bouncing on his toes, trying to stay elusive.


    He threw a few more punches, quick jabs, trying to keep Kofi at bay.


    But Kofi wasn''t buying into it. He kept moving forward, unfazed.


    Then it happened. Kofi, with the speed of a much lighter fighter, ducked under one of Miles'' punches and shot in for a takedown.


    It was quick, brutal, and Miles barely had time to react.


    Kofi wrapped his arms around Miles'' waist, and in one fluid motion, he lifted him clean off the ground.


    Miles felt his feet leave the canvas, his body suspended in the air.


    For a second, everything went quiet in Miles'' head. He was helpless, weightless.


    And then


    BAM!


    He was mmed to the ground by Kofi with such force that the cage shook.


    It wasn''t just a takedown, it was a statement. The crowd gasped at the sheer power of it.


    But Kofi wasn''t done.


    He stood over Miles, who scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, only to be met with another crushing right hand.


    CRACK!


    The punchnded clean on Miles'' jaw, and his legs wobbled, sending him stumbling into the cage.


    Kofi advanced, throwing a barrage of strikes, lefts, rights, body shots, each onending with precision and force.


    "Miles, move! Get out of there!" Whittier yelled, his voice now tense.


    Miles tried to circle out, but Kofi was relentless. He cut off the cage, trapping Miles against the fence.


    With a quick move, Kofi ducked under again, grabbed Miles by the waist, and hoisted him into the air once more.


    This time, he didn''t just m him down. He ran across the cage, holding Miles high, before driving him into the mat again with a brutal THUD!


    The crowd was on its feet now, amazed by the disy of raw power.


    Miles groaned as he hit the canvas, struggling to get back up.


    But Kofi was on him, like a shadow that wouldn''t leave.


    He postured up,nding short, powerful strikes, nothing wild, just controlled, calcted punches that kept Miles pinned and unable to escape.


    Whittier was on the edge of the cage now, his hands gripping the fence. "Miles, you gotta move! Don''t just sit there!"


    Kofi stayed patient,nding clean, heavy shots every few seconds.


    He didn''t rush.


    He didn''t need to.


    Every punch thatnded drained more of Miles'' energy, more of his will to fight.


    Hank Binn watched closely, hovering nearby, his eyes locked on Miles'' attempts to defend.


    Kofi, sensing the end, grabbed Miles by the shoulders and dragged him back to the center of the cage, lifting him again like a child, before mming him down a third time.


    The m knocked whatever fight Miles had left right out of him.


    Miles was dazed now, his movements sluggish.


    He threw up his arms to block, but it was clear he couldn''t take much more.


    Kofi postured up once again,nding another heavy shot that rattled Miles'' head.


    That was thest straw.


    Hank Binn rushed in, pulling Kofi off just as he raised his fist for another strike.


    "That''s it! It''s over!" Hank shouted, waving off the fight.


    Kofi stood up, still stone-faced, barely winded as he walked back to his corner.


    There was no celebration, no emotion, just cold, efficient dominance.


    Milesy on the canvas, breathing heavily, but there was no serious damage.


    He was beaten, but Hank had stepped in just in time.


    Team Chemasov erupted in cheers, while Team Whittier sat in stunned silence.


    Kofi had made his statement loud and clear.


    As Kofi left the cage, his eyes locked with Damon''s for just a moment.


    There was no challenge in Kofi''s stare, just a cold indifference, like he didn''t even consider Damon a threat.


    Damon''s jaw clenched.


    He knew what this meant.


    Kofi then smirked.


    His expression changed as he exited the cage, a slow, almost imperceptible smirk forming at the corner of his lips.


    The calm, stone-faced demeanor he''d worn during the fight faded, reced by a silent satisfaction.


    He nced back at Miles, who was still recovering in his corner, then turned his head forward and walked toward Team Chemasov with measured, deliberate steps.


    Two challenges in a row...


    Four Loses in a row

 Chapter 167 The Coaches Challenge I

    The sun was shining brightly and making sharp shadows on the water below.


    These floating tforms moved back and forth and were linked together in a snake-like pattern that went across the water like a ninja obstacle course from a TV show.


    As Team Chemasov and Team Whittier stood next to each other, the space was bursting with excitement.


    Team Chemasov still had four fighters in thepetition, standing proudly next to Balim.


    Across from them, Damon and Ivan remained as thest two contenders for Team Whittier, but Miles, who had lost his fight, was present as a backup fighter, just in case.


    Ronan ck, the always-enthusiastic CEO of UFA, stood in front of the obstacle course with his famous grin on his face.


    He pped his hands together loudly, which got everyone''s attention.


    Ronan started with a loud, excited voice, "This is my favorite part of the show, as you all know." "It''s time for the Coaches'' Challenge!"


    Both Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier were fierce in their own rights, and this was going to be a test of their personal strength, speed, and endurance.


    Ronan made a gesture toward the course, and his energy was clear in every move.


    "Now, we''ve got ourselves a little ninja course today, gentlemen!" he told them.


    "It''s simple, there are six obstacles, and it''s all about speed and technique."


    He pointed to the start of the course, a narrow bnce beam hovering over the water. "First, you''ve got the bnce beam. Stay steady, or you''re taking a swim."


    The fighters chuckled as Ronan continued. "Next up, we have the rope swing. You''ll have to grab onto the rope and swing yourself over to the next tform."


    Following the swing was a wall climb, about ten feet high, with handholds scattered across the surface.


    "After the rope, you''ll be climbing this wall. Fast hands, quick feet, and no falling, or it''s back to the start."


    Ronan''s hand moved to the fourth challenge, a number of unstable pirs, each one higher than thest, bobbing on the water''s surface.


    "These tforms are going to test your footwork. They''re not solid, so step wrong, and you''ll tip into the drink."


    He then pointed to the fifth obstacle, a suspendeddder that swayed with the wind.


    "After the pirs, it''s onto the hangingdder. You''re gonna need some serious grip strength to make it across this bad boy without falling."


    Finally, the sixth andst challenge was a set of rings hanging over the water, leading to the final tform.


    "And to finish, you''ll need to grab these rings and swing your way across to the finish line. First coach tond on the final tform wins the challenge for their team!"


    Ronan turned to the two coaches, grinning from ear to ear. "Alright, gentlemen, let''s see what you''ve got. This isn''t just for bragging rights, the winner gets $10,000 cash!"


    Ronan grinned wider, catching the attention of the two coaches. "Oh, and did I forget to mention? This challenge isn''t just about who finishes, it''s about who finishes the fastest. We''re timing this, so every second counts! The coach with the fastest time will win the challenge for their team."


    He pointed to the course, and you could feel his excitement. "So, pace yourselves, but don''t take too long. The clock starts the moment your feet hit that first tform!"


    They exchanged nces, some grinning, while others nodded in quiet confidence.


    Both teachers smiled and didn''t seem to be taking it too seriously, like it was just another day at work.


    Ronan ck stood in front of the teams. "All right!" "Since Team Chemasov has more wins, Balim will go first," he said, pping his hands together.


    Even though both teams wereughing, a sense ofpetition began to take hold.


    Balim, hearing his name, grinned wide. "Haha, this is easy, brother," he said, his thick ent cutting through the breeze.


    He casually shrugged and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, taking it off to show off his impressive physique.


    His broad chest and well-toned arms were proof of how hard he trained, every muscle was shaped from years of fights and training.


    "Go get ''em, coach!" one of the fighters from Team Chemasov cheered.


    Balim gave a nod, cracking his neck to the side before stepping toward the starting line.


    The course stretched out before him, an intimidating path of obstacles floating above the water.


    A bnce beam, a rope swing, a towering wall, unstable pirs, and morey ahead.


    But Balim didn''t seem phased; in fact, he looked as though he was about to enjoy this.


    The drone spun into ce in the sky and captured everything from above.


    Ronan gestured toward the first obstacle, the bnce beam, his grin wide. "Alright, Balim. Time starts... now!" He shouted, and the clock began to tick.


    Balim immediately stepped onto the bnce beam.


    His heavy frame looked almost too big for the narrow surface, but he moved with surprising grace for someone his size.


    His arms stretched out for bnce as his bare feet tiptoed across the beam.


    There was a slight wobble halfway through, his foot slipping momentarily, but he quickly corrected himself, shing a quick grin at his team.


    "Easy work!" he called back, his voice full of confidence.


    His eyes shifted to the next obstacle: the rope swing.


    Without breaking stride, Balim grabbed the thick rope, sizing up the distance.


    He stepped back, gave it a few tugs to test its strength, then with a deep breath, heunched himself into the air.


    His powerful arms gripped the rope tightly as he soared over the water.


    The drone quickly moved in to capture the action as Balim flew across andnded hard on the next tform.


    Balim rolled his shoulders, clearly pleased with himself, and gave a quick nod to the guys watching him.


    He waved them off, signaling that it wasn''t even a challenge yet.


    But as he turned, the wall stood in front of him, a towering 10-foot structure, handholds scattered unevenly across its surface.

 Chapter 168 The Coaches Challenge II

    He jumped up right away and grabbed the first handhold.


    He easily grabbed the edges with his big hands and started to pull himself up.


    As he moved up, his muscles flexed as he used each strong arm in turn.


    Sweat streamed down his cheeks, but his face stayed calm.


    His legs pushed against the wall, using his full body strength to propel him higher.


    In just a few pulls, he reached the top, breathing steady but with a small smirk of satisfaction on his face.


    Balim gave his team a quick look back beforeunching himself onto the following tform, where his feetnded with a firm thud.


    Now came the unstable pirs.


    Each one wobbled and shifted with every step, their surfaces barely stable enough to support a person''s weight.


    Balim''s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, there was a look of seriousness on his face.


    This part required more than just strength, it required finesse.


    He stepped onto the first pir cautiously, testing its bnce.


    It rocked slightly, but Balim adjusted, shifting his weight with careful precision.


    As he moved from one pir to the next, his steps became quicker, almost like a predator leaping from rock to rock in the wild.


    His arms stretched out again for bnce, and there was a brief moment when one pir tilted dangerously to the side, causing him to nearly lose his footing.


    But with a grunt and a strong push from his leg, Balimunched himself onto the next one, his body moving like a coiled spring, ready to adjust at any moment.


    His team stood there and waited. When he finally made it across, there were a few small cheers.


    Balim looked back, giving them a cheeky smile before continuing to the suspendeddder.


    Thedder swayed gently in the breeze, its metal rungs gleaming in the sunlight.


    Balim cracked his knuckles, then jumped up to grab the first rung.


    His strong arms made it easy for him to climb, but it was hard for him to keep his grip on thedder as it moved back and forth.


    The drone followed closely, capturing his every move as he inched his way across, his hands and arms burning with effort.


    He paused for a moment halfway through, his arms holding him steady, before continuing the climb.


    Each of his grips wasid and strong, as he moved with control.


    Although the weight of Balim made thedder squeak.


    He finally got to the top with onest push, and with a grunt of effort, hended on thest level.


    The rings were thest challenge.


    With a determined gaze, Balim faced thest challenge.


    The rings were spaced just far enough apart to make the crossing difficult, even for someone with his strength.


    He grabbed the first ring, his body swinging back and forth, gaining momentum.


    His legs kicked out as he swung to the second ring, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing as he pulled himself across.


    The drone zoomed in, capturing his face, no longer smiling, now focused.


    With one final swing, Balimunched himself toward the final tform,nding with a loud thud.


    He stood up, chest heaving slightly, but still looking calm and collected.


    "Done!" he shouted, raising his arms in victory as his team erupted in cheers.


    The drone hovered above him as he flexed his arms, grinning toward Ronan, who was smiling in approval.


    "A solid run, Balim!" Ronan announced, ncing at his stopwatch with a grin. "Let''s see if Whittier can match that. Your time is locked in."


    Balim turned back to his team, soaking in their cheers. He flexed both arms, clearly enjoying the attention. "Too easy!" he called out,ughing. "Now let''s see what Whittier can do."


    As Balim made his way back toward Ronan, still grinning and catching his breath, he wiped some sweat off his brow.


    He nced at Ronan, who was looking at the stopwatch with a raised eyebrow.


    Balim couldn''t help but chuckle. "Hey, Ronan," he said, his thick ent rolling over the words, "you think I get title shot if I win this? Maybe I stop fighting, do this obstacle thing instead!" He flexed his muscles again, jokingly showing off.


    Ronanughed, shaking his head. "If that''s how you want to earn your title shot, Balim, I''m sure we can set something up," he replied, ying along with the joke.


    Balim grinned wider, pointing to the course. "Easy, brother. I smash this, I smash anything. Maybe next challenge, I run through walls, eh?"


    The fighters on both teamsughed, some shaking their heads at Balim''s antics.


    Donald Whittier looked at the group with his signature easygoing smile. His sharp eyes were scanning the course.


    He stretched his arms out casually, then nced at the fighters and the coaches. "Alright, alright," he said, chuckling, "I''ll try not to embarrass anyone too much."


    The fightersughed, some pping their hands in encouragement.


    Damon and Ivan exchanged smirks, knowing that despite Whittier''s calm demeanor, he was dead serious when it came topetition.


    "Let''s get this over with, shall we?" Whittier added, pulling off his shirt, revealing his fit and battle-tested physique.


    He might not have had the same bulky, imposing frame as Balim, but Whittier was lean and toned, every muscle was also product of years of training and discipline.


    He took a deep breath and nodded to Ronan. "Let''s do this."


    Ronan grinned, stopwatch in hand. "Ready when you are, Donald!"


    With a nod, Whittier stepped up to the first obstacle, the bnce beam.


    Whittier hopped onto the narrow beam, his feet moving with precision.


    His bnce was near-perfect as he gracefully danced across, his arms extended slightly to steady himself.


    The beam wobbled under his feet, but Whittier''s focus was locked in.


    He took his time, unlike Balim''s rush, moving with deliberate care.


    Behind him, the fighters cheered him on, but Whittier remained calm, not letting the noise distract him.


    Once he reached the end of the beam, he leaped off,nding solidly on the next tform.

 Chapter 169 Ronan Privileges

    The next hurdle was the rope swing. Whittier grabbed the rope with both hands right away and held on tight.


    He took a running start,unching himself into the air.


    As he swung across the gap, he adjusted his grip, pulling himself higher for a smoothnding.


    With a quick release, hended on the next tform effortlessly.


    He gave a light nod, more to himself than to anyone else.


    The ten-foot wall loomed ahead, but Whittier moved toward it with confidence.


    His hands found the first handhold, and he began climbing with a speed that showed his familiarity with such challenges.


    His legs powered him upward as his fingers gripped the small holds tightly.


    About halfway up, he looked down briefly, shing a grin at his team before pulling himself up and over the top of the wall in one smooth motion.


    Next, the unstable pirs. These would be tricky, but Whittier wasn''t worried.


    His footwork was light, and his agility would be put to the test here.


    He stepped onto the first pir, which wobbled beneath his weight.


    But instead of hesitating, he moved quickly, hopping from one pir to the next.


    Each pir rocked dangerously, but Whittier stayed nimble, moving faster than anyone expected.


    A few gasps escaped from the onlookers as he almost lost his footing on one of the higher pirs, but he recovered quickly, jumping to the final tform.


    Now came the suspendeddder.


    Whittier grabbed the first rung, and it swayed slightly under his grip.


    He climbed carefully, his arms flexing as he pulled himself from rung to rung, maintaining his focus.


    Halfway through, his grip began to slip, but he quickly adjusted, wrapping his fingers tighter around the bar.


    He moved efficiently, his breathing steady as he made his way across, reaching the end and jumping down onto the tform below.


    The final challenge was the set of hanging rings, spaced out over the water.


    Whittier gave his hands a quick shake before grabbing the first ring.


    He swung his body back and forth, using the momentum to reach the next ring.


    His movements were fluid, and he made it look almost easy as he swung from one ring to the next, his grip unwavering.


    As he neared the final ring, he nced at the finish tform.


    With onest swing, he let go of the ring andnded on the final tform with a controlled roll.


    The fighters erupted in cheers, impressed by Whittier''s smooth and calcted approach to the course.


    He stood up, wiping some sweat from his brow, and gave a mock bow to the crowd. "Well, that wasn''t too bad," he said with a wink.


    Ronan clicked the stopwatch and grinned. "Nice run, Donald. That''s going to be a tough time to beat!"


    Ronan ck looked down at the stopwatch in his hand, a grin spreading across his face. "Okay, this is good," he said, ncing between Balim and Donald. "Looking at the times... ohhh, this is a close one!"


    Both teams leaned in.


    Ivan and Damon looked at each other, their excitement building.


    Team Chemasov stood tall, sure of how their coach would do.


    Ronan took a big pause to enjoy the moment. He then raised his voice with a gleam in his eye.


    "And the winner, by just a few seconds... Donald Whittier!"


    The fighters on Team Whittier cheered and pped, patting each other on the back.


    Donald shed a humble grin as he stepped forward.


    Ronan handed him a stack of cash, $10,000.


    "Congrats, Donald!" Ronan said, handing him the money. "This right here is for you, you earned it!"


    Whittier nodded, epting the prize. "Thanks, Ronan. Guess all that training paid off, huh?" he joked, turning to his fighters with a satisfied smile.


    Balim, meanwhile, shrugged it off with a good-natured chuckle. "Next time, I smesh you, Donny. Easy money," he said with his thick ent, pping Whittier on the back.


    Even though the Coaches challenge was over, both teams were pulsing with excitement because they knew the real fights were still toe in the cage.


    It seems the fighters weren''t the only ones hungry for fights.


    While The Supreme Fighter was designed to focus on the up-anding talent from both teams, it was no secret that the coaches themselves carried a weight of expectation.


    Throughout the show, tension usually simmered between them, and though their official role was to coach, everyone knew what the real stakes were.


    At the end of the season, the fighters would finish their battles, but the coaches would have their moment too.


    A much-anticipated coaches'' fight was always a staple of the show, a final sh between the two veteran fighters.


    And by the way Balim Chemasov had been throwing casual challenges and sly remarks, it was clear the thought was never far from his mind.


    Balim wasn''t just focused on leading his fighters to victory, he was already nning how he would handle Donald Whittier when the time came for them to settle things in the cage.


    It wasn''t just the fighters getting ready for war.


    Damon grinned and joked, "So, Coach, how about a cut of that $10,000? You know, for moral support and all."


    Donald Whittier chuckled, shaking his head as he stuffed the stack of cash into his pocket. "Nice try, kid. You win the show, and then you can talk about prize money. Until then, this stays with me."


    The fighters around themughed, and Damon shrugged yfully, "Worth a shot."


    Whittier patted him on the shoulder with a smile, "You focus on winning the whole thing, and there''ll be plenty more where this came from."


    He smirked, leaning back. "I''m pretty sure if both of you perform well, you might get some Ronan privileges," he joked, throwing a nce toward the UFA CEO.


    Damonughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, right. Ronan privileges are probably worth more than the prize money," he quipped, still grinning.


    Ronan, overhearing, chuckled from the side. "Keep dreaming, boys. You''ve got a long way to go before you get anything Ronan level."

 Chapter 170 Face-Off

    Team Whittier had a different day today.


    The mood was much better, and there was a sense of rxation in the air.


    They broke their losing streak two days ago when Ivan made sure the other fighter couldn''t stand up.


    That victory had injected new life into the team, a much-needed boost after a series of defeats.


    Now, the teams stood in front of their coaches once again.


    Although the formalities were being observed, it wasn''t really necessary.


    Everyone knew who was going to fight next.


    With only two fighters left who hadn''t stepped into the cage, the next matchup was inevitable.


    Damon stood quietly with his teammate. There was less tension than usual.


    Ivan, fresh off his win, looked ready to support him.


    The entire team seemed more rxed, confident even.


    On the other side, Team Chemasov was equally focused.


    They had been dominant throughout thepetition, but they knew that Team Whittier wouldn''t give up easily now that their morale was high.


    Balim Chemasov stood at the front, arms crossed, with his usual smirk of confidence.


    He was ready to see if his next fighter could keep their momentum going.


    Ronan ck, standing at the center, still yed his role, officially announcing the fight like there was any mystery. "Alright, gentlemen. Let''s make it official."


    He looked from one side to the other before saying the obvious. "Damon Cross, Kevin Edward, your time hase."


    Damon met Kevin''s eyes from across the group.


    There was no animosity, just a quiet understanding of what was about to go down.


    Both fighters were experienced, both knew what it meant to step into that cage.


    And both understood that despite whatever respect they might have for each other, only one of them was walking away with a win.


    They stepped forward for the face-off, eyes locking in a silent but intense exchange.


    When Damon and Kevin had first met, there had been mutual respect, maybe even a hint of camaraderie.


    But now, standing inches apart, the atmosphere had shifted. There were no friends in the cage.


    No handshakes or smiles, only a winner and a loser.


    Any sign of weakness meant forfeiting not just the fight, but your pride.


    Although Damon maintained aposed exterior, he couldn''t help but feel superior.


    It wasn''t arrogance, at least not in his mind, but a firm belief in his skills.


    Damon had spent the past week in deeper meditation than he had in months.


    The technique had be an essential part of his post-training routine, a way to clear his mind and focus his energy.


    It was in these moments of stillness that he allowed himself to reflect, to really think about what was missing in his fighting style.


    Sure, many would consider him a well-rounded fighter.


    He had Muay Thai for striking, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for ground work, two of the most effective martial arts in mixed martial arts.


    But he had begun to realize that wasn''t enough.


    If he wanted to be more than just another fighter in the UFA, he had to think beyond what was standard.


    He imagined being proficient in more than just a handful of martial arts.


    What if he could take elements from everything he learned and craft his own unique style?


    It was an ambitious goal,


    One that almost felt like a dream.


    Creating an entirely new martial art wasn''t something that could be done overnight, and the idea of mastering so many different disciplines seemed nearly impossible.


    Still, the thought excited him.


    If he could learn enough from each style and merge them into something personal, he could be unstoppable.


    But learning every martial art out there would take time, time he simply didn''t have.


    Between training, fighting, and the rapid pace of The Supreme Fighter, dedicating himself to every art would be a long-term project, if not a lifetime goal.


    He couldn''t help but wonder if the system would offer something that could elerate his growth.


    So far, it had been a massive asset, giving him a leg up in training andpetition.


    He knew he would eventually use the Simtion feature to analyze future opponents, but he felt deep down that the system had more to offer, something he hadn''t unlocked yet.


    For now, though, his focus had to remain on the task at hand, his uing fight against Kevin.


    Confidence was one thing, but Damon wasn''t foolish enough to underestimate his opponent.


    Every fighter had strengths, and in a fight, even the smallest mistake could be costly.


    As the stare-down ended, Damon and Kevin broke eye contact, each turning to join their respective teams.


    Though neither of them spoke, there was an enduring tension between them.


    It wasn''t like what he had with Brian or Kofi, but it was still there.


    Ronan ck took a step forward and lightly pped his hands to get everyone''s attention back on him. He said, "Okay, that''s enough of that," in a steady, reassuring tone.


    "All right, you two. The winner moves on to the next round. I hope you both understand that you can''t go back from here."


    "Once you''re out, you''re out."


    The fighters on both teams paid close attention to Ronan as he spoke, knowing how important the moment was.


    Ronan''s eyes scanned the group,nding on Damon and Kevin again. "Now, I wish you both good training. Use your time wisely. This fight is going to decide a lot."


    With that, the formal announcement was done, and the fighters began to disperse, returning to their respective corners to strategize and prepare for whaty ahead.


    Damon felt the shift in energy, the clock ticking down toward the most important fight of his life so far.


    In fact every fight in thisepetition was important.


    This was going to be Damon''s second fight in The Supreme Fighter, and he knew it carried more weight than the first.


    If there was anyone in the media or among the fans still calling him a fluke, this was his chance to silence them.


    The chatter would always there, doubts about whether his first win was just luck or if he really had what it took to go all the way, media was full of critics.


    Damon felt the pressure, but he thrived on it.


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    There would be no ying games anymore, no letting the fight drag out for the sake of learning or pacing himself.


    He had to prove that he wasn''t just a one-hit wonder.


    He had to make a statement.


    Kofi, Brian and Ivan had made their''s.


    The world was watching, and this fight wasn''t just about advancing to the semifinals, it was about showing everyone that he belonged at the top.

 Chapter 171 In Cross We Trust

    "Okay, you got this," Whittier told him in a strong but steady voice.


    He handed Damon a water bottle, watching him take a long sip. "Stick to the n you devised. Keep your head in the game."


    Damon wiped his sweaty forehead and nodded.


    It was the big day, and there was a lot of anxiety in the changing room.


    He and Kevin had justpleted the final weigh-in, and now, the only thing left was to step into the cage.


    Thest week was crazy busy with getting ready for the fight that it seemed like it went on for a month.


    But it was also one of the most productive weeks of Damon''s stay here in TSF.


    Instead of oveplicating things with new techniques or moves, they had streamlined the training.


    They worked on improving what Damon already knew by making his Muay Thai skills better, his defense stronger, and reinforcing his mental game.


    Whittier had made the call early on. "No more experimenting. Let''s perfect what you''re already good at."


    Damon had agreed wholeheartedly. He wasn''t here to show off shy, unfamiliar moves. He was here to win.


    Whittier admired Damon''s adaptability.


    Both Damon and Ivan were fighters who didn''t just follow orders, they actively contributed to the strategy, making suggestions, asking questions, and refining their approach.


    Coaching them didn''t feel like coaching a brick wall; they were engaged, constantly thinking, constantly improving.


    Whittier had learned to trust Damon''s instincts. This was his fight, after all.


    Damon knew what worked for him, and Whittier respected that.


    There was a bnce between coach and fighter that they had cultivated, and it was paying off.


    "Remember," Whittier said, locking eyes with Damon, "this is your fight. Trust yourself. Trust your skills. You''ve got the tools to take him down, just like we''ve nned."


    Damon rxed as he took in the words and rolled his shoulders.


    He could feel how heavy the weight of the fight was, but he was ready to carry it.


    As the knock echoed through the locker room, Damon took a deep breath and nodded. "Thanks, Coach."


    Whittier gave him a firm pat on the back. "Go show them what you''ve got."


    Damon nodded once more, shaking out his arms and bouncing lightly on his feet.


    He felt the adrenaline building with every breath.


    He pushed open the door, and the energy hit him.


    The familiar thrum of his entrance music filled the training facility, though quieter than what it would be in a full arena.


    His team of coaches followed closely behind, a tight-knit group ready to back him up in every way.


    As Damon stepped into the room, the facility had a different feel today.


    The other fighters, coaches, and staff lined the edges of the space, watching intently.


    He made his way to the cage, his body loose but his mind locked in.


    Damon approached the official standing by the side of the cage.


    The man quickly checked his gloves, ensuring they were secured tight.


    Damon lifted his arms as the official applied a thinyer of Vaseline to his face, focusing on his forehead and cheeks.


    Damon nodded, bouncing on his toes, staying loose.


    He looked past Kevin''s cage every once in a while. Kevin was already there, walking back and forth and stretching his shoulders.


    Kevin was calm, focused, but Damon could see a bit of tension in his stance, like he was holding something back.


    Whittier gave Damon a final pat on the back. "Stay sharp. Stick to the n."


    Damon didn''t say anything, but his eyes were fixed ahead of him.


    He took onest deep breath before stepping into the cage, the door closing behind him with a solid click.


    As he faced Kevin from across the cage, the two exchanged nces.


    No words, just a quick read of the other''s intent.


    This was it.


    Hank Binn stepped forward, his voice calm but authoritative as he called Damon and Kevin to the center of the cage.


    "Alright, fighters, listen up," Hank began, his tone steady. "We went over the rules in the back. Protect yourselves at all times, follow my instructions, and if I tell you to stop, stop immediately. No strikes to the back of the head, no knees to a grounded opponent, and watch the low blows. If you want to touch gloves, do it now. Good luck to you both."


    Both Damon and Kevin didn''t hesitate, extending their gloves and touching with mutual respect.


    There was no bad blood here, no need for unnecessary drama.


    Just two fighters prepared to give it their all.


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    Hank gave them a nod and stepped back. "Alright, back to your corners. Let''s keep it clean."


    The two fighters moved back to their corners, ready for the moment the fight would begin.


    There was no animosity, but that didn''t mean either of them was holding back.


    Hank Binn nced between the two fighters, giving each a final look to make sure they were ready.


    "Are you ready? Are you ready? Let''s go!"


    With that, the bell rang, and the fight was officially underway.


    Damon and Kevin moved forward, circling each other cautiously, both aware of what was at stake.


    This wasn''t just another fight.


    It was a defining moment, one that could change their careers forever.


    You lose you go home.


    They had touched gloves in respect, but now it was all business.


    Both fighters had everything to prove.


    Damion was the first one to make a move. Without hesitation, he fired a strong leg kick that hit Kevin in the shin and sent shockwaves through his body.


    Kevin choked the kick, but he still scowled a little because Damon''s power was showing right at the start.


    Everyone watching expected Damon to keep chopping away at the legs, but he had other ns.


    Instead of continuing the leg kicks, Damon followed up with an overhand right.


    It came fast and hard, aiming right for Kevin''s head.


    Kevin barely managed to slip the punch, but it was clear, Damon wasn''t holding anything back.


    He was ready to bring the fight.

 Chapter 172 The Art of Eight Limbs I

    He moved very carefully, stepping lightly on the balls of his feet, as if he were about to spring in at any second.


    Kevin tried to maintain distance, but Damon was quick and closed the gap right away.


    A lightning-fast jab came from Damon, but instead of aiming tond it, it was a feint.


    The real strike followed, an inside leg kick that thudded against Kevin''s thigh, causing him to stumble slightly.


    Damon didn''t give him a chance to recover.


    Pressing forward, he cut the cage andunched a flurry of strikes that only an individualpletely devoted to the art of Muay Thai could produce.


    The next blow was a sharp elbow that went straight for Kevin''s head.


    Kevin managed to block it, but it knocked him off bnce.


    Damon immediately followed up, pulling Kevin into a clinch.


    Kevin struggled to escape, but Damon''s grip was like iron, his forearms pressing against Kevin''s neck, locking him in ce.


    After that, Damon hit Kevin with several of destroying knees that went deep into his ribs.


    Kevin groaned and tried to push off, but Damon ragdolled him and easily kept the hold.


    Another knee came up, this time aimed at Kevin''s midsection, lifting him off the ground slightly as it connected.


    "Control distance, Kevin!" Chemasov shouted from the corner, but Kevin couldn''t find the space he needed.


    Damon, sensing Kevin''s struggle, pulled him back into the clinch tighter, forcing his head down, and delivered a crushing elbow from above.


    It nced off Kevin''s forehead, sending him reeling back.


    Damon didn''t stop. He closed the gap right away and hit Kevin with another powerful leg kick that swooped him off his feet for a moment.


    Kevin hit the ground hard, but he got back up quickly, determination written all over his face.


    He wasn''t out of the fight yet, but Damon kept going.


    "Stick with it, Damon! Don''t let him breathe!" Whittier yelled from the corner, urging him to keep the pressure.


    Damon nodded slightly, his eyes locked on Kevin as he reset his stance.


    This time, he switched it up, no hesitation.


    He threw a feint, another leg kick that Kevin expected, but instead, Damonunched a crushing roundhouse to Kevin''s body.


    The smack echoed through the gym as Kevin staggered, his ribs absorbing the full impact.


    Kevin tried to shoot for a takedown, hoping to switch the dynamic of the fight.


    But Damon saw iting.


    He stuffed the takedown easily, then grabbed Kevin by the neck, pulling him into another clinch.


    This time, Damon used the leverage to drag Kevin across the cage, practically ragdolling him.


    In the clinch, Damon''s knees were relentless.


    He battered Kevin''s midsection over and over, switching between the body and ribs, each strikending with sickening thuds.


    Kevin''s legs buckled as he took the punishment, his body sagging under the onught.


    Hank Binn was watching closely now, stepping in closer to the action, ready to stop it if necessary.


    Kevin was struggling, but he kept fighting back, managing to create enough space to throw a weak punch.


    But Damon shrugged it off like it was nothing.


    Damon smiled briefly, his confidence growing as he sensed Kevin''s weakening state.


    He let go of the clinch and stepped back just enough to throw a devastating teep kick.


    His foot struck Kevin''s chest, sending him stumbling backward across the cage and onto the mat.


    Kevin hit the ground hard, gasping for air, but Damon didn''t pounce immediately.


    Instead, he allowed Kevin to stand, giving him just enough space to rise again.


    "Get up, get up!" Chemasov shouted from the other corner, his voice hoarse from yelling. Kevin staggered back to his feet, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.


    His face was bruised, his ribs red and swollen, but he wasn''t done yet.


    Damon came forward again, this time with abination of elbows and knees.


    Kevin tried to cover up, but each strike prated his defense, hammering through with precision.


    Damon''s elbows were sharp, cutting across Kevin''s guard, while his knees drove into Kevin''s body, folding him over again and again.


    "Don''t let him smother, Kevin!" Balim shouted, his voice growing desperate.


    Kevin''s legs wobbled as he tried to backpedal, but Damon was too fast.


    He threw a high kick, barely missing Kevin''s head, but it forced Kevin into the cage.


    Damon closed the distance again and unloaded a flurry of strikes.


    Punches, elbows, and knees all blended together, a blur of Muay Thai technique that had Kevin pinned against the fence.


    Kevin crumpled to the mat once more, struggling to get up, but Damon didn''t let him.


    A brutal knee connected to his body, causing Kevin to let out a sharp gasp of pain.


    Hank Binn moved in closer, his eyes narrowing as he watched Kevin''s defense falter.


    Damon dragged Kevin back to his feet by the neck, locking him into another clinch.


    He lifted his knee once more, aiming for Kevin''s head, but Kevin ducked at thest second, barely avoiding what could have been a fight-ending strike.


    Kevin threw a weak punch in return, but Damon swatted it away and delivered a crushing elbow to the jaw, sending Kevin stumbling to the canvas for the third time.


    Bruised and battered, staggered back to his feet.


    It hurt to breathe, and his face was swollen, but something inside him sparked.


    He wasn''t going down without giving it his all.


    Damon could see that fire flickering, the determination in Kevin''s eyes, and for a moment, he respected it.


    But respect wouldn''t stop the fight.


    Kevin inhaled deeply beforeunching himself into a barrage of blows.


    His punches came faster than before, catching Damon slightly off guard.


    Damon blocked most of them, but one managed to slip through, a body shot that dug deep into his ribs.


    The impact forced Damon to take a step back, the wind briefly knocked out of him.


    Sensing an opening, Kevin shot in for a takedown, driving his body into Damon''s legs with all the strength he had left.


    For a moment, it seemed like Kevin might pull it off.


    His hands wrapped around Damon''s thighs, and he drove forward, trying to lift him off the ground.


    But Damon wasn''t having it.

 Chapter 173 The Art Of Eight Limbs II

    Just as Kevin thought he had the takedown, Damon used his strength and bnce to sprawl, pushing Kevin''s weight back down.


    With a quick twist of his hips, Damon stuffed the takedown, regaining his footing.


    Kevin was still attached to him, but Damon controlled the situation.


    Without hesitation, Damon unleashed a brutal elbow to the side of Kevin''s head, stunning him momentarily.


    Damon broke free from the grapple and pushed Kevin back.


    With a sudden burst of speed, he closed the distance,nding a sharp jab that rocked Kevin''s head back.


    Kevin, now wobbly, tried to circle away, but Damon was already on him.


    A savage clinch followed, and Damon lifted his knee, aiming for the body.


    Kevin hunched over, protecting his midsection, but that was exactly what Damon wanted.


    He feinted a low knee, forcing Kevin''s guard down even further.


    And then, like a predator going for the kill, Damonunched his knee straight up, connecting with Kevin''s chin.


    The impact was thunderous.


    Kevin''s head snapped back, his legs gave way beneath him, and his body crumpled to the canvas like a ragdoll.


    The entire gym went silent for a split second before Hank Binn rushed in, waving off the fight. It was over.


    Damon stood over his fallen opponent, breathing heavily but feeling victorious.


    The knee had sealed the fight, and there was no question about it.


    Keviny unconscious, and the medical team quickly moved in to assess his condition.


    Whittier was already on his feet, a proud smile on his face. "That''s how you finish!" he yelled from the corner.


    Damon raised his hands in victory. The euphoria was still making his heart beat fast.


    He had done it. Another win, another step closer to victory.


    Damon barely had time to catch his breath before his teammates rushed into the cage.


    Ivan was the first to p him on the back, grinning from ear to ear. "You did it, bratan." he said, his Russian ent thick. "That knee was brutal."


    Miles, though just backup now, nodded in approval. "You and Ivan are carrying us all, bro. That was a knockout for the books."


    The coaches followed closely behind, Whittier leading the charge.


    He looked proud but stayedposed, keeping his excitement in check. "That''s what I''m talking about!" Whittier said, gripping Damon''s shoulder firmly. "You stuck to the n, kept it tight. No mistakes."


    Hank Binn, standing nearby, took Damon''s wrist and raised it into the air, his voice booming across the gym. "And the winner, advancing to the semifinals, Damon Cross!"


    The crowd pped, and even the fighters on Team Chemasov, though disappointed, couldn''t deny the skill they had just witnessed.


    Damon lowered his hand and nodded, acknowledging the apuse, his mind still rushing with adrenaline. Read new adventures at m_v-l''e|-NovelBin


    Everyone on Team Whittier got out of the cage and back into the change room.


    Damon''s body was still energized from the fight.


    Inside, everyone was happy and giving each other high fives.


    The vibe was celebratory, but there was an underlying sense of focus.


    Everyone knew that this win was a step forward, but it wasn''t the final step.


    There was still more toe.


    Whittier was already thinking ahead, but for now, he let his fighter have this moment.


    Kofi stood with his arms crossed, a raised eyebrow as he watched Team Whittier make their exit from the cage.


    His expression, usually stone-cold, showed a hint of surprise.


    It was as if he hadn''t expected the match to end in the first round, especially not with such dominance.


    Whittier caught the look on Kofi''s face from across the room, and it didn''t sit well with him.


    Kofi was a beast in this show, everyone knew that.


    Whittier''s thoughts were already going fast as they walked into the changing room.


    Who was going to face Kofi, who was going to fight Kofi? He felt the weight of that choice on his shoulders.


    The pressure was on, and Whittier knew they couldn''t afford any missteps.


    He nced over at Damon, who was still riding the high of his victory, and then at Ivan, who had also been sharp in his own fight.


    The dilemma was real, who would stand the best chance against Kofi, and win them the entire show.


    Whittier kept his thoughts to himself for now, but the decision was going toe sooner thanter.


    The media was alive with debates and opinions, Chirper filled with hot takes on Damon''stest performance.


    Fans argued back and forth, and the conversation heated up quickly.


    @jamesbrown: "Damn, another knee! Damon is racking up finishes like it''s nothing. This guy is a problem! #MuayThaiMaster #DamonCross"


    @Inakun_azimo: "Man, these knees are lethal. Two brutal finishes back to back. #KnockoutKing #SupremeFighter"


    @Haukman: "And then there were four. Damon''s performance speaks for itself, but don''t forget, Kofi''s still out there, and he''s a beast. #FinalFour #TeamChemasov"


    @Iyokia_nangy: "Kofi vs. Damon is the fight we need to see! No doubt about it. #FutureFight #BattleOfBeasts"


    @Youaremysunshine: "Haha, the next fight? Might as well toss Damon and Kofi in there now. Let''s get this show going. #HypeTrain #SupremeFighter"


    Fans and experts couldn''t help but specte, but one thing was clear, Damon''s striking had them talking, and the showdown with Kofi felt inevitable. #DamonVsKofi #FightNight


    @JackyLintian: "Nah, he''s not winning against Kofi. I''m pretty sure they''re gonna put him against Brian. He''ll struggle, and if he manages to win, he''ll lose to Kofi. What a fluke. Just because he won now doesn''t make him good. #FlukeFighter #NotReady"


    @Skibidi_Gyat873: "Shut the fuck up, you don''t know shit. #HaterAlert #DamonCrossFTW"


    @Iyokia_bangy: "Yeah, he''s been winning. His streak is going strong. You gotta give him credit where it''s due. #RespectTheRun #TeamDamon"


    @JackyLintian: "Streak? Bro, tf? So is Kofi, Brian, and Ivan. What''s your point? I don''t see it with Damon. His fights are boring, drags them too long.


    Just because he managed to finish one in R1 doesn''t make him good, I repeat. #Overrated"


    @Hiimyourdad: "What do you know? He could still whoop your ass. #CasualEnergy #KeyboardWarrior"


    @JackyLintian: "Brutal. I''m done with this shit. The ability of UFA fans to ze over every new fighter is insane. Worse thing is, he''s not even a UFA fighter yet. See yater, casuals. Go touch grass.


    #DoneWithThis #CasualFans #TouchGrass"


    The online banter carried on, but the hype around Damon was undeniable, even if some weren''t convinced, others were ready to ride him to the end.

 Chapter 174 Curveball

    Though the excitement had subsided, the tension remained high.


    It was almost time for the semifinals, which were an important part of The Supreme Fighter because they decided who would get to go to the final.


    Everyone knew this was theirst chance to show what they could do.


    The fighting stopped in the house, and the normal banter was reced by the seriousness of the situation.


    The winners in these next matches would go on topete for the big prize.


    The stakes were higher than that, though.


    Everyone understood that winning wasn''t the only path to sess.


    The UFA had its eyes on potential, and many fighters had earned contracts based on their performances alone, regardless of the final oue.


    That reality kept a glimmer of hope alive for every fighter, whether they were still in the running or not.


    But that also meant one thing: they had to fight like this was thest bout of their lives.


    In the corner of the training room, Damon sat quietly, reflecting on everything that had brought him to this point.


    Winning the quarterfinals had silenced some critics.


    But the whispers about Kofi and Brian hadn''t died down, if anything, the hype had only grown stronger.


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    Ivan, his teammate and fellow semifinalist, was warming up across the room.


    There was no lighthearted conversation between them this time, just mutual respect and focus.


    They both understood the gravity of the moment.


    "Remember," Whittier had told them earlier in the week, "this isn''t just about winning. It''s about leaving a mark. They''re always watching."


    They both knew he was right.


    Whittier had stated, in a low, passionate voice, "And when I''m talking about they, I''m not just talking about the UFA." "I''m talking about the entire world. The fans."


    Those words echoed in Damon''s mind as he sat there, staring at the floor.


    Damon sighed deeply, leaning back against the wall.


    The training for the day was over, but his muscles were still sore from how hard the session was


    Tomorrow would bring another match-up, one step closer to the end of the show.


    The pace of thepetition had picked up, and each day felt more critical than thest.


    He knew Ivan''s fight was next, but the question remained, who would Whittier choose for him to face?


    Whittier had mentioned he''d talk to them about it after training, but for now, all they could do was wait.


    The door to the locker room creaked open, and Whittier stuck his head in, calling out, "Okay,e on, gather in. Let''s talk, guys."


    Damon and Ivan exchanged nces, standing up to head into the locker room where the coaches waited.


    Ivan gave Damon a nod before taking a seat, the two of them settling in, eyes on Whittier.


    Whittier stood before them, his expression proud but serious. "Okay,ds, you''ve reached the semifinals. You''ve fought your way through, and I want to say I''m proud of both of you."


    Whittier sat down, his rxed demeanor putting the fighters at ease, but there was still that sharp edge in his tone that demanded attention.


    "Okay, guys, pay attention. Today is a little different." He looked back and forth between Damon and Ivan, his face serious but calm.


    He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "You''ve done well, both of you. You''ve fought hard, and we got that win in thest fight. But here''s the thing, this time around, we''re not calling the shots on who you''re gonna fight next."


    Damon and Ivan exchanged nces, both of them looking a little surprised.


    Whittier nodded, reading their expressions. "Yep, it''s out of our hands, mate. Ronan ck''s gonna be making the decision on the matchups for the semifinals. So, we''re not walking in there and saying ''We want Brian'' or ''We want Kofi''. This is his call."


    He paused, letting that sink in. "And I know what you''re thinking. It''s a curveball, yeah? But don''t stress about it. What we do know is that no matter who you''re up against, it''s still the same game. You''ve been prepping for this, you''re ready.


    It doesn''t change the fact that when you step into that cage, it''s just you, your skills, and the other bloke across from you."


    Whittier leaned back slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So don''t get too caught up in the ''who'' right now. Focus on what you do best. We''ll adapt once we know, and we''ll go in there ready to put on a show, as always."


    He gave them both a nod, his usual calm confidence shining through. "We''re here to win, boys. Doesn''t matter who''s in front of you. When you step into that cage, you''re the one in control. Alright?"


    Whittier gave a reassuring smile, his tone softer but still carrying that familiar confidence. "But don''t worry too much, boys. I believe in you. I''ve seen you fight, seen what you''re capable of, and I know there''s more you''re ready to show. This is just another step, yeah?"


    Damon and Ivan both nodded, the tension in the room easing slightly as they listened.


    Whittier leaned back in his chair, arms crossed casually. "As for now, we''re going to wait for Ronan toe in and discuss the matchups with us. He''s gonna give us the rundown, but remember, the final decision rests in his hands."


    He paused, making sure his words hit home. "Doesn''t matter who it is. What matters is what you bring into that cage. So stay focused, stay sharp, and when we get the word, we''ll be ready to go."


    As Damon sat there, his thoughts drifted.


    He wasn''t sure if he felt relieved or anxious.


    On one hand, if Ivan lost, it meant he''d have to face both Brian and Kofi eventually.


    On the other hand, if Ivan won, then he''d have to face his own teammate in the finals.


    Either way, he would have ro fight.


    Whittier''s words echoed in his mind: It''s not about who you fight, but what you bring into the cage.


    That was the truth, Damon realized. He couldn''t control the matchups, but he could control how he fought.


    That thought made the doubt start to go away, and a quiet determination took its ce.

 Chapter 175 Semifinals Match Up Reveal

    The days passed smoothly, with an unusual calm settling over the house.


    There was no drama, no heated words or confrontations.


    Kofi and Brian, who had been key yers in Team Chemasov''s dominance, barely spoke to each other.


    It was strange, but Damon didn''t dwell on it too much.


    At this point in thepetition, teamwork meant little.


    It had been crucial in the early stages, but now everyone was apetitor, even your own teammate.


    Damon kept his focus sharp, knowing that the matchups could be revealed at any moment.


    All that mattered was who brought their best into the cage, just like Whittier said.


    Today was the day.


    The semifinals matchups would finally be revealed.


    The fans were just as excited as the fighters; they couldn''t stop talking about who would face who and who would make it to the final.


    Together, Damon and Ivan arrived at the training facility, their concentrationser-like.


    Team Chemasov followed closely behind, their presence asmanding as ever as they made their way inside the building.


    As soon as they got into the fight room, they stood still by the cage and waited.


    There was no denying the tension. .


    They weren''t just waiting for their coaches, everyone knew the real decision-maker was Ronan ck.


    The CEO''s presence today would signal the official start of the semifinal stage, and the fighters braced themselves for what was about toe.


    The silence in the room was broken by Kofi''s loud, mocking voice as they waited. "It''s time now, kids. Hehe, no more sparing, no more senseless crying. All that is over. I really hope I get locked in with one of you."


    Damon didn''t like the sound of his voice, and he felt his patience thin. "Why not shush your little mouth?"


    Kofi grinned, a grin full of conceit. "Or what? You gonna go all leprechaun on me and start throwing profanities? Or maybe you''ll pull out some chopsticks, eh? What a joke."


    Damon''s smile vanished from his face, and he became silent, inevitably giving Kofi the response he was hoping for.


    "Yeah, shut up. That''s what you''re good at," Kofi sneered.


    Just as Damon was about to snap back, the door swung open, and the coaches entered the room, followed by Ronan ck himself.


    Ronan walked in with a big smile on his face, and the room was quickly filled with his usual energy.


    "Alright, you bunch of savages, this is the moment we''ve all been waiting for!" he shouted, his voice booming like a seasoned fight promoter. "Time to reveal the damn semifinals matchups."


    He scanned the room, locking eyes with each fighter for a second before continuing. "I mean, this season''s been packed with some absolute bangers, great fights, killer moments, a bit of drama here and there. I know you guys and everyone watching have been making your predictions, but enough with the spection. Let''s get to it!"


    Ronan continued, pacing a bit as he spoke. "First thing''s first, I want to say you four have made it here, and that''s a hell of an achievement. You''ve gained fans, maybe even picked up a few haters along the way, but more importantly, you''ve shown everyone what you''re made of."


    He paused, letting his words sink in, then added, "But now... this is the moment for titans. This is the moment that means everything. If you''ve got anything left to show, now''s the time. No more holding back. You fight your hearts out and show what real warriors are all about."


    Ronan looked around the room, his expression turning serious. "So, I want to say congrattions for making it this far. But now it''s time to dig deeper, go harder, and leave it all in that cage."


    "Ittss time."


    Ronan chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, I can''t do it like Bruce Buffer, but here goes," he said with a grin.


    "So, without further ado, the first fight of the semifinals matchup¡­" He paused for dramatic effect, then announced, "We have¡­ Ivan Novak versus Brian Walker!"


    The fighters'' intense gaze locked with each other causing the room to go quiet.


    Ivan''s face stayed cold and serious, while Brian''s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up with purpose.


    Both men knew what this meant, there was no turning back now.


    Brian and Ivan stepped forward, their faces inches apart, neither saying a word.


    You could feel the tension between them, but they didn''t need to say anything at this point. Both of them knew what was at risk.


    As they squared off, Damon couldn''t help but re at Kofi.


    He didn''t need an official announcement to know what wasing next.


    Kofi met his gaze with a smirk, his eyes full of confidence, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along.


    When Brian and Ivan stepped back into line, Ronan broke the silence with a grin. "Alright, and for the next fight, we have¡­ Damon Cross versus Kofi rke!"


    The air felt heavier as Ronan spoke, but Damon didn''t blink, his eyes still locked with Kofi''s.


    This was it.


    As Damon and Kofi stepped forward for the face-off.


    They pushed their foreheads together, neither willing to back down.


    Damon''s eyes burned with intensity as he spoke through clenched teeth, "I''ll show you what Leprechauns and Chopsticks are."


    Kofi chuckled darkly, the smirk never leaving his face. "Oh, I hope you do... because I''ll destroy you in the process."


    No more words were needed. The two fighters locked eyes, neither blinking, their silent challenge vibrating through the air.


    The guy stepping between them, trying to keep the intensity from spilling over, nced at the camera with a grin. "Don''t miss the two semifinal matches: Ivan Novak versus Brian Walker, and Damon Cross versus Kofi rke."


    And the stage was set.


    Whether the fans liked the matchups or not, it didn''t matter.


    The fighters were ready, and the battles thaty ahead would define their futures.


    There was no turning back now, only the cage, their skills, and the will to win.

 Chapter 176 Training in the Shadows

    A day passed, and the focus in the gym shifted.


    The day was devoted solely to training, sharpening skills, and preparing for the semifinals.


    Since Damon just recently fought, his match with Kofi woulde after Ivan and Brian''s fight.


    That meant Ivan got more attention from the coaches during the sessions, as they prepared him for what could be the most crucial fight of his career.


    Damon, though still training hard, found himself in the background.


    But that didn''t bother him, it gave him time to reflect, to refine his own skills without the spotlight.


    He knew that when it was his turn, all eyes would be on him and Kofi.


    For now, he was content to stay in the shadows, watching, waiting, and preparing.


    .


    .


    The gym went quiet for a moment, and Damon leaned back against the wall and took a big breath.


    The coaches had stepped out, giving him a rare moment of solitude.


    It felt good to rest, even if only for a short while.


    Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened his status panel, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the 500 System coins that had been added for reaching the semifinals.


    A grin spread across his face. He already had 102 coins saved up, which brought his total to 602.


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    It was a good haul, enough to make some serious upgrades before his fight with Kofi.


    He knew this was his moment to n carefully.


    He had considered how best to use these coins, knowing that he needed to stay bnced, not just physically but in his skills too.


    Last time he checked, C-Rank Elixirs were priced at 200 coins each, which left him with plenty of room for more improvements.


    If he bought one now, he''d still have 400 coins left.


    But the question remained, should he push himself toward a higher rank, or stick to his original n and build evenly?


    He tapped his fingers against his knee, thinking it over.


    A B-Rank Elixir would likely cost him either 300 or 400 coins, meaning he could potentially afford both ranks.


    But that wasn''t his n.


    The goal was to stay well-rounded, improving all aspects of himself, not just one.


    Damon closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what he could achieve if everything was enhanced equally.


    Speed, strength, and reflexes all working together.


    He knew the system would flush out any harmful effects before the fight, so it was safe to push himself harder.


    The key was finding bnce. He didn''t want to be caught off guard in any area of his game.


    He opened the system shop, ready to make his choices.


    As Damon scrolled through the elixirs, a thought crept into his mind.


    Damon couldn''t deny the distaste he had for the guy, and it wasn''t about the trash talk.


    It was something deeper, a sh of personalities, a sh of pride.


    Kofi carried himself with arrogance, and Damon wanted to be the one to humble him, to make sure that when the fight was over.


    He''d leave the cage limping, bruised, and feeling every shot Damonnded.


    A small grin crept across Damon''s face as he finalized his purchases in the system.


    His goal waswas dominance.


    He wanted Kofi to remember this fight, to feel every strike long after the cage door closed.


    Damon pushed those thoughts aside, refocusing on the task at hand.


    His fingers hovered over the elixirs in the system, selecting three that he knew would give him the edge he needed.


    He looked around the training room, making sure no one was watching, especially the camera crew.


    For once, they weren''t around, giving him the privacy he needed.


    He stood up, sliding his phone into his pocket, and made his way to the bathroom.


    That was the one ce he could be sure no one would disturb him.


    Inside, he locked the door behind him and leaned against the sink, taking a deep breath.


    This was the moment.


    "Here we go again," Damon muttered under his breath, pulling the elixirs from his inventory.


    Holding the three small vials in his hand, he hesitated for a moment.


    He''d never taken more than one at a time, and there was no telling ifbining them like this would work, or worse, if they''d cancel each other out.


    But he wouldn''t know unless he tried.


    He took a deep breath and removed his shirt.


    His body, lean and strong, showed the hard-earned results of months of training.


    His abs, though defined, never quite reached the full sculpted look, a mystery he chalked up to either stubborn gics or a slower physical response.


    Still, it was the least of his concerns right now.


    One by one, he gulped down the elixirs.


    The first one slid down his throat, and almost immediately, he felt a strange burn spreading through his chest.


    The second went down a little slower, intensifying the sensation.


    By the time he swallowed the third, the burn turned into something more, the sting on his tongue became a sharp, electrifying energy surging through him.


    His muscles tensed, and his knees buckled as he reached out to grab the sink for support.


    His breath came in quick bursts, and for a moment, he wasn''t sure if he''d made a mistake.


    But just as quickly as the burning started, it shifted into something else.


    His body hummed with energy, his senses sharpened, and the difort began to fade.


    He felt light, powerful, almost as if every muscle was vibrating with potential.


    He sighed deeply, straightening up.


    It felt like a rush, as if he''d been injected with pure adrenaline.


    "Feels like I''m on coke¡­ whatever that feels like," he muttered with a smirk, looking at his reflection.


    His eyes were sharper, his posture more upright. He felt invincible.


    Damon sshed cold water on his face, letting the sensation ground him for a moment. "Alright," he said to himself, pushing the energy down, focusing it.


    Now, it was time to train harder than ever.

 Chapter 177 Semifinals First Match I: Collision Course

    Hank Binn, standing tall in the center of the cage, called both Ivan and Brian forward.


    Though there was obvious tension between the two fighters, they didn''t waver and kept their focus on one another.


    Hank, a seasoned referee with countless bouts under his belt, kept his expression neutral.


    "Alright, gentlemen, let''s keep it clean," Hank said, his voice cutting through the room''s buzz of excitement.


    "You both know the rules, but I''m gonna go over them again. Protect yourselves at all times, listen to my instructions, and if I tell you to stop, you stop. No strikes to the back of the head, no eye pokes, no groin shots. Got it?"


    With their fists clenched at their sides and their muscles taut and prepared, both fighters nodded.


    "If you''re caught in a submission or a position you can''t defend from, tap, and I''ll stop it. If I feel you''re not intelligently defending yourself, I''m stopping the fight. You got me?"


    Ivan and Brian nodded again, their eyes never leaving each other.


    Hank looked at both men, his gaze shifting from Ivan''s steely Russian focus to Brian''s cold, predatory stare. "Touch gloves if you want," Hank added, stepping back to give them room.


    Neither man hesitated.


    They stepped forward and tapped gloves with a sharp thud, no animosity, just the mutual respect of two fighters about to engage inbat.


    Hank took a deep breath, stepped back, and raised his hand. "Alright, let''s get this going."


    He nced at both corners, then pointed at each fighter. "Ready? Ready?"


    Both men nodded, shifting into their fighting stances.


    "Fight!" Hankmanded, dropping his hand to signal the start of the bout.


    The cage erupted as both Ivan and Brian surged forward.


    The moment Hank Binn''s hand dropped, signaling the start of the fight, Ivan and Brian circled each other, measuring distance, their eyes locked with an intensity that could cut through steel.


    Neither fighter wanted to make the first mistake.


    Ivan moved carefully and deliberately, and his footwork was smooth and bnced.


    His hands were high, guarding his face as he tested the waters with a light jab, flicking it out toward Brian''s guard.


    Brian, in his kickboxing stance, stood upright, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, waiting for the right moment to engage.


    Brian snapped out a quick inside leg kick, testing Ivan''s base, but Ivan checked it with ease, his eyes never leaving Brian''s.


    Brian threw another kick, this time to the body, but Ivan stepped back, letting the strike graze his ribs.


    Ivan then closed the distance, snapping his jab again, this time connecting with Brian''s guard.


    Brian, undeterred, fired back with a straight right aimed at Ivan''s face, but Ivan saw iting and slipped just enough to make the punch miss.


    As Brian''s arm extended, Ivan countered with a lightning-quick left hook that cracked against Brian''s temple.


    Brian stumbled back, shaking off the impact, and Ivan pressed forward.


    He followed up with a 1-2bo, a jab to the body and a straight right aimed at Brian''s head.


    Brian managed to block the second punch but was clearly feeling the pressure of Ivan''s superior hand speed.


    "Keep your distance!" Chemasov shouted from Brian''s corner.


    Brian responded with a swift front kick to Ivan''s midsection, finally creating some breathing room.


    The kicknded clean, pushing Ivan back a step, but Ivan immediately reset, bouncing lightly on his toes, unfazed by the strike.


    Ivan''s expression remained stoic, his focus unwavering.


    He was reading Brian''s movements like a book, noticing the small hesitations, the brief moments of indecision.


    Brian, though skilled, was starting to show cracks under Ivan''s relentless pressure.


    Brian, realizing he couldn''t afford to stay on the back foot, decided to take the initiative.


    He threw a hard leg kick, aiming to slow down Ivan''s movement.


    The kicknded with a sharp thud against Ivan''s thigh, and for the first time, Ivan winced slightly.


    Once Brian saw an opening, he charged in with a barrage of punches, starting with a jab-cross-hookbo. Read new adventures at m_v-l''e|-NovelBin


    Fast and urate hits, but Ivan''s head movement was better.


    He bobbed and weaved, slipping the first two punches and deflecting the hook with his glove.


    Ivan countered immediately, stepping in with a short right uppercut that snapped Brian''s head back, followed by a devastating left hook to the body.


    Even with the yells from the sides, you could hear Ivan''s glove hit Brian in the ribs.


    With visible pain in his eyes, Brian winced but remained calm, taking a step back and resetting.


    "Stay in the fight!" Chemasov barked, and his voice was loud enough to be heard.


    Brian nodded, breathing heavily, but Ivan was alreadying forward again.


    Ivan feinted with a jab, causing Brian to flinch, and then quickly shifted his weight, firing off a brutal low kick to Brian''s lead leg.


    The strike buckled Brian''s knee slightly, but he managed to stay on his feet, gritting his teeth as the pain shot up his thigh.


    Brian retaliated with a spinning back kick, hoping to catch Ivan off guard, but Ivan stepped back just in time, avoiding the kick by mere inches.


    As Brianpleted the rotation, Ivan punished him with a right hand thatnded flush on his jaw, sending him stumbling into the cage.


    The crowd around the training facility gasped as Brian''s back hit the fence.


    Ivan, sensing blood in the water, didn''t let up.


    He closed the distance again, unleashing a number of strikes.


    A right cross, left hook, right uppercut, all aimed at Brian''s head.


    Brian, trapped against the cage, tried to cover up, but Ivan''s punches were breaking through his defense.


    A sharp uppercut snuck under Brian''s guard, snapping his head back, followed by a punishing hook to the body that visibly rocked him.


    Brian''s face twisted in pain, but he wasn''t done yet.


    He pushed off the cage and swung wildly with a left hook, catching Ivan off guard.


    The punch connected, and Ivan staggered back, a brief look of surprise crossing his face.


    The hit wasn''t enough to drop him, but it gave Brian the opening he needed to create some space.


    He shook his head, regaining hisposure, and delivered a powerful body kick that sent shockwaves through his body as his shin struck Ivan in the ribs.

 Chapter 178 Semifinals First Match II: Ends gate

    After Ivan''s better striking, Brian knew he couldn''t win the stand-up battle, which changed the momentum.


    Ivan''s defense was too tight, his punches too sharp, and every time Brian tried to deliver a big blow, he was countered.


    It was time to change the game n.


    Without hesitation, Brian faked a jab, forcing Ivan to react, then quickly shot in for a single-leg takedown.


    His head ducked low as he wrapped his arms around Ivan''s leg, driving forward with all his strength.


    Ivan, caught off guard by the sudden switch in tactics, instinctively sprawled, pushing his hips back and using his weight to defend against the takedown.


    Brian''s grip tightened as he pushed forward, trying toplete the move, his face a mask of determination.


    Ivan fought back, his hands working quickly to pry Brian''s grip off his leg while maintaining his bnce.


    The two fighters were locked in a struggle, muscles straining, each trying to gain the upper hand.


    Brian drove forward again, this time with more force, but Ivan dropped his weight, pressing his chest onto Brian''s back.


    Ivan used the opportunity to counter, wrapping one arm around Brian''s waist while shoving his other hand into Brian''s shoulder, trying to force him off bnce.


    "Sprawl, Ivan! Sprawl!" Whittier shouted from the corner, his voice cutting through the chaos.


    Ivan listened, pushing his hips down further and widening his stance.


    But Brian was relentless.


    He managed to adjust, pulling Ivan''s leg tighter and twisting his body in an effort to turn the corner.


    Ivan, sensing that Brian was starting to gain ground, changed tactics.


    He grabbed Brian''s wrist and attempted to sweep his leg out from under him, hoping to use Brian''s momentum against him.


    But Brian held on, managing to stay on his feet despite Ivan''s counterattack.


    It was a stalemate for a moment.


    Neither man was willing to concede ground, and the grappling exchange grew more heated with each passing second.


    As they shifted positions in an attempt to establish dominance, sweat streamed from their faces.


    Brian, realizing he wasn''t going toplete the single-leg takedown, adjusted again, this time transitioning to a body lock.


    He wrapped his arms around Ivan''s torso, his chest pressing against Ivan''s side as he drove forward once more.


    Ivan grunted, but managed to stay upright, his feet sliding as he tried to create space.


    Ivan felt Brian''s grip tighten, and in a moment of decision, he twisted his body, trying to throw Brian off bnce.


    The two men tumbled to the ground, their bodies hitting the mat with a thud, locked in a grappling struggle.


    "Stay tight, Ivan!" Whittier yelled, watching intently as the fight shifted to the ground.


    Ivan tried to regain control, using his wrestling and Sambo experience to gain an advantageous position.


    He slid his legs into ce, attempting to scramble into side control, but Brian was already reacting, adjusting his hips and preventing Ivan from locking anything in.


    In his fight to keep Ivan from taking him down, Brian showed how strong he really was.


    His muscles strained as he bridged, twisting and turning in an effort to escape Ivan''s control.


    Ivan, refusing to let the opportunity slip away, worked furiously, trying to pin one of Brian''s arms and go for a submission.


    Suddenly, Ivan saw an opening.


    He trapped Brian''s arm and began to set up a kimura.


    His hands locked around Brian''s wrist, and he torqued his body, using leverage to crank the submission.


    As Brian felt the pressure build up on his shoulder from Ivan''s twisted arm, his face twisted in agony.


    A smile spread across Damon''s face as he watched from the seats.


    It looked like Ivan had the submission locked in.


    "Finish him, Ivan! Finish it!" Whittier yelled, sensing the fight was nearing its conclusion.


    However, Brian showed the tenacity that had carried him this far in thepetition and refused to give up just as the opposing team was about to celebrate.


    Gritting his teeth, he shifted into a morefortable position, making just enough room to twist his body by pressing his free hand against the mat.


    Brian changed positions by slipping his arm out of Ivan''s grip and shifting his weight, which was an amazing show of strength and determination.


    Before Ivan could react, Brian swept his legs and rolled Ivan onto his back, taking control of the fight in an instant.


    Now on top, Brian wasted no time.


    He transitioned into a dominant position, wrapping his arm around Ivan''s neck and locking in a guillotine choke.


    The shift was so fast that Ivan barely had time to process it.


    "Get out, Ivan! Don''t let him lock it in!" Whittier''s voice was very loud and tensed up because he knew Ivan was in danger..


    Ivan struggled, trying to break free by pushing against Brian''s hips, but Brian''s hold was solid.


    His biceps flexed as he tightened the choke, pressing down harder on Ivan''s neck.


    Ivan''s face began to turn red as he fought against the pressure.


    His legs iled, trying to push off and escape, but Brian had locked him in tight.


    Ivan''s hands were working hard to get Brian''s arms off of his neck, but the choke was too tight.


    "Keep going, Brian! Squeeze!" Chemasov shouted from the other corner, sensing that his fighter was on the verge of victory.


    As the choke closed, Ivan''s vision started to get blurry.


    Brian''s arm squeezed tighter, and the oxygen to his brain was being cut off.


    His arms grew heavy, and his movements slowed as his body began to fail him.


    He was aware that the fight would end soon if he did not act quickly.


    Ivan''s thoughts raced as his body struggled against the inevitable.


    The sesses, the setbacks, and the countless hours he had put in to get to this point in his career all shed before his eyes.


    The thought of tapping crossed his mind, but he quickly pushed it aside.


    He would never tap.


    Not now, not ever.

 Chapter 179 Maybe We Fight For Champion

    Ivan tried onest desperate move, he arched his back and pushed against Brian''s hips to ease some of the pressure.


    His legs kicked against the mat, trying to create enough momentum to roll over or slip out of the choke.


    But Brian''s grip was like iron, and the more Ivan struggled, the tighter the choke seemed to get.


    Whittier''s voice echoed faintly in the background, "Come on, Ivan! Don''t give up! Fight it!"


    But Ivan could barely hear him now.


    His heart pounded in his ears, and the edges of his vision went dark.


    His chest heaved as he tried to suck in onest breath, but his airway waspletely crushed by Brian''s arms.


    Ivan refused to tap, even as his body betrayed him.


    His hands weakened, and his arms dropped limply to the mat.


    His eyes fluttered, and hisst conscious thought was a vow to never give up, no matter the cost.


    Then, darkness.


    Brian''s grip remained tight as Ivan''s body wentpletely limp.


    Hank Binn, watching closely, rushed in.


    He grabbed Brian''s arm and shouted, "He''s out! He''s out!" Hank quickly pulled Brian off Ivan, who slumped motionless onto the mat.


    Brian released the choke, his chest heaving as he stood up, victorious.


    The room erupted with cheers as Team Chemasov celebrated, but Ivany still, unconscious on the canvas.


    Whittier and the medical team rushed into the cage, kneeling beside Ivan, checking his vitals.


    A momentter, Ivan''s eyes fluttered open, and he blinked in confusion as he slowly regained consciousness.


    He looked around, dazed, realizing what had happened. He hadn''t tapped, he had gone out fighting.


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    Damon, standing at the edge of the cage, watched in silence.


    He clenched his fists, his jaw tight.


    Again


    This was a reminder of the stakes.


    One mistake could end everything.


    As Ivan was helped up, his face wore a look of defeat, but there was also pride in his eyes.


    He hadn''t quit.


    He had gone out on his shield, as he always promised himself.


    Brian, standing on the other side of the cage, acknowledged Ivan with a nod of respect.


    There was no need for words. They both knew how much had been left in that cage.


    Hank Binn took Brian''s hand, raising it high. "And the winner, moving to the finals, Brian Walker!"


    Cheers erupted from Team Chemasov as Brian grinned, his chest heaving with exhaustion and triumph.


    Brian walked toward Ivan, extending a hand.


    Ivan hesitated for a moment but then epted it.


    Chemasov pped Brian on the back, his grin wide. "Good job, brother! You did it!"


    Brian nodded, still catching his breath.


    He nced across the cage at Damon, and for a brief moment, their eyes met.


    In Brian''s eyes, Damon saw the promise of what would happen if they squared off in the finals.


    Damon looked back at Brian, their eyes locking for a brief moment.


    He could see the anger that was still in Brian''s eyes, the tension that hadn''t been released since Damon eliminated his brother.


    But Damon quickly pushed it aside, there was no room for distractions now.


    He had bigger things to focus on, his uing fight with Kofi.


    The days running up to this point had been the hardest part of thepetition.


    Damon had pushed himself harder than ever, almost obsessively. It had paid off, but it hadn''t gone unnoticed.


    The coaches had even pulled him aside and dismissed him from the gym for his own safety, telling him to rest.


    "Overtraining''s gonna burn you out before the fight," was all he heard


    Of course, he was greatful of that.


    But Damon couldn''t shake the need to push further.


    In just a few days, he had aplished what felt like more than a week''s worth of progress.


    His elixirs had been working overtime, too.


    His strength and agility had climbed to C-Rank, finally hitting that next level.


    His stamina was still at D+, but he could feel the improvementing.


    One more hard session, just a little more, and he''d hit that next threshold.


    All he needed was that final push.


    But yet, Damon knew he couldn''t afford to burn out, especially with the elixirs still coursing through his system.


    The effects were powerful, but exploiting them without drawing attention was a whole different challenge.


    He knew what he was doing, but the coaches didn''t know about the system or the elixirs.


    He had to be careful.


    Drawing too much attention now could risk everything.


    Sure, bing a star would put him in the spotlight, but there were some things he had to keep private, things he couldn''t let anyone on the show or in the UFA find out about.


    Millions of people were watching this show, dissecting every move he made.


    He couldn''t let anyone, not even his coaches, realize what was really driving his rapid improvements.


    It was one thing to push himself at home, where no one could see him, but here, on The Supreme Fighter, every action was under a microscope.


    He needed to bnce his ambition with caution.


    Go too far, and people would start asking questions.


    Stay under the radar, and he could keep his secret safe.


    It was a tricky game, but one he knew he had to y perfectly.


    As his team made their way to the back, Ivan, still smiling despite his loss, patted Damon on the back. "I lost, haha, now it''s you," he said with a grin. "You see, I wanted to fight the best. So if you win this... I challenge you."


    Damon looked at him, a bit surprised.


    Ivan didn''t look like a man who had just been choked out.


    He was grinning like nothing had happened.


    Damon couldn''t help but chuckle. "I see. That''s fine with me," he replied, shaking his head at Ivan''s determination.


    Ivan gave a nod, his grin never fading. "Good. I wait for you in future. We make real fight."


    Ivan grinned even wider and added, "Who knows, maybe we meet in UFA, fighting for champion, eh?"

 Chapter 180 Pushing the Limits

    In the gym, Damon was totally absorbed in his stamina exercises.


    Today''s training was all about stamina, pushing his body to the edge to make sure he couldst in the cage with Kofi, no matter how long the fight went.


    Whittier stood in the corner, stopwatch in hand, watching carefully as Damon moved from one station to the next without a break.


    "Keep it up, Damon! This is where champions are made. Push through the burn!"


    Even though Damon''s body was screaming for a rest and he was already drenched in sweat, he continued to move.


    He alternated between sprints on the treadmill and rounds on the heavy bag, hitting it with sharp, controlled strikes, working his cardio in sync with his technique.


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    Each time he hit the bag, Whittier would shout encouragement. "Faster! Keep that pace going! No slowing down!"


    Damon''s muscles hurt, but he knew he had to do it.


    Whittier walked over, offering Damon a bottle of water. "Take a sip and get back at it. You''re doing great, but remember, in a real fight, you don''t get a break."


    Damon smirked as he finished his water. "I mean we have breaks each round," he said, deliberately keeping things light. But he understood Whittier''s point well.


    Whittier gave him a yful push, grinning. "You know exactly what I mean. You''ve got good stamina, especially when ites to fighting someone like Kofi, but we''re thinking long-term here. You want to be a world champion in the UFA? That''s five rounds. And you''ve got to make sure you can preserve that energy."


    Damon nodded, understanding the bigger picture. Five rounds in a championship fight were a whole different level.


    Whittier pped his hands, signaling the next phase of their training. "Alright, let''s move on. We need to focus on dealing with that explosiveness Kofi brings. You know how hees out like a wrecking ball. We''re gonna drill how to manage that. Let''s head over to the octagon."


    Damon wiped the sweat off his face with a towel, tossing it aside before following Whittier into the cage.


    Whittier led Damon into the octagon, where the assistant coaches were already waiting.


    The cage felt a little more intense today, knowing it was Damon''s time to focus solely on dealing with Kofi''s explosive fighting style.


    With Ivan and Miles back at the house, it was just Damon and the coaches, which allowed for a more personalized and intense training session.


    "Alright, Damon," Whittier said, walking toward the center of the octagon. "Kofi''s explosive. He likes toe out fast and hard, and if you''re not prepared for that, it can throw you off and overwhelm you. So today, we''re going to focus on how to deal with that. Smart and vicious. You ready?"


    Damon nodded, his fists tightening. "Ready."


    Whittier cracked his knuckles and began exining. "There are a few key things you need to do when facing an explosive fighter. First off, you need to manage distance. An explosive guy like Kofi will try to close the gap fast, so you have to control the range. Keep your jab out there to make sure he can''t get close too quickly."


    Whittier demonstrated, shadowboxing with a crisp, fast jab to create a barrier. "Keep your jab snapping out to disrupt his rhythm. Explosive fighters need rhythm to throw those big shots."


    Damon mirrored the movement, firing his jab with quick precision, focusing on the speed and uracy rather than power.


    "Good," Whittier nodded. "Now, next thing. Angles. Don''t stand right in front of him. If you stay in his line of fire, you''re a sitting duck. You need to use your footwork to cut angles.


    Make him miss. Useteral movement to frustrate him. If he can''t nt his feet, he can''t explode."


    Whittier moved in an exaggerated side-to-side motion, showing how to step off at an angle after each strike.


    Damon followed suit, shadowboxing again, keeping his jab going while angling off to the left and right.


    "Perfect," Whittier said. "Now, when he does close the distance, you don''t just cover up. You clinch. Bring him in close where he can''t generate that power. An explosive fighter needs space tond those big shots. If you take away his space by clinching and working from the inside, you neutralize his explosiveness."


    Whittier then demonstrated, moving in on Damon as if to throw a big overhand right, but before the punchnded, he pulled Damon into a tight clinch, wrapping his arms around the back of Damon''s head.


    "When you''re in the clinch, don''t waste time," Whittier said, throwing mock knees to Damon''s body. "Be vicious. Strike with elbows and knees. Make him regret closing the distance."


    Damon absorbed the technique, feeling the control in the clinch.


    He practiced with the assistant coaches, moving in and out of the clinch, adding sharp elbows and knees to the body and head.


    Whittier smiled. "Now, we''re gonna spar. I''m going toe at you like Kofi. Explosive, wild, trying to take your head off. Your job is to stayposed, manage the distance, use angles, and if I get too close, clinch and punish me. Ready?"


    Damon nodded, raising his guard as Whittier took on the role of Kofi, bouncing lightly on his feet, ready to explode.


    Whittier lunged in with a fast overhand right, and Damon quickly sidestepped, creating an angle before snapping his jab out to keep Whittier at bay.


    "Good!" Whittier barked. "Keep that distance!"


    Whittier came in again, this time throwing a quickbination of punches.


    Damon blocked the first few strikes, but when Whittier got too close, he immediately clinched, pulling Whittier in and delivering a solid knee to his side.


    "Yes!" Whittier grunted, feeling the impact. "That''s it! Now let''s go again."


    They sparred for several rounds, with Whittier ying the explosive fighter, lunging in with heavy shots and unpredictable movement.


    Damon continued to practice maintaining his distance, using his jab and angles to frustrate Whittier.


    And whenever Whittier managed to close the gap, Damon clinched, firing off knees and elbows that made it hard for Whittier to generate any power.


    After the session, Whittier pped Damon on the back. "That''s what I want to see. Control the chaos. Kofi''s going toe at you hard, but if you stay smart, use your footwork, and clinch when needed, you''ll shut him down. Now rest up, and we''ll go over more tomorrow."


    Damon nodded, feeling more prepared for the explosive style he''d face soon.


    Even better he had reached C-Rank on Stamina

 Chapter 181 The Weigh-In Standoff

    With a voice that demanded attention, Ronan ck said, "Alright, folks, we''re back at it. This is it, the final weigh-in for Kofi rke and Damon Cross."


    With their eyes locked in silence, the fighters stood opposite one another.


    "Damon Cross, you''re up first," the official called, motioning for Damon to step forward.


    Damon moved to the front, taking off his shirt and stepping onto the scale in his light training pants.


    He stood still, calm but focused, as the official adjusted the scale, eyes flicking to the numbers.


    "185, right on the mark," the official announced.


    A round of apuse followed, along with approving nods from the officials and coaches.


    Damon stepped off the scale, pulling his shirt back on with a calm expression.


    He nced over at Kofi, already thinking ahead to their fight.


    "Kofi rke, step up," the official called next.


    Kofi walked up slowly, his demeanor as rxed as ever.


    He peeled off his shirt and stepped onto the scale, eyes straight ahead.


    The official quickly checked the numbers, but after a moment of hesitation, the news dropped.


    "185.5."


    For a brief moment, the room was silent as Kofi realized he had lost weight by half a pound.


    Kofi''s team tensed up immediately.


    Stepping forward, Balim Chemasov spoke with firmness in his voice and aposed expression. "We''ll get him on weight."


    Ronan ck, observing from the side, sighed with a hint of impatience, but he stayed professional.


    "Alright, you''ve got an hour to make weight," he said tly, not missing a beat.


    Kofi didn''t show any signs of panic, though his team began strategizing immediately.


    A towel, the sauna, whatever they needed to do, it was a routine situation in these kinds of high-stakes tournaments.


    Damon, standing off to the side, couldn''t help but smirk at the small advantage.


    He crossed his arms and watched as Kofi''s team began to scramble, knowing that any extra time Kofi spent cutting weight could drain his energy for the uing fight.


    For Damon, this was just another crack in Kofi''s armor.


    In the back, tension was thick as Team Chemasov worked quickly to figure out a way for Kofi to make weight.


    The assistant coach, pacing back and forth, wiped sweat from his brow, looking worried.


    Missing weight this close to the fight was not an option.


    Kofi was wrapped in towels, his body drenched in sweat, sitting under a portable heater to push out thest bit of water weight.


    The assistant coaches frantically tried to find a way to help him drop the weight quickly and safely without sacrificing too much energy.


    "Jog in ce!" one of the assistant coaches barked. Kofi forced himself to stand, his legs shaky, and started jogging.


    After about twenty minutes, the team had him step on the scale in the back room.


    "Still needs 0.20 pounds," the official called out.


    Balim Chemasov leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes never leaving Kofi, who sat nearby, wiping off the sweat from the attempt to cut weight.


    Balim''s face remained calm, but inside, he knew they had to act fast.


    "Kofi," He said, standing up straight and walking over to his fighter. His tone was direct but steady. "Come here."


    Kofi stood up, his body still tense from the weight cut struggle. "What''s up?"


    Balim looked him square in the eyes, then nodded toward his assistant coach. "Listen. We not doing more weight cut, okay? You cut more weight, you will lose power in fight. You want to go in weak?"


    Kofi frowned, shaking his head. "No way. I need my strength."


    Balim smiled, but it was a serious smile. "Good. You no need to lose more weight from body. But there is one thing we can do, yeah?"


    Kofi raised an eyebrow. "What''s that?"


    With equal intensity, but a lower tone, Balim leaned closer. "Hair, brother. You lose the needed, easy. You still strong for fight."


    Kofi''s eyes widened in surprise, and he ran his hand over his head. "My hair?"


    "Yes, hair," Balim said with a small grin. "Unless you want to miss weight and no fight. But I know you want this, so... your choice. We cut the hair, you make weight, keep energy."


    Kofi took a deep breath, thinking it over for a second. But there wasn''t really a decision to be made.


    The fight was too important, and half a pound of hair wasn''t worth risking everything he had worked for.


    "Alright," Kofi said, nodding, his jaw clenched. "Let''s do it. I''ll lose the hair."


    Balim pped him on the shoulder. "Good. You no need hair to win fight."


    One of the coaches quickly grabbed a pair of clippers, and within minutes, the buzzing sound filled the room as Kofi''s hair began to fall to the floor in small piles.


    Kofi sat still, focused, not caring about the hair, his eyes were set on making weight and getting into that cage.


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    When thest of the hair was shaved off, Balim gave Kofi an approving nod. "Now you ready. You strong. You fight hard."


    Kofi stood up, rubbing his now bald head and smirking. "I''m more than ready."


    Balim chuckled, patting Kofi''s back. "We go back now. You make weight, and we smash them."


    With that, they left the room, ready to return to the weigh-in area.


    Kofi stepped out, bald and visibly irritated, his expression hard as he approached the scale.


    Damon stood with Miles nearby, who immediately started whispering jokes under his breath the moment he saw Kofi''s shaved head.


    "Man, he lost more than just weight," Miles chuckled quietly, nudging Damon.


    Damon didn''tugh, but a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.


    He could tell Kofi wasn''t happy about the situation, and the intensity in Kofi''s eyes made it clear.


    Kofi stepped onto the scale, his face set in a scowl as the official checked the reading.


    "185," the official announced.


    Some in the room pped, while others stayed quiet.


    Kofi stepped off the scale, not acknowledging the crowd, just focused.


    Ronan ck stepped forward, pping his hands together. "Alright, that''s good, we''re all set now. You guys have done the hard part. Now go prepare, gear up, ande back to put on a hell of a show for everyone watching."


    Both sides nodded, understanding the importance of the next few hours.


    As Team Chemasov and Team Whittier left the room, heading to their respective locker rooms, Damon kept his focus.


    The weigh-in was done.


    Now came the real fight.

 Chapter 182 No respect

    Damon stood in the locker room, bouncing lightly on his feet, his hands wrapped and gloved, ready for the biggest fight of his life.


    Whittier stood in front of him, a serious look on his face as he reiterated the game n.


    Even though the room was buzzing with distress and excitement, Damon stayed focused.


    "Okay, Damon," Whittier spoke in a steady yet firm tone. "Remember the n. Kofi''s explosive, but he''s chaoticly predictable. You can use that against him. Don''t stand still, keep moving, and make him chase you. He''ll want toe at you fast and hard in the early rounds, but that''s exactly when you need to stay sharp and avoid getting caught."


    Damon nodded, shaking out his arms as he listened.


    "His explosiveness is dangerous," Whittier continued, "but if you can make him miss, he''s gonna get frustrated. That''s when the openings wille. When he tires, we''ll see those big swings, those telegraphed punches. That''s where you can counter."


    Whittier paced in front of Damon, mimicking Kofi''s aggressive style. "He''ll rush you, try to corner you. You''ve seen how he fights, hees in heavy with those power shots. Use your footwork, keep your distance, and don''t engage in a firefight unless you see a clear opportunity. Remember, you''re not here to brawl; you''re here to pick him apart."


    As Damon processed the n, his breathing became more challenging.


    Though he could feel the stress rising, he maintained hisposure.


    "And here''s the thing," Whittier added with a small grin. "Kofi''s been through a sudden weight cut. You saw what that did to him, cutting his hair and all. That''s gonna hit his cardio hard. I guarantee it."


    Damon smirked, thinking back to Kofi''s bald head at the weigh-ins. "Yeah, I noticed. He wasn''t happy about it."


    "Exactly," Whittier said, nodding. "That gives you the advantage. He''s explosive, but that weight cut is gonna drain him faster than usual. He''ll be good for the first round, maybe halfway into the second, but after that, he''s gonna gas. That''s when you take over. Keep yourposure, stay patient, and wait for the right moment.


    He''s gonna swing for the fences, and when he slows down, you capitalize."


    Whittier paused, giving Damon a pat on the shoulder. "You''ve trained for this. You''re ready. We''ve worked on dealing with explosive fighters, remember? Keep him at bay, make him miss, and punish him when he does."


    Damon nodded, his eyes sharpening as he went through the n in his head again. "I got it. I won''t let him get to me early. And when he fades, I''ll be there to finish him."


    Whittier smiled, seeing the determination in Damon''s eyes. "Good. Now let''s go out there and show him what you''re made of."


    Damon nodded, his eyes narrowing as he left the locker room.


    The moment he stepped through the door, the music hit, loud, pulsing, energizing.


    His coaches followed closely behind, all wearing the same determined expressions, but Damon was in his own zone.


    He felt the cameras on him as he walked, but his mind stayed locked on the fight ahead.


    He strode down the hall and into the training facility''s arena, the cage looming in front of him like a battlefield.


    His pace was steady but purposeful, and as he approached the official station, he pulled off his shirt, revealing his chiseled physique.


    The official stood ready, giving Damon a quick nod. "Alright, let''s get you checked," he said, his tone professional but akso rxed.


    Damon stopped in front of him, lifting his arms slightly as the official applied Vaseline to his face, ensuring the fighter''s skin wouldn''t tear too easily.


    "Good mouthguard?" the official asked, his hand out.


    Damon opened his mouth slightly, showing the mouthguard in ce.


    The official nodded, giving him a light tap on the shoulder. "Check. Now, cup?"


    Damon tapped the front of his shorts where the protective cup rested, and the official lightly patted it to make sure everything was secure. "You''re good," the official said, his tone satisfied. "Alright, into the cage you go."


    Damon stepped past him and made his way toward the cage door, his eyes never leaving the structure.


    He walked up the stairs, slipping through the door and into the octagon, the cold metal of the fence behind him as he made his way to his side.


    The music faded, and the air in the room shifted as the anticipation built.


    Then, Kofi''s music began.


    The atmosphere changed immediately, and Damon, standing calm on his side of the cage, locked his eyes on the entryway, waiting for his opponent to arrive.


    Kofi made his way to the cage with an imposing presence.


    Hisrge, muscr frame seemed to take up more space than it should, and every step he took was deliberate, confident.


    As he reached the official''s station, he pulled off his shirt, revealing his inked chest, a tattoo of a woman''s face across his brown skin, an image that seemed to carry a story of its own.


    Kofi bounced lightly on his feet, shaking out his arms as the official approached him for the routine check.


    His size and power were impossible to ignore, and everyone in the room felt it.


    "Alright, let''s get you checked," the official said, applying the same Vaseline to Kofi''s face.


    "Mouthguard?" the official asked.


    Kofi showed his mouthguard in ce, then gave a slight tap to his cup when prompted.


    "Good to go," the official confirmed, stepping aside as Kofi made his way to the cage.


    As he stepped into the octagon, he locked eyes with Damon.


    The music stopped, and the room went silent for a brief moment.


    It was on.


    With amanding voice that grabbed the attention of both fighters, Hank Binn moved forward into the center of the cage.


    "Alright, gentlemen,e on in."


    Damon and Kofi stepped toward the middle of the cage, their eyes locked, neither man willing to look away.


    Hank positioned himself between them, his seasoned presence setting the tone for what was about to unfold.


    "Alright, fighters, you know the rules," Hank began, his tone firm but calm. "I want a clean fight. Protect yourselves at all times, follow my instructions, and if I tell you to stop, you stop. No strikes to the back of the head, no eye pokes, no groin shots. If you get caught in a submission, tap and I''ll stop the fight.


    If I feel like you''re not intelligently defending yourself, I will stop the fight. Understood?"


    Both fighters nodded, never breaking eye contact.


    Hank continued, ncing from one fighter to the other. "If you wanna touch gloves, do it now."


    Neither Damon nor Kofi moved to touch gloves.


    The seemed to be no respect between the two.


    Hank gave them a moment, then stepped back.


    "Alright. Ready? Ready?"


    Both fighters nodded.


    "Fight!" Hank dropped his hand, and the fight began.

 Chapter 183 Damon Cross Vs. Kofi Clarke I: Control

    The second semifinal fight officially started when the bell rang, piercing the tense atmosphere.


    The winner would go on to face Brian Walker in the finals.


    He got into his usual Muay Thai stance and bounced on the balls of his feet, his chest going up and down with controlled breathes.


    His eyes locked onto Kofi, reading every slight movement.


    Kofi''s physique exuded energy, akin to a coiled spring, as he moved with the promise to burst at any given time.


    They circled each other, taking calcted steps, each man trying to measure distance, feel out their opponent''s rhythm.


    Kofi huffed, his patience already wearing thin.


    He wasn''t the type to wait.


    His strategy had always been clear,e in hard and fast, overwhelm his opponent with sheer power.


    The idea of a slow start clearly didn''t sit well with him.


    He felt Damon was already in control.


    So, without warning, Kofi charged in.


    His big body moved surprisingly quickly for someone his size, and he came at Damon like an animal.


    When Kofi unleashed a vicious overhand right punch that was about to hit Damon with incredible force, his eyes grew wide.


    Damon ducked just in time, feeling the air shift as Kofi''s punch whizzed over his head.


    Kofi followed up with a left hook, this time aimed at Damon''s ribs.


    However, Damon anticipated it and shifted to avoid it, moving with cautious and flowing steps.


    Kofi''s strikes were heavy, and each time he swung, it was like he was trying to take Damon''s head off.


    And maybe he was.


    Damon stayed patient, letting Kofi''s aggression y into his own strategy.


    He knew that Kofi, while explosive, tended to ovemit, and every time he missed, there was an opportunity to strike back.


    Kofi threw a barrage of wild punches, jab, cross, hook, all with raw power, but little finesse.


    Damon slipped the punches, moving just enough to avoid the blows, his eyes never leaving Kofi''s.


    Each time Kofi missed, it took just a little more out of him.


    Damon waited for his moment.


    Finally, Kofi overextended, throwing a heavy uppercut that whizzed past Damon''s chin.


    Seizing the opportunity, Damon stepped in with a sharp elbow aimed at Kofi''s jaw.


    Kofi''s head shot to the side as the blownded urately.


    Kofi staggered back, momentarily stunned.


    But Damon didn''t chase him.


    He stayedposed, knowing that Kofi was still dangerous, even when rocked.


    Kofi shook off the blow and reset his stance, his eyes narrowing with anger.


    "Come on!" Kofi snarled, his voice filled with frustration.


    Damon didn''t respond. He was calm, focused, watching for the next opening.


    They circled again, but this time, Kofi didn''t wait.


    He exploded forward with a powerful leg kick that mmed into Damon''s thigh, making him wince.


    Kofi followed it up with a heavy right hook, aiming for Damon''s head.


    Damon leaned back just in time, the punch narrowly missing his face.


    But Kofi wasn''t done.


    His left, right, left, and right punches mmed into Damon, forcing him back against the cage.


    Damon blocked and parried as best as he could, but the sheer power of Kofi''s strikes was undeniable.


    Each punch that hit Damon''s guard rattled his bones.


    Then, Kofi made a mistake.


    He threw another overhand right, but this time Damon was ready.


    He ducked under the punch, stepped to the side, and fired a quick counter, a left hook thatnded flush on Kofi''s cheek.


    Kofi grunted in pain, but Damon didn''t stop there.


    He pushed the pace, throwing a swift leg kick that connected with Kofi''s calf, buckling his leg for a brief moment.


    Kofi stumbled but quickly regained his footing, his eyes burning with fury.


    Damon could see the frustration building in Kofi''s face.


    He was used to overwhelming his opponents early, but Damon wasn''t giving him that satisfaction.


    Damon stayed patient, keeping his distance, waiting for Kofi to make another mistake.


    But Kofi was unrelenting. Once more, he charged in and delivered a strong body shot that struck Damon in the ribs with his fist.


    Damon flinched as the blow resonated through his body.


    But instead of retreating, Damon countered with a vicious knee to Kofi''s midsection.


    The kneended with a thud, forcing Kofi to exhale sharply, but Kofi''s toughness showed as he ate the strike and kept moving forward.


    Kofi threw a wild hook, and this time, Damon saw his chance.


    He fired a quick teep kick aimed at Kofi''s midsection.


    The kick was fast and urate, but Kofi managed to catch it with his hands.


    For a moment, it looked like Kofi had Damon trapped.


    But just as Kofi was about to capitalize on the situation, his grip slipped.


    Damon pulled his leg free and escaped, resetting his stance as Kofi stumbled forward.


    The crowd murmured as the fighters reset, both men breathing heavily.


    Kofi, clearly frustrated now, charged in again, swinging with wild abandon.


    Damon, stayingposed, ducked and weaved through the storm of punches.


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    When the opening presented itself, Damon countered with a sharp elbow that grazed Kofi''s temple, followed by a swift kick to the body.


    The kicknded hard, and for the first time in the fight, Kofi visibly slowed down.


    Damon smirked slightly, knowing he was getting under Kofi''s skin.


    But he also knew that Kofi was still dangerous, even when he was tired.


    One mistake could still cost Damon the fight.


    Kofi, breathing heavily, stepped back and reset his stance, his chest heaving as sweat dripped down his face.


    Damon kept his eyes locked on him, ready for whatever came next.


    The two men circled again.


    Kofi huffed and charged in again, but this time, Damon was ready.


    He sidestepped Kofi''s attack andnded a vicious leg kick that buckled Kofi''s knee.


    Kofi stumbled, and Damon capitalized with a sharp elbow to the jaw.


    Kofi staggered back, his legs wobbling, but he refused to go down.


    He swung wildly again, but Damon slipped the punch andnded a brutal knee to the body.


    Kofi grunted in pain, but still, he didn''t fall.


    Damon knew he had to be patient.


    One wrong move, and Kofi could still turn the tide.


    But for now, Damon was in control, dictating the pace of the fight.


    The two men circled again, both knowing that the next exchange could be the one that decides it all.

 Chapter 184 Damon Cross Vs. Kofi Clarke II: Huff Huff

    Damon had finally begun to see through Kofi''s wild attacks.


    The chaotic, explosive nature of his strikes had a certain predictability to them.


    Once you spotted the rhythm, you could see the gaps, and Damon was the kind of fighter who could capitalize on those openings.


    As they circled again, Damon''s eyes narrowed, watching every move Kofi made with surgical precision.


    The lunges, the overextended punches, the way Kofi nted his feet when hemitted to an attack, it all became clear to Damon.


    The way he huffed before each charge.


    He wasn''t going to y Kofi''s game anymore.


    He was going to turn Kofi''s own aggression against him.


    With a huff, Kofu lunged ahead, his strong physique unleashing yet another torrent of powerful blows.


    But this time, Damon didn''t retreat.


    He stood his ground and waited.


    As Kofi threw a wide hook, Damon ducked under it, moving like a ghost, and came back with a vicious elbow to the side of Kofi''s head.


    The impact was sharp, and Kofi''s head snapped to the side.


    Before Kofi could reset, Damon delivered a lightning-fast kick to his ribs, causing a grunt to escape Kofi''s lips.


    The strikes were umting, wearing down Kofi''s already small energy reserves, and Damon could sense it.


    Kofi growled in frustration and tried to throw a heavy right hand.


    Damon saw iting from a mile away.


    He sidestepped it easily, allowing Kofi''s momentum to carry him forward, and then mmed a brutal knee into Kofi''s midsection.


    The staff and coaches could feel the shift, Damon was now in full control.


    With every ovemitted strike Kofi threw, Damon would punish him with a counter.


    A missed punch was met with a sharp elbow.


    A lunging attack resulted in a hard leg kick to the body.


    Kofi''s power, once his greatest asset, was now being turned against him.


    Each wild, explosive move only left him more vulnerable, more exposed.


    Damon''s movements were fluid, like a dancer weaving through the chaos, while Kofi was starting to slow down.


    His breathing was heavier, his attacks less coordinated.


    But just as Damon was about to deliver another punishing blow, Kofi found an opening.


    In the middle of a striking exchange, Kofi nted his feet and threw a brutal gut punch that Damon didn''t seeing.


    The punch hit him straight in the stomach, and it felt like being hit by a fucking monster.


    Damon gasped as all the air left his lungs.


    The pain was immediate and intense, radiating through his body like fire.


    He dropped to one knee, clutching his stomach, his teeth gritted in pain.


    "Shit¡­" Damon cursed under his breath, trying to get back up.


    He''d been hit with strong punches before, but this¡­ this was something else.


    If he had to guess using his system, Kofi''s strength was easily in the B-rank, maybe even A.


    The thought barely had time to register before Kofi was on him.


    Sensing blood in the water, Kofi wasted no time.


    He huffed and charged forward like a bull, spearing Damon into the cage with his full weight.


    The force of the impact rattled Damon''s bones, and the sound of their collision echoed through the room.


    Damon''s back mmed against the metal cage, pain shooting up his spine, but Kofi wasn''t done.


    With brute strength, Kofi lifted Damon off his feet, his massive arms gripping Damon''s torso like a vice.


    "Damon, get out of there!" Whittier shouted from the corner, but Damon could barely hear him over the roar of his own heartbeat.


    Kofi grunted, muscles bulging as he ran across the cage, carrying Damon with him like he was nothing.


    Every step Kofi took was heavy and deliberate, each one adding more force to the inevitable m.


    Damon struggled in Kofi''s grip, trying to break free, but Kofi''s strength was too much.


    He felt like he was caught in the jaws of a lion.


    "Control the situation, Damon!" another voice yelled from the corner, but Damon''s mind was reeling from the pain and shock of the gut punch.


    Kofi finally reached the center of the cage and, with a roar, mmed Damon into the mat.


    The impact was brutal.


    With another agonizing m, Damon''s body struck the canvas, and the breath was knocked out of him once again.


    The world around him blurred for a moment as hey there, staring up at the lights above.


    His chest heaved, trying to suck in air, but the pain in his ribs and stomach made it nearly impossible.


    With an aggressive mask on his face, Kofi towered over him.


    He wasn''t going to let up.


    Not now.


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    He raised his fists, ready to finish the fight right there on the ground.


    Damon''s mind raced.


    He couldn''t stay here.


    He had to move.


    He had to fight back.


    But his body wasn''t responding the way it should.


    Every muscle screamed in protest as he tried to push himself up.


    "Get up!" Whittier''s voice broke through the haze.


    Damon forced himself to roll over, barely escaping the first hammerfist that Kofi brought down toward his head.


    The punch mmed into the mat with a loud thud, missing Damon by inches.


    With a burst of energy, Damon scrambled to his feet, his legs wobbly beneath him, but he was up. He was still in the fight.


    Kofi snarled, not giving him a moment to breathe, and charged again.


    Damon saw Kofi huff, but acted as if he didn''t, as he began charging, aiming for a double-leg takedown.


    But as Kofi lowered himself, Damon reacted instinctively.


    With perfect timing, heunched his knee upward with explosive force.


    PAAAAAH!


    The sound of Damon''s knee crashing into Kofi''s face echoed through the room.


    Kofi''s body instantly went ck, notpletely knocked out, but stunned enough for Damon to seize the opportunity.


    Without hesitation, Damon moved in for the kill.


    He quickly scrambled around to Kofi''s back, locking in his hooks and securing his position.


    Wrapping his arm around Kofi''s neck, Damon sunk in a rear-naked choke, his forearm pressing against Kofi''s windpipe.


    Kofi''s hands weakly tried to pry Damon''s arm away, but he was still dazed from the knee.


    Damon tightened his grip, using every bit of strength he had, feeling Kofi''s resistance weaken further.


    Damon squeezed tighter, his face calm and focused as Kofi''s movements became more desperate, his breaths turning into gasps.


    Kofi thrashed, but Damon held firm, his rear-naked choke locked in deep.


    The fight was slipping from Kofi''s grasp as Damon''s grip refused to loosen.


    It may have seemed reckless to go for a choke when Damon could have easily ended the fight with a few more strikes.


    But Damon wasn''t thinking about the quickest way to finish the fight, he was thinking about making Kofi feel the defeat.


    His choke was perfect, wlessly executed, and Kofi had reacted toote.


    Damon knew he had him.


    The moment his arms tightened around Kofi''s neck, there was no escape.


    Striking would have been simple, but this...this was personal.


    Kofi''s hands struggled against Damon''s iron grip, but Damon had locked it in too well.


    He wanted Kofi to experience every second of his fading strength, to feel the crushing inevitability of the loss closing in on him.


    Kofi''s gasps grew weaker, his resistance fading with each passing second.


    Damon clenched his jaw, focusing all his energy on maintaining the hold, his heart racing but his mind clear.


    He was going to end this on his terms.

 Chapter 185 The Final Hold

    Damon''s arms coiled like a vice around Kofi''s neck as he tightened his hold.


    As he leaned closer, the thrill of control infused his voice, which was hardly more than a whisper, and the intensity of the moment surged through him.


    "What now, huh? Sleeping to chopsticks and Leprechauns...what a failure," Damon muttered.


    He wasn''t exactly a trash talker, and even as the words left his mouth, he felt a bit awkward.


    But at this moment, it didn''t matter.


    Kofi was still fighting. His arms, though weakening, were still struggling against the choke.


    The referee moved in, lifting Kofi''s arm to check if he was still in it, and it stayed firm, refusing to drop.


    Damon''s muscles burned, and while he couldn''t see the time on the clock, he estimated the fight had dragged on for longer than expected.


    He knew time was running out.


    If he didn''t finish Kofi soon, the bell would save him, and that wasn''t an option.


    He had to finish this.


    With a swift move, Damon did something unconventional, something he''d only learned back at home from Coach Jos¨¦.


    Instead of keeping the standard rear-naked choke, he shifted his body slightly, leaning to the side and threading his right leg around Kofi''s midsection, trapping one of his arms between his own leg and Kofi''s body.


    It was a strange, almost unorthodox position, a hybrid between a rear-naked choke and a body triangle.


    But the way Damon twisted his torso, it increased the pressure on Kofi''s neck and lungs in a way most fighters wouldn''t expect.


    Kofi''s free hand desperately wed at Damon''s forearm, but the awkward angle made it impossible for him to get any leverage.


    Damon''s left arm was like steel around his throat, and the leg position made it nearly impossible for Kofi to move or roll out.


    This was a technique Coach Jos¨¦ had taught him, a position meant to trap not just the neck, but the body, restricting movement entirely.


    Kofi''s breathing became more erratic, his body twitching as he tried to fight off the choke.


    Damon squeezed tighter, his face close to Kofi''s ear, feeling the desperate gasps of his opponent.


    Seconds felt like hours, but Damon knew the end was near.h


    Kofi''s grip weakened further, his arm finally dropping as his movements slowed.


    The referee moved in, checking Kofi''s response, lifting his hand once more.


    This time, it fell limp.


    Hank Binn stepped in immediately, pulling Damon off. "That''s it! He''s out!"


    Damon released the choke, rolling off Kofi.


    Kofiy still on the mat, unconscious, his chest rising and falling slowly as the referee signaled the end of the fight.


    Damon stood up, breathing heavily, his chest heaving with exhaustion.


    With every ragged breath, Damon''s chest rose and fell as he stood over Kofi''s unconscious body.


    He had done it.


    He hade to The Supreme Fighter to make a name for himself, and now, with the semifinals behind him, he was on the verge of finishing the journey.


    But his body reminded him of the cost.


    The blows Kofi hadnded during the match were taking their toll, his ribs ached, his muscles screamed, and each step felt heavier than thest.


    Yet the adrenaline coursing through his veins numbed the pain, at least for now.


    The medical staff hurried past him, kneeling next to Kofi to see how he was doing, and Damon looked down.


    His opponenty still, the toll of the fight evident in his unconscious form.


    Despite everything, Damon felt a pang of respect for the power Kofi had brought into the cage.


    Before he could reflect any further, his team flooded the ring, pping him on the back and shouting congrattions.


    Whittier was right there, giving Damon a proud nod, while the assistant coaches wore wide grins, thrilled with the victory.


    But even in the middle of the celebration, Damon''s mind was already shifting ahead.


    There was still one more fight.


    One final step to the finish line.


    And that thought hung heavy, even as the momentary joy of victory filled the cage.


    Ivan pped Damon on the back with a wide grin. "Brother, you have to teach me that move."


    Damon chuckled, still catching his breath. "Trade secret," he replied, shing a brief smile despite the exhaustion weighing on him.


    As the celebration quieted, Damon nced at Kofi, who had finally woken up.


    Kofi''s chest heaved with fatigue, his eyes no longer filled with the arrogance that had fueled him before the fight.


    Instead, they carried a look of respect. He nodded at Damon, acknowledging the battle they''d just endured.


    Damon returned the nod, his own expression solemn but respectful.


    In that quiet conversation, the tension that had been between them seemed to vanish.


    Hank Binn called them forward. Damon and Kofi approached, still reeling from the intensity of the fight.


    Hank took hold of their wrists, lifting Damon''s arm high into the air.


    "The winner by submission, advancing to The Supreme Fighter Finals... Damon Cross!"


    Damon sighed, feeling the weight of the moment.


    The move he had used at the end, that unorthodox choke, was something unique.


    Even the system hadn''t recognized it as an official technique or move.


    It hade naturally, almost instinctively, from his training with Coach Jos¨¦ back home.


    He reflected on how most of his fights ended in knockouts, with this submission being a rare finish for him.


    As they made their way out of the cage, Damon caught sight of Brian standing off to the side.


    When their eyes met, you could feel the tension between them.


    If anyone thought Damon''s fight with Kofi was personal, this was on another level entirely.


    Brian had been waiting for this, itching for a chance to get his hands on Damon ever since Logan had been defeated.


    His stare was cold, filled with determination and a touch of bitterness.


    Damon, however, experienced an adrenaline rush.


    There was something satisfying about the idea of beating both Walker brothers.


    He had already taken down Logan, and now Brian was the next target.


    He thought to himself, ''Wouldn''t it be nice to show him the same lesson?''

 Chapter 186 The Living Room Arena

    While Damon was taking a hard punch in the ring, his family and friends were enjoying a much morefortable time across town in the apartment that Victor had set up for Damon and his mother.


    They were all in therge living room.


    The ce had be a sanctuary for Damon and his mother, a far cry from their difficult past.


    On therge, plush sofa, the whole squad was there, leaning forward as they watched the fight unfold on the big screen.


    Ty, Ash, Ashley, Joey, and Svena sat together, eyes glued to the TV.


    Damon''s friends had been invited over by his mother for what had be a regr event, watching Damon''s fights as a group and making a day of it.


    Victor, always theposed and calcted man, sat on a single sofa off to the side, dressed casually for once.


    He watched the fight with a calm demeanor, though those who knew him well could sense his underlying tension.


    In the kitchen, Aoife was chatting with another woman, who stood beside her, both preparing snacks for the group.


    The woman had elegant blonde hair and moved with a natural grace, Victor''s wife, Macey.


    She and Aoife had quickly be close friends, often bonding over their shared worries about the men in their lives.


    Back in the living room, the energy was tense.


    The moment on the screen was intense, Damon had just been hit with a gut punch from Kofi, and everyone in the room winced.


    "Oh, damn!" Joey shouted, gripping the edge of the couch. "That looked like it hurt."


    Ty leaned forward, his eyes wide. "He''s fine. Come on, man, get up, Damon!"


    As usual, Svena kept her cool and paid attention.


    She crossed her arms and looked straight ahead. "He''s been hit harder before," she said quietly, but it was clear that she was scared.


    Victor didn''t say a word, his eyes never leaving the screen.


    His jaw clenched slightly, but he remainedposed.


    Aoife and Macey walked in from the kitchen, holding trays of drinks and snacks, just as the fight on the screen escted.


    "Is he okay?" Aoife asked, concern creeping into her voice as she set the tray down on the table.


    She wiped her hands nervously on her apron, her eyes fixed on the TV.


    "He''ll be fine," Victor said finally, his voice calm but firm. "Damon''s tough. He knows what he''s doing."


    Despite the cozy setting, it was as if they were all there in the cage with him, feeling every blow, every struggle.


    The tension in the living room spiked when Damon was lifted off his feet and mmed into the cage with a resounding thud.


    The collective gasp was almost louder than the TV itself.


    Aoife, unable to bear seeing her son take such punishment, grabbed Macey''s hand and pulled her from the room, muttering, "I can''t watch this." Macey followed, offering a sympathetic nod, but her own face betrayed concern.


    In the living room, the rest of the group watched in shock as Kofi pounded down with hammerfists.


    "No, no, no!" Ty yelled, clenching his fists.


    Joey leaned forward, almost off the couch. "Get out of there, man, get out!"


    Just when it seemed like the fight was slipping away, Damon, battered but not broken, twisted free and stumbled to his feet. Relief washed over everyone.


    Svena let out a long breath she hadn''t realized she was holding.


    Her hand rested on her chest, and a small smile of relief crept across her face.


    Victor, who had been sitting rigidly, finally let his body rx, a subtle smile on his face. "That''s more like it," he muttered, though it was mostly to himself.


    And then, the next moment froze them all in ce.


    Kofi, like a charging bull, ran full speed at Damon, who was still leaning against the cage.


    But instead of panic, Damon timed his move perfectly, lifting his knee at thest second.


    "PAAAH!" The impact was audible through the speakers, and the room erupted.


    Ash shot up from the couch, grinning from ear to ear. "That''s it! It''s over!" he shouted, his excitement contagious.


    Victor allowed himself a wider smile, the tension visibly leaving his body as if a weight had been lifted. "Well done," he whispered, nodding in approval.


    Svena blushed, but quickly masked it, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.


    Her eyes, however, remained fixed on Damon on the screen, pride and admiration flickering across her face.


    But just as they thought Damon would finish Kofi off with strikes, something unexpected happened.


    Damon went for a choke instead of pummeling Kofi to the ground.


    Joey squinted at the screen, confused. "Wait, why is he going for a choke?"


    Ash tilted his head. "What? Just knock him out, bro!"


    Even Ty was baffled. "Is he¡­why would he do that?"


    The room quieted as they watched Damon lock in the rear-naked choke, his technique unorthodox but effective.


    Kofi''s body slowly went limp, and when Hank Binn rushed in to stop the fight, the room exploded in cheers.


    "He did it!" Joey yelled, jumping up and down. "He freaking did it!"


    Victor stood from his seat, pping slowly but proudly. "That''s my boy," he said softly, a wide grin spreading across his face.


    Ty and Ash high-fived, their energy through the roof as they yelled and celebrated.


    Svena smiled, her blush returning as she watched Damon''s victory on the screen.


    Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and something more, though she kept it hidden from the others.


    As Aoife and Macey returned to the living room, hearing the noise, Aoife immediately asked, "What happened?"


    Joey spun around with a big grin. "He won! Damon won!"


    Aoife''s face lit up with relief and pride as she brought her hands to her chest. "I knew he would."


    The whole room buzzed with excitement, and for a moment, it felt like they were all there in the cage with Damon, celebrating a victory that was not just his, but theirs as well.


    Because it was.

 Chapter 187 The Unseen Fans

    It wasn''t just Damon''s family and friends who celebrated his win that evening.


    In a cozy house in Stockton, a young boy about 14 years old, was glued to the television screen.


    His heart was pounding as Damon battled Kofi, and his wide eyes followed every movement in the cage.


    The moment Damonnded the brutal knee and went for the choke, the boy leaped up from the sofa, fists pumping in the air. "YEAH!! Dad!! Damon won!"


    His father, hearing themotion from the kitchen, quickly rushed in, though with a finger to his lips. "Matthew, calm down! Your mom''s sleeping!" he warned, though a proud smile tugged at his lips as he tried to keep his own excitement in check.


    Despite the excitement still rushing through him, Matthew grinned and sat back down.


    Ever since he had gotten Damon''s autograph a couple of years ago, Matthew had followed his journey.


    He had been disappointed when Damon disappeared from the fighting scene after that night, but he had never forgotten about him.


    Even as he watched other fights, Matthew couldn''t help but wonder what had happened to that skinny young fighter who''d signed his poster.


    Then, earlier this year, when UFA announced The Supreme Fighter, Matthew had been ecstatic to see a familiar face on the first episode.


    His father had pointed him out immediately, recognizing Damon''s familiar face, though this time, Damon was stronger, more muscr than before.


    Since then, Matthew and his father had watched every episode, cheering Damon on.


    And now, as Damon secured his spot in the finals, Matthew couldn''t contain his happiness.


    His favorite fighter was back and better than ever, and he couldn''t wait to see what Damon would do next.


    Matthew''s father, his eyes still on the screen, smiled as he sat down next to his son. "Looks like your guy''s going all the way, huh?"


    Matthew nodded eagerly, his eyes still fixed on Damon''s victorious figure on the screen. "Yeah, Dad. He''s gonna win it all."


    Matthew''s father was about to continue talking when the TV grabbed their attention.


    "Dad, look! It''s Ronan! Maybe he''ll talk about the finals!"


    Ronan ck made an appearance on screen, looking as charismatic and intense as ever.


    "Alright, folks, it''s official," Ronan began, holding a mic with a firm grip.


    "The final match of The Supreme Fighter is going to take ce at none other than Madison Square Garden, the ma ofbat sports! We''ve got two warriors who have fought tooth and nail to get here, and now, it alles down to one fight: Damon Cross versus Brian Walker!"


    Ronan took a moment to allow the anticipation to grow. "This is gonna be a war. And the winner? Well, they''re not just walking away with a six-figure UFA contract and a $10,000 prize. They''re walking away with The Supreme Fighter title!"


    He continued, "And you know what? It gets even better. We''ve got two coaches who''ve been pushing these fighters to their limits. On one side, we''ve got the undefeated, the unstoppable, Balim Chemasov!"


    "And on the other side," Ronan went on, "the former UFA Middleweight Champion, a man who knows what it takes to be the best, Donald Whittier!"


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    "This is it, folks. Chemasov''s fighter, Brian Walker, versus Whittier''s fighter, Damon Cross, in one of the most anticipated finals we''ve ever had. Madison Square Garden, be there, or regret it for the rest of your life!"


    But just as he was about to lose himself in the hype, his dad cleared his throat, bringing him back to reality.


    "Buddy, are you gonna ignore me now?" his father asked with a teasing smile.


    Matthew, still giddy with anticipation, turned to him. "Sorry, Dad! It''s just... Damon''s in the finals! This is huge!"


    His father chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment. "I know it is. That''s why I''ve got something even bigger to tell you."


    Matthew''s expression changed to curiosity. "What do you mean?"


    His dad leaned forward, his grin widening. "Rememberst month when I said your mom and I were nning something special for your birthday?"


    Matthew nodded quickly, eager to hear what his dad was about to say.


    "Well," his dad continued, "how about... we go watch the finals live at Madison Square Garden?"


    Matthew froze, his eyes widening even more. "Wait... WHAT?!"


    His dadughed. "You heard me right, buddy. We''re going to the Garden. You, me, live show, front row seats to see Damon Cross fight for the title."


    Matthew leaped off the couch, his hands on his head. "No way! Are you serious?! This is INSANE!" He ran around the living room, too excited to stay in one spot. "Oh my god, this is gonna be the best day of my life!"


    His dad smiled, watching Matthew bounce around like a pinball. "I thought you''d like that. I figured you''ve been cheering Damon on for so long, it''s only right you get to see him fight live."


    "Dad, you''re the best!" Matthew yelled, running back to hug his dad. "I can''t believe this is happening!"


    As Matthew grabbed his phone to tell his friends the news, he nced back at the TV, where Ronan ck''s voice continued hyping up the fight.


    "This is the kind of fight you don''t want to miss, folks! Damon Cross versus Brian Walker, Madison Square Garden, be there!"


    Matthew grinned ear to ear. He was going to be there, and he couldn''t wait. "This is gonna be the best thing ever," he muttered to himself, still in disbelief.


    His dad smiled at him, ruffling his hair. "Let''s make sure Damon wins it all, bud."


    The TV continued showing highlights of both Damon and Brian, building up the anticipation for the final showdown.


    Clips of Damon''s relentless Muay Thai strikes and his dominating performances against his opponents yed side by side with Brian''s calcted wrestling, powerful submissions, and brutal knockouts.


    Each clip reminded the audience of the journey both fighters had taken to get here, showcasing their unique styles and strengths.


    For every Damon fan, there were just as many cheering for Brian.


    He wasn''t just anotherpetitor, he had carved out his own fierce path through The Supreme Fighter, and many hade to respect his skills and determination.


    If Matthew reacted this way to Damon''s victory, you could only imagine how others who had be Brian''s followers felt.

 Chapter 188 Silent Reflections

    Team Whittier''s locker room was full of excitement.


    Around Damon, his coaches and teammates were singing with words of encouragement, pats on the back, and congrattions.


    But while everyone was engrossed in the moment, Damon was losing himself in his own thoughts.


    He couldn''t help but wish he had a phone and call his mother.


    He wanted to tell her how far he hade, how much he had achieved.


    But even though he knew she was proud of him, he doubted she was watching his fight.


    He didn''t me her either.


    Watching your child step into a cage, risking everything, wasn''t something every parent could handle.


    Damon leaned back on the bench, his hands resting on his knees, his mind racing.


    The room around him was full of noise, conversations,ughter, the sound of victory.


    Yet in his own head, things felt quiet. Reflective.


    He exhaled slowly, focusing on what wasing next.


    The final fight.


    His biggest test.


    While his teammates and coaches celebrated his victory, Damon sat there, his mind already on the future.


    Whittier stepped into the locker room, his smile stered on his face.


    He nced around at his team, clearly proud of what they had achieved so far.


    The room quieted down as everyone turned to him.


    "Well,ds," Whittier spoke first, his toneposed but weighted with the excitement of the situation. "I couldn''t be prouder of what you''ve done. You''ve fought your hearts out and shown why you deserve to be here. Each of you has proven something to yourselves and to the world."


    He paused, looking directly at Damon. "But this isn''t the end, not yet. The final fight is still ahead, and it''s the one that really counts. It''s time to dig deep and prepare for the hardest battle yet. No matter what happens, just remember, you''ve made it this far because you earned it."


    Whittier made a piercing sound as he pped his hands together. "Alright, no more resting on yoururels. Time to focus and prepare. The fight of your life is just around the corner."


    The atmosphere in the room changed from one of celebration to one of concentrated preparation after that.


    .


    .


    .


    Damon stood under the shower, letting the water rinse away the exhaustion and thoughts about the fight.


    He had just secured his ce in the finals, but his mind was already racing ahead.


    He decided to check his system while he had a moment to himself.


    A message appeared before his eyes:


    [Congrattions for winning the Semifinals and bing one of the finalists.]


    Reward: 1000 coins


    [Total bnce: 1009]


    He grinned slightly, feeling the satisfaction of reaching this point, but now came the real challenge, spending those coins wisely.


    He moved through the system, looking at his options.


    The B-Rank Elixir was priced at 300 coins.


    That meant he could afford three of them with his current bnce, leaving just enough for another purchase down the line.


    His stats reflected his progress so far:


    Strength: C


    Speed: D+


    Stamina: C


    Endurance: C+


    Agility: C


    His Strength and Endurance were solid, and his Stamina had improved enough tost through tough trainings.


    But his Speed was stillgging behind at D, something that could be a critical issue against Brian, who was faster and more technical than Kofi.


    Damon knew he''d need to close that gap.


    He stood there, contemting his options.


    Should he bnce things out more by boosting Speed and Strength, or perhaps strengthen his Endurance even further to withstand whatever Brian threw at him?


    After all, his Endurance was the reason he hadn''t been knocked out yet.


    Agility had proven useful, especially when he pulled off that hybrid submission, so maybe it deserved more focus too.


    While weighing his options, his thoughts drifted back to something that had crossed his mind before, the possibility of an S-Rank.


    The system didn''t list a Elixir for it in the shop, and no further details were given.


    It left him wondering if the S-Rank even existed, or if it was just something the system hinted at but never actually provided.


    It had alsoe to his attention that it was getting easy to level up, sure the training was needed hard training, but it wasn''t as hard as earlier, he could confirm this because ever since in this show he took an Elixir, a week was enough maybe even less.


    So this was also a reason for him to think about what was next after S-Rank.


    But I guess that would be a thought forter.


    Damon decided not to make any purchases right now.


    He wanted to reflect on it a bit more and make sure his next steps were perfectly aligned with what he needed to face Brian.


    For now, he focused on the task at hand, washing up then choose and then finally focus on his fight camp and preparing for the biggest fight of his career.


    Finishing up his shower, Damon wrapped a towel around himself, feeling both the pressure and the thrill of whaty ahead.


    The system could wait. Right now, he needed to focus on the fight.


    Damon finished getting dressed, pulling a shirt over his head as he mumbled to himself, "I wonder if coins are included on thest challenge on that system quest."


    "What was that?"


    Startled, Damon spun around to find one of the assistant coaches standing behind him. The man raised an eyebrow, looking slightly puzzled.


    "You good, Cross?"


    Damon''s heart skipped a beat as he realized he''d spoken out loud. But then he calmed down, assuming the coach probably hadn''t heard him clearly.


    "Yeah, I''m good," Damon said, shaking his head to brush off the awkwardness. "You just startled me a bit."


    The coach''s expression softened, and Damon forced a casual chuckle. "I was, uh, singing my favorite song by Ineman. You know, just getting in the zone." He threw out the lie with a grin.


    The coach raised an eyebrow but shrugged. "Alright, as long as you''re focused. Keep that mindset, Cross, big fight ahead."


    Damon nodded, relieved that the conversation hadn''t gone any deeper.


    As the coach walked off, Damon sighed quietly, feeling the tension slip away.

 Chapter 189 Preparations

    The media was going crazy over the fight, and fans were excited to see it.


    While some were eager to see the uing The Supreme Fighter final between Damon and Brian, given the heated rivalry and drama that had unfolded, most of the attention was focused elsewhere.


    The majority of the hype was centered on the sh between Balim Chemasov and Donald Whittier.


    These two giants of the sport were set to face off, and their long-standing reputations and intense coaching rivalry made their bout the real headliner in the eyes of many.


    Everyone wanted to see the fight, and there was an overwhelming feeling of excitement surrounding the event.


    For Damon and Brian, the reality was clear, as skilled as they were, they were still rtively unknownpared to the likes of Chemasov and Whittier.


    It was only natural for the spotlight to be on the two veteran coaches, who had already built legendary careers.


    In some ways, Damon weed the distraction.


    Because at the same time, he knew that this was an opportunity for him to prove himself on the biggest stage.


    If he could steal the show, he might just be the one everyone was talking about.


    Another reason for the overwhelming attention on Whittier and Chemasov was the potential reward for the winner, a title shot against the reigning UFA middleweight champion, Darik "DPP" Pe Predis.


    DPP was a household name in the sport, known for his explosive style and iron-d defense, making him one of the most dominant champions in recent years.


    The possibility of facing DPP added even more weight to the matchup, making it one of the most highly anticipated fights on the entire card.


    The UFA was promoting it relentlessly, ensuring that it was the talk of the MMA world.


    For Damon and Brian, it was clear that they were sharing the spotlight with muchrger stars.


    The final would be a co-main event, with Damon and Brian set to fight right before their coaches, Whittier and Chemasov, squared off in the night''s grand spectacle.


    For both young fighters, this was the culmination of a month and a half of hard work, intense training, and intensepetition on The Supreme Fighter.


    Now, with the finish line in sight, they would share the stage with their legendary coaches.


    After the event, win or lose, it would finally be time to return home.


    They hadn''t seen their families in what felt like an eternity, and the thought of being reunited was a wee distraction from the constant pressure of thepetition.


    But before they could think about home, there was still one more fight to conquer.


    Both Damon and Brian knew that even the runner-up could still catch the eye of UFA executives and secure a contract.


    There was always that possibility, that small glimmer of hope for the future.


    But neither of them was nning on banking on that.


    For now, the only thing on their minds was winning the whole thing, not settling for second ce.


    The stakes were too high, and both men were determined to prove that they deserved the grand prize, not by default, but by fighting their way to the top.


    .


    .


    Damon grunted as he pushed through another set of bench presses, sweat dripping down his forehead and onto the mat below.


    The assistant coach stood nearby, keeping a close eye on him.


    "Come on, Damon! Five more reps. Make them count!" The coach gave an order in a firm yet motivating tone. "Get that full range of motion, all the way down, all the way up. Don''t cheat the movement."


    As he finished thest repetitions, Damon''s arms trembled from the strain and his muscles burned.


    He exhaled sharply, racking the weights and sitting up on the bench, his chest heaving.


    "Good, take a minute," the assistant coach said. "Next up is the sled push. We''re working on explosive strength today."


    Damon nodded, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel.


    As he moved over to the sled, he couldn''t help but nce across the room at Whittier, who was drilling takedowns with one of his own coaches.


    Despite his own uing match, Whittier still found time to check in on Damon.


    "Push, Damon, push! 20 meters and back, go!" the assistant coach shouted as Damon took off, driving the sled forward with every ounce of strength.


    The metal scraped loudly against the floor as he powered through the exercise, his legs and arms burning with effort.


    The coach was relentless, barking orders. "Don''t stop! Keep that speed up, all the way to the line! Then turn around and push it back!"


    Damon reached the end, spun the sled around, and started back, his muscles screaming in protest.


    He could feel the difference in his body. The elixir had given him a boost, but there was no substitute for the hard work he was putting in now.


    As he neared the finish, Whittier caught his eye, giving him a brief nod of approval before returning to his own drills.


    "That''s it, Damon! You''re almost there!" the assistant coach shouted, pping his hands. "Keep driving! Finish strong!"


    Damon mmed the sled past the line, then stumbled back, catching his breath.


    He had pushed through one of the hardest workouts of his life, but he knew it was necessary.


    He had had a week left, and he was determined to be at his absolute peak for the finals.


    Through out the past week since the fight announcement, Damon had reached B rank on Endurance, but with Strength and Speed being mid and not peak(+) he had to push them there before taking the elixir.


    Luckily, he managed to reach peak on Strength as it wasn''t far, and today, he managed to break through the rank.


    Now he was just feeling up his strength.


    Hopefully, he can reach peak and break through to C rank on his speed, but if time doesn''t let it, then he would settle for D+


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¡ñ Strength: B-


    ¡ñ Speed: D


    ¡ñ Stamina: C


    ¡ñ Endurance: B-


    ¡ñ Agility: C


    ¨C¨C¨C

 Chapter 190 The Ceremonial weigh-in

    Today marked the day before the fight.


    The official weigh-in had already taken ce a few days earlier, but now it was time for the ceremonial weigh-in, a spectacle for the fans.


    The minibus came to a stop at Madison Square Garden.


    Damon peered at the iconic building, his nerves kicking in.


    He wasn''t someone who feared crowds, but this felt different, overwhelming even.


    The door swung open.


    He nced at Whittier, who looked calm and casual, as if he had done this a thousand times before.


    And in reality, he had.


    Damon envied that calmness, feeling a knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach.


    As they stepped out, the noise hit them, a roar of voices calling out from all directions. "Whittier! Donald Whittier!" The fans were chanting for his coach, not him.


    Damon''s name was absent from the shouts, and while he didn''t expect a hero''s wee, the reality of it stung.


    He forced himself to look up at the towering building ahead, its size intimidating.


    Together, they walked past the fans and paparazzi, heading inside without breaking stride, shutting out the noise behind them. Continue your saga on m|v-l''e -NovelBin


    Damon followed Whittier through the bustling backroom, trying to absorb the atmosphere.


    He was finally here, standing in the same ce where so many legendary fighters had prepared for their bouts.


    The moment felt surreal, and he caught glimpses of a few familiar faces, famous fighters who were chatting or stretching.


    It was a reminder of the level he was about topete at.


    Whittier gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "You handled that pretty well," he said, a small smile on his face. "Now, let''s get the medical check-up done and confirm the weights."


    Damon nodded, taking a deep breath as they made their way toward the medical staff.


    .


    .


    The medical check-up was brief, and the weigh-in confirmation went smoothly.


    Damon''s weight was right on target, as expected.


    Now, he found himself standing in the corridor leading to the stage of the Hulu Theater, where the ceremonial weigh-in would take ce.


    The cheers from the crowd echoed through the hall, growing louder by the second.


    He heard the unmistakable voice of Jim Logan, the legendarymentator, known for his passion and enthusiasm for the sport.


    "Alright,dies and gentlemen, lets move on to the ceremonial weigh-in for The Supreme Fighter Finals! We''ve had an incredible season, and now it alles down to this, two warriors who have battled their way to the top for a shot at greatness. This is the moment where we meet the finalists who will step into the cage tomorrow night to determine who will be The Supreme Fighter champion!"


    The crowd roared with excitement as Jim continued. "Introducing first, representing Team Chemasov, he''s been a force to be reckoned with throughout thispetition. Please wee, Brian Walker!"


    The theater erupted with cheers and apuse as Brian made his way onto the stage.


    Brian stepped onto the scale and took off his shirt, revealing his lean, muscr frame.


    Intense excitement filled the room as Jim Logan leaned in to say the weight.


    "Official weight: 185 pounds on the dot for Brian Walker!" Jim called out, his voice booming through the theater.


    The crowd cheered as Brian raised a fist in acknowledgment before starting to step off the scale.


    He was about to go back the way he came.


    But the official motioned for him to stay.


    "Hang on, Brian. We''re going to get the face-off done right now," the official said, gesturing for him to remain in ce.


    Jim Logan''s voice echoed through the theater, "And now, introducing his opponent, fighting out of Team Whittier, Damon Cross!"


    Damon swung the door open and made his way toward the stage.


    As he stepped up, the sight of the packed arena hit him like a wave.


    It was overwhelming, knowing that this was just the weigh-in, not even the main event.


    The stage was set up with bright spotlights illuminating the center, where the scale and the fighters stood.


    Behind them was a massive LED screen disying "The Supreme Fighter" logo, casting a glow across the area.


    The UFA emblem and sponsor banners adorned the backdrop, enhancing thevishness of the asion.


    The crowd filled the theater to its capacity, with rows of seats extending upward, creating a coliseum-like effect.


    Fans waved signs and chanted names, while others captured the moment on their phones, eager to share the excitement.


    A rush of cheers, shouts, and camera shes filled the air as anticipation built.


    The atmosphere was electrifying, fitting for a crucial point in thepetition.


    Keeping his focus, he moved to the scale, taking off his shirt and tossing it aside.


    Standing there, the cameras shed from all directions, capturing every angle.


    "Official weight, 185 pounds on the mark for Damon Cross!" Jim Logan announced, his voice filled with enthusiasm as the crowd erupted in cheers and apuse.


    As Damon stepped down from the scale, the cameras kept shing continuously, capturing every moment.


    Damon approached Brian for the face-off, his steps steady.


    As they stood face to face, fists raised, the tension was palpable.


    He could see the hint of nerves in Brian''s eyes, though Brian tried to mask it, just as Damon did.


    Jim Logan, standing beside them, took to the microphone, his voice booming across the theater, "Tomorrow night, in our co-main event, we have a fight that''s been brewing since the start of this season. In the middleweight division, it''s Brian Walker versus Damon Cross!


    These two have battled through the toughestpetition to make it to this stage, and now they''ll go head-to-head to determine who will be crowned the next Supreme Fighter!"


    As Damon and Brian kept staring at each other, the cheers of the audience erupted into a ferocious roar.


    When they broke the stare down, Jim Logan approached Brian, microphone in hand. "Brian, anything you''d like to say to your opponent?"


    Brian smirked confidently. "I don''t have much to say, but I''ll repeat my brother''s words, tomorrow night, I''ll show you how to act in front of the man of the house, son."


    The audience''s excitement was obvious as they cheered and apuded.


    Damon didn''t react outwardly to Brian''s taunt, keeping hisposure, though his clenched fist betrayed the tension simmering beneath the surface.


    Jim Logan grinned, clearly enjoying the tension. He stepped closer to Damon. "Damon, any response to that statement?"


    The crowd went silent, a hush falling over the arena that sent a jolt through Damon.


    But he didn''t falter. He nced at Brian, considering what to say.


    Giving an emotional response would be easy, but he knew the fans appreciated a bit of ir.


    "I mean, he can say whatever he wants," Damon replied with a smirk. "I''ve already beaten his brother. I''ll beat him too. In my opinion, I took out the toughest opponentst week, so you, boy, are just easy work."


    The crowd roared in approval, cheering loudly.


    Jim Logan took a step back and spoke loudly. "There you have it, Damon Cross versus Brian Walker, tomorrow night for The Supreme Fighter finale! Thank you, gentlemen!"

 Chapter 191 The Supporters

    FIGHT NIGHT


    The minibus pulled into the parking lot, and the excitement was palpable.


    This wasn''t the TSF bus, but a private ride for Damon''s closest supporters.


    As the vehicle came to a stop, the door slid open and Ash sprang out, stretching his arms above his head.


    "Ahh, that was a ride," he eximed, shaking out his limbs.


    Behind him came his twin sister Ashley, followed by Tyr, who squeezed hisrge frame through the door, and Joey, who hopped out after him.


    Svena was thest to step out, her gaze absorbing the arena''s busy ambiance.


    With Ashley being a UFA fighter and Victor having a storied past as a former fighter, securing front-row seats was effortless.


    They were in the Madison Square Garden parking lot, where there was a lot of noise and excitement in the wind.


    "So, the adults didn''te?" Ash remarked, ncing around.


    Ashleyughed. "Well, Lana''s parents decided to go on a date tonight, and Damon''s mom didn''t want to watch her son fighting. Can''t really me her for that."


    Ash backed away and held up his hands in a false defense. "Hey, I''m notining, just making an observation. But, for the record, after the show, I''m not heading back to the hotel."


    The others rolled their eyes, while Tyr grinned, appearing to share Ash''s enthusiasm for the night ahead.


    As they walked toward the arena, Ash nced at Svena with a yful smirk. "Lana, no need to be nervous. I''m sure your boyfriend is going to win this one, he¨C"


    Before he could finish his sentence, Svena''s hand smacked the back of his head. "He''s not my boyfriend, Ash!" she snapped, though there was a hint of a blush on her cheeks.


    Ash grinned and rubbed the back of his head where Svena had smacked him. "Hey, hey, I''m just joking! Jeez, Tyr, you better watch out for this one. Damon might have to worry about violence if he loses tonight."


    Ashley grabbed Ash by the ear and started pulling him along. "Enough messing around. We need to get inside. Victor paid a lot for those front-row tickets, so let''s not waste them."


    As they made their way towards the entrance, Joey was practically bouncing on his toes. "I can''t believe I''m actually here... Madison Square Garden, baby! Ash, you know any good clubs around here?"


    Ash''s eyes lit up instantly, like he had just found a kindred spirit. "Oh, I know a few spots. Don''t worry, Joey, I''ll show you the best ces after Damon gets that win."


    Svena rolled her eyes but couldn''t help smiling as the group moved forward, the iconic arena standing ahead of them.


    They could all sense both anxiety and anticipation in the atmosphere; this was going to be a memorable evening.


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    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    On the other side of the parking lot, a car came to a halt, and the doors opened.


    A man stepped out first, followed quickly by a boy about 14 years old who dashed out excitedly. "Come on, Mom, Dad! We''re gonna miss the show!"


    "Hold on, Matthew!" a motherly voice called out, stern yet gentle.


    The boy froze in his tracks, ncing back with a sheepish smile.


    The man chuckled, patting Matthew on the shoulder. "Easy there, champ. We''ve got plenty of time. You don''t want to get separated in this crowd, do you?"


    Matthew took a deep breath and slowed down, falling in line with his parents as they made their way toward the entrance, his excitement barely contained as he eagerly anticipated the event ahead.


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    <<Damon and Whittier''s Locker room>>


    The room was spacious, furnished withfortable sofas where people sat quietly, some on their phones, others just staring off in thought.


    A mixture of calm before the storm and a faint buzz of anticipation dominated the air.


    On the far end, arge screen hung on the wall, ready to broadcast the matches once they began.


    Damon sat by himself, hands sped together, his foot tapping nervously against the floor.


    He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing thoughts.


    He was here.


    Madison Square Garden.


    The result of all the hard work he had put into The Supreme Fighter.


    Despite all his preparation, a knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach.


    It wasn''t fear of Brian, it was the asion.


    So many eyes would be watching, and for the first time, he felt the magnitude of the stage.


    This wasn''t just a gym or a training facility; it was one of the most famous arenas in the world, filled with thousands of fans.


    Damon shook his head, refocusing his mind. He wasn''t here by ident.


    He''d earned his spot, and now it was time to prove he belonged.


    It was amazing.


    From a rough start in Limerick, through the hardships of abuse, to the streets of Stockton, and now here, in one of the greatest arenas in the world.


    It was a journey that could have broken anyone, but he''d pushed through every challenge.


    Damon took a deep breath, letting the weight of it all settle in.


    Feelings of pride rushed through him and made his chest tighten.


    There had been moments when he thought he''d never get out of that dark ce, but here he was, steps away from the biggest fight of his life.


    He felt the urge to get emotional, but he kept it together.


    Now wasn''t the time.


    There would be plenty of time to look back and feel it allter.


    Right now, he needed to stay focused.


    He had a fight to win.


    The door creaked open, breaking his train of thoughts.


    Damon looked up as Whittier walked in, a calm smile on his face.


    The familiar voice broke through the swirl of thoughts in his head, grounding him back in the moment.


    "Alright, kid," Whittier sat down on the couch as he spoke. "Let''s watch the show, shall we? Our matches are still a bit down the line."

 Chapter 192 Walk to Control

    "Ohhh!!!" Damon, Whittier, and the coaches all reacted in unison as the fighter on the screennded a devastating head kick.


    Damon grinned, shaking his head in amazement. "That''s a crazy match, man. The lightweight division is packed."


    The door opened and a staff member leaned in, drawing everyone''s attention as the excitement in the room persisted. "Mr. Cross, your match is after the next one, so please get ready."


    Damon inhaled deeply as he felt his adrenaline start to rise.


    It was time to get ready.


    .


    .


    .


    Damon finished preparing, slipping into his dark green tight shorts with the "UFA" logo emzoned on a ck strap.


    He ran his hand through his hair, the final stretch of calm before the storm.


    Standing in the corridor with Whittier and the assistant coaches.


    There was no more waiting.


    It was time.


    Suddenly, music red through the arena, and Damon nced up at the screen on the corridor wall.


    It wasn''t his time yet, Brian was walking out, nked by his The Supreme Fighter coaches.


    The crowd erupted, and Damon could feel the intensity building.


    Soon, it would be his turn.


    From the screen, Damon could hear the familiar voices of thementary team: Demien Korvier, James Nix, and Jim Logan.


    The first to speak was James Nix, who sounded enthusiastic. "Herees Brian Walker,dies and gentlemen, one of the top finalists of The Supreme Fighter. He''s been dominant all season long."


    Demien Korvier added, "Yeah, he''s shown incredible wrestling and striking. I think his cardio is going to be a huge factor tonight."


    Jim Logan chimed in with his usual enthusiasm, "No doubt, and let''s not forget, he''sing in with a chip on his shoulder after everything that happened with his brother and Damon Cross. This is personal."


    Damon took a deep breath.


    As Damon walked out to the iconic beat of Lose Yourself, the roar of the crowd was deafening, a surge of energy that sent chills through his spine.


    His palms felt sweaty, and for a moment, his knees slightly weak under the weight of the asion.


    He scanned the arena, thousands of fans cheering, their hands reaching out to touch him as he passed.


    As Damon began his walkout, thementary team reacted with genuine excitement.


    First to speak again was James Nix, whose enthusiastic voice, "Here he is, Damon Cross, making his way to the cage in what has been an incredible journey for him throughout The Supreme Fighter. This is his chance to solidify everything he''s worked for."


    Demien Korvier chimed in, "You know, James, Damon has really proven himself. He''s been the underdog for a lot of people, but the way he''s handled each fight... he''s shown that he''s got serious skills, especially with that Muay Thai and BJJbination. I think the nerves are gonna be there, but this is his moment to shine."


    With his usual zeal, Jim Logan continued, "Look at how calm and collected he is, though. You can tell he''s focused. This is Madison Square Garden, and this ce has seen some of the greatest fights in history. Damon knows what''s at stake. He''s got one shot here, and he''s got to make it count."


    Nix agreed, "It''s gotta be surreal for him, Demien. From where both fighters must''ve both started, this moment here, it has to be theirrgest."


    As Damon approached the cage, the tension built in the arena, thementators capturing the sense of history and importance.


    The lights, the noise, the pressure, it was all a lot.


    This was his one shot, the chance he had worked for his entire life.


    For a brief moment, he lost himself to the music, the beat carrying him forward.


    But as the hands of the fans grazed his arms, snapping him back to reality, his focus sharpened.


    Even though the nerves pulsed through him, he hid it well.


    His face remained stoic, determined, as he walked toward the cage.


    This was his night, and he wasn''t about to let anything slip.


    As Damon approached the official, the noise of the crowd seemed to fade slightly, reced by the familiar routine of pre-fight checks.


    The official, wearing a stern expression, gestured for Damon to step forward.


    "Alright, arms out," the official said, his voice firm but routine.


    Damon raised his arms, extending them out to his sides.


    The official quickly patted down Damon''s gloves, making sure they were secure. "Good," he said, then moved to check Damon''s mouthguard.


    "Let me see the mouthguard." Damon opened his mouth, showing the guard in ce.


    "Good to go," the official nodded, then asked to check the protective cup.


    Damon patted and looked at him. "Cup''s secure."


    Finally, the official grabbed a small dab of Vaseline and applied it to Damon''s face, focusing on his cheekbones and eyebrows to help prevent cuts.


    "You''re all set. Go ahead," the official said, stepping back.


    Feeling the pressure of the moment return to his shoulders, Damon nodded and refocused before making his way into the cage and into the lights.


    With deliberate steps, he approached the cage, his gaze fixed on Brian''s figure inside.


    Damon stopped as he got closer to the stairway, absorbing the electric energy surrounding him.


    Stay tuned to m-v l|e''-NovelBin


    The lights, the roaring crowd, none of it mattered anymore.


    He stood still, at the edge of everything, and drew in the deepest breath he had taken all night.


    In that instant, it all vanished, every nerve, every flicker of doubt.


    The weight of the crowd''s eyes fell away like dead leaves in the wind.


    Fear had no ce here.


    All that remained was ice in his veins, a chilly, calcting serenity that took hold of him.


    His mind sharpened, crystal clear.


    He wasn''t walking into a fight; he was walking into control.


    Damon stepped into the cage, his movements smooth, slow, like a predator stepping into his domain.


    He met Brian''s eyes, and for a brief second, his lips curled into a smirk.


    Brian wasn''t locked in the cage with him.


    Brian was trapped in there with Damon.

 Chapter 193 Daaammonn Crooooooooooooosss!!!!!

    After entering the cage, Damon started to bounce lightly on his feet and shake his hands to maintain a loose and prepared body.


    The crowd roared in anticipation, their energy electric as the two fighters finally stood on the brink of battle.


    Both Damon and Brian had garnered loyal followings since entering The Supreme Fighter show, and now, their fans filled the arena, chanting and cheering as the atmosphere swelled with intensity.


    Damon nced around the ring, his eyes briefly catching the logos of various sponsors emzoned on the canvas.


    But what truly caught his attention was the man stepping into the cage, a man who wasn''t a fighter, but someone he admired nheless.


    Deuce Baffer, the legendary announcer of the UFA, strutted into the cage with his trademark swagger.


    Dressed in an impable, bold suit that sparkled under the arena lights, Deuce held his cards confidently, every movement oozing professionalism and ir.


    Damon couldn''t help but get a rush of excitement from the respect hemanded.


    This was it. .


    When Deuce Baffer was in the cage, it meant the fight was about to begin.


    The crowd quieted slightly, waiting for the moment Deuce would unleash his iconic voice to kick off the co-main event.


    Damon kept his focus but couldn''t deny the sense of awe he felt as he stood under the lights, about to fight on the biggest stage of his career.


    Damon couldn''t help but grin slightly to himself.


    He had always dreamed of this moment, hearing Deuce Baffer announce his name to thousands of roaring fans.


    2 years ago he had watched countless fights, specifically the first one, NcGyver and Joseph, the short match, since then he 0imagining himself in this very position.


    And now, it was happening.


    The moment he had yed over in his head a hundred times was about to be real.


    His heart pounded with excitement, but he also felt a serene sense of fulfillment.


    He had made it.


    All the struggles, the training, the sacrifices, it had led him here.


    And in just a few moments, Deuce''s voice would echo across the arena, announcing him as one of the finalists for The Supreme Fighter.


    It was the kind of moment that would stay with him forever.


    Deuce Baffer stepped to the center of the octagon, his booming voicemanding the attention of everyone in Madison Square Garden.


    The crowd quieted slightly in anticipation, knowing they were about to witness a moment of history.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the co-main event of the evening!" Deuce''s voice thundered, echoing throughout the packed arena.


    Every fan hung on his every word, and the excitement was almost overwhelming.


    "This fight is scheduled for three rounds in the UFA Middleweight division, and it is the Finals of The Supreme Fighterpetition!"


    The camera panned to Brian Walker, who stood bouncing on his feet in the blue corner, his face focused, though the adrenaline was clearly pumping through his veins.


    "Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner, a mixed martial artist holding a perfect professional record of 3 wins, no losses. Standing 6 feet, 1 inch tall, weighing in at 185 pounds, fighting out of Huntington Beach, California... presenting Brian Waaaaalkeeer!"


    The crowd erupted as Brian raised his fists, nodding his head as he soaked in the moment.


    It was evident that Brian had gained a following, and tonight they were showing their support.


    It was clear that Brian had a fanbase behind him, and they were making their presence felt tonight.


    Deuce then turned toward Damon, and the energy in the arena shifted as all eyes fell on the Irishman in the red corner.


    Damon felt a chill run down his spine, but not from fear.


    The moment he''d always dreamed of.


    "And now... introducing his opponent, fighting out of the red corner, a mixed martial artist making his professional debut here tonight. Standing 6 feet, 2 inches tall, weighing in at 185 pounds, fighting out of Limerick, Irnd, presenting... Damon Crrrrrrrooooooossssssss!"


    The arena exploded.


    The sound of the crowd was deafening, and Damon felt the surge of adrenaline like never before.


    As Deuce held the final note of his name, the roar of the fans echoed through every part of his body.


    It was a rush of power, emotion, and purpose all rolled into one moment.


    Damon''s eyes quickly scanned the crowd, and he spotted his friends, Ty, Ash, Ashley, Joey, and Svena, cheering him on from the front row.


    He was shocked, but quickly recovered, he didn''t expect to see them here.


    It had been so long since he had seen them all in person, but now wasn''t the time to get emotional.


    He quickly redirected his focus back to the fight.


    This was his moment.


    His time.


    Damon allowed himself a brief moment of relief as he spotted his friends in the crowd, their familiar faces giving him reassurance.


    While his mother wasn''t there, it didn''t bother him in the slightest.


    In fact, her absence took some of the pressure off his shoulders.


    He knew she couldn''t bear to watch him fight, and that was fine.


    His friends were his family too, and seeing them there filled him with strength.


    As Deuce Baffer exited the cage with his signature swagger, the tension rose again.


    The referee, Hank Binn, the veteran official who had been refereeing all of The Supreme Fighter bouts, stepped into the center of the octagon.


    Hank gestured for Damon and Brian to approach, and both fighters stepped forward, their eyes locked on each other.


    The crowd had quieted.


    "Alright, gentlemen," Hank began, his voice firm andmanding, "we''ve been through this before, but I''m going to remind you of the rules. Protect yourselves at all times, follow my instructions, and if I tell you to stop, you stop. No shots to the back of the head, no knees or kicks to a downed opponent, and no illegal strikes."


    Both Damon and Brian nodded slightly, but neither man broke their stare, each fighter looking for any sign of weakness in the other.


    "If I feel like you''re not intelligently defending yourself, I will stop the fight," Hank continued. "If you''re caught in a submission, tap, and I will end it. We clear?" Your next read is at m v|l-e''-NovelBin


    Again, both fighters nodded, though their eyes never left each other.


    Hank paused for a moment, looking between the two of them, then asked, "Do you want to touch gloves?"


    Neither fighter moved. Damon took a small step back, as did Brian, without so much as a flinch toward extending their gloves.


    The animosity between them was clear.


    This was personal.


    The crowd felt the intensity as well.


    James Nix, one of thementators, spoke in a low, excited voice. "There''s no love lost between these two. You can see it in their faces, they''re ready to go to war."


    Jim Logan chimed in, his voice buzzing with anticipation. "No glove touch here, and honestly, I didn''t expect one. This is personal for Brian. He wants revenge for his brother. And Damon... well, he''s got something to prove tonight, he said he''ll beat the other brother, so it''s time for him to back his words."


    Demien Korvier added, "yeah, both of these guys have shown they''re elite-levelpetitors. We''ve seen them grow throughout this show, and tonight, we''re about to find out who wants it more."


    Hank Binn took a final nce at both fighters, ensuring they were prepared.


    He stood firm in the center of the octagon, his voice echoing through the arena.


    "Ready?" he asked, looking at Brian.


    Brian gave a slight nod, his fists clenched tight.


    "Ready?" Hank then asked, turning to Damon.


    Damon, eyes sharp and focused, nodded in response.


    Hank Binn raised his hand and shouted, "Fight!"


    The crowd roared to life as the bell rang, and both fighters surged forward.


    The final battle had begun.

 Chapter 194 The Supreme Fighter Finals I: Damon Cross Vs Brian Walker

    As soon as the bell rang throughout the arena, both fighters took their stances.


    Damon naturally shifted into his Muay Thai stance, bnced and poised, while Brian adopted a traditional kickboxing stance, light on his feet, hands up high.


    From thementary booth, James Nix began, "Here we go, folks, the finals of The Supreme Fighter... Damon Cross versus Brian Walker. This is the moment they''ve both been working toward for months."


    The fighters circled each other cautiously, testing distance.


    Damon was the first to act, but instead of the standard jab or leg kick Brian expected, Damon went high,unching a question mark kick with lightning speed.


    The kick started low but arced upward, snapping toward Brian''s head.


    "Oh!" Jim Logan shouted, as the kicknded flush against Brian''s temple.


    Demien Korvier eximed, "What a question mark kick! That caught Brianpletely off guard. He thought it was going low, and Damon went high!"


    Brian staggered back, obviously shaken, but able to remain upright.


    Without waiting for him to recover, Damon rushed forward.


    He feinted with a jab, causing Brian to cover up high, and then followed with a crushing leg kick to Brian''s lead thigh.


    Brian winced but fired back with a quick one-two punch.


    Brian grunted and struck back with a quick one-two.


    As the two shed, the crowd erupted, but it was obvious that Damon was already inmand and controlling the fight''s tempo.


    "Brian''s looking a bit hesitant here," Nix observed. "That kick really rattled him, and Damon''s just flowing."


    Brian tried to regain momentum, throwing a hard body kick, but Damon blocked it effortlessly.


    Damon responded with a swift left hook, followed by a sharp elbow that barely missed Brian''s chin as he pulled back just in time.


    Brian threw another jab-crossbo, but Damon''s head movement was too slick.


    He slipped to the side and countered with a powerful body shot that echoed through the arena.


    "That body shot!" Demien reacted. "Damon is systematically breaking Brian down, so early on"


    Brian was starting to look flustered, his breathing heavy as he tried to keep up with Damon''s pace. Enjoy new adventures from m-v l''e|-NovelBin


    Damon remained calm, his eyesser-focused on Brian.


    He could see the cracks forming in Brian''s defense and decided to turn up the pressure.


    He threw a jab to mask his next attack and followed up with a thunderous leg kick that swept Brian''s leg out from under him, sending him to the canvas.


    "Big leg kick! That took Brian right off his feet!" Jim Logan shouted.


    Brian scrambled back to his feet, his face showing a mix of frustration and determination.


    He came forward aggressively, trying to clinch with Damon and slow down the assault.


    But Damon wasn''t having it.


    He used his Muay Thai expertise to break the clinch, delivering a brutal knee to Brian''s midsection as they separated.


    "That knee!" Demien shouted. "Damon''s really picking him apart here."


    Brian backed up, gasping for air, his arms starting to drop slightly from the sheer exhaustion.


    Damon saw his chance.


    Heunched a quick jab, followed by another question mark kick.


    This time, Brian barely blocked it, but the impact still sent him stumbling into the cage.


    "You''ve got to admire Brian''s toughness," Nix said. "He''s still in this, but Damon''s putting on a masterss right now."


    Thementary team couldn''t help but notice how Damon was systematically breaking Brian down.


    Jim Logan observed, "Damon''s controlling the octagon, dictating where this fight goes. Brian''s in survival mode, and this is happening so early, so the match could end so fast."


    As Brian tried to throw another desperate overhand right, Damon ducked under it effortlessly and came back up with a crushing elbow to the temple.


    Brian''s legs buckled, and he staggered backward, barely able to keep his bnce.


    "He''s hurt! Damon''s got him!" Demien yelled, his excitement palpable.


    Damon continued to work. Following Brian to the cage, heunched a barrage of urate elbows, knees, hooks, and strikes, all of whichnded with pinpoint uracy.


    Brian''s guard was practically non-existent now, his arms heavy and his body worn down from the relentless assault.


    "Brian''s in trouble here," Nix said, his voice rising. "Damon is absolutely dominating him. It''s only a matter of time!"


    With Brian pinned against the cage, Damon delivered a series of vicious knees to the body, each one drawing a gasp from the crowd.


    Brian slumped lower with each strike, his will fading under the barrage.


    Damon didn''t just want to finish Brian, he wanted to humiliate him.


    With a powerful surge, Damon drove Brian backward, mming him into the cage with a move that echoed the one Kofi had used against him.


    The force of the impact rattled the entire structure, and Brian''s body smacked against the fence hard.


    Damon had him pinned, the same way Brian had done to one of his earlier opponents.


    It was a reversal of fates, and Damon wasn''t about to let Brian forget it.


    Damon locked Brian into a clinch, pressing him tightly against the fence, giving him no room to escape.


    He continued delivering brutal knee strikes to Brian''s body, one after another, each hit driving the point home that Damon was in control.


    Damon tightened his grip, pinning Brian against the cage, his eyes locked with his opponent''s, adrenaline coursing through him.


    He was inplete control now, and he wanted Brian to feel it, to remember it.


    With each knee strike, Damon talked smack, something he didn''t normally do, but in this moment, it felt right.


    "Come on, is this the man of the house?" Damon growled, and his voice was low but full of disdain. "This is disappointing. I expected more. But what can I say? You''ve struggled all this way through. To be honest, your little brother is better.


    You should quit fighting."


    From thementary booth, Jim Logan remarked, "Oh, it looks like there''s some talking going on in the clinch, but we can''t quite hear what Damon''s saying."


    Demien Korvier chimed in, "Yeah, Damon''s not usually much of a trash talker, from what I''ve seen in the show, but you can see he''s trying to get into Brian''s head right now."


    Damon could feel Brian weakening under his relentless assault of knee strikes.


    Each blow sapped more and more of Brian''s strength, and he wasn''t done yet.


    He could sense Brian gearing up for a knee strike of his own, but Damon wasn''t going to let that happen.


    Damon groaned as he shifted his hips, repositioned his grip, and used a burst of strength to lift Brian off the ground.


    Thementators erupted as the crowd roared in excitement.


    "Ohhh! Damon just lifted Brian off the mat!" Logan shouted, his voice barely audible over the deafening cheers.


    "This is pure dominance right here!" Demien said, and you could feel the excitement in his voice.


    The arena shook with energy as Damon carried Brian, fully in control, ready to show that he was the true force to be reckoned with.

 Chapter 195 The Supreme Fighter Finals II: The Final Clinch

    Holding on tight, Damon lifted Brian up and ran across the ring, mming him hard to the ground.


    The impact shook the canvas, and the crowd roared in disbelief at the sheer power of the move.


    Brian, dazed and disoriented, looked like he had no idea where he was, his eyes zed as he struggled to find his bearings.


    "Wow! Damon just ran Brian across the octagon and mmed him! What a disy of strength!" When Jim Logan yelled, his voice got louder because of the excitement in it.


    Brian attempted to rise, his hands weakly pushing off the mat, but Damon wasn''t about to let him off that easy.


    He grabbed Brian in a tight clinch again, pulling him close and began delivering knee after knee to the body and ribs.


    Each blow hit Brian exactly where it hurt, squeezing the air out of his lungs and draining whatever power he still had.


    "Damon''s going to town on him with those knees! Brian lookspletely lost out there!" Awe filled Demien Korvier''s voice as he spoke.


    Brian''s attempts to defend himself were feeble, his body battered and beaten.


    Damon''s relentless assault continued, with each knee digging deeper into Brian''s sides.


    The crowd was on its feet, sensing the end might be near as Damon continued his ruthless domination.


    "He''s absolutely smothering Brian in this clinch," James Nix chimed in. "Brian has no answer for this right now."


    Damon''s eyes were cold, focused solely on finishing what he started.


    He kept the pressure on Brian high by tightening his grip and delivering many knees, gradually breaking him down.


    Among the crowd, Damon''s friends looked at each other with smiles that were a mix of joy and shock.


    They hade to Madison Square Garden expecting a hard-fought battle for Damon, something that would test him, but what they were witnessing was pure domination.


    Ash chuckled nervously, shaking his head in astonishment. "I don''t think I can make fun of Damon anymore!"


    Joey, leaning forward in his seat, couldn''t contain his enthusiasm.


    He remembered the days when he would fight in his backyard, when he was still an amateur, fighting in a made up cage.


    Now, watching Damon dismantle his opponent with such ease felt surreal. "Look at him go! This is my friend up there! He''s like a wrecking ball!" Joey yelled with pride in his voice.


    She couldn''t take her eyes off the cage, and her heart was beating fast.


    When she saw Damon fight, she felt like she was seeing a fierce and determined Spartan fighter in battle.


    She could hardly believe that just two years ago, Damon had started training, and now here he was, dominating the finals.


    The way he moved, the confidence he exuded, she could see how far he hade, and it filled her with admiration.


    She thought to herself, ''He has surpassed me in so many ways, and yet he remains humble. I need to catch up.''


    Each knee Damon delivered made the crowd roar with approval, and the energy in the arena surged.


    It was clear that Damon was not just fighting; he was making a statement.


    Back in the fight, Damon kept Brian locked in a tight clinch, his arms wrapped around his opponent as Brian struggled desperately to break free.


    Damon leaned in close and taunted Brian with every breath. His voice was low but sharp.


    "I''m going to send you and your brother home as failures. Come on, fight back. Show everyone who came here that you''re not just a disappointment."


    Brian, already drained, heard Damon''s words and something inside him sparked.


    A sudden burst of strength surged through his limbs as he began to fight harder, desperately trying to escape the clinch.


    "Oh, look at that!" Demien Korvier said from thementary booth. "Brian''s found some new energy! He''s not done yet!"


    "That''s the heart of a fighter," Jim Logan chimed in. "But can he keep it up?"


    Just as Brian fought back with everything he had, Damon prepared his next move. He only needed one knee.


    With precise timing, Damon unleashed a devastating knee straight into Brian''s midsection.


    The loud, clear thud rumbled through the building, cutting through the crowd noise.


    Brian''s body jerked from the impact, and all the energy he had mustered vanished in an instant.


    His arms went limp, and his legs buckled beneath him, sending him back to square one.


    "Ohh, well, that was short-lived," Nixughed. "Back to zero just like that!"


    Demien chuckled, "That knee just took all the fight out of him. Damon''s control in the clinch is something else!"


    This time, Hank Binn stepped in to check on Brian.


    The fighter was still standing, though barely, and he signaled that he wanted to continue.


    Damon saw the determination in Brian''s eyes, but he was intent on breaking thatst bit of fighting spirit.


    Without hesitation, Damon continued his constant assault, knee after knee, driving into Brian''s abdomen, sides, and chest.


    Each strike left Brian''s skin red and bruised, the pain visible in every wince.


    "These knees are brutal!" Jim Logan eximed. "Brian is taking so much punishment, I''m not sure how much more he can handle!"


    And Demien Korvier said, "Damon isn''t giving up. He''s breaking Brian down piece by piece."


    Damon didn''t stop, his knees driving into Brian like piston after piston.


    He felt Brian''s resistance weaken, his body slumping more with each strike.


    When Damon finally sensed that all the fight had drained out of his opponent, he turned aside and threw Brian down onto the canvas.


    The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, recognizing that they were witnessing something special.


    Hank Binn rushed over to check on Brian, kneeling down as he assessed the situation.


    It only took a few seconds before he waved his arms, signaling the end of the fight. "Stop, stop, that''s it!"


    Thementary booth fell silent for a moment, stunned by the sheer dominance on disy.


    "Wow... Damon Cross has just put on one of the most brutal performances in The Supreme Fighter," James Nix finally said, his voice filled with awe. "Brian didn''t stand a chance in there."


    Demien Korvier who spoke up, still shocked. "He didn''t get touched! Not once did Briannd a clean hit. This was a clinic from Damon. Absolutely incredible."


    Brian wasying on the ground, his stomach red and swollen from being kneed over and over again.


    Damon looked down at him.


    It triggered a moment of d¨¦j¨¤ vu for Damon, he had defeated an opponent in a simr way before.(Chapter 22)


    But that thought didn''t linger as his team rushed into the ring, surrounding him in celebration.


    The assistant coaches lifted Damon''s arms in victory, their faces beaming with pride.


    They celebrated together, jumping up and down in the cage, while the crowd roared in approval.


    As for Whittier, he was nowhere to be seen, likely preparing for his own fight in the back, but


    Damon knew this win was a significant moment not just for him but for the entire team.


    Thementary team wrapped it up with excitement in their voices.


    "That was a wless performance from Damon Cross," Nix dered. "He''s shown the world he''s a force to be reckoned with."


    "This guy is scary," Jim Logan added. "What a way to finish The Supreme Fighterpetition. He made it look easy."


    "And now," Demien concluded, "Damon''s got his eyes on the next level, whateveres after this, it''s going to be big for him."

 Chapter 196 A Mothers Pride

    In the crowd, where Damon''s friends sat, the energy had been building throughout the fight.


    They had been smiling, rxed even, as Damon controlled the clinch, knowing he was in charge of the match.


    But the moment Damon threw Brian down as if dead, they all erupted.


    Ash leaped out of his seat, shouting, "Oh my God, it''s over!"


    Joey, wide-eyed, threw his hands up in disbelief. "That''s it! That''s it! Damon freaking did it!"


    Even Tyr, usually calm, was on his feet, fists clenched in excitement. "Man, I''ve never seen anything like that!"


    Svena, though alwaysposed, couldn''t help but grin from ear to ear, her heart racing with pride.


    She joined in the cheering, though a part of her felt more deeply connected to Damon in that moment.


    As the crowd went wild around them, Damon''s friends were on their feet, celebrating as if they were in the cage with him.


    It was a moment they''d never forget.


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    Deep in the crowd, a young boy named Matthew watched with wide eyes, captivated by every moment of the fight.


    His heart beat fast as he watched Damon beat Brian by using urate strikes and constant pressure to win the match.


    Next to him, his mother had dozed off earlier, exhausted from the long day, but his father was wide awake, just as engrossed in the fight as Matthew.


    When Damon threw Brian down with that final, devastating m, Matthew couldn''t contain himself.


    He jumped to his feet and yelled, "Yes! Damon did it!"


    His loud outburst jolted his mother awake.


    Normally, Matthew would have been cautious, worried about getting scolded for being too loud.


    But not this time.


    The excitement was too much. He screamed again, his voice joining the roar of the crowd.


    His father joined in, pping and cheering alongside him.


    Excitement filled the arena, and the two of them enjoyed the moment fully.


    His mother, still groggy, blinked at the screen, unsure of what had happened but seeing the joy on her son''s face.


    She couldn''t help but smile, even if she didn''t quite understand.


    She pped her hands gently, joining in the cheers, though her excitement was more reservedpared to the wild celebrations around her.


    For Matthew, this was a moment he''d remember forever, watching his hero, Damon Cross, win in spectacr fashion, and sharing that joy with his father and even his sleepy mother.


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    In a grand mansion, the front door swung open, and Victor, still in his suit from a night out, barged into the house with excitement radiating from him.


    His wife, Lacey, followed behind, rolling her eyes yfully at his eagerness.


    Usually, after a date night, it would be followed by a quiet, intimate evening, but tonight was different.


    There was passion, all right, passion about seeing his boy, Damon, fight.


    Victor wasted no time.


    He grabbed the remote, turning on the TV to UFA, his eyes lighting up when he saw the match still going. "Nice, it''s still on!"


    Lacey, smiling warmly, shook her head at her husband''s antics but couldn''t help feeling the excitement too.


    She moved to sit beside him, sharing the moment.


    When the screen showed Damon grabbing Brian, lifting him, and dropping him onto the canvas with a thud, Brian was limp.


    Victor leaped up from the couch, his voice booming through the room, "Yes! That''s my boy!"


    His shout was filled with pride, his arms pumping in the air like a kid celebrating his favorite team''s win.


    Lacey,ughing at Victor''s exuberance, stood up and joined in, pping and cheering alongside her husband.


    Watching her husband act like a teenager made herugh even harder, but she felt the joy too.


    They stood there, side by side, celebrating as if they were there in the arena.


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    In a beautiful apartment, Aoife sat wrapped in a soft sheet on the living room couch, her heart pounding as she watched the match unfold on the screen.


    Each strike, each movement made her stomach churn with anxiety.


    Though proud of her son''s aplishments, the fear for Damon''s safety never left her.


    Every blow exchanged was a reminder of how dangerous fighting was.


    But when Damon threw Brian down with that final, devastating move, and the referee signaled the end of the fight, Aoife couldn''t contain herself any longer.


    She jumped to her feet, her eyes wide with joy, and cheered. "That''s my boy!" she eximed, her voice trembling with emotion.


    As she watched Damon get swarmed by his team, celebrating his victory, tears welled up in her eyes.


    She held her hand to her chest, overwhelmed with pride.


    "My boy¡­" she whispered, feeling the weight of everything they had been through.


    They hade so far, from their struggles to this incredible moment.


    She sat down, unable to believe what she had just witnessed, her son was on top of the world.


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    ¨C¨C¨C


    Back in the ring, Damon took a deep breath, walking slowly around the cage, his eyes scanning the sea of fans before locking onto his friends.


    He spotted them easily in the front row, their faces full of pride and excitement.


    He smiled and waved at them, his body still pumped with adrenaline.


    They waved back, shouting his name, cheering him on with the kind of energy that only close friends could bring.


    One of the assistant coaches came over, pping him on the shoulder. "Good job, kid. You''ve done well. Congrattions."


    Damon nodded in response, appreciating thepliment, though still riding the high of the moment.


    His mind was already shifting from celebration to reflection, the adrenaline beginning to fade.


    Then, like clockwork, Duece Baffers strolled into the ring, bringing his signature swagger with him, cards in hand and dressed in another sharp suit.


    The atmosphere shifted again as the crowd quieted slightly, waiting for the official announcement.


    The medical team was still huddled around Brian, who was on the mat, his body battered.


    His abdominal area took the brunt of the damage, and though his face was rtively untouched, the pain he endured was clear.


    Damon didn''t focus on him too much.


    He had done what he came to do.

 Chapter 197 The Supreme Fighter

    Brian was finally back on his feet, but his body told the story of a man who had been through a war.


    Leaning heavily against the cage, he looked battered and worn, like he had just faced a mythical monster.


    He had deep red bruises all over his chest and stomach from being hit over and over with knees.


    Every time he moved, his eyes barely opened, and his face showed that he was in a lot of pain.


    The medical team hovered around him, performing the final checks before they can exit the cage.


    They were cautious, knowing how much damage he had absorbed, particrly to his midsection.


    Damon, meanwhile, stood nearby, hands on his hips, catching his breath but feeling victorious.


    He nced over at Brian, a small part of him respecting the toughness his opponent had shown.


    But that was it, just a bit of respect, no once did he feel bad or feel pity for him.


    As the crowd slowly quieted down, waiting for the official announcement.


    The medical team finally left the cage, giving Brian onest look before exiting.


    Hank Binn stood in the center, motioning for both fighters to join him.


    Damon moved forward, standing tall as Hank took his wrist, ready to raise it.


    Brian limped slowly toward the center, doing his best to stand upright, though the pain was evident in every step.


    The crowd fell silent, waiting for the moment.


    All eyes were on Deuce Baffer, who took his ce with his usual charisma, the mic in hand, his voice booming through the arena.


    "Ladies and gentlemen," Deuce began, his voice tense with excitement, "referee Hank Binn has called a stop to this contest, at 3 minutes, 59 seconds of round one¡­" He paused for dramatic effect, letting the tension build, though everyone in the arena knew what wasing.


    "Dering the winner by TKO¡­" Deuce nced at Damon with a gleam in his eye, knowing this was the moment that would change his life. "And now, The Supreme Fighter Season 34 winner¡­ The Supreme Fighter¡­ Damoonnn Crossssss!"


    The arena erupted in a deafening cheer. The crowd popped like a thunderp, the noise reverberating throughout the venue as Damon''s hand was lifted in victory by Hank Binn.


    Damon dropped to his knees, his body feeling weak from the adrenaline and exhaustion finally catching up with him. Your journey continues with mvl


    He raised his arms to the ceiling and screamed in a deep voice. "YEAHHH!"


    He had done it.


    The journey that started with backyard brawls had led him to this, the pinnacle of his career so far.


    He looked down at the canvas, his heart racing.


    He had won the whole thing.


    From thementary booth, Jim Logan''s voice broke through the noise, "What a performance by Damon Cross! He dominated from start to finish. This is a kid who''s been through so much, and to see him rise to this moment, it''s nothing short of incredible."


    Demien Korvier added, "He''s got the tools to go far. What we saw tonight was pure skill, heart, and determination. Brian''s tough, but Damon just outssed him in every way."


    James Nix finished, "This is what The Supreme Fighter is all about. These young, hungry fightersing in, showing the world what they''re made of. Damon Cross is the real deal, folks."


    The crowd continued to cheer as Damon stood, his chest heaving, tears welling up in his eyes as his team rushed into the cage to celebrate with him.


    It was a moment that would be etched in his memory forever, the moment he became The Supreme Fighter.


    He looked around the crowd, so many people, so many , had watched him fight.


    Watched him win.


    He felt amazing, if anyone had wondered what those ancient diators felt like being cheered by the watched.


    Damon felt like this was the feeling, to feel the admiration the appreciation.


    As he stood, Jim Logan made his way to the ring, holding a mic.


    He spoke with the official, shaking their hands, talking with Deuce and shaking their hands.


    He then made his way to Damon.


    "Damon you''ve finally be the Supreme Fighter, you won the entire show, how does it feel".


    Damon, was in disbelief, but he kept calm, " uhmm, how do I describe it, I feel amazing, I mean, this just feels surreal, one moment I was struggling with my mother and then next I''m here, I''m happy, I did this, I didn''t do it just for myself but also for my mother, but also those who supported me through the way"


    Jim Logan nodded with a smile, " through out the match, you did so much work, managed to take the fight down and bring it back up, what was your strategy "


    "I.. you know what Mr Logan, I had many strategies, I had many that I discussed with my coaches, but none of them were put to use here, cause the moment I got in, I felt it, I had already won the fight,"


    "Haha, Last question Damon  you''ve finally won, are the Supreme fight, and secured a contract with the UFA, fi you don''t mind telling us, what are your ns "


    Damon looked at the camera and said " who''s next"


    The crowd popped, they loved nothing more than a fighter who didn''t fear challenges.


    Jim Logan smiled " there you have ,it, The Supreme Fighter, Damon Cross,makes some noise for him"


    Jim, shook hands with Damon, and told him good luck.


    As Damon made his way toward the back, his friends were seated a bit too far for him to reach out immediately.


    He spotted an official near the edge of the cage and approached him, his voice slightly hoarse from the excitement. "Hey, would it be possible to bring my friends to the back area?"


    The official nodded, understanding the moment. "Yeah, shouldn''t be a problem. I''ll get them now, just tell me where they are."


    Relieved, Damon smiled and thanked him and pointed at his friends.


    As the official went to retrieve his friends, Damon continued his walk towards the back, chatting with his temporary team of coaches and assistants who had supported him through the journey of The Supreme Fighter.


    Though they had only worked together for a short time, they had bonded deeply.

 Chapter 198 Reunions and Reflections

    Damon arrived at the back area, and his eyes immediately spotted his friends gathered together, waiting for him.


    They were very proud and excited, and it showed on their faces.


    Ashley, however, was off to the side, chatting with another woman who looked like a fighter herself.


    Damon wasn''t surprised; Ashley was a UFA fighter, so it made sense she''d know some of the others around.


    He took a deep breath, soaking in the moment. This was his time. He waved to his team. "I''ll catch up with you guys in the locker room. I need to go see my family first."


    They nodded and gave him space, letting Damon approach his family, the people who had been with him from the start.


    Damon stood in front of his friends, still feeling the adrenaline rush from his victory.


    They all looked at him, sizing him up, as if they couldn''t believe what they''d just seen.


    He was still in his fighting gear, but now wore a shirt that proudly dered "The Supreme Fighter."


    Damon smiled, breaking the silence. "What, you guys aren''t gonna say anything?"


    Joey stepped forward, a grin on his face. "Hey man, can you make it happen?"


    Damon raised an eyebrow. "Make what happen?"


    Ash groaned, rolling his eyes. "Joey here wants to meet Donald Whittier. I thought he was gonna be chill, but no, I don''t wanna hit the club with a fanboy." He shook his head dramatically.


    Damon chuckled. "Still the same, Ash," he said, dapping Ash up with a smile. He turned to Joey and did the same. "I''ll see what I can do, bro. I''m pretty sure it won''t be a problem."


    Joey beamed, then shot a yful middle finger at Ash, who onlyughed in response.


    Next up was Tye, who extended his massive fist. Damon bumped it, nodding. "What''s up, big guy?"


    Tye grinned. "Proud of you, man."


    "Thanks, bro. Appreciate it."


    Damon then turned to Svena, and instantly, the vibe shifted.


    Everyone exchanged knowing looks and slowly started to distance themselves, leaving Damon and Svena standing there alone. Damon sighed, half-joking, "You motherfuckers¡­"


    Svena smiled, a bit of a blush creeping onto her face, as the rest of the group chuckled and gave them space.


    "Congrattions¡ª" "Thank you for¡ª"


    They spoke at the same time and stopped, staring at each other awkwardly.


    It was like no time had passed since theyst saw each other, yet the tension between them had grown thicker.


    There was nothing they needed to say to catch up.


    Damon smiled, trying to break the moment. "How about you go first?"


    Svena smiled too, but instead of speaking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a hug.


    Damon was caught off guard, frozen for a second.


    Even the boys standing nearby went wide-eyed, and Ash couldn''t help but nudge Tye with his elbow, smirking.


    Ashley, who had been mid-conversation with someone else, raised an eyebrow when she noticed what was happening and grinned before turning back to her conversation, pretending not to watch.


    Damon''s arms hung awkwardly at his sides for a moment, unsure of what to do, but then instinct kicked in.


    He slowly wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close, returning the hug.


    He could feel the warmth of her embrace and what it meant, she had missed him.


    For a second, he didn''t know how to process it, but the feeling settled in.


    He was happy. He had missed her too, even if he hadn''t realized it until that moment.


    They stood like that for a moment longer, neither of them speaking, just feeling the weight of what they hadn''t said over the past months.


    Damon held on a little longer than he intended, making Svena giggle softly. "Wanna let go?"


    Without thinking, Damon mumbled, "No," then quickly corrected himself, "I mean, yes... my bad."


    Svena smiled warmly, teasing, "No problem, I enjoyed it... congrattions on your win and contract."


    Damon grinned, the pride clear on his face. "Well, thank you foring to support me. Is it just you guys?"


    Svena nced at the others before looking back at him. "Yeah, Mom and Dad wanted to go on a date," she said, rolling her eyes, something rare for her. "And your mother stayed at home."


    Damon nodded, understanding. "Well, before we leave this ce, why don''t we go watch the main event?"


    Svena didn''t seem to mind, her interest piqued. "Going back to the arena?"


    "No," Damon shook his head, "there are free rooms here. We can ask Ashley, I''m sure she knows theyout and can get us one. Let me tell the guys."


    He motioned to the rest of the group, already plotting their next move.


    Enjoy new tales from mvl


    Svena followed behind as Damon approached the group.


    "Hey, guys, why don''t we stay for the main event and watch thest fight?" Damon suggested.


    Ash raised an eyebrow, ncing between Damon and Svena. "No kiss, just a hug, man?" he teased, but before Damon could respond, Joey smacked Ash on the back of his head.


    Joey grinned, ignoring Ash''sints. "Sure, why not, haha! More chances for me to meet Donald Whittier!" he said with augh, clearly excited.


    Tyr nodded in agreement, and Ashley who hade back from her conversation, gave a thumbs up, signaling they were all on board.


    Damon chuckled, "Alright, let''s ask Ashley to find us a spot."


    It didn''t take long for them to secure a private room, as most were free.


    Damon had the option of going back to the locker room, which had a big television for viewing the fight, but he wanted something quieter, somewhere he could catch up with his friends without interruptions.


    Inside the room, there was a decent-sized screen, a few couches, and enough space for everyone to sitfortably.


    This was what he needed, a ce to rx and talk without feeling like they were bothering anyone else by chatting over the fights.


    It felt good to be at peace when everyone settled down.


    After the thrill of the fight, being with his friends felt likeing home.

 Chapter 199 Iconic Announcement

    The crowd quieted as the music softened, signaling the tension building in the air.


    Whittier bounced lightly on his feet, feeling the weight of the moment.


    He had just seen his fighter, Damon, im victory, which filled him with pride. But now, his own focus sharpened.


    This was his time. His turn to show the world once again why he was one of the best.


    Whittier continued to move around, loosening his muscles, trying to stay focused.


    He knew what wasing, Chemasov.


    The man who had crushed countless opponents, a formidable force that many feared.


    And tonight, they were about to collide.


    A fast-paced beat erupted through the speakers, the kind of music that electrified the arena.


    Chemasov''s signature entrance track. It was the kind of sound that got the crowd on their feet, anticipating chaos.


    The moment the music hit, Balim Chemasov came charging out, true to his style.


    No slow walk, no drawn-out entrance, just a dead sprint towards the cage, his eyes already locked on Whittier.


    The fans went wild, the energy in the arena spiking to new levels.


    "Oh, here we go!" Demien Korvierughed. "Chemasov''s not wasting any time! That man''s not here to pose, he''s here to fight!"


    James Nix chuckled. "You''ve got to love it, man. No theatrics, just straight to business. This is exactly what makes Balim such a fan favorite."


    Jim Logan added with a grin, "Every time! It''s like watching someone who''ste for a meeting but that meeting is inside the cage!"


    Chemasov reached the cage, quickly paced around it before jumping in, never slowing down, his energy unmistakable.


    The crowd roared louder, knowing the storm that was about to be unleashed.


    "Look at that! He''s already fired up," Korvier continued. "Whittier better be ready because Chemasov is here for war."


    Deuce Baffers stepped into the middle of the octagon and his tone echoed around the arena.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, THIS is the main event of the evening!"


    The crowd erupted into cheers.


    "Our three judges scoring this contest at octagon-side are: John Norris, Mark Levis, and Sarah Hill."


    "And when the action begins, our referee in charge is Hank Binn."


    Deuce paused for dramatic effect, soaking in the energy before continuing.


    "This main event is sponsored by Dry, drink when you''re thirsty, and ? Sport! UFA 6 is now avable on ? ess, on y Emtor Store, and Gamebox 45, y for only $3.99 a month!"


    The arena buzzed with excitement as Deuce prepared for the big moment.


    "ANNNNNNNND NOWWWWW...!"


    "For those in attendance, and UFA fans watching around the world... THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU''VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOOOORRR!"


    The crowd roared louder.


    "Live, from the sold-out arena in New York City, Madison Square Garden!"


    When Deuce Baffers reached the iconic part of his introduction, the entire arena seemed to hold its breath.


    "IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTSSSS... TIIIIMMMMEEEE!!!"


    As he belted out the words, Deuce stomped his foot with dramatic ir, crouching slightly and leaning into the moment, his entire body adding emphasis to the legendary phrase.


    His voice was very loud, and the crowd''s roar got louder as they said it witg him, shaking Madison Square Garden to its core.


    The power he had over the space and the energy in the air was thrilling.


    Fans knew something amazing was going to happen, and Deuce''s performance made them even more excited.


    His movements, along with the stomp and the long, deep "IT''S TIME," made the moment feel out of this world.


    "Five rounds in the UFA Middleweight Division!"


    Deuce gestured toward the blue corner.


    "Introducing first,


    FIGHTING!!!


    out of the blue corner! A mixed martial artist holding a professional record of 29 wins, 4 losses. Standing 6 feet tall, weighing in at 185 pounds!


    FIGHTING!!!!


    out of Sydney, Australia... presenting the former UFA Middleweight Champion... DONALD!!! ''THE REAPER!!'' WHITTIER!"


    The crowd exploded in apuse as Whittier shadow-boxed in his corner, ready for action.


    Deuce then turned to the red corner.


    "And now introducing his opponent,


    FIGHTING!!!!


    out of the red corner! A mixed martial artist holding an undefeated professional record of 16 wins, no losses! Standing 6 feet 2 inches tall, weighing in at 185 pounds!


    FIGHTING!!!!


    out of Stockholm, Sweden... presenting the undefeated, ... BALIM!! ''BORZ!!'' CHEMASOV!"


    The crowd roared even louder as Chemasov bounced on his feet, ready for battle.


    Fans jumped to their feet, cheering and chanting, ready for the main event.


    James Nix was the firstmentator to speak, but his voice was hard to hear over the cheers of the crowd. "Man, you can just feel it in the air, Demien. These fans have been waiting for this moment all night!"


    Demien Korvier chuckled, his excitement clear. "Absolutely, James. There''s something special about a Deuce Baffers main event announcement, especially here at Madison Square Garden. It doesn''t get any bigger than this!"


    Jim Logan chimed in, his voice filled with anticipation, "I''ve got chills, guys! Balim Chemasov versus Donald Whittier, two of the biggest names in the UFA right now. This is the fight everyone''s been talking about for months!"


    The camera moved over the loud crowd to capture how intense the moment was.


    The fans were going crazy, the fighters were getting ready, and thementators were so excited they could hardly speak.


    Hank Binn stepped to the center of the octagon, signaling for both fighters to approach.


    Chemasov and Whittier walked toward him, their eyes locked in a moment of mutual respect.


    Hank raised his hands, his voice calm butmanding as he went over the rules. "Alright, gentlemen, we''ve been through the rules in the back. Protect yourselves at all times. Follow my instructions at all times. No strikes to the back of the head, no groin shots. If I tell you to stop, you stop immediately.


    If you want to touch gloves, do it now."


    Both fighters nced at each other, and with a slight nod of respect, they extended their fists and touched gloves.


    The crowd roared with appreciation.


    "Good. Back to your corners," Hank instructed as he stepped back, giving them space.


    Chemasov and Whittier returned to their corners, bouncing lightly on their feet, fully focused.


    Hank looked at both fighters, checking their readiness. He raised his hand and shouted, "Ready? Ready?"


    Both fighters nodded, intense focus in their eyes.


    "Fight!" Hank shouted, dropping his hand.


    The bell rang, echoing through the arena. The fight was officially on!

 Chapter 200 Donald Whittier Vs. Balim Chemasov I: Coaches Fight

    The moment the bell rang, both fighters stepped cautiously into the center of the octagon.


    They circled each other, eyes locked, each reading the other''s movements.


    Chemasov, light on his feet as always, stalked forward, his frame seemingly too powerful for such fluid movement.


    Whittier mirrored his steps, a bit more nted but still quick, bouncing just enough to keep his timing unpredictable.


    James Nix broke the silence first. "Here we go, folks. This is a fight we''ve all been waiting for. Balim Chemasov, the undefeated powerhouse, versus Donald Whittier, the former champion known for his technical brilliance. Let''s see how this ys out."


    Chemasov feinted forward, testing Whittier''s reaction. Whittier remainedposed, flicking out a jab that didn''t quite reach, just to establish distance. Both fighters were patient, not looking to rush things.


    Jim Logan chimed in. "You can see the mutual respect here. Neither wants to make the first mistake. Whittier has that sharp technical striking, but Chemasov¡­ well, we know how relentless he can be."


    Chemasov made the first significant move, stepping in with a fast one-two, his right hand zipping toward Whittier''s chin.


    But Whittier saw iting and slipped to the side, narrowly avoiding the punch.


    Whittier countered with a leg kick that pped against Chemasov''s lead leg, but it barely seemed to affect him.


    Chemasov immediately closed the distance, looking to tie up Whittier against the cage.


    "Chemasov''s forward pressure is insane," Demien Korvier added. "Once he gets going, it''s hard to stop him."


    Whittier circled out, quick on his feet, and reset.


    He fired another leg kick, this time with more power, and followed up with a jab that found Chemasov''s guard.


    Chemasov, undeterred, charged forward again, throwing a wild overhand right, which Whittier ducked under effortlessly.


    But Chemasov wasn''t just about power; his relentless pace was his biggest weapon.


    He continued stalking Whittier, cutting off the cage, leaving Whittier with fewer and fewer options to move.


    Chemasov faked a punch and shot in for a takedown, lightning-fast. His explosion was undeniable.


    Whittier sprawled, defending the attempt well, but Chemasov was already transitioning, lifting Whittier''s leg and driving him toward the fence.


    "Chemasov''s wrestling is a huge threat here," Demien said. "Whittier has solid takedown defense, but Chemasov can shoot from anywhere."


    Whittier dug his hands into Chemasov''s arms, using the fence to keep his bnce.


    He twisted his body, trying to break free, but Chemasov''s grip was too strong.


    Chemasov drove a few knees into Whittier''s thigh, softening him up, before Whittier managed to frame against Chemasov''s face and push him off.


    As they separated, Whittier unleashed a vicious elbow on the break that just grazed Chemasov''s head.


    "Close call!" Nix shouted. "Whittier''s dangerous in the clinch, too."


    Chemasov, unfazed, immediately shot in again, this time getting both hands around Whittier''s waist.


    He lifted Whittier clean off the ground and mmed him down into the center of the octagon with a powerful takedown.


    "Oh, big m by Chemasov!" Logan yelled. "Whittier''s on his back now, this is not where he wants to be."


    Chemasov wasted no time. He immediately postured up, looking to rain down ground-and-pound.


    But Whittier, known for his survival skills on the ground, quickly locked up Chemasov''s arms, preventing any big shots fromnding.


    Chemasov tried to muscle free, but Whittier was smart, controlling his posture, not letting himnd anything significant.


    "This is where Chemasov is dangerous," Demien said. "He''s relentless on the ground, but Whittier''s showing some good defense here."


    Whittier managed to kick off the cage and create some space, scrambling back to his feet.


    The crowd roared as the fight returned to the standing position, both fighters breathing heavily from the early exchanges.


    "Beautiful work by Whittier to get back to his feet," Nix observed. "But now we''ll see if that early pressure from Chemasov starts to wear on him."


    Chemasov didn''t give Whittier much time to recover.


    He immediately rushed forward again, throwing wild hooks, looking tond something big.


    Whittier slipped most of the punches but ate a hard left hook that snapped his head to the side.


    Whittier retaliated with a stiff jab and a quick front kick to Chemasov''s body, trying to keep the bigger man at bay.


    Chemasov came forward again, swinging hard, but Whittier stayedposed, ducking under a big right hand and countering with a right hook to the body.


    Chemasov grunted, taking the shot, and fired back with a heavy right hand that nced off Whittier''s guard.


    As the pace quickened, both fighters began exchanging more frequently. Whittiernded a solidbination, a jab, cross, leg kick, that backed Chemasov up momentarily.


    But Chemasov absorbed it, shrugged it off, and rushed forward again, this time pushing Whittier against the cage once more.


    "This is Chemasov''s bread and butter," Demien noted. "Pressure, takedowns, and heavy hands. He just doesn''t stop."


    With Whittier against the cage, Chemasov attempted another takedown, but Whittier stuffed it,nding a sneaky uppercut in the process.


    The uppercut seemed to catch Chemasov off guard, but he quickly adjusted, pushing Whittier against the fence and unloading body shots that made Whittier wince.


    "Whittier''s in a tough spot here," Nixmented. "Chemasov''s just relentless with this pressure."


    Whittier, showing his veteran experience, used a clinch break tond a sharp elbow to Chemasov''s temple, creating space again.


    He followed up with a crisp one-two thatnded flush, snapping Chemasov''s head back.


    "Oh! Whittier''snding clean!" Logan shouted. "He''s finding his rhythm now."


    Chemasov, though hurt, barely slowed down. He charged forward again, throwing wild hooks.


    One clipped Whittier, but Whittier rolled with the punch, absorbing the impact.


    Whittier fired back with a left hook, then a high kick that Chemasov blocked just in time.


    The pace of the fight was starting to take a toll on both fighters.


    Their breathing was heavier now, sweat pouring off them as they exchanged strikes, especially Chemasov.


    Chemasov''s face showed signs of wear from Whittier''s precise shots, while Whittier''s body was reddening from Chemasov''s relentless body shots.


    "Both guys are wearing the damage now," Nix said. "This is turning into a war."


    With less than a minute left in the round, Chemasov finally slowed his forward pressure, likely feeling the effects of the high pace.


    Whittier saw the opening and unleashed a brutal leg kick that buckled Chemasov''s knee.


    "That leg kick is paying dividends now," Demien observed. "Chemasov''s movement is slowing down."


    Sensing a shift, Whittier pressed forward with abination, throwing a jab, followed by a straight right, and then another leg kick.


    Chemasov, still moving forward, threw a wild overhand right that Whittier ducked under effortlessly.


    In a quick move, Whittier clinched Chemasov''s neck and delivered a hard knee to the body. Chemasov grunted and backed off, circling to reset.


    The round ended with both fighters staring each other down, blood pumping, the crowd on its feet.

 Chapter 201 Donald Whittier Vs. Balim Chemasov I: Coaches Fight

    In a private room down the hall, six friends were scattered around, lounging on the couches, yet all were fully focused on the fight ying on the big screen.


    The intensity of the match had everyone on edge.


    Damon sat next to Svena, an arrangement orchestrated by their friends, but neither seemed to mind.


    When the bell rang to end the first round, everyone let out a collective sigh of relief, letting go of the stress that had built up over the first five minutes of action.


    Ash leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, while Tyr shook his head in amazement at the war unfolding between Whittier and Chemasov.


    Damon leaned back on the couch, brushing lightly against Svena''s arm.


    She nced at him with a small smile, and without words, the two shared a moment of silent acknowledgment.


    Both of them didn''t seem ufortable, but there was a deeper connection between them that hadn''t been there before.


    Ty spoke up, breaking the quiet. "Man, that was just the first round? They''re tearing each other apart."


    Ash nodded, still wide-eyed. "Yeah, and it feels like it''s just getting started."


    Joey, who had been uncharacteristically silent, finally spoke. "Who do you think took that round, Damon?"


    Damon tilted his head, thinking carefully before answering. "Tough to say. Whittier''s got the technical edge, but Chemasov''s relentless. It''s gonnae down to who can keep that pace going."


    Joey nodded and raised good points, "But I think if Chemasov fails to end the match in the next round, it might slip away. He doesn''t exactly have great cardio. If Whittier keeps dragging the fight and maintaining his bnce, he might take it."


    Everyone nodded in agreement. Chemasov was known to be a monster in the earlier rounds, finishing most of his matches quickly, but once the fight dragged on, it became harder for him to maintain his dominant performance.


    Ash chimed in, "I think he can still manage. He was able to take Whittier down earlier, so I don''t see why he can''t keep that up."


    Ashley shook her head confidently. "No way, I''m taking Whittier. He''s got the endurance for this."


    Ash looked at her and grinned. "You wanna bet on that?"


    Ashley smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Sure. Winner buys drinks and covers the hotel for all of us."


    Ash''s voice rose as he extended his hand, yfully faking a spit handshake. "Deal!"


    Ashley looked at his hand and scoffed, refusing to shake it. "No thanks."


    The group chuckled at the twins'' antics.


    Joey grinned, adding to the excitement. "Drinks and a free hotel stay? I''m in. Can''t wait to see how this ys out."


    Back in the cage, both fighters had just finished their rest period, listening to their coaches'' advice.


    Hank Binn signaled the start of the round, and the fighters immediately took their positions.


    "Round two is underway," James Nix announced, his voice filled with anticipation. "We saw an intense first round, and both these fighters know they need to adjust now. Whittier is pushing the pace, but Chemasov has been biding his time. Let''s see what they bring."


    Chemasov started the round much slower than expected.


    Instead of his usual explosive attacks and takedown attempts, he remainedposed, measuring his distance, circling cautiously as Whittier applied steady pressure.


    Whittier saw the opening and moved forbinations.


    Whittier fired off a sharp jab, followed by his signature left-right-leftbo, each strikending solidly as Chemasov''s guard absorbed the blows.


    The speed of Whittier''s punches kept Chemasov on the back foot, forcing him to cover up and retreat.


    "Whittier ising in strong, pushing the pace with those precisebinations," Demien Korvier noted. "This is where Whittier thrives, when he''s dictating the fight on the feet."


    Jim Logan jumped in. "You can see Chemasov''s being cautious here. He''s not going in for the kill like he usually does, maybe conserving energy after that explosive first round."


    Whittier''s confidence grew as he continued to pepper Chemasov with crisp strikes, a jab-cross-hook that keptnding clean.


    But just when Whittier was about to reset his position, thinking he had Chemasov pinned down, Chemasov struck.


    Out of nowhere, Chemasov changed levels, exploding forward with a sudden double-leg takedown attempt, his powerful arms wrapping around Whittier''s waist.


    Whittier, caught off guard by the timing, instinctively sprawled, his legs pushing back as he tried to fend off the takedown.


    "Oh, herees the takedown!" Nix shouted. "Chemasov waited for the perfect moment, and now he''s shooting in!"


    Whittier struggled, his body leaning into the cage as he fought to stay upright, gripping onto Chemasov''s head, trying to control his posture and maintain bnce.


    People in the crowd stood up and paid close attention to the sh of power.


    "This is what Chemasov does best," Logan added. "Even when you think you have him under control, he waits for that split second when you''re vulnerable, and then he attacks."


    But Whittier wasn''t giving up easily. His legs dug into the canvas, and he managed to fend off Chemasov''s initial drive.


    For a moment, it seemed as though Whittier might escape, but Chemasov wasn''t done.


    Gritting his teeth, Chemasov shifted his weight and powered through, driving Whittier off-bnce and pulling him down to the mat.


    "Chemasov gets the takedown! What a show of strength!" Demien eximed. "Whittier tried everything, but Chemasov''s relentless pressure just overwhelmed him."


    The crowd roared as Chemasov established dominant position on top, his arms locking around Whittier''s midsection as he began to advance.


    He moved quickly, transitioning into side control before finally slipping into full mount.


    "Now this is dangerous," Logan remarked, his tone serious. "Chemasov in top position is a nightmare for anyone, and Whittier knows he''s in trouble."


    From the mount, Chemasov wasted no time.


    He postured up, creating space to unleash his signature ground-and-pound.


    He started raining down heavy punches, each onending with a thud against Whittier''s arms and body.


    Whittier, trying to cover up, desperately attempted to buck Chemasov off, but the weight of Chemasov''s body made escape nearly impossible.


    "This is what Chemasov does," Nix added. "Once he''s on top, he smothers you, and those punches are brutal."


    Whittier continued to struggle, twisting his body, trying to disrupt Chemasov''s bnce, but the Russian powerhouse remained firmly nted.


    Chemasov''s ground-and-pound was persistent, and each hammerfist hit hard enough to break bones.


    Whittier was doing his best to mitigate the damage, but he was taking serious punishment.


    "Whittier''s got to find a way out of this," Somewhat worried, Demien spoke up. "Chemasov is pouring it on, and if Whittier doesn''t move, the ref might stop it."


    Whittier, sensing the danger, finally managed to bridge his hips, creating just enough space to disrupt Chemasov''s bnce for a split second.


    It wasn''t much, but it gave Whittier a brief window to scramble.


    Chemasov noticed the change and tightened his grip, shifting to stay in charge and get ready for another round of punches as Whittier fought to stay alive under the heavy pressure.

 Chapter 202 Donald Whittier Vs. Balim Chemasov III: Coaches Fight

    Chemasov and Whittier continued to grapple on the mat, both fighters were putting a lot of pressure on each other.


    They were sweating a lot, and their muscles were burning from the constant fight for control.


    Chemasov was still in top position, throwing heavy strikes, but Whittier wasn''t giving up.


    He bent his knees and twisted his hips to try to make space. As he worked to change the flow of the fight, he kept his face focused.


    "Whittier''s doing everything he can to survive here," Demien Korvier said from thementary booth. "He knows he''s in a bad spot, but he''s not giving up. This is all heart from Whittier right now."


    Chemasov, sensing that Whittier was beginning to gain some momentum, leaned forward, pressing his weight down harder.


    But Whittier saw his opportunity. He bridged his hips hard, lifting Chemasov off bnce just enough to create a gap.


    In that brief moment, Whittier snaked his arm under Chemasov''s chest, using a powerful sweep technique to roll Chemasov off him.


    "Oh! Whittier''s reversing the position!" James Nix shouted. "Beautiful sweep from Whittier!"


    With a sudden burst of energy, Whittier twisted his body and flipped Chemasov over,nding himself in the dominant position.


    The crowd roared as Whittier now had top control, pinning Chemasov to the mat, and immediately started working to control Chemasov''s wrists to neutralize his ground-and-pound.


    "Now this is interesting," Jim Logan chimed in. "Whittier''s turned the tables, and Chemasov''s in a tough spot for the first time in this fight."


    Whittier put a lot of pressure on Chemasov and pushed him down, but Chemasov wouldn''t give up.


    He bucked his hips violently, using his raw strength to force Whittier off bnce.


    Whittier tried to maintain his position, but Chemasov kept exploding with powerful hip escapes, refusing to let Whittier getfortable.


    With one final push, Chemasov managed to slip out from under Whittier''s control, scrambling to his feet.


    Whittier followed quickly, not wanting to give Chemasov any time to recover.


    They both stood, breathing heavily, their chests heaving from the exertion of the ground battle.


    "Both men are back on their feet!" Nix shouted. "But look at Chemasov, he''s looking exhausted!"


    Indeed, Chemasov looked visibly fatigued, his hands hanging lower than before, his chest rising and falling rapidly.


    He wiped sweat from his brow, his eyes locked onto Whittier, knowing he had to make something happen before his gas tank emptiedpletely.


    Suddenly, Chemasov charged forward with a burst of aggression, throwing one of his signature overhand rights, a punch that had finished many of his previous opponents.


    The punch sailed through the air with terrifying speed and power.


    "And herees Chemasov with the right hand!" Demien yelled.


    The punch connected clean on Whittier''s jaw, sending a shockwave through the arena.


    Whittier stumbled back, his legs wobbling as the force of the blow nearly dropped him to the canvas.


    His head snapped back, his eyes blinking rapidly as he struggled to stay upright.


    "Oh! Huge shot from Chemasov!" Logan shouted. "That right handnded flush, and Whittier''s in trouble!"


    Whittier, on the other hand, showed his toughness and experience and managed to keep his footing.


    As he stumbled backward, he threw out his arms, grabbing onto the cage for support, using it to steady himself.


    He blinked away the cobwebs, taking a few steps to the side, his feet still shaky but keeping him upright.


    "Whittier''s hurt, but he''s still in this!" Demien eximed. "What a chin on Whittier, he ate that punch and didn''t go down!"


    The crowd was on its feet now, cheering wildly for the action as the fighters circled again, both men visibly exhausted but still throwing everything they had into the fight.


    When Chemasov saw that his right hand had hit Whittier but not finished him, he charged forward with all his strength, his eyes shining with determination.


    He hit Whittier with a number of hard hooks and uppercuts, hoping to knock him out while he was still stunned.


    Each punch had the weight of desperation behind it, as Chemasov knew that his gas tank was rapidly depleting.


    Whittier, however, wasn''t going to let himself be finished that easily.


    His feet danced on the canvas, using histeral movement to slip out of Chemasov''s immediate range.


    He bobbed and weaved, ducking under a wild hook before stepping to the side to reset.


    "Chemasov is throwing bombs, but Whittier''s footwork is keeping him alive!" Jim Logan eximed. "Look at him move, he''s still sharp!"


    "Yeah, but how long can Chemasov keep this pace?" Demien added. "He''s throwing everything he''s got, but that kind of output can drain you fast." Experience exclusive tales on mvl


    Whittier, with his back against the cage for just a moment, realized Chemasov was trying to bulldoze him.


    Instead of retreating further, Whittier nted his feet and exploded forward with his own signaturebination, a right hand straight down the middle, followed by a crisp left hook, and then a lightning-quick head kick.


    "Herees Whittier!" Nix shouted. "He''s turning the tide!"


    The straight punch snapped Chemasov''s head back, the left hook caught him off bnce, and the head kick grazed the top of his skull.


    Chemasov staggered, blinking away the force of the strikes.


    His legs wobbled for a moment as he backed up, shaking his head as if trying to clear the fog.


    "You don''t want to trade with Whittier like that!" Demien said. "He''s too precise when he gets into his rhythm."


    Chemasov, now visibly fatigued and hurt, changed levels suddenly, shooting for a takedown with ferocity.


    He knew his best chance was to take the fight back to the ground, where his grappling dominance could shine.


    His arms wrapped around Whittier''s legs as he drove forward, pushing with every bit of strength he had left.


    Whittier sprawled hard, his hips dropping low as he fought to stay on his feet.


    He felt Chemasov''s grip tightening, but he wasn''t going to give up the takedown without a fight.


    He dug his elbows into Chemasov''s shoulders, framing and pushing him off while hopping backward to create space.


    "Whittier''s defending the takedown well," Loganmented. "Chemasov''s trying to get it, but Whittier''s showing some great bnce."


    Chemasov didn''t give up, though.


    He clung to Whittier''s legs like a pitbull, driving forward and eventually lifting him off the canvas for a brief second.


    But Whittier, using his agility and quick reflexes, managed to twist his body mid-air andnd on his feet, avoiding being fully nted on his back.


    "Wow! Look at that bnce!" Demien marveled. "Whittier just avoided disaster there."

 Chapter 203 Donald Whittier Vs. Balim Chemasov IV: End!!

    The crowd cheered as Whittier just barely avoided being taken down.


    His agility and footwork were keeping him alive in the fight, but the exhaustion was starting to show on both fighters, especially Chemasov.


    Whittier knew he had to take advantage, so as soon as he got his bnce back, he reset and went on the offensive right away.


    Whittier threw hisbination, which was a right cross, a sharp left hook, and then a strong leg kick that worked smoothly and precisely.


    "Herees Whittier again with that ssicbo!" Jim Logan shouted, excitement rising in his voice.


    Whittier''s right cross hit Chemasov square in the jaw, whacking his head back, and his left hook hit hard, making him stumble for a moment.


    The powerful leg kick was on its way and was directed right at Chemasov''s lead leg. Your adventure continues at mvl


    But just as the kick was about tond, Chemasov saw iting.


    He ducked low and perfectly timed his move to avoid the kick.


    Before Whittier could reset his stance, Chemasov mmed him up with a powerful uppercut.


    "And there''s the uppercut!" Demien Korvier yelled. "Chemasov timed it perfectly!"


    Whittier''s head snapped back dramatically from the impact of the uppercut, whichnded flush on his chin.


    His legs wobbled, and for a moment, his entire body seemed to go limp.


    His eyes rolled back, and he stumbled backward, trying to regain his senses.


    Chemasov''s eyes lit up, he knew this was his moment.


    He charged forward right away, hands flying, like a predator closing in on its prey.


    "He''s going for the finish!" James Nix shouted. "Chemasov smells blood!"


    Chemasov threw a bunch of nasty punches, and each one was very strong.


    A right hook to the temple, then a left hook to the body, and finally an overhand right that was directed right at Whittier''s face.


    Each punch rattled him further, his defense weakening with every blow.


    Chemasov''s fists were like sledgehammers, crashing through Whittier''s arms, and with each hit, the sound of leather hitting flesh echoed through the arena.


    "Every punch isnding!" Demien eximed. "Whittier''s in real trouble here!"


    Hank Binn, the referee, moved in closer, his eyes locked on Whittier, watching carefully to see if he was still defending himself intelligently.


    Whittier''s movements were slowing, and his guard was dropping lower with every strike.


    Chemasov threw a massive overhand right that crashed against Whittier''s ear, nearly sending him to the canvas.


    Whittier''s legs buckled, but somehow, he stayed on his feet, wobbling dangerously close to the edge of copse.


    "Chemasov is pouring it on!" Demien yelled, the excitement palpable. "Whittier''s not answering back!"


    Hank Binn was right there, his eyes glued to Whittier, ready to stop the fight if necessary.


    Chemasov, sensing the end was near, set up for the final blow.


    He threw a feint with his left hand, causing Whittier to flinch, and then unleashed a monstrous right uppercut straight to Whittier''s chin.


    The blow was like a bomb going off, and Whittier''s head snapped back. His legs gave out, and he fell to the canvas in a heap.


    "Huge uppercut! Whittier''s down!" When James Nix yelled, his voice cut through the loud crowd.


    Chemasov wasted no time.


    He dove on top of Whittier,nding in full mount, his fists raining down like a storm.


    Left hands, right hands, hammerfists, all aimed at Whittier''s head, each onending clean.


    "He''s got the mount! It''s all over!" Jim Logan eximed.


    Whittier''s arms were barely moving now, his body limp beneath Chemasov''s relentless barrage.


    Hank Binn hovered close, ready to intervene as the punches kepting.


    Chemasov delivered one final, crushing right hand, and Hank Binn had seen enough.


    "Stop! Stop!" Hank shouted, waving his arms and stepping in between the fighters.


    Chemasov stopped right away and stood over Whittier.


    He was deeply breathing, and the look on his face showed that he was both tired and happy.


    "It''s over! Chemasov has done it!" Demien yelled. "What a finish!"


    Whittiery on the canvas, battered and beaten, as the medical team rushed in to check on him.


    Meanwhile, Chemasov walked to his corner, his arms raised high in victory.


    "The relentless pressure of Balim Chemasov proves too much for Whittier," James Nix said. "He just overwhelmed him with power and aggression!"


    Balim Chemasov stood tall, the victor in one of the most anticipated fights of the year, his path to a potential title shot now clearer than ever.


    Chemasov, suddenly full of energy despite the brutal fight, ran and climbed up on the fence, sitting on top of the cage with his arms raised high in victory.


    The crowd went wild as he took it all in, pointing to the sky and then beating his chest.


    He smiled and took deep breaths, enjoying his victory.


    When he came down, he saw Whittier on his feet, recovering.


    Whittier looked around the arena, took a deep breath, and shrugged as if to say, "That''s how it goes."


    He talked briefly to his coach before walking to the center of the cage where Chemasov was waiting.


    They met in the middle, shaking hands and then pulling each other into a small hug.


    "Good match, mate," Whittier said with a tired smile. "You''re a beast, man."


    Chemasov, still catching his breath, grinned widely. "Thank you, brother. You tough, but nobody can stop me! Ie for everyone!" His strong ent and sure voice gave his words more weight.


    They patted each other on the back before Hank Binn stepped in between them, ready to raise the winner''s hand.


    Even though it had been a long night, Deuce Baffer walked into the cage with his swagger still intact. He had his cards and microphone ready to make the official announcement.


    As Hank Binn grabbed their arms, thementators spoke up.


    Jim Logan started, "Well, folks, there you have it, Chemasov just handed Bobby Knuckles a tough loss. What a war!"


    Demien Korvier added, "Yeah, Chemasov is an absolute monster. We knew he was dangerous early, but even when Whittier was fighting back, he just couldn''t handle thatst flurry."


    James Nix nodded, "This win puts Chemasov in a prime position. He just beat one of the best in the division. What a statement!"


    The crowd''s cheers began to lower as everyone waited for the official word from Deuce Baffer, eager to hear the iconic voice deliver the final verdict.

 Chapter 204 Call out

    Deuce Baffer stepped forward with his usual ir, which made everyone in the crowd quiet down and wait for the official call.


    Jim Logan stood nearby, ready for the post-fight interview.


    Baffer raised the microphone to his lips and looked around the packed arena. "Ladies and gentlemen," his deep voice boomed, "Referee Hank Binn has called a stop to the contest at 3 minutes, 45 seconds of round two!"


    He paused, letting the tension rise, the crowd holding its breath. Enjoy new adventures from mvl


    "Dering the winner..." he drew it out, stretching the moment, "by TKO... BALIM ''BORZ'' CHEMASOV!!!"


    There were a lot of cheers and boos in the arena, either way the energy was high.


    In celebration, Chemasov raised his arms high and smiled ferociously as Hank Binn raised his hand to show that he had won.


    Some fans roared their approval, while others, disappointed in Whittier''s loss, voiced their discontent.


    Chemasov, unfazed by the mixed reaction, pounded his chest and let out a triumphant roar as his team celebrated behind him.


    Whittier, showing true sportsmanship, nodded in respect as he gave him space to celebrate, still shaking off the loss but holding his head high.


    Jim Logan, who was holding a microphone, moved closer and stood next to the winner. He spoke over the noise of the crowd, "I''m here with the winner, Balim Chemasov."


    He turned to Chemasov, "Balim, you just took out one of the best middleweights and a former champion. What are your thoughts?"


    Chemasov grabbed the mic and looked directly at the crowd, his voice booming with confidence. "Ronan, Ronan... I fight the best, I smesh the best, I beat Whittier. Ronan, give me title shot, I smesh champion next!"


    The crowd let out a mix of cheers and boos, but the cheers were loud enough to drown out the boos.


    There was no denying how intense Chemasov was, and his fans fed off of that.


    Jim Logan nodded, impressed. "Alright, there you have it, the winner, Balim Chemasov. Balim, amazing match. Congrattions, thank you." The crowd was rocking with excitement as the two shook hands.


    From thementary booth, Demien Korvier chimed in. "Wow, Chemasov''s not wasting any time! Calling out DPP and asking for a title shot after taking out Whittier, he''s gunning straight for the top, no hesitation."


    James Nix added, "And you have to respect that. I mean, Chemasov has steamrolled hispetition. If you''re DPP, you''ve got to take that call-out seriously. This man just beat a former champion, and he''s not stopping until he gets that gold."


    Jim Logan moved to Donald Whittier, microphone in hand. "Bobby Knuckles, you''ve put up a great performance, managed to defend against Chemasov''s wrestling, but unfortunately, you couldn''t get it done tonight. What are your thoughts?"


    Donald Whittier, still catching his breath, smiled and nodded. "Yeah, it is what it is, mate. Chemasov''s a tough guy, and I''ve got nothing but respect for him. I gave it my all, but tonight wasn''t my night. I''ll go back, regroup, ande back stronger. That''s the game, you win some, you lose some.


    No excuses, just gotta improve and move forward."


    As Jim Logan started to wrap up the interview, Whittier motioned for the mic. "Let me say something else," Whittier said, turning to the crowd. "I''m also happy for Team Whittier tonight. I''m proud of the team and, most importantly, Damon Cross. Congrats on bing The Supreme Fighter, mate, and wee to the big stage!"


    The crowd erupted in cheers, appreciating the sportsmanship and Whittier''s acknowledgment of Damon.


    The fans were ecstatic, cheering for both fighters for their great fights and good attitudes.


    ---


    ---


    ---


    In the room where Damon and his friends were gathered, they had just finished watching the fight, and Balim''s call-out to DPP and Whittier''s interview yed through the speakers.


    Damon sat back, feeling a mix of emotions.


    He was ttered to be mentioned by Whittier, a veteran of the sport, but damn, the match itself had been something else.


    He leaned back and mused, ''Honestly, I thought if Chemasov was ever going to defeat Whittier, it had to be on the ground.''


    Maybe he had been biased a bit when backing Whittier do to him being his TSF,


    Joey, on the other hand, looked thrilled.


    He had that type of personality where he rooted for everyone, though his favorite was the light heavyweight champion.


    Ash was sitting across from him and had a huge grin on his face, like he had just won the lottery. "Man, what a fight! Chemasov is a beast!" he eximed, clearly satisfied with the oue.


    But across the room, Ashley was not as thrilled.


    She sat with her arms crossed, clearly unhappy, almost like she''d swallowed a fly.


    Her expression said it all.


    Ash noticed and couldn''t resist teasing her. "Well, I hope you brought your wallet, ''cause you''re leaving with it very light!" he said with a smug smile, referencing their earlier bet.


    Ashley rolled her eyes, but deep down, she knew she was going to have to pay for their drinks. "Yeah, yeah. Just don''t rub it in too much," she muttered, trying to hide a smile despite her loss.


    The room was filled with lightughter as they shared in the post-fight excitement.


    As the group stood up, stretching and preparing to leave, Ash let out a satisfied sigh, "Well, that''s the end of the show, I guess."


    Damon nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I think I''ll have to stick around for a bit. since i think i have to see what''s next after winning this show. Might not make it to the club, and if I do, I''ll probably bete."


    Ash grinned. "Well, that''s your loss, man. You''re missing out on watching Ashley''s money vanish into thin air."


    They allughed as they gathered their things, preparing to head out. Just then, Svena spoke up, her voice calm but firm. "I''ll stay with Damon." Everyone turned to look at her, not surprised, just curious. She continued, "Plus, I''m not really into partying, so I''m fine."


    Joey stood there, clearly contemting his next move.


    He looked like he was debating whether to stay with Damon and Svena and finally meet Donald Whittier or join the others for a night out.


    Ash noticed his hesitation immediately. "Oh,e on, man. Don''t do this to me. Would you rather hang out here waiting to meet a sweaty man or head to the club with hot chicks?" Ash said, trying to tempt him with a grin.


    Joey hesitated but then sighed, defeated. "Ah, well, Damon and Ashley are UFA fighters. I''ll have plenty of chances to meet other fighters. Fine, I''ll go."


    Ashley couldn''t help but smile, whether it was because she was pleased to leave Damon and Svena together or because fewer people meant she''d spend less money, it was hard to tell.


    As the group was about to head out, Damon gave them a final warning. "Ash, be careful, alright? This isn''t LA."


    Ash waved him off with a confident smirk. "No big deal, bro. I''ve been to New York before. I''ve got friends here. We''re good."


    With that, the group made their way out, leaving Damon and Svena behind.


    The room suddenly felt quieter, more intimate, as they stood there alone.

 Chapter 205 You Look Beau–

    Being alone¡­ standing so close.


    Damon smiled, "Thanks," he said, looking at her.


    She smiled back, her eyes sparkling. "For what? I did nothing, I just watched. You''re the one who fought," she said, punching him lightly on the arm.


    Damon didn''t react, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere.


    He stood there with a dumb smile, seemingly lost in thought. His gaze lingered on her, admiring her beauty.


    She looked cute, and that smile on her face, he wanted to keep it there, to never see it fade.


    Svena noticed the stare. "What?" she asked, her head tilting slightly, her expression curious.


    "Nothing. You''re just beau¡ª" Damon started, but before he could finish, the door suddenly swung open.


    They both jumped, taking a quick step back, as if caught doing something they shouldn''t.


    "Oh, sorry, didn''t realize anyone was still in here," the staff member said, ncing between them. "We''re locking up the empty rooms. Just let us know when you''re heading out."


    Damon quickly cleared his throat, trying to mask the awkwardness. "No, it''s fine. We were just leaving anyway."


    "Alright, thanks!" The staff member smiled and left, the door closing behind them.


    Damon ran a hand through his hair, letting out a nervous chuckle. "Well, I guess we should... get going."


    Svena smiled, the tension easing. "Yeah, we should."


    As they left the room, the staff member waiting outside nced up from her watch, offering a polite nod in return as Damon acknowledged her.


    Damon and Svena walked side by side, their earlier tension easing with each step.


    They began talking casually, catching up on all the moments they had missed.


    Your journey continues on mvl


    The conversation flowed naturally, filling the space between them, making the walk to the lounge feel shorter than it was.


    It didn''t take long for them to reach the lounge. From a distance, Damon could already see his team gathered outside, talking andughing.


    Whittier stood in the middle of them, his rxed posture and easy smile showing he had already settled in after his own intense match.


    Damon''s pace quickened slightly as he approached, and Svena followed closely behind.


    As they arrived, Whittier noticed them and greeted Damon with a nod.


    "Good to see you, kid," Whittier said, his tone light. "That was one hell of a performance out there."


    "Haha, thanks, Coach, your match was also amazing." Damon said as Whittierughed.


    "Ahh, I lost tonight, mate. Call me Donald, I''m not your coach anymore," Whittier replied with thatid-back tone he was known for, shrugging off the defeat in his typical humble style.


    Then, Whittier''s eyes shifted to Svena, standing quietly beside Damon. With a teasing smile, he added, "Oh, and who''s this behind you? You never told me you had ady back home."


    He stretched out his hand to greet her. Damon chuckled at the remark, choosing not to correct him.


    It wasn''t the first time people assumed he and Svena were a couple, and neither of them ever bothered to correct the assumption.


    Maybe a part of them didn''t mind it, and wanted it that way.


    Svena shook Whittier''s hand with a polite smile. "Nice to meet you," she said.


    Whittier gave Damon a knowing grin. "She''s a good one, mate. Take care of her, will ya?" he said with a wink, his tone still yful but with a hint of sincerity.


    Damon just nodded, keeping the mood light but feeling a warmth in his chest.


    Turning more serious, he asked, "So, now that the show''s over, what''s the next step? I''m guessing I can''t just leave the building yet, right?"


    Whittier nodded, "Yep, not quite yet. Just sit tight for a bit." He gestured to the chairs in the hallway. "Someone will call for you soon, probably to finalize some things."


    Then, stretching out his tired muscles, Whittier added, "As for me, I''m too tired for this, so I''m heading out to get some rest. Been a long night."


    He patted Damon on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself, kid. You''ve earned it." With that, he gave a nod to both Damon and Svena before heading off down the hall.


    Damon nodded back and took Svena''s hand, guiding her toward the chairs, where they both sat down.


    "So, did I miss anything over the time I was gone?" Damon asked, looking at Svena.


    She paused for a moment, thinking. "I don''t think¡ªoh, wait! There''s a new guy at the gym, part of the MMA team now," she said, recalling the update.


    "His name is Edward, I think."


    Damon froze at the mention of the name. Edward? Could it be a coincidence? Thest time Damon saw Edward was 2 years ago after their fight, where Damon had emerged victorious, back in Stockton.


    "What''s wrong?" Svena asked, noticing Damon zoning out.


    Damon shook his head and smiled. "Nah, I was just thinking."


    Svena smiled back. "What about you? Anything changed?"


    Damon shook his head slightly, before offering, "How about we don''t go to the club and just grab some food instead, maybe just the two of us?"


    Svena froze for a second, speechless. "Sure, I''m fine with that," she replied, a soft smile forming.


    Just as they settled into that thought, a staff member appeared. "Mr. Cross, Mr. ck would like to see you."


    Damon and Svena stood up at the same time. "Sure, where do I go?" Damon asked.


    The staff smiled, ncing at both of them. "Just follow me right this way."


    Damon and Svena followed the staff down the hallway, walking side by side infortable silence.


    Damon''s mind wandered back to Edward, was it really him? Or just a coincidence? He pushed the thought aside for now, focusing on the moment.


    The staff led them through a series of corridors until they reached a doorbeled UFA Management Office.


    She knocked lightly and opened it, gesturing for Damon to enter.


    "Mr. ck is inside," she said, offering a polite smile before stepping back.


    Damon turned to Svena, giving her a reassuring nod. "I''ll be back soon."


    She nodded back, her calm smile hiding any nerves she might have felt for him. "I''ll wait here."

 Chapter 206 Welcome To the UFA

    Entering the office, Damon took a deep breath. Experience tales with mvl


    Thest time he had been in a room alone with the UFA CEO was during the show, after that infamous moment where he had speared Logan into a table and was promptly called in for a warning.


    Now, he felt nervous.


    Not scared, but with the jitters that anyone might have when meeting their future boss, especially when their first impression was less than ster.


    Damon couldn''t shake the feeling that Ronan ck might not have forgotten that incident and, worse, might still hold it against him.


    But maybe he was overthinking it.


    Damon closed the door behind him, leaving Svena outside.


    As he turned around, he noticed the camera crew already set up in the room.


    He wasn''t surprised.


    The legal contract had been signed before the fight, clearly stating that if he won, it would automatically be activated.


    Now, this was likely just formalities, taking copies for records or shooting footage for promotional purposes.


    He walked forward.


    Ronan ck, the UFA CEO, smiled and stretched out his hand. "How you doing?"


    Damon''s nerves eased immediately, seeing the easygoing smile on Ronan''s face. "I''m doing amazing," he said, shaking the CEO''s hand firmly.


    Ronanughed. His presence was both imposing and friendly. "You should be. That win was impressive, such a dominant match. Come on, sit down."


    Damon sat across from Ronan, trying to contain his excitement. "Thank you," Damon said, his heart pounding a little less now.


    Ronan shook his head. "You don''t have to thank me for anything. You''re one tough son of a bitch. You earned this."


    Ronan leaned back slightly, his eyes locking onto Damon''s with a sharp, almost calcting gaze. "Listen, I''ve seen a lot of fighterse and go since my time here in the UFA. And I''ve been pretty damn good at spotting the ones who have real talent. Not just talent in the cage, but talent that grabs the fans, that keeps their attention. And from what I saw out there? You''re exactly that."


    Damon sat up a little straighter as Ronan pulled out the official UFA contract, the one that had been signed and sealed as part of the show''s grand prize.


    He handed it to Damon, suddenly the contract felt heavy to look at, even though it was light, he took a subtle breath.


    "You''re no longer a contestant, Damon. You''re a UFA fighter now," Ronan said, smiling as he pushed the contract toward Damon.


    Damon grinned wide, feeling the immense significance of those words. He took the contract in his hands and looked up. "Thank you, Mr. ck."


    Ronan waved him off with a chuckle. "Just call me Ronan. But before you take off, I want to give you a bit of advice."


    Damon leaned in, listening closely.


    Ronan continued, his tone serious but filled with the wisdom of someone who had seen the rise and fall of many fighters. "Look, the UFA is full of killers. Savages. Guys who''ve been fighting their whole lives and who all want the same thing, being at the top. Leaving their mark.


    I''ve seen countless fighterse through these doors thinking they were hot shit, thinking they were going to dominate and then, BAM, just like that, they''re done."


    Damon nodded, his expression focused.


    Ronan leaned forward now, making sure Damon heard every word. "Don''t take this chance for granted. Because once you''re in the top spot, it doesn''t end there. That''s when the real fight starts. You''ll be the target. Everyone will be gunning for you, looking to make their name off of yours.


    It''s a long road to the top, but it''s even tougher staying there."


    Damon paid close attention, knowing that Ronan was right. This was just the start.


    Ronan stood up and extended his hand again. "But for now, kid, go celebrate. You earned it. Have fun, rx. We''ll be in touch. When you''ve got a fight lined up, we''ll reach out to your coach."


    Damon smiled and stood, shaking Ronan''s hand firmly. "Thank you, Ronan. I really appreciate everything."


    "Oh, right," Damon added. "I didn''t give you my coach''s number."


    Ronan pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Damon. "No problem. Just write it down here."


    Damon quickly jotted down Victor''s number and handed it back. Ronan nced at it and nodded. "We''ll make sure everything gets squared away."


    As Damon turned to leave, Ronan called out onest time, "Remember what I said, celebrate tonight, but get ready to put in the work. The real journey starts now."


    Damon gave him a confident nod and left the office, his new future nowid heavy on his shoulders, but in the best possible way.


    He tightened his grip on the contract and made his way out of the office.


    His mind was buzzing with everything Ronan had said, but the moment he saw Svena waiting alone, it all faded into the background.


    As the door opened, she turned around, her face lighting up the second she saw him.


    She smiled. "So, what happened?" she asked, curiosity and excitement in her voice.


    Damon didn''t say a word. Instead, he pulled the contract out and held it up for her to see.


    Svena''s eyes widened as she took the contract from his hands and started reading it.


    Her smile only grew as she scanned the words, and without hesitation, she stepped forward and hugged him tightly, her arms wrapped around him in a warm embrace.


    "You finally did it," she whispered softly into his ear.


    The words hit Damon like a wave, making his heart swell. He smiled and hugged her. "I did."


    They stood there for a long moment, wrapped up in the hug, neither one in a rush to let go.


    .


    .


    Finally, they both pulled back at the same time, their eyes locking in a way that spoke volumes without saying anything at all.


    Damon felt a warmth in his chest that he hadn''t felt in a long time.


    "So," he said, breaking the silence with a grin, "how about we go eat then?"


    Svena grinned, still holding onto the excitement. "Yeah, I''d love that."


    Damon nodded, For the first time in a long while, he felt like he could breathe.


    There wasn''t much they had to say.


    The vibe between them wasfortable and exciting, so no words were spoken


    As they walked out of the arena, the noise started to fade behind them. Damon took a quick look at Svena and felt calm.


    "Where do you want to go?" Svena asked as they stepped out into the cool night air.


    "Anywhere is fine," Damon replied. "As long as it''s just us."


    Svena smiled, her eyes sparkling in the dim streetlights. "Then let''s make it a night to remember."


    Damon chuckled, knowing this was already a night he would never forget.

 Chapter 207 Dreams

    "Damon, that''s your second pizza of the night," Svena said softly as she watched him quickly eat another slices. Her eyes grew wide.


    Damon paused mid-chew, swallowed thest bite, and then chased it down with a big gulp of water. He leaned back, taking a deep breath, satisfied.


    "Have you seen the stuff they''ve been feeding us on the show?" Damon said, shaking his head. "This is my first time having New York pizza, and I gotta say, it''s worth it." He wiped his mouth with a napkin, looking content.


    Svena sighed and shook her head yfully. "Oh, alright. I guess you deserve it after that fight."


    Damon chuckled, leaning forward. "Okay, okay. How about this, I''ll make it up to you. Deal?"


    Her eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Oh? And how exactly are you nning to make it up to me?"


    Damon grinned, leaning in just a little closer. "How about a walk?"


    Svena gave him a skeptical look, ncing out the window.


    Nighttime in New York City was full of sounds and lights, and the streets were still very busy.


    "A walk? Have you seen outside? It''s New York, crowded, loud. I don''t think we''re getting much peace out there."


    Damon shrugged, unfazed. "We''ll head over to that park we passed earlier. It''s quieter there. We''ll get some fresh air, maybe enjoy the night away from all the noise."


    She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smile. "Hmm, a quiet walk in the park, huh? Alright, but just so you know, this is your idea of making it up to me."


    "Absolutely," Damon replied, standing up and stretching. "And hey, I promise it''ll be better than pizza."


    Svena stood up too, still smiling. "Alright then, let''s see if you can live up to that."


    The two of them smiled as they cleared the table.


    Svena offered to pay the bill, and Damon felt a little bad about it, especially since he had ordered two big pizzas.


    But she didn''t seem to mind.


    As they left the restaurant and walked out onto the busy sidewalk, the city lights lit up their way.


    It was a busy night in New York, but Svena and Damon walked closer together, their steps in sync.


    "I don''t like big cities," she admitted quietly, ncing up at him.


    "I get it," Responding, Damon nodded as they walked by the tall buildings that were towering over them. "I''m the same. I prefer peace and quiet. Actually, I''ve been thinking about it a lot. Once I''ve made enough from fighting, I want to buy my mom a home.


    Somewhere calm and peaceful, away from LA noise." He nced up at the towering ts, imagining something entirely different, a ce where peace was the rule, not the exception.


    Svena smiled, her eyes soft. "That''s nice. I like that... I think I want a big farmhouse," she added with a yful grin.


    Damon chuckled at her joke, but his heart felt full just being around her. Stay tuned with §Þ??


    Even after two years of knowing her, he was still in awe of how she carried herself.


    Around the group, she was fun but reserved, always keeping a bit of distance.


    But when it was just the two of them, she opened up in ways the others hadn''t seen.


    There was something deeper there, a side of her she only showed him, and that made him feel closer to her.


    But it wasn''t enough. Damon wanted more. He wanted to know everything about her, every thought, every dream.


    He wanted to be the one she turned to for everything, and he was realizing that more and more with every quiet moment they shared.


    "A farm, huh? Seems like a lot of work, no? All that dirt, cows, goats, and chickens," Damon teased, giving her a side-eye.


    She looked at him and shrugged, a small smile ying on her lips. "Yeah, well, I don''t know. It''s just a silly dream."


    Damon nudged her gently. "Giving up that easy already? Come on, you''re tougher than that." He grinned. "Anyway, we''re here."


    They arrived at the park, the city lights barely touching the quiet, tree-lined paths.


    Despite all the talk about how crowded New York was, this spot felt like a hidden pocket of peace, a world away from the bustling streets.


    They sat down on an empty seat and let out a deep sigh, as if they were letting go of the day''s stress.


    Damon leaned back and looked up at the sky, the faint glimmer of stars peeking through the city haze. For a moment, everything felt calm, almost surreal.


    "Not bad for New York," he muttered, smiling to himself.


    "Yeah, I expected crowded spots everywhere," Svena replied, her voice light as she looked around, taking in the peaceful atmosphere.


    Damon went quiet for a bit, his gaze still on the sky, lost in thought.


    The silence between them wasn''t ufortable, but there was a weight to it, as if they were both thinking about things they hadn''t spoken of yet.


    Svena nced at him from the corner of her eye, biting her lip as she hesitated.


    She had known Damon for two years now, but there were still so many things she didn''t know about him, especially his past.


    She wasn''t sure if it was her ce to ask, but she wanted to understand him more.


    She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. "Damon..." she started, her voice a little softer than usual, "I know you don''t talk much about it, but... I''ve always wondered..."


    Damon turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. "Wondered about what?" he asked, his tone gentle, though he could sense where this was going.


    She fidgeted a little, looking down at her hands before continuing. "About your past. I mean, you''ve mentioned things here and there... Stockton, your mom... but you''ve never really... opened up.


    And I get it, if you don''t want to talk about it, that''s okay. But I just... I''d like to know more about you. The real you, you know?"


    Her heart beat faster after the words left her mouth, unsure of how he would respond.

 Chapter 208 Sharing I

    Damon smiled wryly and looked up, he had never really told anyone his past, not in full detail.


    Thinking about it now, he could almost feel the phantom itch of the scar on his back.


    It was a constant reminder of what he''d been through, what he''d survived.


    He nced over at Svena, who was patiently waiting, her eyes showing no judgment, just curiosity and trust.


    He wanted to know more about her, too. He didn''t want this to be one-sided.


    "In one condition," he said, locking eyes with her.


    She looked up, intrigued, waiting for him to exin.


    "I also want to know your past," Damon said, his voice softer but clear.


    Svena looked down for a moment, thinking about it.


    She looked like she was thinking about something, as if she wasn''t sure if she was ready to share. She took a deep breath and then looked back at him.


    "Sure," She said it with quiet confidence, and Damon didn''t expect the determination in her eyes.


    There was no hesitation now, just two people ready to let each other in.


    Damon looked up, not knowing where to begin, so he started with the good memories, the happy moments that seemed so far away now.


    That felt like a... dream


    "My dad was the best father a kid could ask for," Damon said, a small smile appearing on his face. "Back in Irnd, he was... he was my hero, you know? Taught me everything, used to say that familyes first, and he''d do anything for us."


    Svena nodded, her eyes softening as she listened.


    "But... things changed," Damon continued, his voice dropping as the memories shifted to something darker. "My dad, Tairo... he wasn''t always the same. He started gambling, drinking. This man, who once had morals, and a smile that could light up a room, turned into...


    something else. A monster."


    Damon took a moment to think about what he had just said. "At first, it was just shouting. He''d scream at my mom, Aoife. He''d use her of cheating whenever she went out, even if it was just to see a friend. It got so bad that she stopped having friends. Just to keep the peace."


    Svena listened closely, her expression serious, sensing how hard it was for him to share this.


    "Then... it got worse," Damon said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He started losing more money, and when that happened, he''de home angry. And he''d take it out on her. I was just a kid, watching this happen, powerless to stop it. School...


    everything started to fall apart for me."


    Damon''s jaw clenched. "And then, it wasn''t just her anymore. He started turning on me. I remember... the very fights he used to watch on the UFA, the ones he''d bet on... he''d try to recreate them.


    But on me."


    Damon fell silent, closing his eyes for a moment, not because of tears but because of the anger that welled up inside him. He sighed, taking a breath to calm himself.


    "My mom... she tried everything she could to get us away from him. Tried reaching out for help, but nothing ever came. So, one night, she packed us up, and somehow, we ended up in the streets of Stockton, in the US. It wasn''t easy, but it was better than staying there. You know the rest."


    Damon stopped, feeling a strange sense of relief.


    It was as though he had been carrying that weight for so long, and now that he''d let it out, it was a little easier to breathe.


    Svena sat still for a moment, taking in everything he said. Her face showed that she understood and empathized.


    Damon nced down and noticed her hand resting on his, though he hadn''t felt it when she ced it there. Slowly, he turned his hand around and sped hers.


    A strange vulnerability washed over him. He felt exposed, like everything inside him had beenid bare for her to see, to judge.


    Maybe judgment wouldn''t be so bad, he thought. If she thought he was weak, he couldn''t me her.


    But then her grip tightened around his hand, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, the gesture tender and reassuring.


    "I''m sorry you went through all that," she whispered softly.


    Damon''s voice came out deep and steady, "There''s no need to be sorry, it''s not your fault."


    She shifted slightly, her voice just as soft but filled with conviction. "I know, but nobody should go through that. I''m just saying... thank you for sharing with me, for letting me in. You''re a strong man."


    Silence followed, but it wasfortable, peaceful.


    Damon looked up at the sky. A strong man, he thought. Somehow, hearing that from her calmed something inside him.


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    He felt relief, not just from finally letting his past out but because Svena, someone who meant so much to him, had heard it all and didn''t judge him for it.


    She hadn''t ridiculed him or looked at him differently. She simply epted him, his past, his pain.


    He couldn''t help but wish that every man who went through what he had would find someone like her.


    Someone who could make them feel worthy and supported, despite their struggles.


    Damon turned his gaze back to her, watching as she stared off into the distance, her head still resting gently on his shoulder.


    He felt an overwhelming sense of peace wash over him, knowing that this moment, this connection, was real.


    He didn''t say anything more, choosing instead to embrace the silence between them.


    Their breathing seemed to synchronize, a quiet rhythm that bound them together in that moment.


    Finally, she broke the stillness. "I guess it''s my turn to tell my part."


    Damon shifted slightly, his hand tightening gently around hers. "You don''t have to, if you''re not r¨C"


    But she cut him off, her voice soft but determined. "I should. You opened up to me, I should do the same. Not only for you... but for me as well."


    Damon nodded silently, his thumb brushing over her hand in a soothing gesture, offering herfort. He could feel her nerves, the tension in her body.

 Chapter 209 Sharing II

    As the city lights dimmed, Damon held Svena''s hand and helped her stay grounded as she opened up about a painful part of her past.


    She used to live in a quiet, small town with family and friends. Her life was full of love and warmth.


    Her father was a proud, kind man, and her mother was her greatestfort. It was an idyllic childhood, until conflict shattered it all.


    There were only faint whispers at first, hints that trouble was spreading through their country.


    But those hints grew louder, and soon, a neighboring country''s aggression turned into full-blown invasion.


    Overnight, the country changed. Soldiers roamed the streets, and the sound of artillery got closer.


    Fear spread through the group like a fog as people talked about lost loved ones and destroyed towns.


    With men being drafted in waves, her father was called to serve.


    For Svena, it was the beginning of her world crumbling.


    She watched her father, her hero, don his uniform with a hardened resolve, his reassuring smile masking a worry he couldn''t quite hide.


    He hugged her tightly before leaving, telling her he''d be back soon.


    She clung to those words, hopeful, yet unaware of how much life was about to change.


    The absence of her father became a painful silence over the months, which her mother filled with quiet courage.


    They waited together, and her mother did everything she could to keep Svena safe and positive, trying to keep her from seeing the worst parts of the war.


    But the stress was too much. The food and water ran out, and her mother''s fear grew stronger every day.


    The happy, lively woman Svena knew started to fade away under the weight of fear and grief.


    The reality they were facing slowly destroyed her once-optimistic spirit.


    As her mom''s health got progressively worse, it was clear that she was only hanging on for Svena.


    Despite her weakening condition, she did everything in her power to secure a ce in one of the few refugee camps that promised safe passage out of the country.


    They finally reached the camp, a haven from the chaos, though barely able to shelter them from the loss they''d endured.


    Then, one morning, Svena awoke to a heartbreaking silence beside her.


    Her mother, who was the only family member she still had, was dead. Her hand was cold and still. Svena felt herst hope slip away at that very moment.


    The empty shelter felt colder, and shey beside her mother for hours, unwilling to leave the one person she had left.


    Eventually, international aid arrived, led by organizations offering evacuation to countries willing to shelter disced families.


    Alone, Svena was taken from the only world she''d known, and she found herself in the United States, where she and other young refugees were dispersed.


    Adjusting was difficult, but a couple came to her aid, Victor and Lacey, who would soon be her new family.


    Though she missed her parents fiercely, they never forced her to call them ''Mom'' or ''Dad,'' letting her grieve at her own pace.


    Victor, once obsessed with UFA, found new purpose in helping Svena adjust, and Lacey became her quiet but steady support.


    They gave her a sense of stability, helping her rebuild a life from the pieces of her past.


    Svena got used to her new surroundings, but she still carried the memories, the pain, and the quiet resolve that her parents had taught her.


    And now, sitting with Damon, she felt the weight of that story lift, shared for the first time, and held with the gentleness she had long needed.


    "Look at me."


    Damon softly lifted her chin and looked at her with a soft eye that didn''t judge but did understand. "Look at me," he repeated. His calm voice helped her stay in the present.


    She paused, but slowly, her eyes met his, and her face showed her emotions, vulnerability.


    He saw the tears she had been holding back and the burden of years she had been carrying by herself. Explore more adventures at §Þ??


    But Damon''s steady look gave her a quiet notion of relief and let her know she didn''t have to carry it all by herself anymore.


    "You''ve been through so much," he said softly, his thumb brushing her hand, "but you''re here, and you''re stronger than you realize."


    There was a small smile on her face, and she let herself rx for a moment, letting the warmth of his presence ease her.


    She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, finding a sce she hadn''t known she needed.


    With her head resting on his shoulder, they sat in the quiet embrace of the park, the hum of the city fading into the background.


    Damon looked down, noticing the peaceful way she leaned against him.


    Her eyes were closed, and there was a softness to her expression that he hadn''t seen before.


    He felt her breathing, slow and steady, matching his own.


    In that moment, he felt a calmness he hadn''t realized he''d been missing, a kind of peace that had seemed impossible in his life until now.


    This connection, not even a parent could give.


    She opened her eyes and looked up at him, as if she could feel his gaze. Her face was so close to his that he could see every feature and thought moving through her eyes.


    "You know," he started, his voice low and quiet, "I''m d I met you."


    A faint blush colored her cheeks as she held his gaze, a small smile forming. "Me too." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.


    Damon reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering just a second longer. "I never thought I''d be here," he admitted. "With someone who just¡­ gets it."


    She didn''t say anything, but her hand tightened around his, and that simple gesture spoke louder than words.


    They sat like that, wrapped in the silence that felt anything but empty.


    Finally, after a long pause, Svena pulled back just enough to look at him fully. "Damon," she started, her voice a little unsteady, "thank you for tonight. For¡­ letting me in and listening to me."


    He nodded, the weight of the moment settling around them. "Thank you, too. For trusting me. And for listening."


    Damon held her hand a little tighter.

 Chapter 210 Share A Kiss

    Both of them stood up at the same time, brushing off the quiet that had fallen over them.


    Damon nced at her with a small smile. "We should probably head back," he said softly, ncing at the darkening sky. "It''s gettingte."


    Svena nodded, and without a word, fell in step beside him as they walked out of the park.


    Even though it was cooler outside now, there was a pleasant silence between them that was filled with everything they had said and not said.


    As Damon''s mind wandered, he kept ying back parts of their talk. He felt a little lighter, like the weight of his past wasn''t as heavy.


    Beside him, Svena looked just as thoughtful, her eyes reflecting the glow of the streetlights.


    Damon paused and slowed down as they got closer to the corner. He wasn''t quite ready for the night to end.


    He turned to look at her and noticed how calm she looked.


    As they continued their quiet walk back, Svena smiled and looked up at him. She put her hand on his and they went on their way.


    Damon broke the silence, remembering her farmhouse dream, "So, you really want to leave in a farmhouse, huh?"


    Svena rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Not exactly," she said, ncing away. "But maybe I just miss somewhere that feels like home."


    He shot her a curious look. "Mmh? You lived in a farm?"


    She nodded, her gaze distant. "It wasn''t a full-blown farm, but it had that vibe, quiet, peaceful."


    Damon couldn''t help the grin spreading across his face. "I don''t know¡­ something about that makes you even cooler."


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    She raised an eyebrow, amused. "And why is that?"


    He shrugged, trying to keep it casual. "I don''t know, just feels real, you know? I guess I always thought girls who like the simple life have something special."


    They walked in silence for a moment, her words reying in his mind, and he caught himself thinking more deeply than he expected.


    Then he looked at her, and she looked back at him with a softer face. They looked at each other for a long time without saying a word, but it was clear how they felt.


    In his mind, he thought, Maybe¡­ this could be something real.


    Svena looked up at him with a yful glint in her eyes. "So... are you saying I''m attractive?"


    Damon paused, then met her gaze with a steady look. "I am," he said without a hint of hesitation.


    Svena froze, clearly not expecting him to be so direct. Her cheeks warmed, and for a moment, she looked away, caught off guard by his honesty.


    But a smile broke across her face, one that was equal parts surprise and something else she hadn''t shown him before.


    ---


    ---


    ---


    ---


    ---


    The club pulsed with energy, music thundering through massive speakers, and filling every inch of the packed space.


    shing lights cut through the smoky haze and cast colored light on the crowd, who moved and rocked to the music.


    Peopleughed and shouted, lost in their own worlds, with drinks in hand and an unspoken rhythm guiding them.


    Some were regrs, others just passing through, but all were drawn in by the club''s irresistible pull.


    In this crowded world of bass-heavy beats and shing lights, the night seemed endless, full of possibilities and fleeting moments.


    A couple was in an intimate embrace in the shadowy area next to the bathroom door, not paying attention to anything else.


    The pulsing beat of the club seemed to time with their moves, making the tension between them even stronger.


    As the night went on, their lips moved in time with each other, each kiss deeper than thest.


    As the man pulled the woman closer, his hands moved down her back and his fingers dug into her waist, as if he couldn''t bear to let go.


    She responded eagerly, her fingers gripping his shoulders for bnce before sliding down to explore his chest.


    With a soft gasp, she leaned back slightly, catching his eyes with a yful, daring smile before he lifted her off the ground.


    Her legs wrapped around his waist, securing her against him as they found each other''s lips again, her fingers threading through his hair while his hands held her steady.


    There wasughtering from around the corner from a group of club-goers who were telling jokes and stories while their voices mixed with the bass of the music.


    But the couple in the corner didn''t seem to notice, or care as they stayed lost in their moment, wrapped up in each other.


    Ash strolled through the crowd with a wide grin, his arm slung around one of his old friends from New York, whom he''d met up with for yet another night of drinking.


    As they walked to the bathroom, they wereughing and stumbling a little because they were drunk and excited.


    "Man, this ce hasn''t changed a bit," Ash''s friend said, chuckling. "Still as loud and crowded as ever."


    Ashughed, "Exactly why I love it here. Just give me a sec¡ªI gotta make some room for more drinks!" He patted his friend on the shoulder and veered toward the restroom, ready to empty his tank before heading back for round two.


    As he walked past the couple in the corner, he barely gave them a second nce.


    Ash froze mid-step, squinting as he looked closer. His vision was a bit hazy from the drinks, but something was nagging at him about the couple tangled up near the bathroom.


    He rubbed his eyes, blinking hard, hoping it was just the booze messing with him.


    But no.


    Those clothes...that jacket...it looked eerily familiar.


    He tilted his head, leaning in slightly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "No way¡­" he mumbled, trying to shake off the fog of alcohol.


    For a second, he even thought about just ignoring it and moving on, but curiosity gnawed at him.


    He took a step closer, focusing on the guy''s face. And that''s when it hit him, all at once.


    "Yo...Joey?" he blurted, half in disbelief, his voice louder than he intended.


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

 Chapter 211 Protective

    As Ash looked from Joey to the woman he was with, his eyes got really big.


    His sister.


    "Ashley¡­" he muttered, suddenly stone-cold sober.


    Both Ashley and Joey stopped moving. Guilt was shing across their faces. Joey spoke but he had trouble finding the right words. "Uh, Ash¡­look, it''s not¨C"


    Ashley cut him short. Suddenly, he pushed Joey backward and punched him in the face, sending him crashing to the floor.


    "What the hell do you think you''re doing with my sister, huh?" Ash''s voice was shaking with anger as he stood over Joey, ready to go at him again.


    Joey winced, trying to pull himself up, but Ash was already advancing. Before he could throw another punch, Ashley grabbed his arm, struggling to hold him back.


    "Stop it, Ash! Just stop!" she yelled, trying to push him away.


    "Oh, hell no, I''m not stopping!" Ash growled, pulling his arm free. "Why the hell are you making out with my friend, Ashley?"


    Ashley''s face reddened, but she didn''t back down. "He''s my friend too, Ash! I''m an adult, and I can do whatever the hell I want!"


    Ash red at her, breathing hard, his fists still clenched.


    But as he looked at his sister, he could see she wasn''t backing down.


    Ash''s eyes darted from Ashley to Joey, betrayal clouding his face. "Ashley¡­ are you kidding me? Joey?"


    Ashley lifted her chin, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "I''m not a kid, Ash! I can make my own decisions."


    Ash let out a bitterugh, shaking his head. "Oh, so this is how you make ''em? Sneaking around, making out with Joey like... he''s not¨C?"


    Joey raised his hands, backing up a step, "Look, man, it just happened, okay? We didn''t n¡ª"


    Ash''s fists clenched, and in a sh, he lunged forward, shoving Joey hard. "Shut the fuck up! I''m not talking to you!"


    Joey stumbled back, hands up in a defensive stance. "Ash, I''m serious! I''d never hurt her. I¡­ I care about her."


    Ashley stepped in, trying to pull Ash back. "Ash, stop! You can''t just punch people because you don''t like who they are to me!"


    Ash whipped around to face her, his eyes zing. "I''m supposed to just stand here while you hook up with my friend behind my back?"


    Ashley''s face softened, but her voice was unwavering. "I''m your sister, Ash, not your property. I get to choose who I want to be with."


    The words hit Ash like a punch to the gut. He looked between the two of them, anger and disbelief tangled in his expression. "So this is what it is now? You and Joey?"


    Joey''s voice was low, "Ash, I respect you, but this, this isn''t about you."


    Ashughed harshly and shook his head no. "Yeah? Well, good luck with that." He turned around and stormed off through the crowd, leaving Joey and Ashley to look at each other and decide what to do next.


    The damage was done.


    Ashley kept looking at the spot where Ash had gone, and her chest tightened with anger and sadness.


    She''d always been close to her twin, and now it felt like a piece of her had just walked away, leaving a raw gap in its ce.


    Joey rubbed his cheek, giving her a small smile, trying to lighten the moment. "Honestly, if that''s the price to be with you, I''ll take a hundred punches from Ash."


    She let out a weakugh, ncing back at him. "I just¡­ I didn''t expect it to blow up like that. He looked at me like I betrayed him."


    Joey wrapped an arm around her shoulder gently, his voice soft. "Ash wille around. He''s just shocked, maybe feels like he''s losing his sister and his friend at once."


    Ashley sighed, her gaze distant. "I know, but it''s like¡­ I can''t be what he expects. I''m my own person, you know?"


    Joey nodded, looking at her with understanding. "Yeah. And you deserve to live your life the way you want. I''ll talk to him if it''ll help."


    She shook her head, leaning into his embrace. "No, I think he just needs time. I need time, too."


    Joey looked at her, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a sigh, careful not to touch his bruised cheek.


    He couldn''t be too angry at Ash for the punch, he got it.


    In some way, he felt like he deserved it.


    While he and Ash hadn''t exactly been close, they''d gone out together more than a few times over the past month, bonding over club nights and their mutual friend Damon.


    Both wereid-back, never taking things too seriously, always jumping from one girl to the next.


    So he understood why Ash wouldn''t want him anywhere near his sister.


    But this wasn''t some casual fling to Joey. He hadn''t expected things with Ashley to happen, but they had, and somehow, it felt different, more real.


    He nced at Ashley, who still seemed shaken, and said softly, "I get why he''s mad, Ash. If I were him... I might''ve done the same."


    She looked up at him with mixed feelings in her eyes. She wiped a tear off her cheek as she struggled with the emotions Ash''s reaction had stirred in her. "I just didn''t expect him to react like that¡­ I thought he''d get it, or at least understand that I''m not a kid anymore."


    Joey nodded, gently brushing a thumb across her cheek. "He''s just being protective. Doesn''t mean he''s right¡­ but he''s still your brother."


    As they made their way through the crowd in silence, the shing lights and music seemed strangely far away.


    Joey walked behind Ashley and looked at her every once in a while, but she kept her eyes on the road ahead.


    He couldn''t quite tell what was going on in her head.


    As they finally stepped out into the cool night air, the noise from the club faded behind them.


    Nothing but the faraway hum of the city could be heard as they walked.


    ---


    ---


    ---


    One couple found out more about each other, while another faced their first real challenge: getting approval.

 Chapter 212 1 Billion System Coins

    The warm light from the morning sun came in through the window and lit up the room.


    Damon moved around under the covers, naturally turning away from the light, but he wasn''t able to get to sleep anymore.


    He rubbed his eyes and took a moment to get used to the new ce. a guest room in one of Victor''s many homes.


    Damon couldn''t help but shake his head at the thought; he wasn''t entirely sure how many properties Victor had scattered around the country, or maybe even around the world.


    Last night, he and Svena had shared a cab here after theirte night.


    They''d arrived to find that Ty was already back, apparently having wrapped up his night at the club early.


    Damon hadn''t seen the rest of the group yet, probably they''de in during the night while he was out cold.


    With a quiet sigh, Damon sat up, stretching as he adjusted to the morning.


    It felt good to be in afortable ce after everything he''d been throughtely.


    Damon stood by the window, his gaze distant, lost in the thoughts swirling through his mind.


    Last night with Svena had left him with a sense of something deeper between them, a bond that felt closer than ever.


    He could almost feel it, a tipping point, one small push, and their rtionship would reach a new level.


    But for reasons he couldn''t quite exin, he hadn''t made that move.


    He chuckled to himself. Gotta man up, he thought, shaking his head.


    There was an excitement in his chest, mixed with a touch of nervousness.


    Then he remembered his system.


    Winning The Supreme Fighter had unlocked a whole new set of notifications and potential rewards.


    He figured it was time to check them out before heading out of the room.


    ''But first things first''


    He decided to head into the bathroom for a quick shower to clear his mind.


    He felt calmer after being in the warm water, and he was ready to see what the system had in store for him.


    Damon finished getting dressed, but these clothes were still too tight for him.


    As he settled into the bed, he let out a softugh, shaking his head in disbelief.


    "I''m now a UFA fighter," he said with a big grin on his face. Those words hit him hard, making him so excited he could hardly hold it in.


    Damon tried to get rid of those emotions by shaking his head. He had to calm down and concentrate.


    Taking a deep breath, he called up the system in his mind, letting it distract him and, hopefully, give him rity.


    A flood of clear and sharp notifications showed up in front of him.


    [Congrattions! You are now The Supreme Fighter]


    [Achievement Unlocked: The Supreme Fighter]


    [Rewards: Training Simtion Mode, UFA Contract (6-figure)]


    [System Upgrade Avable: Unlock new features and enhanced functionality]


    Damon looked at each message for a long time, taking in the significance.


    Damon''s eyes lingered on the notification about the simtion, still a mystery to him.


    Back when he first saw the quest, he''d wondered what the Simtion Mode could possibly be.


    Now, with the chance to find out for himself, his curiosity stirred. But he held back.


    Something told him he needed to handle a few things first before diving into it.


    Shifting his attention, he noticed another notification:


    [Hidden Reward - You have managed to win a one-time System Coin Wheel Spin]


    A puzzled expression crossed his face. A hidden reward? And a spin at that.


    As Damon pressed the reward, a wheel materialized in front of him, looking almost identical to the gacha wheel he''d seen before.


    But this one was different, gone were the sections with techniques, tools, and other items he''d previously spun for.


    Instead, each section was marked with different coin amounts, ranging from staggering positive billions to equally shocking negative billions.


    His breath caught for a moment as he took it all in.


    Imagine winning Billions of coins.... but then he paused, looking at the negative billion on the wheel.


    ''Imagine losing and owing Billions of coins''


    He calmed down, thinking of spinning, he didn''t see harm in it.


    Damon pressed the wheel, and it sprang to life, spinning rapidly in a blur of gold.


    His eyes tracked its movement as it whirled past sections marked with negative billions, making his stomach lurch.


    He gripped the bed sheets, teeth clenched, and waved his hand in a futile attempt to influence the arrow.


    His fingers passed right through the holographic screen.


    The wheel began to slow, and Damon held his breath as it moved past the negative sections.


    Relief washed over him as it crept closer to the billion coin mark.


    He whispered under his breath, urging it to stop right there.


    Finally, the wheel came to a halt, resting just between the billion and 10,000 coin markers.


    Damon''s face lit up as he saw the needle, convinced he''dnded on a billion.


    He jumped from the bed, grinning wide, thinking he''d struck gold.


    "Fuck yeah!" Damon eximed, his grin spreading from ear to ear as he punched the air.


    Just imagining the things he could do with a billion coins made him feel unstoppable.


    For a moment, he let himself indulge in the thought, thinking about how incredible it would be if the system''s coins could somehow convert into real cash.


    He could take care of his mom and maybe even buy a ce for himself.


    Still smiling, he looked back at the screen, ready to confirm his prize.


    Then came the soft ding of a notification, cutting through his thoughts.


    [Congrattions, you''ve won 10,000 coins]


    Damon''s face fell, his excitement deting in an instant. He blinked, re-reading the message, as if somehow it would change if he just looked hard enough.


    But the notification stayed the same, in and unchanging.


    "...My billion¡­" he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.


    He sat back on the bed and let out a long sigh. He was disappointed and couldn''t believe it.


    10,000 coins. It was still something, he supposed, but it wasn''t the billion he''d seen so close, almost within reach.


    Shaking his head, he painfullyughed softly at himself. "Figures," he muttered, trying to brush off the lingering disappointment.

 Chapter 213 Trying Out The Simulation I

    "Ahh, it''s still a lot," As Damon thought about his prize, the sadness that had hit him earlier started to fade. "With this, I can peak all my stats."


    He got over his frustration and turned his attention to the other notification, that was about the contract.


    This one threw him. He remembered the UFA contract he''d signed: $12,000 to show, and another $12,000 for a win.


    A decent start, but nowhere near six figures.


    Yet, here was the system, iming he''d won a six-figure contract.


    He frowned, reading over the notification again, trying to make sense of it.


    What exactly had the system awarded him?


    He clicked on the contract notification, and a message appeared, filling the screen.


    DING!


    It was a lengthy paragraph:


    [Congrattions, Damon! The six-figure contract is a reward provided by the system.


    It functions independently of your UFA contract, which currently offers $12,000 to show and an additional $12,000 if you win.


    The system contract mirrors the conditions of the UFA contract, meaning that if UFA changes terms, this contract will adapt ordingly.


    However, the unique feature of the system contract is that it multiplies your UFA earnings by 10 and pays that amount directly to you, effectively giving you two contracts to benefit from.]


    Damon''s jaw dropped. What the actual fuck? This wasn''t just a six-figure contract, it was a game changer.


    If he earned $24,000 in a fight from UFA, the system would add 10 times that amount to his winnings, multiplying his earnings.


    His eyes darted to the final line.


    [Note: The total amount provided by the system cannot exceed six figures, hence the term "six-figure contract."]


    A slow breath came out of him, and he felt a mix of shock and excitement.


    It was like getting paid twice for every fight, one official contract, and one system bonus that could transform his financial future.


    He counted on his fingers.


    "Two hundred forty thousand dors¡­" he whispered, still trying to wrap his head around it. Honestly, it felt unreal.


    What really got him thinking, though, was the potential of this system contract if he rose to the top.


    He''d heard about what top fighters earned, numbers that were life-changing even before multiplying by ten.


    The thought of those earnings supercharged by the system''s bonus was almost too good to believe.


    Then another thought hit him. Do bonuses from UFA count too? The system had specified "the amount paid by UFA," but didn''t borate on extras like fight bonuses.


    He''d just have to wait and see, he figured, if he ever managed to snag one.


    One thing was certain, though. This six-figure boost changed everything.


    A quiet smile spread across his face as he took a deep breath to calm down.


    The peaceful home he''d always dreamed of for his mother no longer seemed so distant.


    With this contract, he could finally start turning that vision into a reality.


    His gaze shifted to thest notification, the one that had intrigued him from the moment it appeared:


    [System Upgrade Avable: Unlock new features and enhanced functionality]


    ''A system upgrade?''


    That was something he hadn''t expected. He''d always thought of the system as fixed, unchangeable.


    The idea that it could upgrade, possibly even grow alongside him, opened up a world of possibilities.


    This was new.


    He pressed on the notification, eager to see if the upgrade could be done now.


    [Requirements for Upgrading System]


    [Reach A-Rank Fighter Status (Achieve Rank A in all your stats)]


    He read the message, and a wide smile crept across his face.


    He''d just won 10,000 system coins, more than enough to hit A rank and more.


    It was within his reach, and now the upgrade felt almost inevitable.


    As his excitement grew, he couldn''t help but wonder what capabilities or features the upgrade would bring.


    If the system had already provided him with this much, what else was in store?


    In fact, with all the coins he''d just earned, he decided it was time to buy every elixir he needed to boost his stats to A rank.


    He opened his status screen:


    STATUS


    Strength: B-


    Speed: D+


    Stamina: C


    Endurance: B-


    Agility: C


    Only two of his stats were at B rank, and the rest had a ways to go.


    Even before hisst fight, he''d used a speed elixir, aiming to reach C rank during training, but it hadn''t fully gotten him there.


    And, right before the fight, the system had flushed it from his body to prevent any edge that might count as cheating.


    But now, with 10,000 coins, that didn''t matter. He had more than enough to buy the elixirs he needed to break through every barrier.


    He decided to count the expenses carefully.


    Reaching C rank required 200 coins, while reaching B rank was 300. And for the final push to A rank, each elixir cost 500 coins.


    He took a deep breath, mentally running through the calctions:


    Expenses:


    A rank: 500 (STR) + 500 (AGI) + 500 (STA) + 500 (END) + 500 (SPE)


    Speed upgrade: 200 (to reach C) + 300 (to reach B)


    Agility upgrade: 300 (to reach B)


    Stamina upgrade: 300 (to reach B)


    After a moment, he finished tallying it up. The total expense woulde out to 3,600 system coins.


    With 10,000 coins at his disposal, this upgrade felt more than within reach.


    With a satisfied smile, he thought to himself, Not bad at math after all.


    Then again, it had been a simple calction, so maybe he shouldn''t pat himself on the back too much.


    Either way, his stats would soon reach the pinnacle of A rank.


    But now, it was time for the reward he''d been waiting for, the mysterious Simtion Mode.


    He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he pressed the panel. Instantly, the screen shifted, and a message appeared:


    [Are you sure you want to enter the Simtion?]


    [Y/N]


    Damon''s finger hovered over the "Y" option.


    His heart beat faster, and he felt a rush of curiosity and excitement. What exactly would this simtion be?


    He pressed "Y."


    The screen shed, and the world around him blurred.


    A chill ran down his spine as the room darkened, fading into a swirling vortex of colors and shapes.


    He felt like the ground had broken apart, leaving him hanging in an endless void.


    When he realized he wasn''t in his world anymore, his heart started to beat faster.


    He could hear a robotic voice all around him.


    "Wee, Damon Cross. Prepare for a reality beyond imagination¡­"


    Then, out of the darkness, a dark figure with white eyes appeared in front of him. It put up a hand and pointed right at him.


    "Your challenge begins now."

 Chapter 214 Trying Out The Simulation II

    Damon looked around and took in the huge area of bright white light that was all around him.


    The dark figure stood still, almost like a doll. It was quiet and didn''t move.


    Suddenly, a soft ding broke the silence, and a message appeared before him.


    [Wee to the Simtion World]


    [Host is the master of this simtion. You can imagine any environment and any opponent. The system will use the information in your mind to form that ideal person.]


    [If the host desires a simtion closer to the real person, they must learn and watch past matches of that individual; otherwise, the host might train against inurate opponents.]


    Damon''s eyes scanned the message, realizing the potential. He was in control here, able to create any setting, any challenger, all tailored to push him exactly where he needed.


    [Think of any environment and set your own limitations.]


    He then took a deep breath and thought about the room he had just been in: Victor''s cozy guest room.


    The ring white went away in an instant, and he was back in that familiar ce, with just a hint of morning lighting in through the window.


    Everything felt eerily real, as if he had never left.


    Testing his control over this space, he clenched his fists, feeling theforting weight of the room around him.


    The possibilities swirled in his mind, every fighter he''d ever faced, every environment he''d ever fought in, could be at his fingertips.


    Thinking of something, Damon closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he found himself standing in a small, familiar room.


    He looked around, heart pounding, knowing where he was, his old bedroom in Irnd. Everything was just as he remembered.


    Things from his childhood, like the worn-out wooden dresser, the faded posters on the walls, and the small bed with sheets withic book heroes on them, were still there.


    As he took it all in, his breathing got faster. He slowly sat on the bed and felt the soft, worn-out cloth under his hands.


    He could smell old wood and washing detergent mixed together in a weak way.


    This felt so real and intense.


    Damon clutched the sheets tightly, feeling the weight of memories he hadn''t touched in years.


    For a moment, he was no longer the fighter or the rising star with a powerful system.


    Here, he was just a boy, back in his childhood room, where everything had once felt both small and safe.


    Damon stood up, stepping carefully out of his room and into the narrow hallway.


    His footsteps echoed in the quiet, and he paused, ncing down at his hands, which were trembling.


    A knot twisted in his stomach, fear, creeping up from somewhere deep inside.


    ''Why am I scared?'' he thought, trying to steady himself. ''He''s not here.''


    Moving through the house, every detail came into focus.


    The familiar creak of the floorboards, the worn edges of the walls, and the shadows that seemed to linger in certain corners, just as he remembered.


    It was hauntingly urate, yet he knew it wasn''t real.


    Closing his eyes, he took a long, slow breath, and the scene shattered, dissolving into fragments of white light before fading awaypletely.


    He exhaled, grounding himself. This simtion was something powerful, something incredible.


    There was no need to waste it on the shadows of his past. He''de too far for that.


    Damon closed his eyes once more, focusing his mind. When he opened them, the scene had transformed.


    Gone was the small bedroomhe now stood in the cage under the blinding lights of Madison Square Garden.


    Seats filled the arena, walls loomed high, and the crowd''s cheers echoed around him, just like they hadst night.


    In front of him stood the dark figure, silent and still.


    "Am I supposed to imagine someone?" Damon muttered, watching it closely.


    At his words, the figure began to shift, its shadowy form stretching and morphing until features emerged.


    A tall figure took shape, solidifying into a man with arge, thick ck beard and a bald head.


    This was a powerful, formidable opponent, an image pulled straight from his subconscious.


    He began circling him, his gaze sharp, taking in every detail.


    Balim Chemasov¡­


    Damon''s breath hitched.


    This was one of the fighters he aspired to face, a living legend known for his relentless aggression and raw power.


    He''d seen Chemasov dominate in the cage, overwhelming opponents with a terrifying blend of skill and ferocity.


    Especially Whittier.


    And now, here he was, standing across from Damon, a product of his own mind, yet just as imposing as the real man.


    This was a chance to test himself against the kind of fighter he''d one day face, to measure his skills against one of the best.


    Damon clenched his fists, feeling a surge of adrenaline. Every instinct in him screamed to be ready.


    Slowly, he raised his guard, eyes locked onto Chemasov''s every move.


    Chemasov began to move, his steps deliberate as he circled, watching Damon with an intensity that felt unnervingly real.


    Damon''s smirk widened. He''d studied Chemasov''s fights, analyzed his style, and now, face-to-face with this simtion, he felt ready to test himself.


    I can hold my own, Damon thought, a fierce determination rising within him. Maybe I won''t win, but he''ll know he''s been in a fight.


    He mirrored Chemasov''s movements, keeping his guard up, feeling the familiar rhythm of a fight settling over him.


    This was his chance to see how he measured up, to push himself against a level of power he''d yet to encounter.


    The crowd roared, and Damon could feel the adrenaline surging through his veins. It was as real as any fight he''d ever been in.


    In a split second, Chemasov dashed forward, his movements explosive as he shot low for a takedown.


    Damon''s instincts kicked in, he''d seen Chemasov use this exact maneuver to dismantle opponents with brutal efficiency.


    Bracing himself, he dropped his weight, widening his stance to resist the drive.


    The impact was like hitting a wall of force. Chemasov''s grip tightened around Damon''s legs, relentless and unyielding, pushing him back with sheer power.


    Damon gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he fought to stay on his feet.

 Chapter 215 Coffee with Lana

    Tap, tap, tap.


    "Stop," Damon muttered breathlessly, and the Chemasov simtion halted instantly, fading away into nothingness.


    He sighed, ncing up at the simted ceiling of Madison Square Garden, the lights casting an almost haunting glow.


    Ten rounds.


    He''d gone through ten intense matches against the simted Chemasov, and for the tenth time, he''d been submitted.


    Even though he hadn''t turned on the physical connection mode, where any strain in the simtion would carry over to his real body, he felt the weight of every defeat.


    Chemasov was a monster, simted or not, and every fight had shown him the sheer gap in skill and power.


    Damon clenched his fists, a mix of frustration and respect brewing within him.


    He''d wanted a challenge, and the simtion had given him exactly that.


    He stood up, catching his breath. This simtion had been more intense and fun than he''d anticipated, but he had to stay focused on his real goal, reaching rank A for now.


    The system''s version of Chemasov was insane, almost relentless.


    While the real Chemasov had his own stamina limitations, the simtion could be adjusted to bypass that entirely, creating an opponent who felt endless, impossible to wear down.


    Damon could feel the strain even here, his body telling him it was time to step back.


    He took a deep breath to calm down and get ready to leave this virtual world.


    ''Enough for now''


    Time to wake up.


    Damon closed his eyes, and the world around him began to shatter, fragments of the simted arena copsing into a swirl of light and shadow.


    [Are you sure you want to leave the Simtion?]


    [Y/N]


    Without hesitation, he pressed "Y."


    A sh of light, and he blinked against the sudden brightness as the real world came back into focus.


    Sunlight streamed through the window, hitting his eyes, and he realized he was lying back in the guest bed.


    He nced down at his body, half-expecting the lingering soreness of those intense rounds. But there was nothing, no exhaustion, no ache.


    He felt just as refreshed as the first time he woke up, like the rigorous simtion had never happened.


    Even though the system had mentioned it, he thought there would be small feeling.


    The simtion left no trace of strain, only a mental imprint of what he''d learned and experienced.


    A small smile crept onto his face.


    He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he muttered, "Woo. Time to get out, then," with a small, amused smile.


    He stretched his arms over his head, feeling the tension release from his muscles, then dropped his arms, exhaling a slow breath that left him feeling centered and grounded.


    He moved to the bed, straightening the sheets with quick, practiced gestures. He smoothed out the fabric, adjusting the corners until everythingy just right.


    His expression softened a bit; even though it wasn''t his room, he still liked leaving things tidy, a habit that kept him focused.


    No point in leaving things messy, even if it wasn''t his room.


    In fact, the fact that it wasn''t his room was more reason to tidy up.


    When he was done, he stood back, giving the bed an approving nod.


    Damon''s shifter shifted to his luggage he''d brought when going to The Supreme Fighter house.


    Victor had promised to arrange for it to be taken back once the show wrapped up.


    Satisfied, Damon moved to the door, twisting the handle and stepping quietly into the hallway.


    The house was unusually still, a quiet that felt thick in the morning light.


    He figured the others were likely sleeping offst night, probably hung over and set to sleep in for a while.


    He walked softly down the hall, careful not to make too much noise.


    With a faint smile, he thought about the rare luxury of a quiet morning like this, a chance to let the events of the past few days sink in without any rush.


    When Damon walked into the kitchen, he was already thinking a lot about what was going to happen next.


    Moving up the ranks, winning every fight, and making a name for himself were all clear but difficult steps ahead. If he yed his cards right, he could get a shot at the title.


    But that was all easier said than done.


    Reaching the counter, he went to the coffee machine.


    He pulled out a fresh filter, spooned in the coffee grounds, and filled the water tank, watching as the machine sputtered to life with its familiar hum.


    As a  delicious smell began filling the kitchen, he heard footsteps behind him.


    Without turning around, he called over his shoulder, "Morning... want coffee, Lana?"


    A soft, sleepy voice replied, "Yeah, please."


    He poured himself a cup, letting the warmth seep through his hands, then poured another for Svena.


    Turning, he walked toward her, finding her standing there with her hair tousled and her eyes half-closed.


    In the soft morning light, with her rxed expression and slight smile, she looked effortlessly beautiful.


    He handed her the cup, and she took it with a grateful nod. "How''d you know it was me?" She asked with a smile on her face.


    "I''m him," he said, attempting a confident grin. But the words hung awkwardly in the air, and he instantly felt the cringe settle in.


    Svena raised an eyebrow, giving him a half-amused, half-baffled look.


    Damon cleared his throat, quickly recovering. "Ahem... anyway, got any ns for today?" he asked, steering the conversation to safer ground.


    Svena chuckled softly, her eyes lingering on him with a rxed warmth.


    She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trailing slightly as she let her hand fall, brushing her arm.


    Her posture was casual but open, her gaze unwavering as she spoke.


    "Not much," she replied, her voice light. "I was thinking of going for a run and stretching."


    She tilted her head slightly, her eyes bright as they met his. "Wanna join?"


    Damon watched her, a small grin forming. "Sure, need a stretch after that tough night."


    Sheughed, her shoulders lifting with the easy rhythm of it. "Tough night? You dominated the whole match." She took a slow sip of her coffee, her smile lingering as her gaze held his a moment longer than usual.

 Chapter 216 Stretches

    The house was full of groans and grunts.


    Damon was struggling through yet another stretch, his limbs bent into an awkward position.


    "Don''t you do yoga for Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu?" Svena teased, ncing over at him with an amused grin.


    "I do," he replied, straining to hold his bnce. "But what the hell are these moves?"


    The way his arms and legs were twisted right now made no sense at all, and he couldn''t keep his bnce.


    Svena stepped in, gently guiding him with one hand on his shoulder and the other helping his arm into ce, her touch steadying him as he tried to mimic her effortless pose.


    Damon let out a huff, shooting her a look somewhere between frustration and admiration. "You make this look way too easy."


    Svena smiled and moved into a difficult pose.


    She lifted one leg high behind her and reached back to grab her ankle while bncing on the other leg.


    Her torso arched forward in a perfect line, creating a deep curve through her back as she held her leg with ease, her gaze focused and steady.


    Her free arm extended forward, fingers reaching outward, as if grounding herself in the air.


    She held the pose with a calm face and barely seemed to break a sweat.


    It looked like she was strong and flexible at the same time.


    Damon watched, wide-eyed and slightly in awe. "How¡­ how are you even doing that?" he muttered, feeling his own muscles strain just from looking at her.


    "Ahh, I''m done," Damon groaned, dropping down to sit on the ground, still captivated by Svena''s impressive agility.


    Her bnce and flexibility were on another level, and he couldn''t help but shake his head in admiration.


    He reached for his water bottle, taking a long drink as he watched her effortlessly flow through another stretch.


    They''d started the morning with a jog, and he''d managed to keep the lead there, pushing ahead with ease.


    But when it came to stretching, he was out of his depth, she''d shown him levels he hadn''t even considered.


    "Alright, maybe yoga isn''t as easy as I thought," he admitted with a smirk, ncing up at her.


    Svena strolled over with a mischievous grin. "Or I just made you doplex poses on purpose," she teased, eyes gleaming with yful satisfaction.


    Damon''s face fell as he processed her words. "You¨C" he started, but before he could finish, Svena had already darted back toward the house,ughter trailing behind her.


    Along with a grin of his own, Damon jumped up and ran after her. The sound of theirughs and footsteps filled the quiet morning air.


    As they raced through the hallway, they nearly collided with someone emerging from one of the rooms.


    They were running so fast down the hall that they almost hit someoneing out of one of the rooms.


    Joey, clearly nursing a hangover, squinted at them, looking like he''d just woken up on another.


    His hair was all over the ce, and he was still wearing the clothes he wore yesterday.


    But the new bruise on his cheek was what really caught their eye.


    Damon raised an eyebrow, smirking as he took in Joey''s bruised face. "The hell happened to you? Got so drunk you ran into someone''s fist with your face?"


    Svena stifled augh, ncing sideways at Joey, who groaned, pressing a hand to his head. "Don''t even ask," he muttered, shuffling past them as he tried to maintain some dignity despite the rough night written all over his face.


    Svena nced at Damon with curiosity in her eyes.


    Damon just shrugged, sharing a silent agreement to follow Joey and get to the bottom of it.


    As they reached the kitchen, Damon took a seat on a stool at the ind counter, watching as Joey slowly poured himself a ss of water, clearly still feeling the effects ofst night.


    "Must have been a wild night, huh?" Damon joked, a grin tugging at his lips.


    Joey sighed, rubbing his temples. "Did you see Ash this morning? I need to talk with him."


    Damon shook his head. "Nope, haven''t seen him. But¡­ does he have anything to do with that bruise?"


    Joey groaned, his expression a mix of irritation and embarrassment. "Let''s just say things got¡­ out of hand." He didn''t borate, and Damon''s curiosity only deepened.


    "Come on, don''t leave me hanging. Did you guys fight?" Damon''s face grew serious.


    Both Joey and Ash were his friends, and they only knew each other because of him.


    If something had gone down between them, he felt responsible, like he should step in or at least figure out what had happened.


    Joey sighed and took a seat next to Damon, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Well¡­ not a fight exactly."


    Damon frowned, leaning in slightly. "Then what?"


    Joey hesitated, his gaze dropping to the counter as he tried to piece together an exnation. "It was more like¡­ a disagreement. Things got heated, and maybe I pushed a few buttons I shouldn''t have. Next thing I know, he''s a little more¡­ expressive with his hands than usual," he said, tapping his bruised cheek with a wry smile.


    Damon narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face. Joey''s exnation felt¡­ off, like he was leaving something out.


    Next to him, Svena stayed quiet, her curiosity mirroring his own as she watched Joey intently.


    Joey shifted ufortably, taking another sip from his ss.


    Finally, after a pause, he spoke, barely meeting their eyes. "He may have found me and Ashley¡­ uh, making out in the club."


    Silence fell over the room. Damon blinked, processing the unexpected confession.


    He nced at Svena, who looked equally taken aback, her brows slightly raised.


    Damon looked at Joey, his confusion evident. "You and Ashley¡­ together? Joey, bro¨C"


    Joey cut him off, his expression unusually earnest. "I know what you''re thinking... but this is serious, okay? Maybe it didn''t start that way, but now¡­ I guess we''re here. And it''s serious."


    Damon stared at him, the weight of Joey''s words sinking in. He''d never seen Joey like this, genuinelymitted.


    Taking a breath, Damon nodded slowly, trying to make sense of it. "Alright¡­ if it''s serious, then I get it. Just¡­ you know how Ash is, it''s his sister."


    Joey nodded, rubbing his bruised cheek. "Trust me, I got the message loud and clear."

 Chapter 217 Advice from the Single Friend

    Damon gave Joey a reassuring pat on the back, chuckling to himself.


    He''d thought it was something serious¡­ well, it is, but not in the way he''d expected.


    This was one mess he didn''t feel the need to dive into headfirst, though he''d help however he could.


    "You should talk it out," Damon advised. "I don''t think he''s necessarily mad at you guys for¡­ whatever you''re doing. Since he''s your friend, maybe tell him how you actually feel about his sister."


    Damon couldn''t help but smile, a bit amused at himself.


    ''Since when am I the one giving rtionship advice?''


    Joey gave a skeptical look. "But we''re not children."


    "Then don''t act like one," Damon replied smoothly. "Just talk to him, exin things. He probably doesn''t know you''re serious. And, let''s be real, you''re not exactly known forsting rtionships. So just be honest."


    As Joey looked at Damon, heughed and shook his head. "Mmh¡­ thanks, man. Always the single friends giving the best advice."


    Damon smirked, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just don''t make me regret it by showing up with more bruises."


    Svena looked at them with a small, amused smile on her face. Joey saw the look on her face and raised an eyebrow. "What?"


    She shrugged, still holding back a grin. "Nothing... just didn''t expect you and Ashley, that''s all."


    Joeyughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well¡­ neither did I, honestly."


    Damon chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess we all missed the signs."


    Svena leaned against the counter, arms crossed as she looked at Joey with a yful glint in her eyes. "So, does this mean we''ll be seeing a different side of you? All serious andmitted?"


    Joey held up his hands defensively, though a sheepish grin crept onto his face. "Hey, don''t get ahead of yourselves. One step at a time."


    Damon smirked. "Right. Just make sure the first step is talking to Ash."


    Joey nodded, sighing. "Alright, alright. I''ll talk to him. But if he throws another punch, I''m ming you guys."


    Svenaughed, giving Damon a yful nudge. "Guess we''ll be your corner men."


    The room was filled withughter when all of a sudden, a phone rang.


    Damon instinctively moved to check his pocket before remembering he hadn''t brought his phone with him to New York.


    When he realized it had to be someone else''s, he looked at Svena.


    She smiled quickly and then went back to her room to get her phone.


    Joey waited until she was out of earshot, then leaned in, clearing his throat. "Sooo¡­ you and Svena, huh? Anything happenst night?"


    Damon raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "What? No, nothing happened. We just shared a cab here and crashed."


    Joey looked at him with doubt and a sly grin spread across his face. "Right. And you expect me to believe that''s it? Look, man, I saw the way she was looking at you."


    Damon rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a slight heat rising in his cheeks. "It''s¡­ not like that," he insisted, though even he didn''t sound convinced.


    Joeyughed and shook his head. "Sure, sure. Just saying, she''s not exactly hiding it, man. Don''t be surprised if something does happen."


    He let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "Okay, I''m not dense, alright? It''s just¡­"


    Joey leaned in, whispering with a smirk, "Come on, man, make your move. Worst-case scenario? You get punched by Victor. Trust me, it''s not that bad."


    Damon couldn''t help butugh. "Joke''s on you, I already got Victor''s blessing."


    Joey froze, staring at Damon like he''d lost his mind. "Wait, wait, wait. So, the girl clearly likes you, her dad already gave you his blessing, and you still haven''t done anything?"


    Damon opened his mouth to respond but stopped, realizing how it all sounded.


    Joey just shook his head and looked at him like he couldn''t believe it. "Man, if you don''t make a move soon, someone else is going to swoop in and sweep her off her feet."


    Damon frowned. The thought made his heart skip a beat.


    Joey smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "Trust me, you don''t want to be that guy sitting around wondering ''what if.''"


    Damon let out a breath, nodding. "Yeah¡­ maybe you''re right."


    "Of course I''m right," Joey replied, smirking. "Now go drink that coffee and think about it."


    As Joey pushed back his chair, ready to stand, Svena walked back into the room, her phone in hand.


    She nced at Damon, a curious but warm look in her eyes.


    "My dad wants to talk to you," she said, holding out the phone.


    Damon blinked, feeling a sudden jolt of surprise.


    He exchanged a quick nce with Joey, who raised an eyebrow, giving him a silent good luck nod.


    Taking a steadying breath, Damon reached for the phone. "Alright¡­ let''s see what Victor has to say."


    Damon took the phone, holding it to his ear. "Hello."


    Victor''s loud, warm, and energetic speech came through right away. "Hahaha, kid, you did it! I''m proud of you, kid¡­ how are you doing?"


    Damon couldn''t help but smile. "Thank you. I''m doing fine. What about you?"


    "I''m amazing," Victor replied, his tone genuine. "Listen, kid, I need you and Lana toe back. There''s something I gotta talk to you about. Plus, your mom''s waiting to see you."


    As Victor went on, Damon felt a rush of excitement. "I went ahead and booked you a flight for tomorrow. So, get ready to head back."


    Damon was a bit puzzled but nodded, responding, "Oh, okay. I''ll let the team know."


    "Good. Now, hand the phone back to Lana. I''ll see you both tomorrow," Victor replied before hanging up.


    After saying his goodbyes, Damon handed the phone back to Svena, who gave him a reassuring smile.


    As he turned, Joey was grinning at him.


    "Looks like we''re heading back," Joey said with a shrug.


    Damon raised an eyebrow, teasing, "Not gonna stay and enjoy New York City?"


    Joey shook his head. "Nope. Got college, remember? Took a break toe watch your first big fight, but I still need to catch up on a lot."


    Damon''s expression softened, looking at his friend with genuine gratitude. "Thanks, man. Really."


    Joey waved it off with a smile. "No need to thank me. Felt good, you know? Watching you go from the streets to the ring, and now to the screen. Proud of you, bro."


    Damon''s chest swelled with joy. "Wouldn''t be here without you."

 Chapter 218 Clearing the Air

    "So, you guys ready to talk?" Damon looked back and forth between Ash and Joey, who were sitting across from each other at the table.


    Ashley sat next to Joey and looked back and forth between them with a slightly ufortable look.


    When Ash looked into Damon''s eyes, he showed a hint of annoyance. "You know you don''t have to treat us like kids, right?"


    Damon shrugged casually. "Just don''t wannae back and find you two throwing hands."


    Ash rolled his eyes, slumping back in his chair. "I was drunk, okay? Things got out of hand."


    Joey nced sideways at Ash, keeping quiet but looking ready to listen.


    Damon leaned back, giving them space but ready to step in if things got heated again. It was time to get everything out in the open.


    Joey took a deep breath, looking straight at Ash. "Alright¡­ I know this is unexpected, and I understand if you''re not thrilled about it. But I didn''t n this, and I can''t pretend it didn''t happen either."


    He hesitated, ncing at Ashley before continuing. "I''m sorry if it feels like I blindsided you, but I''m not sorry for how I feel about her. It''s real, and I''d rather be upfront with you than keep it hidden."


    Joey looked at Ash with a steady gaze and waited for him to speak, hoping he would understand.


    Ash leaned back, crossing his arms, his expression tense. "But you guys kept it hidden, didn''t you? Who knows how long you two have been¡­ yeah, whatever you''ve been doing."


    Ashley sighed, her voice edged with frustration. "I told him to keep it quiet because of you, Ash."


    Ash''s eyes narrowed. "Because of me? Seriously?"


    "Don''t act like you don''t know why," she snapped. "You''re always breathing down my neck when I start seeing someone. Why can''t you just let me date in peace? I''m not yours to control."


    Ash''s voice lowered and his jaw clenched. "I''m not trying to control you, Ash. But every single guy you bring around either has some hidden motive or turns out to be aplete jerk. And then when it falls apart, youe to me, asking for help. Do you think I enjoy watching you get hurt by people who don''t actually care about you?"


    Ashley''s gaze softened, but she held her ground. "You think Joey is the same as them?"


    Ash let out a short, humorlessugh. "Do you think he''s different?"


    Ashley crossed her arms defiantly. "Yeah, I do."


    Ash turned his attention to Joey, who was sitting quietly and looking clearly ufortable.


    He was standing his ground, though. Ash closely watched him searching for any hint of insincerity.


    "Alright," Finally, Ash spoke up, breaking the quiet. His voice had a hint of challenge in it. "Tell me, Joey. What makes you different? Because I swear, if you end up being like the rest, I''ll be the first to make sure you regret it."


    .


    .


    As they talked, there were more arguments, irritations, and long sighs until Damon, who was sitting quietly next to Svena on the counter, finally raised his hand. "Wait¡­" he said, taking a casual bite of an apple.


    They all turned to him, looking a bit exasperated. What now? their expressions seemed to say.


    Damon chewed thoughtfully, then asked, "How long has this been going on?"


    Joey nodded, ncing at Ashley. "Almost a month."


    Damon took this in stride, nodding back. "Alright, here''s my two cents." He looked over at Ash, his gaze steady. "Ash, is there any real reason you don''t want him to date Ashley?"


    Ash hesitated, his eyes flickering between Joey and his sister.


    He was tired, still feeling the effects ofst night''s drinking. Yeah, he was pissed, Joey had a reputation, much like his own.


    But was he so angry that he wanted to make this a bigger issue than it needed to be?


    He wasn''t sure.


    Finally, Ash spoke, his voice quieter than before. "Because he''s like me," he said, a hint of resignation in his tone. "I know what I''m like. I don''t want her to get hurt because of someone who doesn''t know what he wants¡­ or thinks he knows and then changes his mind."


    For a moment, the room was dead quiet as Ash''s words hung in the air.


    Ashley looked at her brother, her expression softening as she took in what he''d just said. "Ash¡­ I get it. But I''m not a kid anymore. I know what I''m getting into."


    Joey leaned forward, meeting Ash''s gaze. "Look, man, I get why you''re worried. I know my past isn''t exactly spotless, and yeah, maybe I was all over the ce before. But I''m not here to mess things up. I wouldn''t do that to her, or to you."


    Ash rubbed a hand over his face, looking torn. "I get that, but¡­ people don''t just change overnight. It''s hard to trust that this isn''t just another phase for you."


    Damon, watching them both, spoke up. "Ash, maybe people don''t change overnight. But they can change when they find something, or someone, that matters enough."


    Ash nced at Damon, then back at Joey and Ashley. He sighed, finally letting his defenses drop. "Alright¡­ if you''re serious about this, and you''re in it for the right reasons, then I won''t stand in the way. Just¡­ don''t prove me right about this, Joey."


    With a serious look on his face, Joey nodded. "I won''t, Ash. I''m here, and I''m not going anywhere."


    Ashley reached over, giving her brother''s hand a quick squeeze, a silent thank you in her eyes.


    Ash looked back at her, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.


    "Fine," he said, trying to sound annoyed but unable to hide the hint of a smile. "But if he screws this up, I''m not letting him off easy."


    Damon grinned, shaking his head. "Deal. Now, can we all just rx and enjoy the rest of the day?"


    Everyone seemed at ease for the first time that morning after theyughed together.


    Joey smiled, looking over at Ash with genuine appreciation. "Thanks, bro."


    Ash gave him a smirk, pointing at the bruised cheek. "And I''m not sorry about that."


    Joeyughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Guess I deserved that one."


    Ash chuckled, the tension finally easing as he pped Joey on the shoulder. "Just don''t give me a reason to do it again."


    Damon and Svena exchanged an amused look, and Ashley rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.


    ''I didn''t even say anything impactful but I managed to stop it''


    ''Fucking genius''


    It seemed, for now at least, the air was finally clear.

 Chapter 219 Training With Simulated Chemasov I

    The rest of the day went smoothly. The group breathed a sigh of relief when the drama was over, at least for now.


    They chose to keep things easy, so they ordered pizza and sat around the living roomughing and chatting as if nothing had happened.


    It was nice to have a day off and hang out with friends. The stress from the morning slowly went away with each slice.


    The house was quiet and peaceful as night fell. After taking a shower, Damon felt refreshed as he finished his routine and said good night to everyone.


    He had a small smile on his face as he shut the door to his bedroom. "Time to enter the Simtion," he said to himself in a low voice, his heart pounding with excitement.


    Hey back on the bed, closed his eyes, and summoned the familiar panel in his mind.


    The screen showed up and asked for the usual confirmation.


    [Are you sure you want to enter the Simtion?]


    [Y/N]


    Taking a deep breath, Damon chose "Y" and let himself fall into the unknown.


    The white void around him quickly changed into a ce he was familiar with: an MMA gym with a big mat spread out in the middle and bright lights shining on it.


    Damon took a deep breath, feeling the simted air fill his lungs.


    He focused, and the figure of Chemasov materialized across the mat, towering and imposing.


    Damon wanted to work on his groundwork, and there was no better sparring partner, even simted, than Chemasov.


    The man was a master of pressure and control, an absolute force on the ground.


    He knew it wouldn''t be easy, but if he could hold his own here, he''d get one step closer to getting better on the ground in real life.


    As Damon concentrated, his clothes changed into afortable workout outfit with breathable shorts, a tight-fittingpression shirt, and strong hand wraps.


    He looked down, changed his stance, and felt howfortable it was to move in his workout clothes.


    Across the mat, Chemasov''s figure stood motionless, waiting for Damon to initiate the spar.


    Damon took a deep breath, clenching his fists as he prepared himself.


    "Fight," Damonmanded, and the simtion obeyed.


    Chemasov''s figure came to life and moved forward with such determination that it sent a chill down Damon''s spine.


    Damon took a cautious step back, assessing Chemasov''s stance and his movements.


    He waited for the right moment, thenunched forward with a swift jab aimed at creating some distance.


    Chemasov deflected it with ease, barely flinching as he stepped in closer, crowding Damon''s space.


    Seeing no other option, Damon quickly switched to a low kick, aiming for Chemasov''s lead leg.


    Itnded solidly, and for a brief second, Damon felt a rush of satisfaction.


    But Chemasov barely registered the impact, closing in even more.


    In a split-second move, Chemasov reached out, sping Damon''s shoulder with one powerful hand and sweeping his legs with the other.


    Before he could react, Damon was t on his back, the mat''s impact echoing through the room.


    Chapter Experience:


    Damon gritted his teeth, frustration mixing with determination as he tried to wriggle free.


    He rolled to the side, attempting to slip out from under Chemasov''s weight, but the simted fighter''s control was irond.


    Chemasov smoothly transitioned, pressing his forearm against Damon''s throat in a move that limited Damon''s breathing just enough to keep him ufortable.


    With a sudden effort, Damon arched his hips, making just enough room for him to pull his head free.


    He scrambled to his knees, trying to regain control, but Chemasov was already moving, locking one of Damon''s arms and transitioning seamlessly to a back mount.


    Damon grabbed Chemasov''s arms and pushed his elbows down to make it harder for him to hold on.


    He managed to slip out momentarily, turning his body around to face Chemasov again.


    This time, Damon shot forward with a low tackle, hoping to reverse the roles and gain control from the ground.


    His arms locked around Chemasov''s waist, and he pushed with everything he had.


    For a split second, it seemed to work. Chemasov staggered back, and Damon surged forward, pressing his advantage.


    But in an instant, Chemasov nted his feet and shifted his weight, effectively anchoring himself to the mat.


    Using Damon''s own momentum against him, he pivoted and brought Damon crashing to the ground once again.


    This time, Chemasov didn''t waste a second. He was on top of Damon, controlling his posture with a vise-like grip around his shoulders.


    Damon tried to twist, to free his arms, to find any angle that would allow him leverage.


    He was able to lift one leg and use it to try to push Chemasov back with his knee, but Chemasov sessfully pinned it down, taking away Damon''s defense.


    Damon''s training kicked in, his mind racing through techniques.


    He twisted his hips, shifting his weight to unbnce Chemasov, while using his arms to create a frame against Chemasov''s chest.


    For a moment, he managed to gain an inch of space.


    He quickly turned his hips around, which caused him to partly slip out from under Chemasov''s mount.


    But before he could capitalize on it, Chemasov adjusted, slipping back into position as if he''d anticipated Damon''s every move.


    The sequence repeated itself over and over.


    Each time Damon managed to free himself or create space, Chemasov countered with swift, practiced moves that left Damon back at square one.


    Chemasov''s grappling skills were beyond formidable; they were ruthless, methodical, stripping away Damon''s defenses as if he were peeling an onion,yer byyer.


    Determined not to be defeated, Damon finally tried an unconventional approach.


    He threw his legs up, attempting to trap Chemasov in a triangle choke, hoping his flexibility would give him an edge.


    But Chemasov saw iting, his arm slipping out just in time to avoid the choke.


    With a swift, punishing movement, he ttened Damon''s legs back down, his own weight sinking onto Damon''s chest in a pin that felt as unbreakable as stone.


    pinned and gasping for air, Damon struggled to catch his breath, his chest heaving.


    He had tried to use every skill and n he had learned, but they all ran into a wall that they couldn''t move.


    As the session went on, Chemasov kept up his constant pressure, taking advantage of every small weakness in Damon''s defense and every mistimed breath.


    Damon had rarely felt this overpowered, even in his real fights.


    But as draining as it was, he could feel himself learning with every maneuver, his instincts sharpening, his body adapting.

 Chapter 220 Training With Simulated Chemasov II

    Damony t on the mat, pinned under Chemasov''s relentless weight, his mind racing through every technique and counter he knew.


    Each time he tried something, Chemasov anticipated it, neutralizing his every move.


    The simted fighter''s control was absolute, every grip irond, every transition seamless.


    The feeling of hopelessness that Damon had was wearing him down.


    But he wasn''t ready to give up.


    Damon refocused and took a deep breath to try to slow down his rushing thoughts.


    He recalled something Kru Somchai had drilled into him repeatedly ''Don''t fight the opponent''s game. Make him y yours''


    Forcing himself to rx, Damon waited, allowing Chemasov to apply pressure, feigning exhaustion.


    He noticed the slightest opening in Chemasov''s stance, just a small, almost imperceptible gap as he shifted his weight to readjust.


    It was barely there, but it was enough.


    He used his legs as support and pushed his hips up with all his strength. He was able to twist just enough to surprise Chemasov.


    In that brief, rare moment, Damon rolled out from under him, finally breaking free from the crushing weight.


    Anxiety rushed through him as he jumped to his feet. For the first time since the fight started, he felt like he had some control.


    Chemasov, unfazed, turned to face him, his expression unreadable.


    Even though his muscles were burning and his heart was frantic, Damon stood his ground and felt a surge of new energy.


    He''d caught Chemasov off guard once. Maybe he could do it again.


    Chemasov lunged, and this time, Damon anticipated it, sidestepping at thest second and slipping behind him, locking his arms around Chemasov''s waist.


    He braced himself, determined not to let this chance slip.


    He tightened his grip, digging his feet into the mat to anchor himself, attempting to gain control over Chemasov''s posture.


    He felt a little bit of control in his hands for the first time since the fight started.


    But just as Damon''s confidence surged, he was swiftly humbled.


    Chemasov''s body moved quickly and smoothly, and before Damon could respond, his opponent switched positionspletely.


    Damon''s grip slipped as Chemasov expertly broke free, using Damon''s own hold against him.


    In a blink, Chemasov dropped his weight, twisting around to hook Damon''s leg while pulling him down to the mat in a seamless takedown.


    Damon hit the ground hard, a rush of air escaping his lungs as Chemasov instantly established control, pinning Damon''s shoulders with unrelenting pressure.


    Damon struggled, trying to buck Chemasov off, but his opponent''s weight was solid, like an anchor.


    Every small movement Damon made was countered with a precision that left him feeling almost helpless.


    Chemasov''s grip tightened around Damon''s arm, applying enough pressure to hint at a submission, and Damon could feel the strain as he tried to resist.


    His earlier sense of control evaporated, reced by the hard reality that he was still far from matching Chemasov''s skill on the ground.


    Every tactic he tried to implement was thwarted, every ounce of strength countered effortlessly.


    As the minutes ticked by, Damon felt his energy waning, his muscles protesting each movement.


    Gritting his teeth, Damon epted the hard truth.


    There was no beating Chemasov... not yet, at least.


    The brutal cycle continued.


    Each attempt to gain control or even hold his ground was met with another swift takedown, another relentless submission, another reminder of his limits.


    Damon hade to the simtion to improve, to learn, but the constant defeats were wearing on him.


    Eventually, he slumped onto the mat, breath ragged as the Chemasov simtion faded into the white void.


    The silence felt heavy.


    Damon stared at the empty space where his simted opponent had stood, feeling a bitterness rise within him.


    Chapter Discover:


    He knew losses were part of the process and that he was here to improve.


    But it still stung.


    He couldn''t shake the feeling of defeat that clung to him, each failure echoing louder than thest.


    Sitting alone on the mat, Damon took a deep breath, forcing himself to push the bitterness aside.


    As Damon sat alone on the mat, he let out a long, thoughtful sigh. "I wonder what Victor''s calling us for," he muttered to himself, rubbing his hand across his face.


    He stood up, stretching his arms overhead, feeling the satisfying pull in his sore muscles.


    He thought about the options with a furrowed brow and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension from the spar that was still there. "Maybe the UFA called in for a match¡­ nah, it''s too early. Only yesterday," he mumbled, a small smirk crossing his face as he thought about the whirlwind of his recent victory.


    Shaking off thest of his frustration, Damon took another deep breath, centering himself.


    Damon wondered what time it was in the real world.


    He''d been in the simtion for what felt like hours, but he had no idea if time passed the same way or if there was some kind of difference.


    With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, letting the scene dissolve. The gym shattered around him, fading away, and when he opened his eyes again, he was back in bed.


    He sat up slowly, blinking as he adjusted to the darkness.


    Through the window, he could see the faint outlines of the night sky, shadows cast across the room.


    It waste, probably muchter than he''d realized. The quiet stillness outside felt grounding, pulling him fully back into reality.


    When Damon had gone to bed to enter the Simtion, it had had been night, but  it was still evening a bit.


    At this point, though, the darkness in the room felt much darker, like it was really midnight.


    He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes before standing up.


    Due to the intensity of the spar, he somehow felt thirsty, his throat felt dry.


    He walked quietly to the kitchen, where the floor was cool.


    Upon reaching the kitchen, Damon saw the room was dark, but the faint light through the window revealed a figure standing by the counter.


    He approached slowly, noticing the person''s quiet posture, the way they seemed lost in thought.


    As he got closer, he recognized her blonde hair.


    It was Ashley.

 Chapter 221 Midnight Advice

    Damon walked up to the counter with a smile on his face. "Didn''t take you for someone who stays up thiste," he said.


    Ashley jumped and her hands flew to her chest. She looked around with wide eyes. "Jeez, Damon!" she yelled, catching her breath. "You scared the life out of me!"


    Damon chuckled, raising his hands in apology. "Sorry, didn''t mean to sneak up on you." His grin softened, genuinely feeling a bit guilty for startling her. "Didn''t think anyone else would be up."


    He moved over to the sink, grabbing a ss and filling it with water.


    The steady flow of the cool water was the only sound that broke the silence in the kitchen.


    He took a sip, then turned back to Ashley, leaning casually against the counter. "So," he asked, his voice softer now, "what''s on your mind?"


    Ashley sighed, her gaze shifting from the window to meet his.


    She might have been tired, but her eyes gave off a hint of something else. She said, "Couldn''t sleep," with a small, almost tired smile on her face. "You?"


    Damon raised his ss with a small smile. "Thirsty," he said, then added gently, "Wanna talk about it?"


    He could see the stress etched across Ashley''s features, the way her shoulders seemed tense, and the weariness in her eyes.


    She sighed loudly, the sound filled with a frustration she hadn''t let out until now.


    Damon couldn''t help but chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood, but he kept his expression kind and understanding.


    Ashley''s gaze drifted back to the window, her voice quiet. "It''s about me, Joey, and Ash," she said, her fingers tapping absently against the counter.


    Damon raised an eyebrow, concern softening his features. "I thought we handled that issue earlier. What''s still bothering you?"


    Ashley sighed, her fingers fidgeting as she looked down. "I know we talked it out," she said quietly. "But¡­ I didn''t realize it would weigh this heavily on me. Maybe¡­ maybe Ash is right."


    She paused, her voice wavering slightly. "Maybe Joey and I shouldn''t be together. Maybe it''s a mistake, and I''m just setting myself up for another heartbreak."


    Damon sighed internally.


    He didn''t want to be the person people came to as a substitute for their significant other, especially when that person was his friend.


    It wasn''t his ce to step in or be a sounding board for problems that Joey, as her boyfriend, should be hearing.


    Still, he wanted to offer support without overstepping. "Look," he said, his voice calm but firm, "I care about you guys, but Joey''s the one you should really be having this conversation with. He''s your partner, and if something''s bothering you, he deserves to know. You''ll figure it out together."


    Ashley looked at him, her eyes thoughtful. Damon hoped she understood his boundaries while also knowing he was there if she ever truly needed him.


    After all, Ashley was still his friend, and Damon wasn''t the kind of person to let a friend drown in their worries, no matter the situation.


    He cared about her, and even if he couldn''t solve her problems, he could at least try to nudge her in the right direction.


    He nced out the window, the night sky calm and still.


    As he passed by her, he gently patted her shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. "Goy your head," he said softly. "Get some rest."


    Ashley gave him a small, grateful smile, and Damon turned, walking back to his room.


    He went through the house, where it was quiet. His mind was rushing with thoughts but his heart felt a little lighter.


    She stayed behind for a moment, a small, thoughtful smile spreading across her face. "I should talk to Joey," she whispered to herself, feeling a sense of rity she hadn''t had before.


    ---


    Damon made his way back to his room, the quiet of the house settling in around him.


    He climbed back into bed, feeling the weight of the day''s events pressing lightly on his mind.


    This time, he let himself rx, his body sinking into the mattress as he prepared to sleep for real.


    He''d aplished what he wanted in the simtion, pushing himself to the limit, and he resolved to make this routine a daily test of his strength and skills.


    Closing his eyes, he allowed his exhaustion to take over, drifting into a well-deserved rest, ready to face whatever challenges tomorrow would bring.


    Night passed peacefully, a calm lull settling over the house as everyone drifted into a deep sleep. But while they rested, the outside world buzzed with activity.


    A video had begun making rounds on social media, not quite trending, but still drawing attention, especially among the die-hard fight fans.


    It was the usual aftermath of a major UFA event: clips from the post-fight press conference spreading through forums and social media feeds.


    This time, however, something was different. Instead of the typical fighter interviews, only the UFA CEO stood at the podium, addressing the media.


    Questions about Damon Cross and the future of The Supreme Fighter swirled among the journalists.


    The CEO''s answers, thoughposed and measured, hinted at significant changesing soon.


    The video slowly gained traction, it was clear that the buzz around Damon and his newfound status in the UFA wasn''t fading anytime soon.


    The video showed Ronan ck, the UFA CEO, sitting at the table, addressing a swarm of eager reporters.


    His demeanor was confident and straightforward, his expression betraying a hint of impatience as camera shes lit up the room.


    A reporter leaned forward, voice eager. "Ronan, Ronan, we''ve seen what Damon Cross can do. What do you think about him?"


    Ronan rubbed his chin, smirking. "What do I think? Listen, the kid''s a freakin'' stud, alright?" he said, his tone blunt and direct. "I knew he had something special from the moment the show started. I mean, he went out there and did exactly what we all hoped he''d do. He''s a great addition, no doubt about it."


    Another reporter jumped in, pushing further. "He dominated his match! Do you think there''s a title shot for him somewhere, somehow?"


    Ronan''s eyes narrowed, and he looked at the reporter like they''d asked the dumbest question of the night. "Are you serious right now?" he shot back, shaking his head. "Look, let''s not get carried away. The kid''s good, bute on. First off, he''s got a lot to learn, alright? We''re talking about a stacked division with killers who''ve been grinding for years. Damon''s got a future, but a title shot? No way. Not yet, anyway."


    He leaned back, his no-nonsense attitude leaving little room for debate, but his words were already stirring up a storm of spection and discussion among the fans and fightmunity.


    ''Damn, these reporters are getting dumber every day with these questions''

 Chapter 222 Farewell to New York

    The sun rose quickly in the morning, lighting up the city with golden light. But no one was asleep in the house.


    The entire group was up, busy packing and preparing for their flight back to LA.


    Even though they were still excited about their time in New York, the thought of going home was better.


    For Damon, the trip had been life-changing.


    He''d managed to win The Supreme Fighter, earn his ce in the UFA, solved the


    There had been problems, some more difficult than others, but they had been solved, and now it was time to move on.


    People were chatting,ughing, and zipping up their suitcases while getting ready.


    It wasn''t much to pack, especially for Damon, who hadn''te with anything except his fighting gear.


    The others had small backpacks stuffed with a few changes of clothes, nothing too cumbersome for the trip back.


    Damon made his way to the living room, where he found Svena and Ashley sitting together, deep in conversation.


    Theyughed softly at something, this made the morning feel less rushed.


    Ash and Joey walked in behind Damon, side by side.


    They were chatting, their voices rxed and casual, as if the drama from the night before had never happened.


    But now there was a difference, a small change in the way they interacted. The jokes and stories about girls that used to make up most of their conversations were obviously missing.


    Instead, their words carried a newfound respect and understanding, a sign that things had changed, even if they wouldn''t admit it out loud.


    "Okay, we''re done. We should leave," Damon announced, seeing that everyone had finished gathering their things and was ready to go.


    The group agreed, and they all left the house together, enjoying the fresh morning air.


    Svena took a moment to lock up behind them, hearing the satisfying click of the lock as they left.


    Without a car of their own and knowing it''d be a hassle to call multiple cabs for all five of them, they opted for arger Uber.


    They stood outside, backpacks slung over shoulders, waiting for their ride.


    Svena leaned against the fence, ncing at Damon with a smile. "Ready to go back to reality?" she asked.


    When Damon smiled back, he felt a strange mix of relief and excitement. "Yeah," he replied, "but this time, reality doesn''t seem so bad."


    "What about you? Any ns when you get back?" Damon asked, ncing at Svena.


    She shook her head, a yful smile forming. "Not really. My parents have been trying to push me into the family business."


    Damon raised an eyebrow. "You don''t like it?"


    Sheughed, her eyes lighting up. "I do¡­ but ugh, it''s so much work. I''d rather be throwing punches and working on takedowns."


    Damon chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. Just then, their Uber pulled up, arge SUV, spacious enough to fit all five of themfortably.


    The only downside? The fare was eye-wateringly expensive.


    Luckily, Ash stepped up with a grin and a cough that sounded suspiciously exaggerated. "Don''t worry," he said, swiping his card. "I''ve got it."


    The group piled in,ughter and chatter filling the vehicle as they settled in for the ride to the airport, leaving New York and all its memories behind.


    The drive to the airport was fast and smooth, almost too quick to justify the steep fare Ash had paid.


    They were on the kind of ride that you almost wished you could have enjoyed longer.


    But the excitement in the morning and theughter they shared made it all worth it.


    When they pulled up to the airport, Damon took a moment to soak it all in.


    Airports were nothing new to him.


    When he first came to the U.S. from Irnd as a kid with his mom, they had flown across the ocean for a fresh start.


    And with the UFA, flying between cities will be routine.


    This was just another part of the journey, one he was getting used to.


    They got in and made their way through the bustling airport, weaving between travelers dragging suitcases and families saying hurried goodbyes.


    The check-in process was a familiar one, but the crowd made it feel like a chaotic maze.


    Damon, Svena, Ashley, Ash, and Joey stuck close together, making sure no one got separated in the sea of people.


    Once they made it to the security line, they settled in for the wait.


    Damon nced around.


    Businesspeople tapped away onptops, vacationers chatted excitedly, and kids fidgeted while their parents tried to keep them entertained.


    The airport had its own unique rhythm, a blend of exhaustion and anticipation that always seemed to fill the air.


    Ash leaned against a post, yawning. "Man, you''d think getting up early would mean less of a line," heined.


    Ashleyughed, her voice light. "You should be used to waiting by now. How many times have you done this?"


    Ash rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah, yeah, but it doesn''t make it any less boring."


    Damon stayed quiet, his thoughts drifting as he watched the airport staff move with efficiency, guiding people through the metal detectors.


    When it was finally their turn, they moved through security, taking off their shoes, emptying their pockets, and waiting for their bags to be scanned.


    Joey chuckled as they reassembled on the other side, grabbing his shoes. "I feel like I''m being judged for my sock choice," he joked, earning augh from the group.


    With security behind them, they made their way to the gate.


    They found seats in the waiting area, and Damon dropped his backpack beside him, settling in for the final wait before boarding.


    When boarding was announced, they stood and lined up, filing onto the ne one by one.


    As they found their seats and stowed their luggage, the sound of the engines starting up filled the cabin.


    He settled into his seat by the window, watching as the city lights of New York sparkled in the distance, soon to be left behind.

 Chapter 223 Simulated Travels

    The flight was smooth and uneventful, with Damon sitting next to Ash and Joey on one side of the aisle, while Svena and Ashley sat across from them, sharing their row with an olderdy who had nodded off almost immediately after takeoff.


    Ty who had arge body, had a sit alone.. courtesy to Vic... or Ash.. who knows.


    But the big guy had headsets on, listening to music.


    Damon looked at him, and smiled, he was going to do something simr.


    He knew he wasn''t about to spend the next several hours staring out the window or enduring in-flight small talk.


    He leaned back, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath, preparing to dive into his own world.


    Pretending to be asleep, he silently activated the simtion.


    This was part of his routine now, and he wasn''t about to waste any opportunity to train, even thousands of feet in the air.


    With the world around him fading, he felt his consciousness slipping into the familiar, controlled space where he could continue to push his limits.


    Ash and Joey were chatting, their conversation filled with light banter.


    Ash nudged Joey, then pointed at Damon, who sat with his eyes closed and head leaned back against the seat.


    "Hey, look at him," Ash said with a grin. "Damon''s already out cold."


    Joey chuckled, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "Man, if only we had a marker," he whispered, pretending to trace an imaginary mustache over Damon''s rxed face.


    The two of them burst intoughter, doing their best to keep it quiet so as not to disturb the surrounding passengers.


    Damon remained still,pletely still and unmoving, the perfect target, if only they actually had the tools for some harmless pranking.


    Ash and Joey, still chuckling from their joke, nced over at the other side of the aisle.


    Svena and Ashley were both staring at them with narrowed eyes, their expressions full of judgment, shaking their heads in disapproval.


    Even the olderdy sitting beside the girls, who had seemed to be dozing earlier, was awake and giving them a disapproving shake of her head, as if she''d heard every word of their silly n.


    Ash and Joey quickly cleared their throats, trying to suppress theirughter and put on serious faces.


    They exchanged awkward nces and silently agreed to drop the prank ideas, straightening up in their seats and pretending to be model passengers.


    6 Hours Later


    Inside the Simtion, Damon found himself locked in another intense battle with Chemasov.


    As he tried to keep up, sweat ran down his face and his muscles hurt from the strain.


    The simted Chemasov never stopped. Every move was nned out and crushing.


    The wrestler threw Damon around the mat like a rag doll, and when he tried to fight back or get away, hr was too strong and skilled for him.


    Chemasov grabbed him in a clinch and delivered a brutal knee to his midsection, knocking the wind out of him.


    Damon stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet, but Chemasov followed up immediately, sweeping his legs and mming him back to the ground.


    Damon''s vision swam as he tried to scramble away, but Chemasov pinned him effortlessly, locking him in another crushing hold.


    Damon grit his teeth, determination still burning, but he knew he was outmatched. As he prepared to push back, a soft ding interrupted the chaos.


    [System Notification: The time you set for this session has ended.]


    The message hovered in his vision.


    Damon let out a shaky breath, feeling both relief and frustration.


    He had been learning, getting better with each match, but Chemasov still dominated him every time.


    "Stop," hemanded, and the Simtion dissolved around him, the scene fading into the familiar white void before he opened his eyes, back on the ne.


    Damon had been strategic about setting the time for his simtion session.


    Before boarding, he''d asked Ash how long the flight usually took, getting an estimate of around six hours.


    With that in mind, he had programmed the simtion to run for that duration, maybe ending a bit earlier to be safe.


    It was a way to make sure he''d be ready to wake up without needing anyone to rouse him.


    He didn''t know if the system would notify him in case he was physically woken up by someone in the real world, so he yed it smart.


    Fortunately, the simtion was full of customizable features, and setting an internal rm had been a simple task.


    Now, with the simtion paused around him, Damon took a moment to catch his breath and collect his thoughts, grateful for his own foresight.


    Even though he was worn out from being repeatedly ragdolled by Chemasov, he was gonna wake up with full energy.


    Damon closed his eyes in the paused simtion, and when he opened them again, he was back in the real world. Ash was leaning over, gently shaking his shoulder.


    "Oh, you''re up," Ash said, a grin on his face. "We''re about tond."


    Damon sat up, blinking away thest traces of the simtion. As expected, he didn''t feel tired at all, despite the grueling battles he''d faced in his mind. He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, feeling perfectly refreshed.


    "Perfect timing," Damon replied, giving Ash a nod. Ash raised an eyebrow, Damon woke up before he could touch him, and he didn''t even look like he had been sleeping.


    He shook his head, brushing it off.


    The ne began its descent, and Damon felt the familiar pressure in his ears as the aircraft lowered.


    The hum of the engines shifted, and passengers around them started to stir, gathering their belongings and preparing fornding.


    The flight attendants made their way down the aisles, ensuring everyone was buckled in and that tray tables were secured.


    Damon nced out the window, seeing the sprawling cityscape of Los Angelesing into view, It felt surreal to be back after everything that had happened in New York.


    The wheels touched down with a slight jolt, and the ne taxied smoothly along the runway.


    As they came to a stop, the usual sounds of clicking seatbelts and rustling bags filled the cabin.


    Ash turned to Damon with a grin. "Wee back to sunny LA. Bet you missed the traffic."


    Damon chuckled, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah, nothing says ''home sweet home'' like bumper-to-bumper traffic and overpriced avocado toast."


    Svena, overhearing them from across the aisle, leaned in with a yful smile. "Don''t forget the endless sunshine. It''s a love-hate rtionship."


    Joey added, "At least we won''t freeze to death walking outside. I call that a win."


    They allughed, the weight of their journey lifting as they prepared to disembark.


    Los Angeles.

 Chapter 224 Homecomings

    Getting out of the airport, they stood together for a moment, taking in the familiar air of LA.


    Damon looked at his friends, a smile spreading across his face. "Alright, before I go running off to Vic, I''m going to see my mom. Haven''t seen her in more than a month," he said, scratching the back of his head, a touch of emotion slipping through. He really had missed her.


    The others nodded in understanding. They each had their own things to take care of now that they were back.


    Even Joey, who looked both relieved and a little stressed, had to face the mountain of work waiting for him at college.


    Ash pped Damon on the back. "Go see her, man. We''ll catch upter."


    Svena smiled softly. "Give her a hug from all of us," she said, her eyes warm.


    Damon agreed, feeling very thankful for the friends who had turned into family.


    He climbed into an Uber of his own, feeling a bit guilty as Ash once again stepped up to cover the fare.


    cough It was undeniable, having wealthy friends had its perks, but Damon couldn''t shake the feeling of embarrassment.


    He scratched the back of his neck, muttering a quiet, "Thanks, man," to Ash, who just waved him off with a grin.


    "Don''t mention it," Ash replied, leaning back with a casual shrug. "Consider it a gift for your win."


    Damon managed a sheepish smile as the car pulled away from the curb.


    He promised himself that one day, he''d pay Ash back, somehow.


    But for now, he let the ride carry him home, his thoughts shifting to the reunion waiting for him.


    As Damon''s Uber began to pull away from the curb, he could still hear the familiar voices of his friends through the open window.


    "You gonna pay for our rides too?" Joey called out, a hopeful grin on his face.


    Ash turned to look at him, his voice carrying over as the car rolled away. "Fuck no," Ash shot back, shaking his head. "Svena''s just as rich as me and my sister, so she''s good. And you¡­ since you''re dating my sister now, there''s no way I''m spending a cent on you," he added, his tone half-joking, half-serious.


    Damon chuckled to himself as he heard Joey''s dramatic groan and theughter that followed.


    ...


    As the car came to a stop in front of the familiar t building, Damon thanked the driver and stepped out.


    He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of the ce he called home.


    He walked up to the entrance, pushing open the doors and stepping into the lobby.


    The staff there greeted him warmly, a few familiar faces smiling at him as he passed by.


    "Wee back, Damon," one of the security guards called, giving him a nod.


    Damon returned the greeting with a friendly wave and a smile. "Good to be back," he replied, making his way to the elevator.


    Damon stepped into the elevator, the guard''s words still echoing in his mind.


    It seemed everyone in the building had noticed he''d been away for a while.


    Then again, this was Victor''s building, and everyone here probably kept tabs on each other in one way or another.


    Oh well, he thought with a small shrug. It''s just how it is.


    He leaned against the wall of the elevator and felt his heart beat faster with excitement.


    The ride up felt both endless and too short, and when the elevator finally dinged, he took a steadying breath.


    The doors slid open, revealing the familiar hallway that led to his and his mother''s apartment.


    Damon walked slowly to the door, his feet feeling heavier with every step. He stopped in front of it, hesitating.


    He hadn''t knocked yet, just standing there, taking in the moment.


    He hadn''t seen his mother in over a month. It made his chest tight to think about seeing her again, but he was ready.


    Finally, he reached out and knocked.


    He stood there, heart pounding, as he heard a familiar voice call out from inside. "I''ming!"


    A momentter, the door swung open, and before he could even get a word out, he was pulled into a tight, warm embrace.


    His mother wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, and he could feel the weight of every missed day in that hug.


    "Damon!" she eximed, and her voice was full of love and relief. He let go of the stress he didn''t even know he was carrying and reached out to hug her back.


    It was a moment of pure, overwhelmingfort, and he found himself smiling as he held on tight, savoring being home again.


    She pulled him into the apartment, her hands still sped around his arms as she stepped back to look at him. Her eyes sparkled with pride and emotion, and a wide smile spread across her face.


    "Damon," she said, her voice full of awe, "I watched every second of that match. You were incredible. I can''t believe how strong and confident you looked out there¡­ You did it!" Her eyes misted over, and she reached up to touch his face gently, as if to make sure he was really standing in front of her.


    Damon''s smile widened, a warmth blooming in his chest. "Thanks, Mom," he said, his voice soft but steady. "It''s been a wild ride, but I made it. I''m officially in the UFA."


    Sheughed, which was a sound that was both happy and joyful. She said, "I knew you could do it," and her voice broke with emotion. "And now, look at you... back home, my champion."


    Damonughed, the sound filling the cozy apartment. "I''m not a champion yet," he teased, shaking his head.


    Aoife waved her hand dismissively, a yful but heartfelt smile on her face. "I said my champion," she corrected, her eyes shining with pride and love. "You''ll always be a champion to me, no matter what."

 Chapter 225 Home Comforts

    As they sat down in the living room, the warm warmth of home wrapped around them like a nket.


    Damon sank into the sofa, the tension and exhaustion of his recent journey fading away.


    His mother sat across from him, her eyes full of curiosity and love as they began to catch up.


    "So," she started, leaning forward with interest, "tell me everything. How does it feel to be the newest fighter in the UFA?"


    Damon chuckled, leaning back into the cushions. "Honestly? Surreal," he admitted. "It still hasn''t really sunk in. One minute I''m fighting.. for us, and the next, I''m standing in that cage with the world watching. But it''s everything I''ve worked for."


    His mom listened intently, nodding as he spoke.


    Aoife smiled, her eyes got warm and her words became harsh. "You should have told me you wereing back. I would''ve cooked you a proper meal," she joked, crossing her arms.


    Damon scratched his head sheepishly. "You didn''t know? Oh well, even if I could''ve told you, I don''t have my phone, remember?"


    He gestured toward his room, where he had left his phone for the past month. "I left it here before I went on the show."


    Aoife sighed and shook her head in a way that showed both irritation and love. Her smile grew bigger and said, "Of course you did. Well, I guess you''ll just have to settle for whatever leftovers I have."


    Damon grinned. "Leftovers sound like a feast right now." The familiar teasing between them felt like home, and he couldn''t help but feel grateful to be back.


    Aoife leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a yful curiosity. "Before you go off to sleep or whatever you''re nning to do," she said, "I want to know¡ªhow did it go?"


    Damon raised an eyebrow, confused. "Mmh, what do you mean?" Explore stories on M-V-L


    She gave him a knowing look, folding her arms. "Don''t y dumb, boy. I meant you and Svena," she said, her gaze piercing, searching his expression.


    Damon felt heat rise to his face, and he quickly looked away. "Nothing happened," he mumbled, trying to sound convincing.


    Her eyes widened slightly, the reaction almost believable. Almost. She tilted her head, her motherly intuition kicking in. "Nothing, huh?" she repeated, eyeing him suspiciously.


    She could tell something had happened, even if it wasn''t what she was thinking.


    A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Well, alright," she said, letting it slide for now, but she made a mental note to pry moreter.


    Damon smiled, a lightugh escaping him as he walked away toward his room. "I told her¡­ about what happened," he said over his shoulder, his voice softening. "And she told me her story."


    Aoife stood there, watching her son disappear into his bedroom.


    Her heart swelled with pride and relief, knowing that Damon had taken steps to open up and share the pain he had carried for so long.


    It was a sign of healing, of growth, something she had always hoped he''d be able to do.


    She smiled wryly, feeling a wave of bittersweet memories wash over her. She had made peace with their past long ago, but knowing Damon was finally finding his own way toward healing made her heart lighter.


    Her gaze lingered on his closed bedroom door, a sense of quiet hope filling her. Whatever the future held for Damon and Svena, she could only wish for the best.


    She hoped that their connection wouldn''t end in heartbreak, knowing how deeply it could affect not just Damon but both of them.


    All she wanted was for her son to find happiness, and to stay strong, no matter what came next.


    Shaking her head with a gentle smile, Aoife made her way to the kitchen to prepare some food for Damon.


    She moved with intent and  the rustle of her clothes barely noticeable, though Damon hadn''t picked up on it, she was dressed in formal attire.


    She had a job interview lined up today.


    Aoife had been tirelessly applying to various hospitals and clinics, hoping to find a position.


    It hadn''t been easy.


    Despite her extensive experience as a nurse, the odds seemed stacked against her.


    Many ces were hesitant to hire someone her age, viewing it as a risky investment.


    Maybe they feared she might soon retire and im a pension, even though she still had years left to work.


    It was a harsh reality she''d faced over and over, but she refused to give up.


    She wanted to keep contributing, to provide for herself and support Damon''s dreams.


    She put her fears aside for now and focused on making a meal for her son, which made her feel better.


    In the back of her mind, she was hoping that today''s interview would finally bring good news.


    Damon sat on his bed, sinking into the familiarfort of his own space.


    It felt good to be home, to rx in his room where everything felt safe and familiar.


    He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, the screen lighting up as he unlocked it.


    The wallpaper was a picture of him and his mom.


    Curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to check what the inte had to say about his recent victory on The Supreme Fighter and his new status as a UFA fighter.


    As he opened the social media apps and online groups, he smiled.


    It was impossible to ignore the buzz around his name, and he couldn''t wait to see how fans and critics responded to his performance.


    Damon began scrolling through Twitter, his grin widening as he read some of the posts.


    The reactions were a mixed bag, and he couldn''t help but feel both amused and intrigued.


    @MMAFanatic12: "Damon Cross is the real deal! That guy''s gonna clean up the division. Mark my words, future champ in the making!


    @CasualFightWatcher: "Eh, Damon was impressive, but let''s be real, thepetition only gets tougher. He''s good, but not that good. Let''s see what he does next."


    @FighterTalk123: "Average debut at best. We''ve seen guys like hime and go. Needs more than one shy win to prove himself.


    @UndergroundMMA: "Why''s everyone hyping Damon Cross so much? Let''s talk about the real contenders in the division.


    Damon stared at the screen in awe, his mouth slightly open like an excited idiot.


    Sure, there were plenty of posts downying his skills, people calling him average or saying he didn''t deserve the hype.


    But the thing was, they were talking about him.


    His name was out there, and people actually cared enough to have an opinion, whether good or bad. It felt surreal, like a dream he hadn''t fully woken up from.


    The fact that his performance had sparked conversation, that he was even part of the discourse surrounding MMA now, made his heart race with excitement.


    He leaned back against his bed, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Unreal," he muttered to himself, unable to contain the sense of pride bubbling up inside him.

 Chapter 226 Settling Back In

    Damon finished looking through his phone with a smile still on his face.


    Being the talk on everyone''s lips, even if some of the talk was negative, felt strange and fulfilling at the same time.


    His name was out there, and that alone was something he couldn''t help but be proud of.


    He stood up, realizing that his current clothes were worn out from all the traveling.


    Quickly, he changed into a fresh set, savoring thefort of clean fabric.


    As he nced into the wardrobe, he saw the clothes he went with to the show were here, Victor must''ve already arranged to have his clothes from The Supreme Fighter house brought back here.


    "Damon," Aoife called out from the kitchen.


    Damon got out of bed. He got up and walked towards the kitchen


    When he entered the kitchen, he paused for a moment, surprised to see his mom dressed in formal clothes.


    Her hair was styled nicely, and she was wearing professional clothes and shoes with low heels.


    He raised an eyebrow and thought to himself, "When did she have time to change?" That''s when Aoife turned around. She smiled, but Damon could tell her eyes were tense.


    "Damon, your food is on the table," she said, gesturing to the breakfast she''d prepared. "I''m heading out for a bit, I have a job interview. Hopefully, this one will be good."


    She let out a soft sigh, and her face showed a mix of hope and nerves. She quickly covered it with a determined smile.


    Damon saw how hard she was trying to stay upbeat, and he felt proud of her. He walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder to make her feel better.


    He told her, "I''m sure it will work out, Mom." His voice was strong and full of hope.


    Aoife''s eyes softened, and she patted his hand gently, drawing strength from his words. Damon took a moment to nce at the clock, which read 10 a.m.


    He did a quick mental calction, the ne had taken off at 7 a.m., and even though the flight time and time zone change made it feel confusing, he knew they had flown for about three hours.


    The day was only just starting, but already, so much was happening.


    Aoife chuckled, her smile warming the room. "Okay, I''ll be right back, alright?" she said, her voice lightening with Damon''s support.


    Damon nodded, then remembered something. "Oh, Mom," he added quickly. "I''ll be heading out too, so I''m not sure when I''ll be back. Just don''t be surprised if I''m not here when you get home."


    Her smile widened, and she stepped forward to give him a tight hug. "Alright, just be safe," she said softly, holding him close for a moment.


    Then she stepped back, her eyes shining with the kind of love that only a mother can give. "Okay, bye," she said, waving as she walked out the door. Her son''s unwavering faith in her gave her courage.


    Damon watched her go, hoping it goes well.


    Damon stood there for a moment, watching as the door closed behind his mother.


    He slowly frowned, and his mind was full of conflicted thoughts.


    Why is it, he wondered, that I''m chasing all this money if my mom still has to go out and work so hard?


    Sure, he hadn''t made any significant earnings yet, but the thought of her having to stress over job interviews while he pursued his dreams left a bitter taste in his mouth.


    Shaking off the feeling for now, he went to the kitchen table and sat down to eat the food she had lovingly made.


    His mother had a knack for making even leftovers feel like a brand-new meal.


    She never just reheated them as they were; instead, she transformed them into something fresh and delicious.


    Damon savored the breakfast, appreciating her effort and creativity even with the simplest of ingredients.


    Once he was done, he cleaned up, washing his te and tidying the kitchen before locking up the apartment.


    With his bag slung over his shoulder, he headed out.


    He was on his way to the gym, hoping that Victor would be there.


    .


    .


    .


    .


    Damon stepped out of the cab and stood in front of the impressive gym facility.


    As he stared at it, his mind wandered to the future. A car¡­ he thought.


    That would be a great thing to buy. He liked the thought of having his own wheels to get around, especially in a big ce like Los Angeles.


    He chuckled to himself at the thought, amused by his own eagerness to spend money he hadn''t quite made yet.


    Theugh was soft but real. It was a light moment that stood in contrast to his serious goals.


    A man walking past shot him a strange look, eyebrows raised as if wondering what was so funny.


    Damon noticed and quickly straightened up, offering a sheepish smile in return.


    Shaking it off, he took a deep breath and stepped forward.


    Pushing the door open, Damon was instantly enveloped by the familiar sounds of the gym.


    The loud thuds of fists and feet hitting punching bags filled therge room, broken up by the sharp grunts of warriors giving it their all.


    The air smelled like sweat, and you could hear the weights nging and the teachers yelling at their trainees.


    He scanned the room, taking it all in.


    Fighters moved across the mats, sparring with intensity, while others worked on drills and conditioning.


    He looked around, scanning the gym for familiar faces.


    He knew his friends wouldn''t be here; after all, they''d all just gotten off a long flight and were likely catching up on rest or handling their own affairs.


    As he surveyed the gym, his eyesnded on someone who looked vaguely familiar.


    Damon squinted, trying to ce the face, and then it hit him.


    Right, he remembered.


    Svena had mentioned something before, there was a new guy training at the gym, someone Victor had recently started working with.


    Enjoy more content from M-V-L


    Edward.


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

 Chapter 227 Familiar Rival

    Damon''s eyes widened in recognition, it really was him.


    Edward Whittaker.


    It had been two years since their unforgettable fight, one that Damon still considered his toughest challenge to date.


    Back then, in Stockton, they had a match that put all of his toughness and skill to the test.


    It was one of the hardest fights Damon had ever been in because Edward kept putting pressure on him and was just as determined. He could still remember it clearly.


    He hadn''t expected to see Edward again so soon, let alone here, in Victor''s gym.


    ''Looks like that deal he made with Vic back then has finally brought him to LA''


    It was strange to see a former rival training in the same facility, but it also fueled Damon''spetitive spirit.


    Their paths had crossed before, and now, it seemed, they were about to cross again.


    But as Damon observed Edward''s physique now, he realized that Edward didn''t look like a middleweight, though that made sense.


    Edward was still muscr, but his build waspact, not the towering frame one would associate with the heavier divisions.


    At around 5''8" or 5''9", he had grown a bit taller since thest time Damon had seen him, but he was still much shorter than Damon''s 6''2".


    When they fought two years ago, it had been in the flyweight division.


    Damon remembered how different they looked back then, he had beennky and almost painfully skinny, while Edward had carried his muscr frame with power and confidence.


    Now, Damon guessed Edward might bepeting at featherweight or even lightweight.


    It all depended on what felt right and natural for his body.


    If Edward''s movements and energy thrived at lightweight, then it would be the better fit for him, even if it meant facing opponents with a size advantage.


    Damon couldn''t help but wonder what kind of fighter Edward had be in those two years and how their paths would intersect once again, now that they were under the same roof.


    While Damon didn''t envision an official match against Edward in the near future, he couldn''t help but feel that Edward was the perfect person topete with, a true rival in spirit.


    Joey, despite his passion for MMA and his encyclopedic knowledge of UFA fighters, wasn''t an athlete himself.


    He was a die-hard fan but not someone Damon could measure himself against in the cage.


    Ash, on the other hand, was skilled, talented, and put in the work.


    But Damon had never seen Ash as a long-termpetitor or rival.


    It always felt like Ash was in MMA because he enjoyed the sport, not because he wanted to dominate or make a career out of it.


    With his wealthy family background, Ash didn''t have the same drive to fight for a living.


    Svena was in a simr boat. She loved fighting and was incredibly skilled, but Damon didn''t think she aspired to be a UFA fighter, at least, not from what he knew.


    It was more of a passion for her, something she was dedicated to but not necessarily her ultimate goal.


    Ashley was different; she was already a ranked fighter in the UFA''s strawweight division, a legitimate contender.


    But despite her impressive skills, Damon felt shecked a certain desperation.


    She was focused and driven, but not in the way that came from needing to fight for something deeper.


    And then there was Ty, a physical powerhouse with immense potential. He was someone Damon knew he should spar with more often, given Ty''s size and strength.


    But Ty''s quiet, almost reserved nature made him easy to overlook, and while he was undeniably skilled, he didn''t exude the samepetitive fire that Damon craved in a rival.


    That''s why Edward stood out. They had history, an intense, hard-fought match that had left both of them battered and bruised, but more importantly, had forged a mutual respect.


    Edward had something to fight for, a spirit that matched Damon''s own.


    Thest time they''d shed, neither of them had been great fighters yet, but both had been willing to give everything they had.


    They had known what was at stake, and that desperation had fueled them.


    Damon wanted that kind of challenge again, a rival who understood the stakes and was ready to push him to his limits.


    Edward felt like the perfect person for that role, and Damon couldn''t help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of testing himself against him once more.


    Damon pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, refocusing on the present.


    He took slow strides toward Edward and the other people working out in the gym. People who knew him turned to greet him as he walked across the mats.


    A few people smiled warmly, nodding at him as he passed. Others stepped forward, patting him on the back with genuine enthusiasm.


    "Great job, Damon," one fighter said, grinning. "Your performance was insane, man. Congrats on getting into the UFA."


    Another gym member chimed in, "You really put on a show! We''re all proud of you."


    Damon felt a rush of gratitude and appreciation, a smile breaking across his face as he nodded back at them. "Thanks, guys," he replied, his voice filled with humility.


    The encouragement and acknowledgment from his fellow fighters felt good, and it reminded him of the supportivemunity that had helped him get this far.


    But his eyes drifted back to Edward, who was busy training. Damon took a deep breath, ready to see where this next chapter in the gym would take him.


    He watched Edward spar, observing the way he moved with speed and precision.


    Edward''s fighting style was as chaotic and unpredictable as Damon remembered, a whirlwind of quick strikes and explosive energy that kept his opponents constantly guessing.


    A smile spread across Damon''s face, and he couldn''t help but call out. "Edward Whittaker! Still got that chaotic style of yours, huh?"


    Edward paused mid-movement, turning his head in surprise.


    His eyes widened slightly before a grin broke across his face. "Damon Cross," he said, shaking his head. "I''d say the same about you, but I heard you''ve leveled up since ourst fight."

 Chapter 228 Edward Whittaker

    Damon chuckled, stepping closer. "Only way to go is up, right? Good to see you here, man."


    Edward nodded, his grin never fading. "Likewise. Looks like we''re going to be seeing a lot more of each other."


    Thepeting spirit came back to life for Damon, and he couldn''t wait to see how they would push each other to new heights.


    Edward''s sparring partner stepped back, a wide smile on his face as he moved to give Damon a friendly dap.


    Damon returned the gesture, nodding at him. "I''ll take it from here if you don''t mind," he said, a yful grin on his face.


    The sparring partner stepped aside, giving Damon space.


    Damon slipped on the protective pads, ready to take on the role of a human punching bag for Edward''s striking drills.


    Edward got into his stance, his hands up and his eyes focused, ready to deliver blows with precision and power.


    Damon shook himself off while still smiling. He asked, "So," with augh in his voice, "how''s life been treating you?"


    Edward smirked,nding a light jab to test Damon''s reaction. "Better now that I''ve got someone to practice on," he joked, but there was warmth behind his teasing.


    He threw a number of careful punches and kicks, each one controlled but strong.


    "Been working my way back up," Edward added between strikes. "And you? UFA, huh? You''ve been making waves."


    Damonughed, taking the hits and feeling the energy between them. "Yeah, it''s been a wild ride," his expression shifting from curiosity to shock as Edward exined. "So what led you here, after two years?" he had asked, expecting a simple story about chasing opportunities.


    Edward grinned, but there was a hint of heaviness in his eyes. "Well, after losing to you and getting an offer from Mr. Steele, I had to find a way to help pay for my dad''s cancer treatment."


    When Damon heard that, he stopped and naturally lowered his hands. It hit him hard.


    But it was right when Edward was in the middle of his swing.


    Damon instinctively moved to avoid the blow, and his reactions were as quick as ever.


    "Wait¡­ cancer?" Damon said, his voice low with concern. "I didn''t know that. I''m so sorry, man." Guilt pricked at his heart.


    The idea of being the one who might have crushed Edward''s chance at helping his father weighed heavily on him.


    Edward shook his head, quickly apologizing. "Sorry about that," he said, referring to the missed hit. But then he put his hands down and offered Damon a genuine smile. "Nah, it''s fine. You know, that loss actually pushed me to go harder. And besides, you were fighting for your own reasons too, whatever they were. We all had our battles."


    Edward leaned back against the wall, his eyes thoughtful. "I''ve grown a lot from two years ago," he continued. "Mr. Steele had me under contract. He wanted me to make a name for myself in the local promotions, jumping around different circuits. In return, he covered my dad''s treatment fees."


    Even though Damon felt sorry for Edward, he admired how strong his voice sounded.


    Even though things were hard, Edward kept going and fought his own fights.


    Now they were both here, stronger and more determined than before.


    Damon nodded, realizing just how much Edward had been through and how busy he must have been in the local circuits.


    It made sense why Damon hadn''t kept up, his focus had been squarely on the UFA scene, but it seemed Edward had carved out his own path.


    He leaned against the wall and slid down to sit beside Edward. "So, what''s the n from here?" Damon asked, curiosity in his voice. "I''m sure you''ve got goals."


    Edward nodded, and his eyes had a determined look in them. "Yeah. Mr. Steele said he''s working on something for me¡­ not sure what exactly, but he told me to be patient. So for now, I''m just training and waiting."


    Damon raised an eyebrow. "Is he here now?" he asked, half-expecting to hear more about Mr. Steele''s ns.


    Edward shook his head. "Nah, he left just now," he replied. "Something about his daughtering back¡­ You were with them, right? Her included?"


    Damon nodded, memories shared with the Steele family flooding back. "Yeah," he said, a small smile ying at his lips. "Svena''s something else, isn''t she?"


    Edward raised an eyebrow, giving Damon a yful smirk. "Are you and her...?" he trailed off, clearly teasing.


    Damon''s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly shook his head. "Nah... not yet," he said, the words slipping out before he even realized what he had implied.


    Edward''s smile widened, and he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Not yet, huh?" he teased, but there was no judgment, just genuine curiosity and humor.


    Edward leaned back, and he looked like he was thinking.


    He''d had his share of experiences with girls over the years, but he''d nevermitted to anything serious.


    His priorities had always been his family. His little sister and his father were constantly on his mind, motivating every decision he made and every sacrifice he was willing to endure.


    "That''s the thing, isn''t it?" Edward said, looking off into the distance. "We all have people we''re fighting for."


    Damon agreed, and he could feel the truth settling between them.


    They both knew what it was like to carry the hopes and dreams of their families, to fight not just for their own fame but for something more important.


    Damon got up from the ground and brushed his pants off. "Want to keep training?" he asked Edward with a smile as his energy came back.


    Edward got to his feet as well, nodding. "Sure," he replied, his ownpetitive spirit sparking up.


    Damon began walking toward the locker room. "Be right back," he called over his shoulder. "Gotta change into some training clothes."


    As he waited, Edwardughed, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall.

 Chapter 229 The Rematch

    Sharp grunts and the heavy impact of hits falling on pads and skin filled the gym with the sounds of their sparring.


    Damon and Edward were already deep into a tough round. They moved quickly but powerfully, and each attack was a nned attempt to test and push the other.


    Edward let out a wild high kick, and his muscles flexed with disciplined uracy as the kick shot forward.


    This kick wasn''t careless like thest one was two years ago; it was polished, with each move driven by confidence and control.


    He had his eyes fixed on Damon and wouldn''t move.


    But Damon had grown too, and it showed. He sidestepped the kick effortlessly, his footwork smooth and evasive.


    It was almost as if he could predict Edward''s moves before they came, and he countered with a quick jab that found its mark.


    Edward adjusted his stance immediately, refusing to be caught off guard.


    His strikes had improved, his technique sharpened, but even so, he found himself just a step behind Damon.


    Whether it was Damon''s natural talent or his relentless work ethic, the gap between them seemed even more visible now.


    Or maybe Damon was simply progressing faster.


    Damien kept his eyes on Edward the whole time, and his body moved in a way that seemed natural.


    The fight felt like a dance, and Damon was in charge of it.


    Even so, he respected Edward''s strength and growth and knew that this was exactly the kind of challenge he needed to keep pushing himself.


    Edward gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing.


    He stepped in, throwing a series of fast, snapping punches aimed at Damon''s guard.


    Damon absorbed the hits on his forearms, his body moving with the rhythm of each impact, feeling the force but staying steady.


    Damon saw an opening as Edwardmitted to a heavy right cross.


    He slipped to the side, dodging the punch and countering with a sharp kick to Edward''s ribs.


    Edward stumbled back, his breathing out in a harsh grunt.


    But Edward recovered quickly, showing just how much he''d improved.


    He didn''t back down; instead, he used the momentum to twist and throw a low leg kick at Damon''s thigh.


    Damon felt the sting of the strike but adjusted his weight, stepping back to minimize the damage.


    Damon''s movements were controlled, but there was a spark of intensity in his eyes. He pushed forward, throwing a quick jab to force Edward to react.


    Edward raised his guard, but Damon immediately followed up with a feint, dropping low to go for a sweeping leg kick.


    Edward jumped back, avoiding the sweep, but Damon was already moving, pressing the attack.


    Edward fired back with a spinning backfist, his speed impressive, but Damon ducked under it, his reactions almost instinctual.


    He came up with an elbow aimed at Edward''s face, stopping it just short of making contact, a reminder that even in sparring, he held the advantage.


    Edward breathed hard, sweat dripping down his forehead.


    His face broke into a grin despite the struggle.


    He realized he was behind, but he also  wanted and knew he was giving Damon a run for his money.


    "Not bad," Damon said, a hint of respect in his voice.


    Edward smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. "You''re too damn fast," he replied, resetting his stance, ready for more.


    When the two fighters locked eyes, it was clear that they were both still going to fight.


    .


    .


    .


    They finished their sparring session, both of them breathing heavily but with smiles on their faces.


    Edward wiped sweat from his brow, nodding with a smirk. "Yeah, you''re ahead of me¡­ for now," he said, thepetitive spirit in his voice still strong.


    Damonughed, pping Edward on the shoulder. "You''re good too, man. We''ll keep pushing each other and improve together," he replied, genuine respect in his eyes.


    As they continued talking, the door to the gym swung open, but neither of them paid much attention to it at first.


    They were too caught up in their conversation, riding the high of a good, hard-fought spar.


    But then a familiar voice broke through the background noise. "Oh, I see you two have been reacquainted," the voice said.


    Damon and Edward both turned to see Victor standing there, a knowing smile on his face.


    His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked pleased to see the two of them training together.


    Victor stepped forward, a warm smile lighting up his face as he approached Damon.


    He pulled Damon into a hug-handshake, the kind that spoke of mutual respect and pride.


    "I saw your match, kid," Victor said, his voice full of genuine admiration. "In fact, I watched the whole show... You''ve improved so much, and I''m proud of you."


    Damon nodded, his own smile widening. "Thanks, Vic," he replied, feeling the appreciation in the older man''s words.


    Victor then turned to Edward, extending his hand.


    Edward took it with a firm shake, and Victor''s eyes showed the same respect for him. "Good to see you putting in work, Edward," Victor said. "I''m expecting great things from you too."


    Even though he was tired from fighting, Edward still had a lot of energy. He quickly answered, "I''m ready, Mr. Steele."


    There was an air of hope between the three of them, they would aplish something great.


    Victor smiled, shaking his head slightly. "I told you, just call me Vic," he said, his tone light but warm.


    Edward nodded, a bit sheepishly. "Right, Vic," he corrected himself with a grin.


    Victor brushed his hands together, his expression growing more serious yet still full of energy. "Alright, boys," he said, looking between Damon and Edward, "I''ve got some news for you both about your future from here. So why don''t you follow me to my office?"


    Whatever Victor had to say, it was bound to be important.


    Damon felt his heart rate pick up a little, which was natural after all Victor always brought good news.


    So he wasn''t expecting any different today.

 Chapter 230 Pivotal News

    They walked into Victor''s office and could feel that the air was cooler because of the quiet hum of the air conditioner.


    Damon and Edward took seats in thefortable chairs across from Victor''srge, organized desk.


    The room had a professional yet weing atmosphere.


    Victor sat down on his side of the desk, leaning forward slightly, his hands sped together.


    His face was serious, but there was a hint of excitement in it, like he was about to say something important.


    As Damon leaned back in his chair, he could feel the excitement building in his chest. Edward sat up straight and looked straight ahead, ready to listen to what Victor had to say.


    Vic looked at both of them for a moment before starting. He spoke in a firm, authoritative tone, "Okay, boys. Let''s talk about what''s next for the two of you."


    Victor looked at Edward and leaned back in his chair. "So, Eddie," he began, his tone thoughtful, "you said you wanted a chance."


    Edward nodded. His eyes were filled with hope, and his whole body was tense.


    Victor returned the nod, a small smile ying at his lips. "I would''ve sent you to The Supreme Fighter show, like I did with Damon, but unfortunately, the next season won''t happen anytime soon." He paused, letting the weight of his words hang for a moment before leaning forward. "So, I went for the next best thing."


    He slid a piece of paper across the desk toward Edward.


    Edward''s hand trembled slightly as he picked it up, his eyes scanning the document.


    His expression shifted from curiosity to surprise, then to awe.


    Edward held the paper, his eyes widening in disbelief and excitement as he read the heading.


    Ronan ck''s Contender Show.


    This was huge. The RBCS wasn''t like The Supreme Fighter show, with its drawn-out, reality TV-style series and elimination rounds.


    The Contender Show had a different format, and in many ways, it was even more intense.


    Unlike The Supreme Fighter, the RBCS offered a quicker path to a contract. Fighters didn''t have to go through weeks of challenges and house drama.


    Instead, all they needed was one outstanding performance, one chance to prove they belonged in the UFA.


    Many of the top champions and contenders had gotten their start through this show, making it a legitimate proving ground for the best up-anding talent.


    As Edward thought about what this meant, his hands shook a little. He couldn''t miss this chance.


    Edward looked up at Victor, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Ste¨C I mean, Victor," he corrected himself with a sheepish smile. "Thank you. I won''t let you down."


    Victor''s smile widened, and he gave Edward a firm nod. "I didn''t do anything special," he replied. "Your performance around the regional circuits was impressive enough to earn this opportunity. Just make sure you train hard and stay focused for this."


    Edward''s jaw tightened with determination, and he nodded once more. "I will," he promised. The weight of the opportunity pressed on him, but it only fueled his resolve.


    Damon''s smile widened as he leaned over to congratte Edward, giving him a friendly pat on the back. "Congrats, man. This is huge," he said sincerely, happy for his friend''s opportunity.


    Victor then turned his attention to Damon, his expression serious but thoughtful. "Now, for you, I have two pieces of news," he began. "First, let me tell you what I had nned."


    Damon leaned forward, listening intently.


    "I''m sure you''ve noticed both Coach Jos¨¦ and Kru Somchai haven''t been around," Victor continued. "Unfortunately, or fortunately for them, they''re both stepping back from the martial arts scene. While Coach Jos¨¦ will still make casual appearances and provide guidance from time to time¡­"


    Victor paused, taking a breath before delivering the next part. "Kru Somchai is heading back to Thand to be with his family. It''s something he''s been wanting for a while, and I support his decision. But that leaves a gap in your training.


    So I''ve been looking for a good coach to fill that role. Of course, if you have any suggestions on who you''d like to work with, let me know. But that''s only part of the news."


    Damon''s heart sank a little, but he quickly shook it off, wanting to hear more.


    He knew how important it was to have the right coach guiding him, and if anyone could find someone suitable, it was Victor.


    Damon knew deep down that even without a coach, he''d probably be okay, maybe.


    The system was incredible, sure, but it never truly highlighted his weaknesses or taught him how to refine his techniques in the most efficient way.


    Itcked the human intuition that only a skilled coach could provide.


    He looked at Victor, listening carefully as he continued.


    "So," Victor said, leaning forward, "here''s the n. We talked about this before, and Kru Somchai had onest suggestion before leaving the martial arts scene, a final, intense training camp with him. He wants to give you everything he knows, to pass down all his knowledge in oneprehensive camp. I''ve been nning to send you to Thand to train under him before he officially steps away. So, what do you think? Are you up for it?"


    Damon thought about it, weighing the opportunity. Was it worth it? Traveling to


    Thand for a brutal camp, uprooting himself for weeks of grueling training¡­ It sounded intense, but there was no point in turning down a chance to grow, to learn from one of the best.


    He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah," he said, determination in his eyes. "I''m up for it. Let''s do it."


    Victorughed heartily at Damon''s quick agreement, the sound echoing through the office. "Think about it first, kid. Sleep on it," he said, amusement twinkling in his eyes.


    Damon couldn''t help but chuckle in return, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh, right," he replied, his curiosity piqued. "You mentioned there were two pieces of news?"


    Victor''s expression shifted slightly, the humor fading as he nodded, bing more serious. "Yeah, now moving on to the second," he said, leaning back in his chair. His eyes met Damon''s, and there was a weight to his words. "This one is about the UFA."


    Damon''s eyebrows shot up, his heart thumping a little faster. The UFA? he thought, leaning forward instinctively, anticipation tightening in his chest.


    Victor let the pause linger for a moment, then finally said.


    "The UFA has called for you."

 Chapter 231 The Call Up

    UFA calling for you meant one thing: they were offering a fight. For any rising fighter, this was an incredible opportunity.


    For them, it was a chance to shine, show off their skills to fans, and leave asting impact on the people in charge.


    It was an opportunity to prove their worth on the stage to solidify their ce in the organization.


    But... Damon couldn''t ignore the fact that he had just fought only two days ago.


    He had co-main evented and secured the title of The Supreme Fighter, a grueling path that he had only justpleted.


    Technically, he was supposed to be resting and recovering, allowing his body time to heal.


    Sure, he had dominated Brian Walker, ragdolling his opponent with such efficiency that he barely had any damage to recover from.


    Still, it was unusual to be called for a fight so soon.


    The timing felt off.


    Why would they offer me a fight now? Damon wondered, his mind racing. There had to be a reason, something behind the urgency.


    The UFA wouldn''t throw a fighter back into the cage without a good reason.


    Victor''s reassuring smile did little to ease the curiosity burning inside Damon. "This one is a bitplicated," Victor continued. "It isn''t an official call-in, and you have full choice to reject it without any consequences."


    Damon raised an eyebrow, but he was already beginning to piece together why they were offering him a fight so soon.


    Victor leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "Here''s the situation, the UFA is holding a Fight Night event, and one of the fighters tested positive for PEDs. They''re scrambling for a recement. Normally, they wouldn''t consider someone who just fought, but since you took almost no damage in yourst match and are riding high as The Supreme Fighter, you were their first choice."


    Damon''s eyes narrowed slightly as he processed this.


    It was a golden opportunity, but it came with its own set of risks.


    Victor''s gaze was steady, full of concern, but also hope. "Now, hear me out," he said. "This is a big chance, but it''s important that you feel ready. Are you good? Physically? Mentally?"


    Damon took a moment, feeling the weight of the question. He knew he had to be honest with himself to evaluate whether he could rise to the challenge so soon after hisst victory.


    Victor studied Damon''s expression, looking for any signs of doubt or hesitation, but Damon felt confident.


    He''d been running on adrenaline and excitement ever since hisst fight, and his body felt as sharp as ever.


    Seeing Damon''s determined nod, Victor smiled. "So?"


    Damon didn''t hesitate. "I feel good," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I can go back to training anytime. Like you said, myst fight was fast, and I didn''t take any damage."


    Victor''s smile widened, a spark of pride in his eyes. "Alright, then," he said. "I''ll let them know you''re ready to step in. This could be a major opportunity to make your name even bigger."


    Victor leaned back, his expression thoughtful as he continued. "Okay, now let''s talk about your stay in Thand," he said. "I''m sure you''ll need to discuss it with your mother."


    Damon nodded, already considering how he''d break the news to her. But then a question hit him. "How long will I be there?" he asked.


    Victor shrugged. "That''s for you and Somchai to decide," he replied. "It''ll depend on how much you want to learn and how long Somchai thinks you need. But keep in mind," Victor added, leaning forward, "if you want to rise in the UFA, you have to stay consistent and always be ready. So even while you''re in Thand, you''ll need to fly back when the timees topete in UFA Fight Night events."


    He paused for emphasis. "You''ll work your way up from those to the prelims and beyond. It''s all part of the grind, but I''m sure you''ll handle it just fine."


    Damon felt the weight of it, the challenge, and the opportunity. It was going to be intense, but he knew this was exactly what he needed to grow and make a name for himself in the UFA.


    Damon nodded, agreeing with Victor''s n. He didn''t mind the idea of staying in Thand for as long as it took, but he knew he''d have to talk it over with his mother.


    The thought of leaving her again, of being away from the people he cared about, weighed heavily on his mind.


    He also realized just how many sacrifices he''d have to make if he truly wanted to climb the ranks of the UFA.


    Time with his loved ones would be the first thing to go, and no amount of training or simted preparation could rece those moments.


    The simtion made it easy to maximize his training, allowing him to sleep and train simultaneously. But even with that advantage, some things simply couldn''t be avoided.


    The physical presence, the connection with family and friends¡ªthose were things he''d have to give up, and the thought of it stung.


    Still, Damon was determined. He had made it this far, and he wasn''t about to stop now. The path he''d chosen was never going to be easy, but it was one he was ready to walk, even if it meant making some difficult sacrifices along the way.


    Victor noticed the thoughtful, almost somber look on Damon''s face and offered a reassuring smile. "Don''t worry," he said, his voice warm. "You can always fly back whenever you want to visit. Family is important, and you should make time for them."


    Then, with a yful grin, he added, "But you''ll have to pay for those flights yourself¡­ You''re a working man now, after all."


    Damon and Edward burst intoughter, the tension in the room easing up.


    Damon felt a bit lighter, grateful for Victor''s humor and understanding.


    Even with the challengesing, moments like these reminded him that he had a strong support system behind him.

 Chapter 232 A Worthy Challenge

    As Damon and Edward left Victor''s office, they could feel how much they had talked about.


    Both had asked enough questions to feel satisfied, learning about their own opportunities and future matches.


    Damon was very interested in what wasing next. He only had one week to get ready for his next fight and get back to his best fighting shape.


    His thoughts were rushing as he thought about the opponent Victor had talked about: Cen Gustm.


    Cen Gustm wasn''t someone to take lightly. He had an impressive record and a reputation that preceded him.


    Damon recalled some of the highlights: Gustm had once defeated a former heavyweight champion and had fought in a match against a former middleweight champion that was still talked about as one of the greatest fights in UFA history.


    To top it all off, Cen Gustm was a former Supreme Fighter winner as well. That fact added an extrayer of intrigue to the match.


    "Yeah," Damon thought to himself, his grin widening. "This is going to be great to see."


    ''I mean fight in...''


    Damon took a deep breath, feeling the pressure settle in.


    But he didn''t feel scared; he felt excited. He really liked this test because it gave him a chance to show everyone that he belonged at the top.


    And Cen Gustm was currently ranked number 15 on the UFA rankings a dangerous opponent and a stepping stone Damon knew he had to conquer.


    Damon looked down at his hand, holding the sh drive Victor had given him.


    It contained hours of Cen Gustm''s past fights, detailed footage, and critical information about his fighting style, strengths, and weaknesses.


    The kind of knowledge that could make or break a game n.


    A smirk yed on Damon''s lips. With this, he could make his simtions as urate as possible.


    The data from Gustm''s fights would allow the simtion to mimic him almost perfectly, turning his training into a precise battle against one of the toughest middleweights in the division.


    He clenched the sh drive in his hand, and his eyes were filled with resolution.


    Victor had gone out of his way to prepare this sh drive for Damon.


    It wasn''t difficult to find Cen Gustm''s matches, most of them were avable to the public, but sifting through hours of footage to pinpoint the most useful ones, the fights that revealed Gustm''s weaknesses and highlighted his strengths, was no small task.


    Damon appreciated the effort. "Big ups to Vic," he muttered, a grateful smile tugging at his lips.


    Having a coach and mentor who went the extra mile for him meant everything, especially when preparing for an opponent as formidable as Gustm.


    This kind of detailed preparation would make all the difference in the days ahead.


    With that settled in his mind, Damon decided to start early and get right to work.


    He would save watching Cen Gustm''s matches for when he got home, but for now, he focused on putting in the hours of training he needed.


    Even without his Muay Thai coach, Kru Somchai, there were plenty of skilled coaches and training partners at the gym to keep him sharp.


    The building was full of people working, and that was infectious, pushing Damon to give his all.


    Edward, in particr, became a key sparring partner for Damon.


    They exchanged techniques, worked on their striking and ground game.


    Edward''s fast-paced, explosive style was the perfect challenge for Damon, forcing him to adapt and sharpen his skills.


    Sweat dripped down Damon''s face as he practicedbination afterbination, focusing on footwork, defense, and counters.


    The training felt grueling, but he knew every drop of sweat was one step closer to being ready for the biggest fight of his life.


    As the evening settled in, Damon finished hisst set and headed to the gym showers.


    The hot water cascaded over his sore muscles, easing the tension from hours of intense training.


    He sighed in relief, closing his eyes and letting the warmth soothe his body.


    After drying off and getting dressed, Damon slung his gym bag over his shoulder.


    His hair was still damp, and he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the exhaustion mixed with a sense of aplishment.


    Edward had left just before him, mentioning something about needing to head back to Stockton to see his dad and sister for the weekend.


    Damon had wished him well, understanding the pull of family.


    Damon took a deep breath, stepping outside into the cool evening air. The day had been long, but he felt ready to keep pushing forward.


    As Damon stepped out of the locker room, he saw Victor emerging from his office at the same time.


    Victor spotted him and gave a nod. "Hold on for a sec," he said. "Let me lock up, and I''ll drive you back home."


    Damon nodded, grateful for the ride. He noticed that the gym was now spotless, the mats freshly disinfected and the space tidied up by the cleaning crew.


    The day''s intensity had been scrubbed away, leaving the gym looking pristine and ready for another round tomorrow.


    Damon walked outside and stood by Victor''s sleek BMW, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. He leaned against the car and waited.


    It didn''t take long for Victor to finish locking up the facility.


    He turned off the lights, and the gym plunged into the calm, dim glow of the streemps outside.


    It wasn''t fully night yet, but the sun had already disappeared, leaving the sky a deepening shade of blue.


    Damon climbed into the passenger seat of Victor''s BMW, and soon they were on the road, the drive smooth and easy.


    The car ride was filled with conversation as they caught up on everything.


    Victor mentioned how impressed he was with Damon''s growth. "You''ve improved a lot," he said, a proud smile on his face. "Sending you to The Supreme Fighter was definitely the right call. You made the most of it."


    Damon grinned, feeling a warm sense of pride. "Thanks, Vic. It really was a crazy experience, but I learned so much."


    They continued talking, the city lights blurring by as the car cruised smoothly toward home.

 Chapter 233 Breaking Down

    "Alright... we''re here," Victor said as he eased the car to a stop in front of therge apartment building.


    The headlights lit up the entrance and left long shadows on the ground.


    Damon looked out at the familiar structure, feeling a sense offort and familiarity.


    After taking off his seatbelt, he looked at Victor with a d smile on his face. "Thanks for the ride, Vic," he said.


    Victor nodded, his expression warm. "Anytime, kid. Take care and rest up. Big days ahead."


    Damon stepped out of the car, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, and waved as Victor pulled away.


    Moving toward the building, he felt the cool air in the evening on his skin. He was ready to rest and get ready for what was toe.


    He turned around and went into the lobby, which was quiet.


    It was quiet, and there were only a few people moving around,ing and going.


    He made his way to the elevator, stepping in just as the doors slid open. Inside, a young couple stood together, whispering and sharing a quietugh.


    Damon offered them a polite nod and then leaned back against the elevator wall, feeling the exhaustion from the day creeping in.


    As it started to go up, the lift quietly hummed, and the lights above the doors shed one floor at a time as it went. Damon let out a small sigh.


    He was already thinking about how nice it would be to be in bed and how he needed to start getting ready for his fight.


    .


    .


    As the elevator doors slid open, Damon stepped out while the couple remained inside, theirughter and whispered conversation fading as the doors closed behind him.


    He made his way down the quiet hallway, the familiar hum of the building making him feel at home.


    When Damon got to the door to his apartment, he stopped because he knew it was probably locked.


    He looked for his keys by rummaging through his pockets.


    As he searched for them and struggled to open the door, he thought about whether his mom was already home from her job interview.


    ''She had to be''


    A small smile forming on his lips. His mom wasn''t much of an "outdoors" person, preferring thefort and familiarity of home.


    Damon was surprised to find that the apartment waspletely dark when he walked in.


    It felt strange and even unsettling to be back in the warmfort of home.


    When he shut the door, the sound echoed through the empty room.


    All of a sudden, he heard noises like shufflesing from the living room.


    His body tensed, the fighter in him instinctively on edge.


    ''Did someone break in?''


    His heart beating a little faster. Moving cautiously, he approached the light switch on the wall, his steps slow and deliberate.


    He pressed the switch, and the lights flickered on, flooding the room with brightness.


    His mother was standing near the couch, turned slightly away, her hand covering part of her face.


    Damon let out a sigh of relief. "Mom," he said, his voice tinged with nervousughter, "I thought someone broke in."


    Aoife turned to him, herughter forced and thin. "Haha, very funny," she replied, but her voice sounded different, strained, almost forced. "This is a¡­ safe ce, you know."


    Damon nodded, but a feeling of unease settled in his gut.


    Something was off. Her tone wasn''t quite right, and her posture seemed stiff, like she was trying to hide something.


    Aoife didn''t even look in Damon''s direction as she spoke. "It''s good you''re back," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "Please lock up¡­ I''m tired, and I''ll be going to sleep early." She hastily moved toward her room, her footsteps quick and almost anxious.


    Damon didn''t like the way she was acting. Something felt very wrong. He called out, "Mom¡­"


    She paused mid-step, her back still to him, and stood there for a moment, frozen. Damon''s concern deepened, and he took a hesitant step forward. "Mom, are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice full of worry.


    Aoife just stood there with her shoulders stiff. There was a long, heavy silence between them that was full of anxiety.


    Her hands fell limply to her sides, and Damon''s concern only grew.


    He stepped closer, cing a gentle hand on her shoulder.


    She shuddered slightly at his touch, and his worry deepened.


    Damon carefully turned her around, his eyes searching her face.


    She was looking down, avoiding his gaze, but he noticed the redness in her eyes, the tears threatening to spill over.


    His heart began to pound, a surge of fear and confusion washing over him.


    What happened? he wondered, his mind racing.


    His mother was strong, resilient, she rarely, if ever, cried.


    Maybe she had shed a tear or two for moments of happiness, but this¡­ this was different. This wasn''t joy. This was pain.


    "Mom," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "What''s wrong?"


    Aoife took a shaky breath but didn''t immediately respond.


    The silence that followed was suffocating, and Damon could feel the weight of whatever was troubling her pressing down on both of them.


    She finally looked up at Damon, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and a deep sense of shame washed over her for breaking down in front of her son.


    She tried topose herself, but her emotions were too overwhelming to hide.


    "I don''t know," she said, her voice cracking. "I just¡­ I don''t know how much more I can take."


    Her shoulders trembled, and she clutched at her hands, as if trying to hold herself together. "I''ve been trying, Damon. Trying so hard to find a job, to support us both. But every time, it''s just rejection after rejection. No one wants to hire someone my age. No one thinks I''m worth investing in¡­"


    Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she wiped them away hastily, feeling even more vulnerable. "I know you''re doing amazing things," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "You''re fighting, making a name for yourself, and I''m so proud of you. But I feel¡­ useless. Worthless. Like I''m not contributing to our future. And that''s¡­ that''s so hard for me."


    Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw, and Damon''s heart ached seeing his mother, his rock, his source of strength, feeling so defeated.

 Chapter 234 Shared Burdens

    He put his arms around his mom and pulled her into a tight,forting hug. As she let out her pain, he gently rubbed her back and felt her shudder against him.


    He felt something deep inside when she showed weakness. It brought back memories he had tried to forget.


    He knew exactly how that made him feel, it was the same agonizing frustration he had felt as a child when he couldn''t protect his mother from his cruel father.


    He was determined to get better and make sure he would never be helpless again because of the scars from those times.


    When he saw that his mother was feeling the same way, he felt a strong need to protect her. He hugged her tighter, as if he could take away her pain and make her strong again. "You''re not alone, Mom," he whispered softly. "You''re everything to me, and we''re in this together."


    They stood in silence, sharing the burdens they both carried, bound by a shared resilience that had brought them this far.


    "And Mom," Damon said softly, his voice steady but filled with resolve. "You don''t have to do anything. Let me handle this."


    Aoife started to protest, "But¨C"


    Damon interrupted her gently but firmly, something he rarely, if ever did. "No ''but,'' Mom," he insisted, his tone unwavering. "You can''t keep stressing yourself over this. I''m here now, and I want to help. Just let me take care of you, the way you''ve always taken care of me."


    Aoife looked at him, emotions swirling in her eyes, a mix of pride, relief, and the lingering guilt of feeling like a burden.


    She felt better when she saw Damon''s steady look. For the first time, she could feel the weight of her worries lift as she realized that her son really did want to be there for her.


    And it was time to let him be the protector.


    Aoife let out a soft sigh, and her shoulders rxed as she looked up at Damon with a blend of thanks and sensitivity in her eyes. "Thank you," she said in a whisper, her voice barely able to hide the feeling that was still there.


    Damon pulled her closer and gave her aforting hug that seemed to say everything he couldn''t say. He said in a soft, steady voice, "No need to thank you, Mom." She felt calmer in his arms, like the stress was leaving her body.


    After a moment, she gently broke the hug, wiping her face with trembling fingers, a faint, embarrassed chuckle escaping her lips. "I''m sorry you had to see me like this," she said, her voice fragile but trying to regain some strength.


    Damon smiled softly, his gaze calm and reassuring. "There''s nothing to be ashamed of, Mom," he replied, his tone gentle yet firm. "But you should go get some rest." His eyes held hers for a moment, a silent promise that he''d be there, always.


    She managed a weary smile, her eyes still glossy but full of warmth. With a final grateful nod, she turned and slowly made her way to her room.


    Damon watched her leave with a sad heart but a strong will. He knew more than ever what he had to do to help her, just like she had always helped him.


    Damon plopped down on the sofa with a heavy sigh, letting himself sink into the cushions.


    "This is good,"


    And a feeling of calm came over him. That''s one less thing his mom would have to do to get a job or work herself sick trying to support them.


    That was his job now.


    After a moment, he stood up, heading to the kitchen.


    The counters were clear, and there was no scent of food in the air, nothing had been prepared for dinner.


    He realized she must''ve been too preupied with everything on her mind.


    I''ll take care of it, he decided, rolling up his sleeves. Tonight, he''d make sure she had a hot meal ready, something simple butforting.


    Over the past few years, Damon had picked up a fair amount of cooking skills.


    After all, it was a basic survival skill, something everyone needed to know, especially in the unpredictable life he led.


    He moved around the kitchen with ease, getting things ready and gathering the fixings.


    He wasn''t going to call himself a cook, but he was good enough to make a good meal.


    As he worked, he chopped, stirred, and tasted. He got into a routine that was almost soothing after a busy day.


    The warm smell of spices and food cooking filled the kitchen, and Damon couldn''t help but feel a little proud.


    Even though he hadn''t been cooking for years, he could at least make his mom something warm andforting tonight.


    Damon dished out the food, carefully ting it before heading down the hallway to his mother''s room.


    Bncing the te in one hand, he knocked gently on her door, but there was no response.


    He poked his head in, and a faint smile crept onto his face as he heard the soft rhythm of her snores.


    Quietly, he stepped back, switching off the light and softly closing the door behind him. He returned to the kitchen, wrapping up the food and putting it in the fridge for tomorrow.


    Satisfied, he tidied up the kitchen and let out a tired sigh. The day had been long, but as he turned off the lights, he felt a quiet sense of aplishment.


    He carried his te into the living room, setting it on the table before reaching into his bag for his training gear.


    After rummaging through, his fingers brushed against the small, hard sh drive Victor had given him. Pulling it out, he looked at it for a moment and smiled.


    "Time to see what this is all about," he muttered to himself, a spark of anticipation in his eyes.


    Settling onto the couch, he plugged in the drive and queued up the footage. As the screen lit up with Cen Gustm''s fights, Damon picked up his fork, ready to eat while he studied his next opponent.


    For now, Damon set aside thoughts of the Simtion. His focus remained locked on the screen, taking in every detail of Cen Gustm''s fighting style.

 Chapter 235 Studying the Challenger

    The screen lit up with a ssic showdown between Cen Gustm and Ismael Desayen, a fight renowned in the UFA for its intensity and technical brilliance.


    Damon leaned forward, his focus sharpening as he studied every movement, searching for any gaps, any weaknesses in Gustm''s style.


    The bell rang, and the two fighters met in the middle of the cage. They danced with their feet, using both speed and power.


    As soon as Gustm got closer, he took an offensive stance and hit Desayen hard with quick feints and strong jabs.


    Desayen, taller and leaner, utilized his range, keeping his movements light and fluid, his guard high and reaction quick.


    Gustm darted in with a fast left hook, aiming to break through Desayen''s defense, but Desayen sidestepped with a fluid counter, sending a jab directly to Gustm''s face.


    Damon noticed how quickly Gustm shrugged it off, his expression calm, his gaze locked onto Desayen, ready to absorb any information he could use.


    ''He doesn''t flinch, He''s willing to take a hit to close the distance''


    Gustm moved in again and hit Desayen with a low kick that made him change his stance.


    Damon noted how each kick was calcted, aimed to disrupt Desayen''s bnce and timing. Desayen''s reaction time was fast, but Gustm had clearly studied him.


    Each strike seemed to push Desayen toward the cage, where Gustm could capitalize.


    The first round continued with both men exchanging heavy strikes, and Damon could see one of Gustm''s key strengths, his endurance.


    Even when Desayennded a quick one-twobo, Gustm brushed it off, keeping his defense tight and pressure constant.


    But Damon could also spot some gaps.


    ''He''s ovemitting on those hooks''


    And Desayen keeps slipping out to his left, exploiting that opening.


    Desayen''s strikes were precise and sharp, and he used his range advantage to hit Gustm at angles that were hard to counter.


    Gustm''s aggressive style meant he sometimes lunged in too close, leaving his side open to counters.


    In the second round, Gustm adjusted, tightening his guard and pacing himself.


    He threw a heavy leg kick that echoed through the arena, catching Desayen off-guard and visibly shaking his stance.


    Damon could see the strategy now: Gustm was wearing down Desayen''s mobility, aiming to restrict his movement and turn the fight into a close-range battle where his power could dominate.


    As Desayen tried to maintain distance, Gustm surged forward with a well-timed double jab, slipping Desayen''s counter andnding a clean uppercut to his chin.


    Desayen stumbled, briefly losing his bnce, but recovered quickly. Damon''s eyes narrowed.


    ''He''s good at finding the moment his opponent''s guard drops, Gustm isn''t just powerful, he''s patient when he needs to be.''


    As the third round began, both men were clearly getting tired. Gustm was moving a little more slowly, but Damon could tell he was still strong.


    Despite taking a few hard shots, he kept his form intact, his focus unbroken. Desayen, meanwhile, began to look frustrated, his punches bing wilder as he tried to keep Gustm at bay.


    Gustm seized the opportunity, ducking under one of Desayen''s wide hooks andunching a brutal body shot that visibly hurt Desayen.


    Damon noted the precision, how Gustm always targeted the torso after softening up the legs. It was a brutal but efficient way to drain an opponent''s stamina.


    But Damon spotted another vulnerability. When hemits to those body shots, he drops his guard up top, he noted. If his opponent''s quick enough, that''s an opening for a counter.


    ¡Á¡ÁRound 5¡Á¡Á


    The final moments of the fight showed both fighters going all out, exchanging vicious blows.


    Desayen, realizing he was behind, threw a spinning back kick, which Gustm narrowly dodged, countering with a powerful overhand right that connected solidly, sending Desayen staggering backward.


    Gustm followed up, pressing his advantage with relentless punches, each aimed with precision.


    In the end, Desayen won the match by judges'' decision, his precision and strategy edging out Gustm''s relentless aggression.


    Damon watched the screen as it went ck before loading up the next fight.


    He shifted on the couch, settling in as he prepared to watch more of Gustm''s fights, studying every angle and pattern.


    A small smile yed on his lips as he muttered to himself, "Looks like I''m going to bedte today."


    He leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen, determined to uncover everything he could about his next opponent.


    Tonight was about learning, nning, and preparing to face a fighter as relentless as Gustm.


    As the final video ended and the screen went dark, Damon nced at the time, almost midnight. He stretched, feeling the fatigue in his muscles from both the long day and the intense focus he''d maintained while watching.


    One thing was certain: Gustm was going to be a challenge. The guy''s aggression, endurance, and technique would test every skill Damon had.


    But he felt a quiet confidence growing within him. He knew he could do well, especially with the preparation he''d already started.


    He stood, grabbing his empty te, and made his way to the kitchen.


    The quiet clinking of the te and water running in the sink filled the silence as he washed up, his mind still reying the fights.


    With a determined smile, he finished up, drying his hands and setting the te aside.


    Damon finished up with the dishes, letting the warm water rinse away any lingering thoughts about the fight.


    After setting thest te to dry, he wiped his hands and began switching off the lights around the house.


    With the room now dim, he slipped the sh drive back into his bag, making a mental note to return it to Victor the next day.


    He made his way to his room, where he pulled off his shirt and pants, tossing them aside as he sat on the edge of his bed.


    The coolness of the sheets felt grounding after the long day, and as he ran a hand through his hair, he felt the weight of everything sink in, his victory, his new opponents, the path forward.


    Damon had absorbed a wealth of information about Cen Gustm from the footage he''d watched.


    Sitting back, he ran through everything he''d learned, carefully piecing together a mental profile of his uing opponent.

 Chapter 236 Breaking Down An Opponent Before The Official Fight.

    Cen''s strengths stood out right away. His boxing was crisp, powerful, and fast.


    Damon could tell that Gustm''s left hand was particrly lethal, a weapon he used with pinpoint precision.


    He didn''t just throw punches; he threw them with an intent to finish.


    This skill, paired with his speed and agility, made him a menace at close range, and he could close the distance on taller opponents with impressive footwork, something that Damon would have to be cautious of.


    Then there was Gustm''s wrestling background.


    The guy knew how to mix up his game, shooting for takedowns when his opponents least expected it, using his wrestling both offensively and defensively.


    He could keep an opponent guessing, constantly shifting between strikes and takedowns.


    Damon respected that versatility, knowing it could disrupt his own rhythm if he didn''t stay sharp.


    Damon also couldn''t ignore how strong Gustm was. The man had a rock-solid chin, and every fight showed how tough he was.


    Even when he took a beating, he pushed through, as if the harder the fight, the stronger he became.


    And that cardio, Damon had to admit, Gustm''s stamina was something else.


    He''d seen him stay active and dangerous through grueling five-round battles, barely slowing down, his pace relentless and unyielding.


    But no fighter was perfect, and Damon found areas where he could exploit weaknesses. Gustm''s reach disadvantage, for one.


    Standing around 5''9", he was shorter than most middleweights, which meant he sometimes struggled against opponents who could control range well.


    Damon''s 6''2" height advantage might allow him to keep Gustm at bay, forcing him to fight from a distance where his power wasn''t as effective.


    Another thing that caught Damon''s eye was Gustm''s inconsistency. Since his iconic fight with Ismael Desayen, his performances had been a bit unpredictable.


    While he''d nevercked aggression, Damon had seen moments where Gustm struggled to maintain his top form, especially against more elite-level opponents.


    It was something Damon would keep in mind; if he could push Gustm hard enough, maybe he''d find that inconsistency creeping back in.


    And then there were those defensive vulnerabilities. Gustm''s aggressive approach sometimes led him to drop his guard, exposing him to counters.


    Damon spotted instances where he''d been caught by clean shots because he was so focused on pressing forward.


    A well-timed counter or a sharpbination could capitalize on those openings.


    Damon also noticed Gustm''s reliance on boxing over aplete striking game. He rarely threw kicks, which limited his versatilitypared to other middleweights.


    Damon''s Muay Thai background gave him an edge here, he could vary his attack, using kicks to control range and keep Gustm from getting toofortable in close quarters.


    Lastly, while Gustm''s wrestling was solid, he rarely used it offensively on the ground.


    He could defend well and had a good takedown game, but his ground control and submission game weren''t as threatening.


    Damon saw this as an opportunity; if he managed to get Gustm down, there was potential to outmaneuver him or wear him down with control rather than risking a stand-up brawl.


    In summary, Damon knew he''d be up against a relentless powerhouse with solid boxing, agility, and resilience.


    Gustm would bring the fight to him, no doubt, but Damon felt ready, seeing a path to victory by exploiting the gaps he''d found.


    Now, with a clear n forming, it was time to take his newfound knowledge into the Simtion.


    Damon got into bed and pulled the covers over his body to get ready to start the simtion. He was about to close his eyes and jump in when his phone rang.


    The screen lit up in the dark room.


    Curious, he stretched out an arm, grabbing the phone from the bedside table.


    He nced at the notification, his brows lifting slightly in surprise when he saw the message:


    [Hey, I heard about your trip to Thand.]


    Damon paused, reading the message from Svena. A small smile crept onto his face as he typed back a reply.


    [Yeah, looks like I''ll be training there for a while. It''s all prettyst-minute.]


    He set the phone down for a moment, considering how to approach it.


    The trip was a big opportunity, but it would mean being away from everyone he was close to.


    As the thought settled in, his phone lit up again with another message.


    [That''s amazing! But¡­ I''m gonna miss having you around here.]


    He felt nice from what she said, and it reminded him of how much he valued his connection with her. He carefully chose his words as he typed back.


    [I''m gonna miss you too. But I''ll be back soon, and we can always keep in touch, right?]


    A momentter, her reply came through.


    [Of course. Just promise you won''te back with an ent!]


    Heughed, and the stress of the day began to melt away. He typed one more message and then put down his phone.


    [Deal. I''ll catch you tomorrow?]


    As hey back, a sense of peace settled over him.


    Damon was just about to slip into the simtion again when it hit him.


    "Ah, damn it, I didn''t tell Mom about Thand," he muttered, rubbing his temples.


    He let out a sigh as the thought raced through his mind. Was it really time to go now? He was getting ready for a long trip around the world while she had just told him about her problems.


    But as hey there, he shook his head. "I''ll think about it tomorrow," he murmured to himself, closing his eyes.


    There was still time to sort it all out, at least until after his fight with Gustm.


    No point overthinking it now.


    With a final exhale, he let the tension fade, easing back into his ns for the night.


    The nk white scene shifted, morphing into a gym with a spacious ring in the center.


    Damon watched as a figure began to take shape before him, pixel by pixel, growing clearer with each passing second.


    Standing before him now was Cen Gustm. Stocky and powerful, Gustm was built for close-rangebat.


    At 5''9", he had apact, muscr frame, his body honed through years of training.


    His arms were thick, built for delivering crushing hooks and uppercuts, and his torso looked like a wall of muscle, ready to absorb punishment and keep moving forward.

 Chapter 237 Sharpening the Edge

    The window let in a lot of morning light, giving the room a soft, warm glow.


    Before going right to the shower, Damon stretched and blinked awake.


    He wanted to let the water wash away the weight of the intense simtion from the night before.


    It had been a real test of skill to fight against the simted Cen Gustm.


    Damon had spent hours honing his responses, learning how to neutralize Gustm''s brutal aggression while leveraging his own reach and striking precision.


    There hadn''t been a clear winner; in each round, Gustm hadnded a few hard shots that had Damon on the ground, and Damon had answered with well-thought-out moves.


    But something had shifted. Each time he faced Gustm in the simtion, he grew closer to understanding how to take control, to find that ground where he could dominate, leaving no room for Gustm''s strengths to flourish.


    As he dressed, Damon''s mind was already formting his next approach. Today would be another step closer.


    Today''s n wasid out, train harder and push limits. Damon looked down at the small vials in his hand, each one containing stats elixir.


    These were his chance to boost his stats, a shortcut to reaching new levels of power and resilience.


    He had considered waiting until he reached Thand to use them, especially after hearing Victor''s n yesterday, but why hold back?


    If he could gain an edge now, there was no point in wasting time.


    Every improvement would bring him closer to unlocking the system upgrade and, with it, even more potential.


    Being back home offered Damon a kind of freedom he hadn''t felt in the facility during The Supreme Fighter show.


    There, every move he made was watched, analyzed, part of the nature of being in the spotlight for a TV show.


    He was always aware of the cameras and the demands that came with them, so he couldn''t push himself too far.


    Especially with the coaches.


    But at Victor''s gym, he could go all out. Here, there were no cameras, no producers waiting to capture every detail.


    Sure, he''d still need to pace himself, but with the health elixir in his system, he could push those limits further than ever.


    The people around him, Victor, his friends, they''d long assumed he had an almost unnatural resilience, recovering faster than the average fighter.


    It was the perfect setup to put the elixirs to full use without raising suspicion, allowing him to train as hard as he needed to reach the next level.


    Damon carefully tucked the elixirs into his bag, making sure they were secure.


    Once they were out of his inventory, there was no putting them back, so he''d only taken what he needed for this training camp.


    Adorned in his training clothes, he slung the bag over his shoulder and stepped out of his room.


    The moment he entered the hallway, a rich, warm aroma hit him from the kitchen.


    It smelled amazing, his mother was up and already making breakfast.


    Damon''s face softened, a bit of the morning tension easing as he made his way toward the kitchen.


    When Damon saw how much happier his mother was, he smiled even more. The weight of yesterday''s mood seemed to have lifted, even if only a little.


    He walked into the kitchen and watched her work. The room was filled with the familiar sounds and smells of breakfast.


    At first, she hadn''t seen him. When she finally did, she jumped and put her hand to her chest. "Oh!" She said, "You scared me," with a look of surprise in her eyes that quickly went away.


    She took a good look at him and saw his gym clothes and bag. "You''re off somewhere? Damon, you just fought¨C don''t you think you should take it easy?" Her brow arched a little, showing an array of worry and mild irritation on her face.


    Damon scratched the back of his head, the slight guilt tugging at him as he met her gaze. "Morning, Mom," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "Yeah, I know¡­ but about that¡­ there''s actually another matching up."


    He saw her expression fall immediately, her face growing tense as she searched his for a sign he might be joking. "Another match?" she echoed, her voice lowering with worry. "So soon?" Her hand twitched as if reaching for the phone. "Maybe I should call Mr. Steele¡ª"


    "Mom, it''s fine," Damon interjected, lifting a hand to stop her, his voice gentle but steady. "I could''ve said no, really, but I''m in good shape. Thest fight barely left a scratch."


    He tried to reassure her, his tone softening even more. "Besides, this is a chance to rise up the ranks. If I win, it could mean a step closer to a title shot."


    She paused, her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his words.


    Finally, she sighed, a reluctant but epting nod following. "Just¡­ promise me you''ll rest after this one." Her voice was gentle but resolute, and she turned to slide a te of breakfast toward him. "There''s no need to push yourself more than you already have."


    Damon''s gaze softened as he reached for the te, taking in the quiet strength of her words. "I promise, Mom," he said, feeling the weight of her concern, and with a small, reassuring smile, he picked up his fork and began to eat.


    Damon hesitated, ncing up at his mother.


    He hadn''t nned on mentioning Thand yet, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. "Except¡­ that I have to go to Thand."


    She stilled, her brow creasing as she looked at him. "What was that?" she asked, her voice steady, though Damon could sense a hint of tension. She had heard him, but she wanted him to say it clearly.


    He took a breath, steadying himself. "I''m¡­ going to Thand."


    The room went silent for a moment


    Finally, she sighed, her shoulders rxing slightly as if epting the reality of it.


    Damon could tell she was torn, she might want to tell him to stay, to try and keep him here, and he''d probably listen.


    But what would be the point if he''d be giving up an opportunity that clearly mattered?


    She nodded slowly, seeming toe to terms with it, and then gave him a small, understanding smile. "I see¡­ Just promise me you''ll take care of yourself." She paused, ncing at him with worry. "When are you leaving so I can help you pack?"


    Damon raised an eyebrow, surprised by her response. "That''s it?"


    Her smile grew, softening as she held his gaze. "What? Did you expect me to stop you?"


    He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, and then met her eyes with a sheepish grin. "¡­ Yeah, I kinda did."


    Sheughed softly, and the sound of her realughter warmed the room. Damon could tell she was worried, though. "You''re a grown man, Damon. You can do whatever you want." She leaned closer, reaching out to squeeze his hand gently. "Just be safe and responsible. That''s all I ask."


    She said something that made Damon feel heavy, and he knew that he would always have her support with him, no matter how far he went.

 Chapter 238 Blocked!?

    Time seemed to fly as the fight against Cen Gustm loomed closer. Being back home had made training feel different, better.


    Damon felt safe and stable in the ces he knew well, and his intense focus on his ns kept him sharp.


    His training sessions grew faster, more intense, and relentless.


    With the help of the health elixirs, Damon could recover in record time,


    The exhaustion was starting to feel normal, but Damon noticed something strange, almost as if the health elixirs were working faster, their effects kicking in sooner with each use.


    He didn''t know if the stuff was changing his body, but he hadughed it off, thinking it was probably just because he used it too much.


    The elixirs became an essential part of his regimen, boosting his motivation to get better as well as his physical recovery.


    But Damon didn''t stop there. He had begun to embrace a strategy that would maximize every waking moment.


    He trained hard during the day, sparring, drilling, and conditioning with his gym partners and under Victor''s watchful eye.


    By night, instead of resting as most fighters would, he pushed himself further.


    And then, after drinking a health potion, Damon would go into the Simtion and fight an exact copy of Cen Gustm for hours on end.


    He started by sparring for an hour or two straight, watching Gustm''s moves, trying out counters, and seeing how his ns worked.


    But then he''d switch the Simtion to its most grueling mode, the physical strain option.


    This feature that allowed every gain and strain he experienced in the Simtion to carry over to his real body.


    It felt like doubling his training load, his muscles and mind pushed beyond what should have been possible while he remained physically still on his bed.


    In this way, Damon trained twice as much as anyone else, making the most of his nning.


    It was both tiring and exciting to follow the schedule that included both intense real-world training and precise simtions.


    Every day, Damon could feel his progress. His moves were getting faster, his counters were more urate, and his n was getting better.


    Gustm wasn''t just going to be an opponent, he was a proving ground.


    Or rather... a ying ground.


    .


    .


    .


    .


    Walking into the house, he dropped his bag by the door and let out a tired sigh. Tomorrow, he''d head to Las Vegas for the fight at the Apex Center.


    But right now, all he wanted was to get to his room.


    He locked the door behind him, securing the house for the night, and passed by the living room. "Mom, I''m back," he called out, expecting a reply.


    Silence.


    He nced at the sofa and saw Aoife slumped over,pletely out cold.


    She must''ve fallen asleep waiting for him, a nket loosely draped over her legs. Damon smiled softly, shaking his head.


    Making his way to his room, Damon kicked off his shoes, his mind already drifting to the fight.


    Damon walked into his room, his muscles still faintly aching despite the health elixir he had taken earlier.


    As usual, he had already showered at the gym, sparing himself the trouble of dragging his tired body to the bathroom.


    He tossed his bag into the corner, kicked off his shoes, and sank onto the bed with a groan.


    Laying back, he stared at the ceiling for a moment, letting the quiet of the room wrap around him.


    It was now normal to buy a health potion, drink it, and then go into the Simtion. He had been doing it every night for a few days, and it was a mix that pushed his body to limits most people could only dream of.


    With a flick of his wrist, the holographic screen appeared in front of him. Damon pressed the button to purchase the health elixir, but instead of the usual satisfying chime, a sharp, grating erhhhhhhh sound red, and the screen shed red.


    "What the hell?" Damon muttered, his brow furrowing. He pressed the button again, convinced it must''ve been a glitch.


    Erhhhhhhh. The same sound red again, and the screen turned red once more.


    Damon sat up, confusion giving way to irritation. "System, what''s going on?" he asked aloud, half expecting an answer.


    Instead, the screen remained frozen, the red glow casting an ominous hue over his room.


    Something wasn''t right.


    Damon pressed the button again, his finger tapping with impatience, when a new message shed across the screen:


    [Unable to go through with the purchase. Due to overuse of the health elixirs, which might harm or change the body, the system has blocked any purchase for a week. This is for the sake of your health, Host. Please drink responsibly.]


    He paused, staring at the message. For a moment, he didn''t know how to react. Did the system just call him out?


    With a heavy sigh, he leaned back against the headboard, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Great," he muttered. He had to admit, though, the system might have had a point.


    He had been using the elixirs like candy over the past week, pushing himself to the brink every single day.


    He had gotten obsessed, maybe even a little addicted to the idea of training relentlessly.


    A part of him was frustrated by the block; he felt like the system was punishing him for his dedication.


    But it wasn''t like the end of the world, it was just a week. He''d manage.


    His thoughts shifted, and something clicked in his mind. The gacha wheel.


    He hadn''t spun it in a while. Not because he didn''t want to, but because he had decided to stack his spins.


    The mega spin required ten spins, and with only one spin awarded per official match, he was holding out.


    Right now, he had eight spins. This uing fight would be his ninth, and he was already confident he''d win.


    The simtion had been a game-changer for his preparations.


    He felt like he had already fought Gustm a hundred times in his mind, analyzing every weakness and fine-tuning his counters.


    That confidence wasn''t just bravado, it was the product of countless hours of work.


    With a smirk, Damon closed the holographic screen and muttered to himself, "One more win, and I''m that much closer to a mega spin."


    ||UPDATE!!||


    STATUS


    Strength: B+


    Speed: C


    Stamina: C+


    Endurance: B


    Agility: C+


    ||END||

 Chapter 239 Welcome to Sin City

    As the sun rose, it cast a golden light over the busy streets of Las Vegas.


    Vehicles sped by, horns sounded in the background, and the city was alive with activity.


    After all, it was the city of sin, a ce where giving in to your bad habits was normal.


    Two guys got out of a parking lot and walked toward a tall building that stood out in the crowd.


    Damon''s eyes keptmoving from one thing to another as he turned his head.


    "Man, this ce is wild," Damon muttered, his lips curling into a half-smirk.


    Victor chuckled beside him, adjusting his sunsses. "Wee to Vegas, kid. Everything you''ve heard about it? Yeah, it''s all true."


    Damon''s gaze lingered on the variety of sights around him.


    Neon lights shed, even in the middle of the day, advertising everything from concerts to casino jackpots.


    Couples walked hand in hand,ughter spilling from nearby restaurants and bars.


    But there were also sights that made him raise an eyebrow, a man stumbling out of a bar at what was clearly too early for such antics, and a group of performers dressed in borate, barely-there costumes handing out flyers.


    "Definitely a mixed bag," Damon said, shaking his head with a smallugh. "Some of this is¡­ let''s just say not exactly my vibe."


    Victor smirked, pping a hand on his shoulder. "It''s not about liking it, Damon. It''s about understanding the energy of this ce. Vegas isn''t just a city, it''s a show. And this is where you''ll put on your next performance."


    Damon nodded, taking a deep breath as they approached the building.


    The Apex Center stood tall, its sleek, modern architecture a stark contrast to the wild, colorful chaos of the rest of the city.


    This was where the fight would take ce, a ce of focus, discipline, and challenge, standing in the middle of a city built on distractions.


    But today wasn''t the fight night, obviously. This trip was just about checking in, letting the UFA know he''d arrived in Las Vegas and was ready.


    It was standard procedure, nothing too exciting, but necessary to keep everything on track.


    Damon had already received the details about his fight: he''d be the co-main event.


    The thought brought a slight grin to his face.


    For a first fight under the UFA contract, being ced in the co-main event was no small feat.


    It wasn''t just an opportunity, it was a statement.


    To Damon, this cement felt like a vote of confidence. Sure, he was ast-minute recement, but even so, the UFA trusted him to deliver under the bright lights. They saw potential in him.


    "If they think I''m ready for this spot, then I''ll prove them right," Damon thought, his jaw tightening with determination.


    Walking alongside Victor, Damon allowed himself a moment to imagine the fight.


    While Damon''s fight had been short notice, it had already started to generate buzz in the MMA world.


    And rightfully so. Winning The Supreme Fighter was a big deal on its own, but to fight again in the same month, barely two weekster?


    That was rare, almost unheard of. Fans, analysts, and fighters alike couldn''t help but take notice.


    The UFA had yed it smart.


    They knew that Damon was riding high on momentum from his TSF victory, and his dominant performance against Brian Walker had shown that he could deliver under pressure.


    Pairing him against a ranked fighter like Cen Gustm in his debut was a gamble, but one that had everyone talking.


    Chirper and MMA forums were aze with opinions:


    @FightFanatic24: "Damon Cross is fighting AGAIN? This dude is a machine. Can''t wait to see how he handles Gustm. #UFAFightNight"


    @MMAJunkieExpert: "Smart move by UFA. Damon''s got all the hype right now. If he wins this, he''s skyrocketing up the rankings."


    @CasualFighter101: "Okay, Damon''s good, but Gustm is no joke. This feels like a setup for him to get humbled. #TeamCen"


    But as with any rising star, not all the attention was positive.


    While many hyped Damon up as the next big thing, others were quick to voice doubts or outright criticism.


    Some of it was the usual hate that came with the territory, but some critiques carried weight, especially when it came to this matchup with Cen Gustm.


    One of the mostmon points raised was Gustm''s reputation as a fighter.


    This was the man who had pushed Ismael Desayen. one of the best in the division, to his absolute limit.


    For Damon, a fighter fresh off a tournament win and stepping into the UFA for his debut, Gustm was no small challenge.


    And doing it all on short notice? Many saw it as reckless.


    @MMARealTalk: "Let''s be real, Damon''s good, but Gustm is a different beast. No way this kid pulls it off on two weeks'' notice. #WakeUpCall"


    @FightCritic99: "He''s got the hype, but hype doesn''t win fights. Gustm''s gonna show him what UFA-level pressure feels like."


    @TeamDamonFan: "All these doubters sound scared. Damon''s been proving people wrong since Day 1. Watch him make history."


    @CasualFighter101: "Let''s not forget Gustm made Desayen look human. Damon''s biting off more than he can chew."


    Some critiques even questioned the UFA''s decision to book this fight at all:


    @MMAInsider: "Is the UFA pushing Damon too hard, too fast? Gustm''s no gatekeeper. If Damon loses, this could derail his momentum."


    Damon had seen the posts before today. He wasn''t oblivious to what people were saying online.


    But honestly, they didn''t bother him much.


    People were always going to have opinions, and that was just part of the game.


    Whether it was hype or hate, it came with the territory.


    Sure, some of thements were annoying, especially the ones that clearly had no idea what they were talking about.


    ''Everyone thinks they''re an expert now,''


    Still, there was no denying that some critiques held weight.


    Gustm wasn''t just another fighter; he was the real deal.


    And Damon was stepping in on short notice, with less time to prepare than he''d like.


    But that didn''t change his mindset.


    The narrative around the fight was simple: could Damon, fresh off a grueling tournament, step up to the challenge of facing an established fighter like Gustm? Or was this too much, too soon?


    Cause honestly opinion don''t win fights.

 Chapter 240 Hungry Fighter

    Damon sat on a folding chair in the back room of the ceremonial weigh-in, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor.


    He wasn''t nervous, more annoyed. There was a buzz in the air, coaches exchanging low whispers, Victor pacing near the wall.


    Victor finally broke the silence with a sigh. "Kid, this isn''t good. Gustm showed up too heavy. Are you sure you still want to do this?"


    Edward, who was sitting nearby with his arms crossed, agreed. "They are giving you the choice to leave, Damon. No one will think less of you because of it. He didn''t meet the terms, in and simple."


    Damon let out a sharp exhale, leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling for a moment. "I know what you''re all thinking," he started, his tone calm but edged with defiance. "But I didn''te here to back out. I don''t care if he''s overweight; I''m still fighting him."


    Victor''s pacing stopped, and he turned to face Damon, his expression unreadable. "Look, no one''s questioning your heart, but fighting a guy who''sing in heavier? It''s not just about pride. You could be putting yourself at a disadvantage."


    Damon nced up, his blue eyes sharp. "I''ve fought bigger guys than me before. He''s overweight, not invincible. Besides, he''s the one who''s going to look bad when I beat him."


    Edward leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It''s not just the weight, man. It''s the principle. He''sing in bigger, stronger, and fresher because he didn''t make the cut. You sure this is the right call?"


    Damon ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "I get it, but if I walk away, all anyone''s going to say is that I dodged the fight. I''m here to prove a point. Short notice, overweight, doesn''t matter. I''m ready."


    Victor exchanged a nce with Edward, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright. Your call, kid. Just know we''re with you either way."


    The announcer''s voice boomed through the speakers, signaling the next fighter''s turn on the stage.


    He stood up and rolled his neck and shook his arms around. His attention got better, and the irritation in his eyes turned into determination.


    As Victor stepped closer, he patted Damon on the shoulder. "Okay, go show them why you''re the Supreme Fighter. Just keep your head in the game out there."


    Damon smirked. "Always."


    When the door opened, Damon walked down the hall with his trainers following behind him.


    The muffled cheers of the small crowd grew louder as he neared the stage.


    Victor stopped and turned back as Edward stepped in front of him, his expression tense. "You''re not seriously letting him fight, are you? The guy came in fifteen pounds over, Victor. With rehydration, he''ll probably be pushing twenty or more. This isn''t middleweight anymore, it''s a damn heavyweight fight!"


    Victor let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his neck as he looked into Edward''s eyes. "Look, I hear you, and I agree with you. This is dangerous. But what do you suggest I do? Damon''s a grown man. I can''t make decisions for him."


    Edward clenched his fists, clearly frustrated. "He''s walking into a stacked deck! This isn''t just dangerous; it''s reckless. Someone needs to step in, you need to step in!"


    Victor''s tone softened, though the weight of his words didn''t waver. "Believe me, I''ve thought about it. But Damon¡­ he''s not the kind of guy you can stop once he''s set on something. You think I haven''t tried? He doesn''t want to back down, Edward. He wants to prove something."


    Edward''s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding in frustration. "So what? You just stand back and let him fight a guy who didn''t even try to make weight? That''s just rewarding scum like Cen for cking off. Why the hell isn''t the UFA canceling this match?"


    Victor stepped closer, his voice low but firm. "Because the UFA doesn''t care, Edward. They care about keeping the card intact. They''ve given Damon the choice, and you know as well as I do he''s not walking away. So what do we do? We support him. That''s all we can do."


    Edward was left behind as Victor walked off, shaking his head in frustration.


    His thoughts were a storm, cursing Cen for disrespecting the sport. Fighters like that, ones who didn''t take things seriously, weren''t deserving to step on the stage.


    He muttered under his breath, his gaze following Victor and Damon. "This fight better be worth it. If Cen''s ying dirty, Damon better make him regret it."


    Victor stood at the edge of the stage, his eyes fixed on Cen Gustm as the overweight fighter walked up to the scale.


    The crowd booed when the speaker said the weight, which was fifteen pounds too heavy for a middleweight. Victor clenched his teeth and crossed his arms over his chest.


    Next to him, Damon stood calm, his expression unreadable as he watched the scene unfold.


    Victor nced at him, concern etched into his face.


    He wanted to stop this fight. This wasn''t just about Cen being overweight; it was about the principle.


    This wasn''t a necessary fight.


    It was dangerous and unfair, but he also knew Damon.


    If he could pull this off, his name would skyrocket. Yet Victor couldn''t help but feel it wasn''t worth the risk.


    The fight had officially been moved to light heavyweight, a decision that had only added fuel to the fire of boos from the crowd.


    Victor suspected Cen had stopped caring the moment his original opponent was pulled for doping.


    The result was a careless, unprofessional disy, with Cen clearly showing up heavier than even a light heavyweight limit would suggest once rehydrated.


    Victor sighed, his thoughts turning to the UFA. "They''re really letting this happen," he muttered under his breath.


    Two days ago, at the official weigh-in, the weight discrepancy had been revealed. But by then, it was toote to cancel the fight.


    Ast-minute cancetion would have disrupted the card entirely, and the UFA right now cared more about maintaining their schedule than ensuring a fair fight.


    It''s not like they didn''t give him a choice.


    He looked back at Damon, who stood steady, his eyes locked on Cen as he walked off the stage.


    Victor leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You still sure about this, kid? You don''t have to prove anything to anyone. Not like this."


    Damon finally broke his silence, his voice calm but firm. "I''m sure, Vic. I can handle whatever''s thrown at me." His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Cen. "Even if they throw a guy who''s practically a heavyweight."


    Victor sighed again, shaking his head. He wanted to argue, to convince Damon to walk away.


    But he knew it was pointless. Damon wasn''t the type to back down, no matter the odds.


    As boos continued to echo through the arena, Victor could only hope that Damon''s confidence wasn''t misced.

 Chapter 241 The Fan Favorite

    "Ladies and gentlemen Cen Gustm"


    Cen got off the scale, flexed his "muscles", and raised his arms. Even though he had a big, strong body, the boos from the crowd said something else.


    Whatever intimidation he hoped to project was drowned out by the fans'' disapproval.


    Victor stood at the edge of the stage, shaking his head slightly.


    Damon watched silently from backstage, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing.


    The announcer''s tone shifted, building excitement. "And now, fighting in the light heavyweight division for this bout, The Supreme Fighter himself, Damon Cross!"


    The cheers from the crowd were very different from the angry looks Cen had gotten earlier. As soon as Damon walked out onto the stage, the crowd went crazy.


    He walked with calm confidence, his shoulders rxed as he approached the scale.


    Some fans yelled his name as the cheers got louder. Even though Damon didn''t smile, the sides of his mouth moved a little.


    Victor stood by the curtain, watching Damon closely. Despite his reservations, he couldn''t help but feel a twinge of pride.


    Damon had grown into a confident man for the past few years, he never had a son... but seeing this personally he felt happy for him.


    Damon removed his shirt, revealing his lean, chiseled frame.


    The cheers from the crowd got louder, and Damon flexed a little before getting on the scale. The speaker bent down to check the weight.


    "185 pounds for Damon Cross!"


    The crowd roared in approval, the cheers echoing through the small venue.


    Damon took a step forward and faced Cen Gustm for the formal stare down. He stood still but deliberately.


    The energy in the room shifted instantly.


    The crowd roared, their cheers unmistakably directed at Damon, while scattered boos rained down on Cen, a clear reflection of the fans'' opinion of the fight.


    Standing inches apart, Damon towered over Cen with his 6''2" frame, the height difference ring as Cen, at 5''9", tried to hold his ground.


    Damon''s gaze locked onto Cen''s eyes, his expression cold and unwavering.


    Any respect he''d once held for Cen had evaporated the moment he saw the weigh-in results.


    Fifteen pounds overweight.


    Ack of discipline.


    No respect for the sport.


    The same had happened with Kofi but that was nothing, extra weight that wouldn''t make a difference, but 5 upward was just different in his book.


    Cen tried to match Damon''s intensity, puffing out his chest and flexing slightly, his broader frame giving him a physical edge.


    But the weight difference didn''t intimidate Damon.


    In fact, it fueled him.


    ''This is fine''


    A faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.


    ''When I win, this will only make the victory sweeter.''


    He let the moment sink in.


    The circumstances couldn''t be better.


    He was a new face in the UFA, taking on ast-minute fight against a heavier, more experienced opponent ranked #15 in the middleweight division.


    The narrative was already writing itself: underdog triumphs against the odds.


    More people yelled, and the noise was a mix of respect for Damon and disgust at Cen''sck of professionalism.


    Damon''s mind filtered out the noise, but the cheers bolstered his focus. He didn''t need the crowd to validate his confidence, but their support added fuel to the fire burning inside him.


    Cen''s lips twitched, as if to say something, but Damon''s unyielding stare silenced any words before they formed.


    Instead, Cen clenched his fists, trying to look imposing. Damon didn''t blink.


    The announcer''s voice cut through the noise. "Ladies and gentlemen, Damon Cross and Cen Gustm!"


    As the crowd erupted again, Damon extended his hand. Cen hesitated for a brief moment before shaking it.


    Turning toward the crowd for photos, Damon''s face remained stoic, though inwardly, he was already visualizing the fight.


    Victor stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the exchange. He caught Damon''s eye for a brief moment, giving him a subtle nod of approval.


    Damon returned it with the slightest tilt of his head, a silent acknowledgment that they both knew what had to be done.


    In Damon''s mind what he thought about Cen before hadn''t changed... it was the same... he would be his stepping stone to higher grounds.


    The announcer moved between the fighters, microphone in hand, and approached Cen first. "Cen Gustm, you came into this fight expecting another opponent, then got a recement, but you also came in overweight. What''s going on?"


    Cen offered a nervous smile, shifting slightly on his feet. The crowd''s murmurs didn''t make it easier. "Uh, yeah, this training camp was hard, you know. And when I heard my first opponent was doping, I thought they were gonna cancel it. When I got the news about Damon stepping in, it just kinda¡­happened. But hey, we''re here now."


    The response earned a few scattered boos, but Cen kept hisposure, though the shame on his face was clear.


    The announcer nodded, not pushing further. "Cen Gustm,dies and gentlemen." The apuse was lukewarm at best.


    Turning to Damon, the announcer''s tone shifted, the microphone now pointing toward the Supreme Fighter winner. "Damon Cross, you recently won The Supreme Fighter show and became the Supreme Fighter. Yet, less than a weekter, you epted another fight. Now, on top of that, you''re dealing with an opponent who missed weight, and you still chose to continue. Everyone''s wondering, including me, where does your confidencee from? Cen isn''t just any fighter. He''s ranked number 15."


    Damon nodded, taking a moment to gather his response. His expression was calm, his posture radiating quiet confidence. "I''ve fought bigger guys before, maybe not as skilled, but I''ve spent my time studying Cen. Every move, every strength, every weakness. This weight miss? It might''ve been unexpected, but it doesn''t change anything for me. I''ll stille out on top."


    The crowd erupted into cheers, Damon''s conviction clear and cutting through any lingering doubt.


    The announcer smiled, clearly impressed. "That''s amazing. Thank you so much, Damon."


    He stepped back, addressing the audience onest time. "Damon Cross and Cen Gustm,dies and gentlemen! Co-main event! Don''t miss it!"


    The crowd''s apuse and cheers swelled as Damon and Cen posed one final time, before turning to head backstage.


    This fight was officially on.

 Chapter 242 The Pre-Fight Buzz

    The venue was filled with excitement as thest fight ended in a spectacr way.


    Even though the fighters weren''t big stars, they put on a show that should have been on the main stage.


    One of thementators at thementary table, John leaned forward and rested his forearm on the desk while he spoke with great excitement. "Damn, that was a fantastic match! Definitely one for the books. That knockout was insane!"


    Anothermentator, Mike,  seated beside him, nodded in agreement. "Absolutely, John. Those punches? Heavy as hell. I have to say, that was an incredible fight."


    John grinned as he gestured to the rey on the screen. "Speaking of heavy, let''s talk about what''sing up next. We''re reacting to the rey here, but the next match, Damon Cross versus Cen Gustm, is a light heavyweight bout. Mike, who are you siding with in this one?"


    Mike tilted his head, considering the question carefully before responding. "Look, we can''t ignore the advantages Cen has over Damon in this fight. The circumstances favor him, he''s got more weight, more experience, and he''s already a proven contender. I hate to say it, but I think we might see Cen Gustme out on top in this one."


    John raised an eyebrow, sensing a shift in Mike''s tone. "Might? Sounds like you''re hedging your bets there, Mike."


    Mike chuckled. "Well, I''m ready to be proven wrong. Damon Cross is a wild card. He''s fresh off winning The Supreme Fighter, and he''s stepping in on short notice. The kid''s got something to prove, and sometimes, that''s all it takes."


    The screen changed to a live feed of Damon getting ready backstage. He was shadowboxing carefully and intently while Victor Steele gave himst-minute directions.


    The crowd''s murmurs grew louder as they caught sight of the fighter many were rooting for.


    J leaned back, his excitement evident. "Well, I don''t know about you, Mike, but I''ve got a feeling we''re about to witness something special. The energy in this arena is different for this one."


    Thementators paused as the camera panned back to the cage, now ready for the co-main event.


    In the Back


    Damon bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, his movements fluid and calcted.


    He shook his hands out, loosening his arms, and gave his chest a few light ps, more to center himself than anything else. His breathing was steady, his focus razor-sharp.


    Edward, seated nearby with a towel draped around his neck, leaned forward, watching Damon. "So, what''s the n, man? What''s your strategy against this guy?"


    Damon smiled, and the corner of his mouth moved up to show that he was sure of himself.


    His voice was calm, but it had a quiet resolve to it that made Edward smile. "Just watch and learn," he said.


    Before Edward could press him further, a UFA staff member walked briskly into the room, clipboard in hand. "Alright, Damon, you''re up next. Get ready."


    Damon nodded and rolled his neck to ease any strain that might be there.


    He could just barely make out the sound of the crowd outside the walls. The excitement spread like wildfire.


    Cen Gustm''s entrance theme red through the arena speakers all of a sudden. Damon stopped and tilted his head slightly to listen as the bass shook the walls.


    "Guess he''s making his way out now," Edward said, standing and grabbing Damon''s gear bag.


    As Gustm Finished His Entrance


    Victor and the rest of Damon''s coaching team stepped into the room, their expressions serious but supportive.


    Victor gave Damon a firm pat on the shoulder. "You ready, kid?"


    Damon nodded, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Always."


    The UFA staff member looked at the group, clipboard in hand. "Alright, Damon, it''s time. Let''s get out there."


    As soon as Damon''s music started to y, he felt a rush of energy. The song wasn''t very famous, but it was intense, and the pounding beat went perfectly with his steps as he walked out.


    The sound gave him a boost of energy and helped him concentrate better.


    Even though it wasn''t as big as Madison Square Garden, the building was still very lively. It didn''t matter to Damon what big it was.


    He''d fought in ces smaller than this, backyards where the only crowd was a handful of rowdy spectators. This was familiar territory.


    The crowd''s roar got louder as Damon came out, with his team right behind him. As he walked toward the cage, the lights showed him the way. His face was calm and focused.


    Thementary came alive as Damon entered the arena.


    "Here he is! Damon Cross, The Supreme Fighter, making his official UFA debut on short notice," onementator announced with excitement.


    "This is a massive moment for him," another chimed in. "He''s stepping up against a tough opponent in Cen Gustm, who came in heavy."


    "And the crowd loves him already," the firstmentator added. "Let''s see if he can live up to the hype."


    Damon went through the routine pre-fight checks with practiced ease.


    The official patted him down, ensuring there was nothing out of ce, while another applied Vaseline to his cheeks to prevent cuts during the fight.


    He barely noticed any of it.


    As he walked up to the cage, the small arena seemed to roar with a loudness that didn''t match its size.


    Standing at the door of the cage, Damon paused for a split second, taking a deep breath to steady himself.


    .


    He walked into the cage with purpose every step of the way. He heard the crowd''s noise fade into a faint hum as the cage shut behind him.


    He immediately locked eyes with Cen Gustm, who stood on the opposite side of the octagon, bouncing lightly on his feet, his face stoic but confident.


    Damon''s gaze was unwavering, his expression calm yet unreadable.


    He began to moved around the ring and rolled his shoulders, loosening up as he kept his eyes locked on Cen.

 Chapter 243 Damon Cross Vs. Cellan Gustalam I

    After Announcement


    When Damon and Cen faced under the bright lights, you could feel their tension in the cage.


    Damon couldn''t take his eyes off of Cen, who stood across from him with a sense of self-assurance that was almost arrogant.


    Cen''s size was immediately noticeable. The weight difference was undeniable; he was clearly a natural light heavyweight after rehydrating, his physique filling out with muscle and power.


    His broad shoulders and thick arms looked more suited for the division above.


    When Damon and Cen faced under the bright lights, you could feel their tension in the cage.


    Damon couldn''t take his eyes off of Cen, who stood across from him with a sense of self-assurance that was almost arrogant.


    Despite the weight size disparity, Damon kept hisposure. His lean, athletic frame was built for agility and precision, and he knew how to use every inch of his 6''2" height and 185 pounds body.


    Where Cen was stocky and powerful, Damon was rangy and explosive, his movements economical and sharp.


    While the crowd was talking, the referee stepped in between them. "Alright, gentlemen, you''ve both been given the rules. Protect yourself at all times, follow my instructions, and fight clean. Touch gloves if you wish, and let''s have a good fight."


    When Damon put out his hand, his face was calm but hard to read.


    Cen thought about touching gloves for a moment, and then he did it with a small smirk on his face that seemed to say, "You don''t know what you''re in for."


    The two fighters backed away, each settling into their stances. Damon''s hands were high, his posture rxed yet coiled like a spring.


    Cen bounced lightly, but his huge size gave him an intimidating presence. His eyes showed a hint of doubt, though.


    From thementary booth, the analysts picked up on the energy in the cage.


    "Look at the size of Cen Gustm," onementator said. "He''s fully rehydrated, and honestly, he looks like a natural light heavyweight in there. Damon Cross is going to have his hands full tonight."


    The referee signaled for the fight to begin, his voice booming across the cage.


    "Let''s fight!"


    Damon kept his stance light, bouncing on his toes, his eyes locked on Cen Gustm.


    Across from him, Cen looked monstrous.


    He had rehydrated well, and every inch of him screamed power. Damon couldn''t deny it, this was going to be a war.


    Cen moved forward immediately, his guard high and his steps measured. Damon circled, keeping his distance.


    He wasn''t going to rush into Cen''s range.


    The crowd''s energy was alive, even in this smaller venue, but Damon tuned it out. All he saw was his opponent.


    Cen threw a jab, testing the distance. Damon parried it easily, countering with a low leg kick that smacked against Cen''s lead leg.


    It wasn''t a big shot; it was just a warning. Cen didn''t even move. He pushed forward and closed the gap between them with quick, sure steps.


    Damon threw another kick, aiming higher this time, but Cen blocked it, stepping in with a quick left hook.


    Damon ducked under it, but the sheer force of the punch created a gust of wind he could feel on his skin. Cen wasn''t just powerful; he was fast.


    Damon jabbed, quick and sharp, trying to create space, but Cen was not stopping.


    He closed the distance again, throwing a one-twobo.


    The first punch missed, but the second, a straight right, clipped Damon''s guard, sending a small jolt through his arm. Damon pivoted away, resetting in the center of the cage.


    Cen growled, "Come on, kid." His voice was low but clear. Damon smiled but didn''t say anything. He faked a kick instead, which caught Cen''s attention, and then he hit him in the face with a quick jab.


    Cen''s head snapped back a little as it hit the ground. The crowd let out a mix of gasps and cheers.


    Cen grinned, wiping his nose with the back of his glove. "Alright. You''ve got some bite."


    He surged forward, throwing a series of heavy punches.


    Damon ducked, weaved, and backpedaled, his head movement keeping him just out of range, but the pressure was mounting.


    Cen wasn''t giving him a chance to breathe. Damon tried another low kick, but Cen caught it, lifting Damon''s leg high and pushing him off bnce.


    Damon stumbled but recovered quickly, raising his guard just in time to block a thunderous overhand left.


    The force drove him a step back, his feet sliding slightly on the canvas. He gritted his teeth. This wasn''t just a fight; this was a storm.


    Cen changed levels suddenly, shooting for a takedown. Damon reacted instantly, sprawling hard and using his long frame to keep Cen from wrapping his legs.


    The crowd roared as the two fighters wrestled for position. Cen''s strength was apparent, but Damon''s technique and leverage gave him the edge.


    He managed to break free, pushing Cen off and resetting again in the center.


    Damon''s breathing was steady, but he could feel the pace picking up.


    Cen''s footwork was deceptively quick, cutting angles and forcing Damon toward the cage.


    As Cen stepped in, Damon quickly threw a jab, a cross, and a knee to the body.


    When the knee hit the ground cleanly, Cen grunted. He then hit back with a vicious left hook that bearly grazed Damon in the head.


    When it hit, Damon saw a short sh of light. He stumbled a little, but his feet were stable, and his guard was back up. He couldn''t show Cen any signs of weakness.


    "Nice shot," Damon muttered under his breath, his vision clearing.


    Cen smirked, stepping in again, his left hand cocked. Damon recognized the setup immediately.


    He sidestepped just as Cen threw the hook, countering with a spinning elbow that grazed Cen''s forehead.


    It wasn''t clean, but it made Cen back off, giving Damon some breathing room.


    The clock ticked down, and both fighters began to push harder.


    Damon kept his range, peppering Cen with leg kicks and jabs.


    Cen responded with heavy shots, his power showed in every swing.


    Damon''s height and reach were keeping him in the fight, but Cen''s relentless pressure was undeniable.


    With ten seconds left, Cen lunged forward, throwing a wild overhand right.


    Damon ducked, slipping under the punch and countering with a sharp uppercut to Cen''s ribs.


    The crowd erupted as the round ended, both fighters standing tall.


    Damon wiped his sweaty forehead as he walked back to his spot. His mind was rxed, but his heart was beating fast.


    "Good start," Victor said, handing him water. "You''re doing fine. Keep the distance, stay sharp, and wait for the openings."

 Chapter 244 Damon Cross Vs. Cellan Gustalam II

    Damon swished the water around in his mouth and then spit it out into a bucket. Although one of the coaches wiped him off, his sharp, calcting eyes stayed on Victor.


    Victor leaned in, his voice calm and probing. "So? What do you think? First round, anything new you noticed?"


    Damon nodded. He kept his breathing steady and his face was calm and focused. "Yeah, a few things," he said as he mentally went over the round. He tilted his head a little.


    "First," Damon raised a finger, "his footwork. It''s good, but he ovemits when he tries to close the distance. He steps too heavy on his lead foot, especially when he throws that left hook. It leaves him open to counters if I time it right."


    Victor nodded, leaning closer. "Good, what else?"


    Damon smirked faintly, holding up a second finger. "His aggression. He''s too reliant on that forward pressure. It works against fighters who retreat, but if I sidestep or circle out, it forces him to reset. He hates that. You saw how he hesitated when I countered his hook with that elbow."


    Victor''s lips curved into a proud smile. "Smart. Keep going."


    "Third," Damon continued, a hint of amusement in his tone, "his wrestling. He''s strong, sure, but he doesn''t chain his takedowns well. When he shot in, he expected me to panic or give up position. If I keep sprawling and staying technical, I can tire him out."


    Victor nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "And?"


    Damon held up a fourth finger, his eyes narrowing. "His defense is sloppy when he''s on offense. He leaves his right side wide open when he throws his left. If I feint and bait him, I cannd clean shots all day."


    Victor pped Damon on the shoulder, his voice firm. "That''s what I like to hear. You''ve got this. Keep exploiting those openings, stay patient, and stick to the game n."


    Damon drank some more water and looked across the cage at Cen.


    The man was pacing, his corner frantically giving instructions.


    Damon could see it, the frustration in his opponent''s bodynguage.


    "I''ve got him figured out," Damon said, his tone confident but not cocky. "Now it''s just about execution."


    Victor smiled, his confidence in Damon unwavering. "Then let''s go finish the job."


    The arena rang with the sound of the bell, which meant the second round had begun.


    Damon took a step forward.


    His body was rxed but ready, and his eyes were clear and focused.


    From across the cage, Cen looked a little more calm.


    He stood more straight and jumped on his toes to hide how frustrated he was.


    At the edge of the cage, Edward was still processing what he had just heard. His jaw was slightly ck as he turned to Victor. "Is this normal? One week and he already knows the guy inside out?"


    Victor, hiding his amazement, shrugged nonchntly, though a hint of pride gleamed in his eyes. "He studied. He trained. That''s the kind of fighter he is," he replied, though inside, he was just as impressed.


    Back in the fight, Damon and Cen moved around each other in a circle. Their motions were smooth but tense.


    The crowd cheered as they got ready for the fight.


    Damon''s feet danced lightly on the canvas, his body loose but prepared to strike at any moment.


    Cen feinted a jab, testing Damon''s reaction, but Damon didn''t bite. Instead, he countered with a quick low kick that thudded against Cen''s lead leg, causing him to grimace slightly.


    Damon smirked, his confidence building.


    Cen pressed forward, firing a quickbination, a sharp jab followed by an overhand left. Damon slipped the jab effortlessly and stepped back just enough to let the overhand miss by inches.


    Before Cen could recover, Damon darted in with a stiff jab of his own, snapping Cen''s head back.


    The crowd went wild when Cen stumbled a little but got back on his feet, his face stiffening.


    He growled and charged forward, starting a clinch this time.


    Damon felt the pressure right away, Cen was stronger than Damon because of Cen''s size advantage.


    While firing short knees at Damon''s legs, Cen pushed him toward the cage and pressed him against it with his shoulder.


    The blow hurt Damon, but he stayed cool and used his arms to control Cen''s posture.


    "Stayposed!" Through the noise, Victor''s yelled from the corner.


    Damon listened, using his elbows to create space before swiftly pivoting off the cage.


    He reversed the position, shoving Cen against the fence.


    The crowd cheered as Damon delivered a sharp knee to Cen''s midsection, causing him to grunt.


    Cen retaliated with an attempt to muscle Damon down with a double-leg takedown, but Damon sprawled expertly, his hips heavy as he shoved Cen''s head down.


    He transitioned quickly, hooking an arm around Cen''s neck for a potential guillotine choke.


    Cen felt the danger and reacted fast, slipping his head free and resetting to his feet.


    He swung a wild left hook in frustration, but Damon was already a step ahead, ducking under and countering with a clean right straight to Cen''s temple.


    Cen stumbled backwards, and it looked like the ground beneath him had moved. He had cloudy, wide-awake eyes that looked like they were mixing up things.


    It looked less like a retreat and more like ast-ditch effort to stay standing with each step backward.


    His chest was heaving as he tried to calm down, and his breathing was all over the ce.


    Victor''s voice was like a de cutting through the loud crowd from the corner. "End it!" "Now!" he yelled, his normally calm voice suddenly filled with a sense of urgency.


    Edward leaned over the cage and clenched his hands tight. "End this, Damon!" he yelled, his voice rough from excitement.


    The other coaches joined in, and their voices worked like a battle cry to push Damon forward.


    Damon didn''t hesitate.


    He moved slowly but steadily, each step forward nned, and his breathing stayed steady even though everything was going on around him.


    He stalked Cen, cutting off his angles, forcing him closer to the fence. Cen''s back was against the metaphorical wall, and Damon knew it.


    Cen tried to create space, throwing a sluggish jab out of instinct, but his movements were slow, betraying his rattled state.


    Damon slipped the jab effortlessly, his upper body twisting just enough to avoid the punch, unleashing a sharp left hook that snapped Cen''s head to the side.


    The crowd roared as Cen''s legs wobbled. Damon didn''t give him a moment to breathe.


    He charged forward in a calcted burst of anger and hit Cen''s guard with a clean one-twobo.


    The impact forced Cen further back, his shoulders mming into the fence.


    With his arms raised high, he looked like he was desperate, but Damon kept hitting him, and his protection broke.


    Damon slowly moved his weight and took a step to the side to change the way he was attacking.


    He dipped his knees a little, turned his hips, and threw a powerful right uppercut that Cen didn''t seeing.


    Cen''s head snapped up when the punch hit with a painful thud. A fine mist of sweat flew off his forehead and sparkled in the bright lights.


    Cen''s knees buckled, but he clung to consciousness, swaying like a broken marite.


    Damon''s sharp eyes caught the momentary lull in Cen''s resistance, and he moved in for the finish. With a subtle shift in stance, he fainted a right hand, drawing Cen''s guard high.


    Damon then sprang upward, his knee slicing through the air like a missile.


    The switch kneended clean on Cen''s chin, the audible crack of the impact causing the crowd to erupt in unison.


    Cen''s head snapped back abruptly, and his eyes rolled. In the middle of his stumble, his body went limp. Like a ragdoll, he fell backwards onto the canvas.

 Chapter 245 He aint waking up!?

    Right away, chaos broke out in the small arena. The noise of the crowd was getting louder and louder, with cheers, gasps, and shouts echoing off the walls.


    Fans leaped from their seats, their excitement spilling into the air like an unstoppable wave.


    Standing in the middle of the cage, Damon kept his cool, but his chest moved back and forth like a warrior who had just won a battle.


    At thementator''s table, the energy was no less intense.


    "Wow! Damon Cross! Are you kidding me?!" one of thementators eximed, gripping his headset, trying to anchor himself in the moment. "That knee, perfectly timed, absolutely devastating. This kid is the real deal!"


    Anothermentator, still shaking his head in disbelief, added, "Unbelievable. To step in on short notice, face a heavier, ranked opponent, and finish him like that! Damon Cross just made a statement."


    Reys of the final sequence shed across screens throughout the venue.


    The switch knee connected in slow motion, Cen''s head snapping back before his body crumpled to the mat.


    Each rey drew gasps and cheers anew from the crowd, as if they couldn''t believe what they had just witnessed.


    In the cage, the referee checked on Cen, who remained on the ground, unconscious.


    Damon didn''t look down at his defeated opponent; instead, his eyes scanned the crowd, soaking in the energy of the moment.


    Damon stood tall in the center of the cage, his chest rising and falling as he steadied his breathing.


    With his palms facing up, he slowly spread his arms out wide, as if he were weing the energy of the crowd.


    Putting his head back, he closed his eyes and let the moment fill him up.


    He felt weightless and floated for a split second amidst the loud cheers and shing lights.


    The fight''s weight, the pressure, and the fact that the chances were against him all went away.


    This was what victory felt like: pure, unfiltered euphoria.


    He could feel how excited the crowd was; it was like his beating heart was in sync with theirs. He let himself enjoy it for a short time.


    This serene moment was abruptly broken as someone gave him a light push.


    Damon snapped out of his trance and turned, only to see Edward standing there, wide-eyed and grinning like a madman.


    "Bro, what the fuck was that?"


    Edward blurted out, and you could feel how excited he was.


    He made a lot of wild hand movements, like he couldn''t hold it together.


    After them came the rest of the team, who looked like they were both amazed and proud.


    Victor smiled, which wasn''t like him at all in public.


    The other teachers cheered and pped as they walked into the cage.


    Damon couldn''t help but chuckle at Edward''s reaction. He looked around at the team and nodded. "That knee¡­ man, it was just¡­ clean," he said with a slight smirk. He knew what that finish meant, not just for the fight, but for his career.


    Anyone who had doubts, questions, orints about him before the fight had them all shut up in an instant.


    Any knockout or submission could change the story, but that knee? That was the best part of the whole thing.


    Victor stepped closer, pping Damon on the shoulder. "That wasn''t just clean," he said, his voice proud but calm. "That was art, kid. Pure art."


    Art?


    It was a word that always confused people who hated, didn''t watch, or didn''t understand martial arts.


    How could something so violent be art?


    How could something that could break your skull or leave you unconscious be called beautiful?


    How could something that risked brain damage be elevated to a form of expression?


    For Victor, the answer was simple. Art wasn''t just about the medium¡ªit was about the execution. It was the precision, the technique, the flow. It was the ability to create something perfect, even in chaos.


    That knee wasn''t just a strike. It was timing, calction, and instincting together in a fraction of a second.


    It was a lesson learned through endless hours of drilling, of studying, of failing and trying again.


    It wasn''t just about hitting Cen, it was about outthinking him.


    Seeing the opportunity, visualizing it before it happened, and delivering it with the precision of a master painter''s brushstroke.


    Victor knew that for those who understood the craft, moments like this were what made martial arts more than just a fight. They were why people called it "The Art of War" or "The Sweet Science." Violence was the surface, but beneath it was a symphony of discipline and mastery.


    Damon turned to Victor, his smirk fading into a small, genuine smile. "Art, huh?"


    Victor nodded, his face serious now. "Yeah, kid. Not everyone gets it, but those who do¡­ they saw something special tonight."


    Damon let those words sink in, the chaos of the moment briefly fading into rity.


    Damon smiled, "Well, I guess that''s why I''m a martial artist."


    Victorughed, "Sure."


    The announcer walked into the cage, microphone in hand, ready to announce the result.


    The referee called Damon to the center of the cage. Damon nced toward Cen, who was still lying down, not waking up.


    Damon nced nervously at Cen, his chest tightening.


    The medics surrounded his opponent, carefully checking him. Damon''s mind raced, and a knot formed in his stomach.


    Did I go too far?


    The referee stepped closer, sensing Damon''s unease. cing a firm hand on Damon''s wrist, he leaned in. "Rx, he''s unconscious, but he''s breathing. They''ll take him for a checkup, but he''s fine. Now focus, but depending on the check up the medics are doing, you might be announced alone."


    Damon sighed deeply, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly. "Thanks," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crowd''s noise.


    He turned toward Victor, who was standing near the cage, watching everything unfold.


    Damon''s steps were slow, his bodynguage still heavy with concern. Victor met him with a sharp gaze, catching the hesitation in Damon''s eyes.


    Victor rubbed the back of his neck and let out a low sigh. "Look, Damon," he said, his tone steady but firm, "he''s gonna be fine. You didn''t do anything wrong. This is the sport, and you did what you had to do. Now, get out there and own this. You earned it."


    Damon stared at him for a moment, the weight in his chest easing just a little. He nodded once, swallowing hard. "Alright."


    Victor pped him on the back, giving him a small push toward the referee. "Go get announced."

 Chapter 246 The Winner

    The crowd cheered so loudly that it was hard to hear, not caring at all about Cen''s situation.


    Their attention was on Damon, the fighter who had done something amazing at the end.


    Damon walked toward the referee, his steps steady but his mind still partly on Cen.


    The referee gave him a reassuring nod and took hold of his wrist, ready for the announcement.


    The announcer stepped forward, microphone in hand, as medics carefully moved Cen out of the cage.


    Damon caught a glimpse of his opponent beginning to stir, a small movement that brought a measure of relief to his chest.


    The people who werementing, who were sitting close to the cage, added to the excitement.


    "That''s the sport right there," one of them said, leaning toward the microphone. "Cen Gustm pushed forward, but Damon Cross proved tonight that he''s got the skills, the timing, and theposure topete with the best."


    The secondmentator added, "Absolutely. Let''s not forget this was short notice. Damon didn''t just win; he made a statement to the division. That knee was brutal, but pure precision."


    As Damon stood in the center of the cage, his expression calm but focused, the crowd''s chants grew louder.


    This was his moment.


    The announcer walked into the middle of the cage. His loud voice came through the microphone, drowning out the loud cheers.


    "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his words carrying the weight of the moment, "referee Ricky Smalls has called a stop to this contest at 2 minutes and 12 seconds into the second round, dering the winner by knockout¡­"


    To add drama, he stopped and let the tension build as the crowd erupted again, sending waves of energy through the small arena.


    "¡­Damon Cross!"


    The referee raised Damon''s hand high into the air, and the crowd exploded with apuse and cheers.


    Damon stood tall, his face calm, but his chest rose with deep breaths as he took in the magnitude of the moment.


    Victor and the rest of the team cheered from the sides. Their smiles and cheers showed how proud they were.


    Damon gave them a slight nod, and his mind was already getting ready for the attention and media storm that was about to happen.


    The crowd continued to chant his name as he stepped forward, acknowledging the fans with a slight bow of his head.


    For a brief moment, Damon let himself feel it.


    Thementator stepped into the cage, mic in hand, making his way toward Damon, who was still catching his breath but lookedposed.


    The cheers of the crowd were still echoing through the arena as thementator approached.


    "I''m here with the winner, Damon Cross," thementator began, his voice booming through the arena. "Damon, you just pulled off a stunning knockout in your UFA debut. How are you feeling right now?"


    Damon wiped his face with the back of his glove. Even though he was excited, his breathing stayed steady.


    A small smile crept onto his face as he looked out at the cheering fans, then back at thementator. "I feel great," Damon said, his voice clear and humble. "Thank you to everyone who came out tonight. I really enjoyed this, and I hope I managed to put on a show for you all."


    Thementator chuckled, nodding along. "Oh, you definitely did, Damon. That switch knee... wow. Now, Cen Gustm left the cage on a stretcher¡ªlooks like it might be a concussion. Was that intentional, or...?"


    Damon''s face turned serious for a moment as he shook his head. "No, it wasn''t intentional," he said firmly. "But it''s the job we do. It''s a fight, and riskse with it. I truly hope he''s okay and recovers quickly. That''s all I want, for him to be fine."


    Thementator nodded, acknowledging Damon''s sportsmanship.


    "Alright," thementator said, shifting gears, "this was a co-main event, your first fight in the UFA, and you''ve already made waves. Do you have any message for the division or the fans?"


    Damon nodded, his smile returning. He stepped closer to the mic, his eyes scanning the crowd before locking on the camera. "Yeah, just something simple," he said, his tone confident but not arrogant. "I want more. Let''s keep the matchesing. I feel good, I can go again."


    The crowd roared in approval, chanting his name.


    Thementatorughed, stepping back slightly. "Thank you so much, Damon Cross, and congrattions on an incredible debut performance! Ladies and gentlemen, Damon Cross!"


    The crowd erupted again, and Damon raised a hand, acknowledging the fans as he backed away toward his corner.


    Victor and the team were waiting, as they watched Damon soak in the moment.


    Damon walked toward his team, a rxed smile on his face as he reached them. "Thanks, guys," he said, his tone genuine.


    Victor gave him a firm nod, pping a hand on Damon''s shoulder. "Alright, let''s head to the back. You''ve earned some rest."


    Damon let out a sigh of relief as he felt the rush of energy slowly subside.


    He could still hear the cheers of the crowd, and he couldn''t deny how great it felt to be the center of their attention.


    He wasn''t just excited about the fight; he was also excited about the mood, the energy, and the sheer spectacle of it all.


    As they made their way out of the cage, Damon nced around at the fans still pping and cheering, some even reaching out for high-fives.


    He obliged a few, smiling as he walked toward the tunnel with his team.


    ''This is it. This is what it feels like to be at the center of attention, to have the crowd roaring your name.''


    It was addicting, exhrating, and everything he''d ever dreamed of. But as the tunnel swallowed them.


    As they entered the back, Damon noticed a few fighters lingering near the hallway.


    Some nodded at him in acknowledgment of his performance, and he nodded back, his face calm but inwardly savoring the respect.


    "Man, I need a shower," Damon said, running a hand through his damp hair, his muscles still buzzing from the fight.


    Victor, walking just ahead, nced back with a faint smirk. "You do."


    Damon raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a yful grin. "What''s that supposed to mean?"


    Victor shrugged, his tone casual but teasing. "It means you''ve got about 20 to 30 minutes before you need to clean up and head to the post-fight press conference. Get ready for a lot of questions."


    Damon groaned, rolling his neck as they continued walking. "Can''t I skip just this one? You know, first fight and all¡­ maybe I get a pass?"


    Victor chuckled, shaking his head. "Not a chance. Not after what you just did. Everyone''s gonna want to hear from you."


    Damon sighed, but deep down, he didn''t mind.


    The thought of facing the media was a small price to pay for a performance like that. "Fine," he said, cracking his knuckles with a grin. "Let''s get it over with."

 Chapter 247 Saving the Night

    The event came to a close as the main event ended, leaving the crowd murmuring with mixed reactions.


    While it wasn''t a terrible fight, it didn''t deliver the explosive action the fans had hoped for.


    People were leaving the arena, and their conversations were louder than the closing bell. A lot of them weren''t even talking about the main event.


    "It''s crazy how the co-main ended up being the fight of the night," one fan said as he walked out with a group of friends.


    "Damon Cross, man," another replied. "That was insane. I don''t think I''ll ever forget that knee."


    Damon''s fight wasn''t the only one drawing praise.


    The bout right before his also delivered on the drama and action, with both fighters pushing each other to their limits.


    Those two matches were the highlights of the night, giving fans exactly what they''de for.


    Even though the event was ending, the mood backstage was lively. Fighters talked to each other, with some praising each other and others getting ready for interviews. Damon leaned back on a bench.


    Victor stood nearby, speaking with one of the event coordinators, but his eyes asionally flicked toward Damon.


    Edward, on the other hand, leaned against a wall, smirking. "You''re the talk of the night, man. Not bad for someone on short notice."


    Damon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It''s not over yet. There''s still the post-fight conference. They''ll have a million questions."


    Victor walked over, catching the tail end of the conversation. "Good. You better get used to it. After tonight, your name''s only gonna get bigger."


    Damon nodded, standing up and rolling his shoulders. "Guess I''d better clean up and get ready."


    As he headed toward the locker room to shower, the sound of the crowd still faintly echoed in his mind.


    As for why he hadn''t cleaned up yet, it was simple, he''d been wasting time, lounging around and letting the adrenaline of the fight settle.


    He didn''t mind it, though. Sometimes, after a match like that, you needed a moment to dpress.


    But now, with the post-fight conference looming, Damon knew he had to get moving.


    He stood, stretched his arms overhead, and made his way to the locker room.


    Damon grabbed a towel and his toiletries from his bag and stepped into the showers.


    The hot water cascaded over his body, washing away the sweat and remnants of the fight. His muscles, still slightly tense from the match, began to rx under the stream.


    He didn''t dwell on it too long, there was no room for overthinking now.


    He Finished quickly, dried off with a towel, and put on clean clothes. Damon fixed his shirt and took a moment to gather his thoughts as he looked at himself in the mirror.


    "Alright," he muttered under his breath. "Time for the unending questions."


    With that, Damon left the locker room, ready for the next part of the night.


    Damon made his way to his group, walking with measured strides as they were escorted to the conference stage.


    He noticed the subtle buzz of the staff, the shing lights of cameras just beyond the doors, and the murmurs of the press already gearing up to fire their questions.


    Victor leaned in before they reached the stage. "Alright, Damon. It''s just you from here. We''ll wait in the back."


    Damon nodded, adjusting his shirt and rolling his shoulders. "Got it."


    He stepped into the room and was greeted by the bright re of lights and the click of countless cameras.


    Several fighters from the event were sitting behind a long table that ran across the stage. They were all at different levels of being tired or excited.


    Damon''s eyes scanned the table as a staff member directed him to a seat in the middle.


    He walked up, his movements calm and confident, though his mind was alert.


    He was pointed to an empty chair next to another fighter, a looked like a lightweight or something who lookedpletely spent.


    Damon gave him a polite nod and quietly greeted him.


    The fighter barely acknowledged him, staring ahead with a vacant, tired expression.


    Damon didn''t take it personally. "Guess he''s drained," Damon thought to himself, settling into his seat.


    He leaned back slightly, letting the atmosphere wash over him.


    Reporters with notes, recorders, or cameras were all over the room, ready to break down every word that was said.


    Damon nced at the fighter to his other side, who seemed more rxed, leaning on the table with a faint smirk as he waited for the questions to begin.


    Damon took a deep breath, preparing himself. This was a new stage for him, not just the fight but now the post-fight spotlight.


    He straightened his posture and let his hands rest loosely on the table, ready to handle whatever came his way.


    The conference was in full swing, with the room buzzing as reporters fired off questions.


    One by one, the fighters at the table answered, their voices mingling with the asionalughter or serious nods from the crowd.


    Ronan ck, head of the UFA, also took some questions. Hismanding presence easily held the attention of everyone in the room.


    Damon sat still and looked over the crowd of faces, waiting.


    Even though he tried to stay calm, he couldn''t help but wonder when it would be his turn.


    The other fighters were asked many questions, but Damon was not noticed at this time.


    He leaned back slightly, masking his anticipation, but his thoughts churned. "Patience," he told himself. "It''lle."


    Finally, a reporter raised his hand. "I have a question for Damon Cross."


    Damon''s posture straightened almost instinctively, his eyes brightening as they locked onto the reporter. This was it.


    Damon nodded, leaning forward slightly. "Sure, go on," he said, his voice calm but carrying a hint of curiosity.


    The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the reporter who had spoken.


    He was a man with a bald head and a neatly trimmed beard, dressed in a simple ck shirt.


    His demeanor was professional, but there was an edge to his presence, like someone who had been doing this for years and knew how to ask the right questions.


    The reporter adjusted his microphone, ncing down at his notepad briefly before looking back up at Damon.


    "Damon..."

 Chapter 248 Chapter 248 A Fighter’s Humility

    The reporter changed his position, but the microphone stayed put. "Today, you put on a good match, possibly even the match of the night. Do you think you''ll get the bonus?"


    Damon smiled and lightly touched the mic with his fingers. He looked over and saw the president of the UFA, Ronan ck, sitting further down the table with an amused expression on his face.


    "Haha, thank you," Damon replied, his tone light and humble. "But I don''t make that decision."


    The crowd quietlyughed, enjoying how humble he was in his answer.


    Ronan acknowledged Damon''sment with a slight nod, but that didn''t reveal how he felt.


    Experience tales at empire


    The reporter pressed on, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Alright, but what do you think? If it were up to you, do you feel you earned it?"


    Damon leaned back slightly, his eyes thoughtful. He shifted the mic closer, his voice calm but firm. "I came out here to give my best, to put on a show for the fans, and to finish strong. If that''s worth a bonus, then I''d be grateful. But honestly, I''m just happy I performed the way I did tonight."


    As the next reporter raised their hand to ask more questions, the room was filled with silent nods of agreement.


    The reporter raised his hand again, his expression growing more serious. "I have another question for Damon Cross."


    As the reporters moved around in their ces, the tension rose in the room. Damon made a small change to the mic and nodded for him to go on.


    "We saw Cen Gustm being taken out of the arena after the fight," the reporter began, leaning into the microphone. "There are reports circting that he''s suffered a concussion. How do you feel about that, knowing that your strike caused such a serious injury? And... does it affect how you approach fights, knowing the risks involved?"


    As Damon leaned closer to the mic, his smile faded a bit, and his face turned serious but calm. "First off," he began, his voice steady, "I hope Cen''s okay. This sport is dangerous, and injuries like that are always a possibility. But none of us step into that cage without knowing the risks."


    He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "I didn''t go in there trying to hurt him in that way. My job is topete and finish fights, and that''s what I did. I respect Cen as a fighter, and I hope he recovers quickly andes back stronger."


    The reporter nodded, scribbling notes, but he wasn''t done. "Follow-up to that, Damon," he pressed, "this was a short-notice fight for you. Do you think Cen''s missed weight and size advantage yed a role in how you approached this fight? Did it make you more aggressive or cautious?"


    Damon considered the question, his fingers tapping lightly on the table as he thought. "Honestly," he said, leaning forward, "it didn''t change my game n much. I studied Cen, I knew his strengths and weaknesses, and I stuck to what I trained for. The weight difference was noticeable, sure, but I wasn''t going to let that dictate the fight. I stayed focused on executing my strategy, and it worked out."


    Another reporter raised their hand, but the first one quickly interjected. "One more question, if I may."


    The room turned to him, and Damon gestured for him to continue. "With such a dominant win over a ranked opponent, do you think this puts you on a fast track for the rankings? Are you looking at anyone specific in the division next?"


    Damon smiled faintly, his confidence clear but not overbearing. "I don''t know about fast-tracking," he said, shrugging. "That''s up to the UFA to decide. I''m just here to fight whoever they put in front of me and keep proving myself. As for a specific opponent..." he trailed off for a moment, then chuckled. "I''ll fight anyone. Bring them on."


    There was a buzz of support in the room as reporters and fans watched Damon stay calm and focused.


    Ronan ck, who was sitting at the end of the table, gave Damon a small smile, as if he liked how he answered the questions.


    The reporter nodded, satisfied. "Thank you, Damon." The room moved on to the next fighter, but Damon remained calm, his mind already moving forward.


    As the meeting went on, the mood in the room changed with each question.


    Damon leaned back in his chair and paid close attention as reporters asked the other fighters and Ronan ck questions.


    It felt good to be included among them, part of something bigger now.


    Ronan leaned into his mic, addressing a question about the card''s performance. "I think the fights tonight were great. Some absolute bangers out there. You had a bit of everything, technical battles, all-out wars, and some incredible finishes. As for the co-main event..." He nced briefly at Damon, a small smirk on his face. "It was exactly what we hoped for. Damon Cross stepped up on short notice, fought a ranked opponent who missed weight, and delivered. What more can you ask for?"


    The reporters murmured, some scribbling notes, while others nodded in agreement. Another raised their hand and stood.


    "Ronan, was there any concern about letting this fight go ahead, given the weight disparity?" the reporter asked.


    Ronan shrugged, his expression calm but direct. "Of course, there''s always concern when something like this happens. Cen missing weight by that much wasn''t ideal. But Damon''s team agreed to the terms, and Damon himself was confident he could handle it. And as we saw tonight, he handled it just fine."


    The room chuckled lightly, and Damon allowed himself a small smile.


    "Next question," Ronan said, gesturing to another reporter.


    "Ronan, do you see Damon as a future star in the UFA? What''s next for him after a performance like this?"


    Ronan leaned back in his chair, ncing at Damon again before responding. "Look, Damon''s a young guy with a ton of potential. He''s already proven he''s willing to take on challenges most fighters wouldn''t touch, and he delivered tonight. We''ll see where he fits in the division after this, but yeah, I think he''s got a bright future here. He''s got the skills, the mindset, and the fans are already behind him. That''s a good mix."


    The reporters scrawled quickly to write down Ronan''s words.


    Damon was proud, but he kept a straight face because he didn''t want to look too eager.


    The conference The meeting then turned to other fighters and asked about everything from their fights to what they nned to do next.


    Damon took it all in and watched how the more experienced fighters dealt with the attention.


    He was learning more than just how to fight.


    But how to act around the media.

 Chapter 249 Chapter 249 Off To Thailand

    It had been weeks since Damon''s thrilling win over Cen Gustm. The fight, which was now the high point of his young career, had earned him widespread recognition.


    But since he didn''t have any matchesing up soon, life had slowed down, giving him a chance to rest and reset.


    Damon was d for the break. He did some light training, spent time with his mother, and thought about his nned trip to Thand during the day.


    The thought of leaving home again weighed on him, but he knew it was a necessary step if he wanted to rise in the UFA ranks.


    Standing in his room, Damon nced at the neatly packed bag sitting in the corner. It contained everything he thought he''d need, clothes, training gear, and the essentials for life in a foreign country.


    His passport rested on the desk, alongside a folder with his travel itinerary and information about the camp in Thand.


    Aoife had been supportive, though Damon could see the faint worry in her eyes whenever they talked about the trip.


    She hid it well, always smiling and encouraging him to make the most of the opportunity. Damon appreciated her strength and promised himself he''d make it all worth it. Experience new stories on empire


    .


    .


    .


    The days leading up to the trip were uneventful but productive.


    Damon spent time with his friends, ensuring he''d see everyone before he left.


    They joked, sparred lightly at Victor''s gym, and reassured him that he''de back stronger than ever.


    Victor made sure everything was okay by being there the whole time. He talked to Damon often and gave him advice. He also reminded him to stay focused and enjoy the experience.


    .


    .


    .


    The day had finallye. Damon was ready to leave as he stood in his room with his bag packed. Strangely, it was both exciting and sad at the same time.


    Throughout the week, Damon hadn''t allowed himself to grow stagnant.


    Though his training wasn''t as intense as before, he had stayed consistent, bncing recovery with progress.


    All stats now at B rank.


    It was a significant milestone.


    The next goal was clear, reach A rank in all stats while in Thand, unlock the system upgrade, and see whaty beyond.


    Damon zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, after checking everything, dragging a suitcase.


    He looked around his room onest time, noticing the little things like the nicely tucked-away training gear and the bed where he had spent many nights nning and simting.


    When he walked into the living room, his mother was already there. That morning, she was busy making sure he had everything he needed. But now, she just stood there with her hands together.


    "You''re all set?" she asked, her voice steady but tinged with emotion.


    Damon nodded. "Yeah, all set."


    Aoife stepped closer and adjusted the strap on his bag, even though it didn''t need it. "You''ll do great out there. Just remember to take care of yourself, okay? And call me when you can."


    Damon smiled, his heart swelling with gratitude. "I will, Mom. Don''t worry."


    She pulled him into a hug, holding on tightly. For a moment, neither of them said anything. It was a silent exchange of love and reassurance, one that didn''t need words.


    When they pulled apart, Aoife patted his cheek lightly. "Go make us proud, champ."


    Damon chuckled, picking up his bag again. "Always."


    .


    .


    .


    Victor arrived shortly after to take him to the airport. Damon loaded his bag into the car and gave the house onest nce before climbing in.


    The drive to the airport was calm, filled with casual conversation and the asional silence as Damon''s mind drifted away.


    "Thand''s going to be tough," Victor said, breaking the quiet. "But I know you. You''ve got what it takes to thrive out there."


    Damon nodded, his jaw set with determination. "I''ll make the most of it. No shortcuts."


    Victor smiled, his confidence in Damon unwavering. "That''s the spirit."


    As they pulled into the airport drop-off zone, Victor nced over at Damon. "Oh, I forgot to mention," he said casually, though a smile tugged at his lips. "The others are here too. They said they wanted to see you off."


    Damon raised an eyebrow in surprise before breaking into a grin. "Really? They didn''t have to do that."


    Victor shrugged as he parked the car. "Well, they wanted to. Guess they like you or something."


    Damon chuckled, shaking his head. As they stepped out of the car, Damon grabbed his bag from the trunk and looked up at the towering airport building.


    It was bustling with activity, travelers moving in every direction, the sound of rolling luggage and announcements over the inte echoing around.


    Victor led the way inside, weaving through the crowd with Damon following close behind.


    The moment they entered, Damon spotted them Edward, Ash, Tye, Joey, Ashley, and Svena standing together near a seating area.


    "Look who finally showed up!" Joey called out with a wide grin, waving Damon over.


    Damon couldn''t help butugh as he approached the group. "You guys didn''t have toe all the way out here," he said, though the smile on his face made it clear he appreciated the gesture.


    Ash crossed his arms, smirking. "Yeah, well, it''s not every day one of us heads off to train halfway across the world. Besides, someone had to make sure you don''t chicken out."


    "Like that''s ever gonna happen," Damon shot back with a yful roll of his eyes.


    Ashley stepped forward, giving him a quick hug. "You''re gonna kill it out there, Damon. Just don''t forget about us little people when you''re at the top."


    "Never," Damon replied, his tone sincere.


    Svena stood a bit to the side, her arms crossed as she watched the exchange. When Damon turned to her, she gave him a small smile. "Don''t ck off while you''re gone, okay? I expect you toe back even better."


    Damon grinned. "Wouldn''t dream of it."


    Tye pped him on the back. "You''ve got this, man. Just make sure you don''t turn into some Muay Thai monster and forget how to wrestle."


    Damonughed. "I''ll keep that in mind."


    Victor checked his watch. "Alright, time''s ticking. Damon''s got a flight to catch."


    The group exchanged final words, jokes, and well wishes, theirughter cutting through the chaotic background of the airport.


    As Damon turned to head toward security, he nced back at his friends onest time.


    He raised a hand in farewell. "I''ll see you all soon."


    "Be careful of the women there, bro!" Joey shouted, earning a round ofughter from the group, Svena had a slight frown but she hid it well.


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

 Chapter 250 Chapter 250 Nude Magazine I

    Damon settled into his seat, adjusting the straps of his carry-on before sliding it into the overheadpartment.


    He quickly looked around the cabin and could feel the settled murmur of people gettingfortable.


    The business-ss section was spacious, with wide seats and enough legroom to stretch out.


    He couldn''t help but smirk as he sat down and fastened his seatbelt.


    Victor had made a joke about it earlier.


    "Business ss, huh? Better enjoy it, kid, ''cause you''re paying for it."


    At the time, Damon hadughed, brushing it off.


    But now, as he reclined in the soft leather seat and nced at the menu options, actual meals instead of snack-sized pretzels, it hit him.


    He wasn''t just some kid scrapping for a chance anymore.


    He had money.


    Real money.


    The fight payout had been respectable, $12,000 to show, $12,000 to win, but the system had its own twist.


    He could still remember the notification that lit up his interface after his full payment from the UFA.


    [Fight Earnings Multiplied: 10x Bonus Applied. Total Earnings: $264,000]


    [Total Bnce: $274,000(10k from TSF)]


    Damon chuckled to himself, shaking his head. It felt unreal.


    He went from living in a small alleyway and hotel with his mom to sitting in business ss with over a quarter million dors in his ount, it was like stepping into someone else''s life.


    Leaning back, he nced out the window as the ne started to taxi. Thand was next.


    The money was nice, but it wasn''t going to distract him.


    His thoughts were still on the training camp and how he needed to do well there in order to rise and get recognition, but nit just that.


    If he wanted to keep seeing a ding in his bnce after each fight, he should train and better himself.


    "Still," he muttered under his breath, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Rich."


    He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to savor the thought before mentally shelving it.


    And of course to say he was just doing this because he loved fighting or whatever would be lying. Sure, he loved fighting.


    But.


    Besides the system, the reason that pushed him to fight was money, survival, and getting it felt satisfied... but he wanted more... he didn''t want to go back to that ever again.


    Damon took a quick look around at the people on board as the ne sped up.


    Most of them were quietly reading magazines, messing around on their phones, or talking to their neighbors in a low voice.


    Also, Damon had made sure to handle onest thing before heading to Thand, sending his mother $64,000.


    He knew she would resist, but he didn''t care. Why else was he working so hard if not to take care of her?


    When she tried to push back, saying she didn''t need that much and that he should save it for himself, he refused to argue.


    The money was already transferred.


    She''d raised him, supported him, and now it was his turn. Damon had one thought as he boarded the ne, This is what all the fighting is for.


    With the ne steady in the sky, Damon shifted in his seat, ncing around for something to pass the time.


    He spotted a passenger nearby flipping through a magazine, and it reminded him of the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him.


    He reached forward, sliding out a magazine that looked standard enough.


    A vague smile formed on his lips. "Well, it''s not like I have anything better to do," he muttered, flipping it open casually.


    But his grin vanished instantly, his eyes widening in shock.


    Inside the pages was another magazine with a nude woman looking back at him with confidence.


    Damon''s face turned red as he snapped the magazine shut with a sharp flick, ncing around like a guilty child.


    His gaze darted from one passenger to the next, scanning for any sign that someone had noticed.


    Thankfully, everyone seemed blissfully unaware, engrossed in their own activities.


    Damon let out a shaky sigh of relief and leaned back, holding the magazine at arm''s length like it might explode.


    "Who the hell puts this stuff in here?" he whispered to himself, shaking his head.


    His lips curled into an embarrassed smirk as he slid the magazine back into the pocket, determined to act as if the moment had never happened.


    Leaning back, he stared out the window, hoping to distract himself from his brief encounter with the unexpected.


    But Damon couldn''t resist the temptation. The outer cover of the magazine provided a perfect disguise, it looked like an everyday read.


    He opened it again, flipping through the provocative pages with a stupid grin stered on his face.


    He thought he was in the clear until the woman seated beside him, also holding the same magazine, spoke up, her tone casual but curious. "What do you think about their article on summer trends? Personally, I feel like oversized sunsses are overrated. Thoughts?"


    Damon froze. His mind scrambled for an answer. What summer trends? What sunsses? He hadn''t even nced at the actual articles. "Uh¡­ yeah, I mean¡­" he began, his voice trailing off as he tried toe up with something remotely convincing.


    But before he could embarrass himself further, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.


    A young man probably about his age or lower, seated behind him leaned forward, drawing Damon''s attention away from the awkward exchange.


    The young man leaned in, his grin infectious. "You''re Damon Cross, right? From the UFA?"


    Damon blinked, his brain cells still catching up to the moment. "Uh, yeah, that''s me."


    The guy''s excitement was palpable as he stood up and moved to Damon''s side. "Man, can I get a picture? If you don''t mind!"


    Damon nodded, his reflexes taking over. "Sure, no problem."


    The teen quickly held up his phone and leaned in close for a selfie.


    Damon put on a polite smile, angling his head toward the camera. The sh went off, and the guy beamed as he checked the photo.


    "Thanks, man! This is awesome. You''re a beast in the cage!" The teen walked back to his seat, grinning ear to ear.


    Damon gave him a polite nod, but then something clicked. His stomach dropped.


    The magazine.


    His eyes darted down, and there it was, sitting wide open on hisp, the nude woman staring back at him in full glory.


    Damon''s face flushed as he pped the magazine shut and stuffed it into the seat pocket.


    "Shit," he muttered under his breath, ncing around to see if anyone else had noticed.


    Thankfully, no one seemed to have paid attention. The teen was too thrilled with his photo, and the rest of the passengers were still minding their own business. Damon leaned back in his seat, exhaling sharply.


    "That was way too close," he whispered to himself, running a hand over his face. He couldn''t believe he''d been so careless. If anyone had seen that¡­ he shuddered at the thought.


    For the rest of the flight, he resolved to keep a low profile and avoid any further incidents.


    He pulled out his earbuds, popped them in, and stared out the window, hoping to leave the embarrassing moment behind.

 Chapter 251 Chapter 251 Touchdown in Bangkok

    A soft chime rang through the cabin, letting everyone know that there was news from the pilot. The pilot''s voice was soothing and efficient over the inte.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are now beginning our descent into Bangkok. Local time is 4:35 PM, and the weather is currently a warm 32 degrees Celsius, or about 90 degrees Fahrenheit, with clear skies. We''ll be touching down at Suvarnabhumi Airport shortly."


    Damon stirred in his seat, adjusting the reclining angle to sit upright.


    The sound of the engines grew softer as the ne began its gradual descent.


    The flight attendant''s voice followed the captain''s, warm and practiced.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, as we prepare fornding, please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened, your tray tables are stowed, and your seatbacks are in their upright positions. If you have anyrger electronic devices, please power them down and stow them at this time. Smaller devices may remain in airne mode."


    Damon nced out the window, catching glimpses of Bangkok''s sprawling cityscape below, bathed in golden sunlight.


    Skyscrapers, highways, and clusters of buildings spread out like a maze, while patches of green fields dotted the outskirts.


    The attendant''s voice continued:


    "We''d also like to remind you that smoking is prohibited until you are in a designated smoking area inside the airport terminal. Thank you for flying with us, and we hope you have a wonderful stay here in Bangkok."


    The ne trembled slightly as it hit a patch of turbulence, and Damon gripped the armrest briefly, though his expression remainedposed.


    Around him, passengers began tidying up their spaces, retrieving bags from under their seats, and buckling their belts.


    The familiar whine of thending gear extending filled the cabin, letting everyone know that arrival was almost here.


    Damon closed his eyes for a moment to calm down and get ready for thending


    "Alright," he muttered to himself, stretching his legs out as far as the space allowed. "Time to get to work."


    Damon unbuckled his seatbelt and got up from his seat, following the other people getting off the ne.


    He followed the signs through the busy airport, getting through immigration without any problems, getting his duffel bag from the baggage im, and quickly going through customs.


    The airport was massive and lively, filled with travelers and vibrant signage in both Thai and English.


    Coming out of the airport, Damon took a moment to get used to the warm, humid air.


    Victor had mentioned someone would be waiting to give him a tour, someone he trusted. Damon reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone.


    He opened the message Victor had sent earlier, a picture of a woman attached to the details.


    Staring at the image on his screen, Damonmitted her face to memory.


    She had a confident air about her, a bright smile, tan skin, and wavy, shoulder-length hair.


    The bustling scene around him made it harder to focus, but he scanned the area, searching for her among the crowds.


    "Alright," he muttered, squinting against the sunlight filtering through the terminal''s ss walls. "Where are you?"


    He nced back down at the picture and then around the arrival area, hoping to spot her.


    Damon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he wandered through the arrival area, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of the woman.


    The sheer size of the airport and the unfamiliar environment left him feeling slightly disoriented.


    He muttered to himself, "Great, where am I even supposed to go now?"


    Pausing for a moment, he considered asking for help, but the thought of trying tomunicate without knowing thenguage made him hesitate.


    He was about to swallow his pride and approach someone when he felt a light tap on his back.


    Turning quickly, he found himself face-to-face with the woman from the picture.


    She looked a little different in person, her features were sharper, her expression more focused, and she was shorter than he had expected, standing just a bit above his shoulder.


    A wave of relief washed over him, and he let out a breath he hadn''t realized he was holding. "Oh, thank God," he muttered under his breath, his shoulders rxing.


    The woman tilted her head slightly, a small smile ying on her lips. "Damon Cross?" she asked in lightly ented English.


    Damon nodded. "Yeah, that''s me. You must be¡ªuh¡­" He hesitated, realizing Victor hadn''t mentioned her name.


    She chuckled softly and extended her hand. "Nok. Victor told me to expect you."


    Damon shook her hand, feeling a little awkward but grateful. "Right, Nok. Thanks foring to get me. I was starting to think I''d be stuck wandering around here all day."


    Nok smirked and crossed her arms, her stance rxed. "Don''t worry, we''ll get you where you need to be. Let''s go."


    Damon sighed again, this time in relief. "Lead the way."


    The hot air of Bangkok hit Damon like a warm wave as they walked out of the airport. It was a lively city as the streets were busy and cars were honking.


    Nok smiled as she led him through the crowd. "Victor told me you''re a fighter, huh?" she asked, her tone conversational yet curious.


    Damon smiled back humbly, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "Yeah, I am."


    She nodded, her expression showing genuine interest. "What style do you train in?"


    Damon raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by the question. "Oh, Muay Thai."


    Her smile widened. "Oh wow, very nice. Muay Thai is the pride of Thand, you know."


    Damon nced at her, his brow lifting. "You knew that already, didn''t you?"


    She let out a softugh, her shoulders shaking slightly. "Maybe. Just wanted to hear it from you." She shrugged yfully before stopping in front of a sleek ck SUV. "Come on, get in."


    Damon chuckled, shaking his head at her cheeky response. He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, his eyes still taking in the cityscape around him.


    As Nok started the engine, Damon leaned back.

 Chapter 252 A New Training Ground

    After an easy ride, they finally got to where they were going.


    He got out of the SUV and took a moment to stretch his legs and enjoy the view.


    Bangkok was a crazy mix of tall buildings, busy streets, and bright lights, but this ce had a different vibe.


    The busy city seemed far away, and a calm mood took its ce.


    The air felt cleaner because trees were all around the area and swaying slowly in the wind.


    It made Damon smile to see how nature felt different from the cities and architectures.


    "Where are we?" he asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he stepped onto the gravel driveway.


    With a simple step, Nok got out of the car, her bag slung over her shoulder. "This is Por Pramuk Gym," she said, gesturing toward the buildings ahead.


    He looked around the gym with his eyes. The facilities weren''t as nice as the ones he had trained in back home.


    The structures had a raw, authentic vibe, tin roofs, wooden beams, and outdoor areas shaded by tall trees.


    A touch of modern elements could be seen in the updated equipment and cleanyout, but it was clear this ce was steeped in tradition.


    "Por Pramuk¡­" Damon said it again, making sure he could say it. He knew enough about Muay Thai to recognize the name. This was a ce with history.


    Nok smiled, catching the recognition in his tone. "Yep. It''s one of the best ces to learn Muay Thai. You''ll be training with fighters who live and breathe it. If you want to push your limits, this is where it happens."


    Damon looked around, taking in the sights of fighters in the distance.


    Some were hitting pads with sharp, rhythmic strikes; others were shadowboxing, their movements fluid and precise.


    The sound of groans and hard kicks hitting bags could be heard.


    He smiled, feeling very excited. "I think I''m gonna like it here."


    Nok chuckled, giving him a small nudge on the shoulder. "Good. You better. Because once you step in, there''s no going easy."


    Damon nodded, his grin widening. He wasn''t looking for easy.


    Damon nced at Nok as they walked toward the gym. "You seem pretty familiar with the fighting scene," he remarked, narrowing his eyes slightly in curiosity.


    It took Nok a while to answer. Instead, she smiled with a jokey look in her eyes and kept walking forward. "So," she asked over her shoulder, "do you know any Thai? Even a little? Or nothing at all?"


    Damon sighed, catching up to her. "Nothing," he admitted, shaking his head. "Languages aren''t really my thing. I speak English, and I know a bit of Irish¡­ well, more like I used to. My Irish is trash now, though. Dropped out of school before I even got to middle school."


    Nok raised an eyebrow at that, her smirk softening into an amused smile. "Well, looks like you''re in for a learning experience on all fronts."


    Damon chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Guess so. Got any tips?"


    "Yeah," she said, ncing back at him with a teasing look. "Listen, don''t talk too much, and if you''re lost, just smile and nod. Works every time."


    With his interest aroused, Damon followed Nok inside. Moments after he walked through the door, he heard rhythmic "ha''s".


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    "Huh! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"


    Each sharp cry was followed by a thunderous bang that reverberated through the walls.


    It wasn''t sporadic, either; it came in rapid, terrifying session.


    Damon stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he tried to process the intensity of the sound.


    It didn''t take long for him to figure it out. Kicks.


    Those weren''t punchesnding on the pads or the bags. No, the power behind each strike was too immense, the echo too sharp.


    The sheer speed at which they were thrown made it almost impossible to believe.


    Damon couldn''t help but smile, though there was a trace of unease in it. He''d trained in Muay Thai, but this was something else.


    The sound alone was enough to send a shiver down his spine, and he wasn''t the type to scare easily.


    Damon caught glimpses of athletes working hard as they went deeper into the gym.


    One person was kicking a big bag over and over again, and his shin hit the leather like a steel bat.


    Another pair was sparring in the ring, their movements precise and deadly, each kick and elbow thrown with surgical uracy.


    Damon muttered under his breath, "Looks like I''m in for it."


    Damon''s eyes locked on the man delivering those thunderous kicks, each strike sending ripples through the heavy bag.


    The man was relentless, his shin snapping against the bag like a whip, over and over again.


    Around him, a small group of fighters and trainers stood in quiet admiration, their focus entirely on his form, his power, his precision.


    Damon''s jaw tightened as he absorbed the sight.


    He had trained under Kru Somchai, and he already held a deep respect for the art of Muay Thai.


    But this... this was different. This was raw, unfiltered intensity.


    The man''s kicks weren''t just powerful, they were calcted, precise, like a machine finely tuned for destruction.


    "Wow¡­" Damon muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic impacts.


    Shortly after feeling inadequate for a moment, he felt admiration. Though


    Damon already knew he was skilled, seeing this man made him realize there were more levels to it. Not just training, this was mastery.


    Nok leaned in slightly, noticing his awe. "That''s Kru Wichan," she whispered, her tone filled with reverence. "He''s one of the legends here. Used to be a Lumpinee champion back in his prime. Peoplee from all over just to watch him train."


    Damon nodded silently, his respect growing by the second.


    He made fists with his hands at his sides, not out of anger.


    It was out of determination.


    If this was the standard here, then he hade to the right ce.


    The man finally stopped, the bag swaying from the sheer force of hisst kick. He turned slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the room beforending on Damon.


    For a brief moment, their gazes met, and Damon straightened his posture, giving the man a respectful nod.


    Kru Wichan returned the nod with a faint smirk, acknowledging Damon''s presence before turning back to the bag.


    The crowd around him dispersed slightly, murmuring among themselves about the spectacle they''d just witnessed.

 Chapter 253 Beginning Of A Legend I

    Kru Wichan walked up to Damon with a cool, authoritative air. He walked slowly and deliberately, and each step seemed to weigh Damon down before he even spoke.


    He wasn''t as big as Damon, but his presence was huge and filled the room with the kind of feeling that you had to respect him.


    As he reached them, his sharp eyes flickered toward Nok, and a warm smile softened his otherwise stern features. "Nok," he said in a gravelly but kind voice, inclining his head slightly.


    Nok smiled back and offered a quick greeting in Thai, her tone warm and familiar.


    Kru Wichan gave a nod and then looked straight at Damon. As he looked over Damon''s body, his face changed into a sharp look.


    He moved closer and slowly went around Damon. He looked him in the eyes, but Damon stood tall and kept his cool.


    Kru Wichan stopped in front of him and gave him a nod of approval.


    "Very nice," he said in his ented English, his words slow and deliberate. "You¡­ must be Damon Crozz." The pronunciation was slightly off, but his voice carried respect.


    Damon nodded, offering a polite smile. "Yes, sir. That''s me."


    Kru Wichan tilted his head, his expression neutral but his eyes still studying Damon as though trying to peel away hisyers. "Victor and somchai¡­ say you good. Strong. But I will see," he said, tapping his temple with a knowing grin.


    Kru Wichan''s smile faded as he turned to Nok and spoke in Thai, his tone calm but inquisitive.


    "Ph?x k?hxng khu? xy¨±? th¨©?h??n"


    (Where is your father?)


    Damon raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. He couldn''t understand the words, but the tone was clear enough to catch his attention.


    He nced at Nok, silently hoping for some kind of trantion.


    Nok rolled her eyes slightly and replied in Thai, her tone lighter. "Ph?x b?xk h??? c?h?n pl?xy k?he¨¡ ?¨¡y k?b khu?"


    (''He said to leave him with you.'')


    Damon tilted his head, trying to piece together what was being said.


    He had a growing sense that he''d have to start learning thenguage sooner rather thanter.


    Nok turned to Damon and tranted loosely, "He''s leaving you in his care."


    Wichan let out a sharp exhale, his smile copsing into a deadpan look. "X?? b?¨¡,"(''Idiot.'') he muttered under his breath as he shook his head slightly.


    Damon caught the tone but didn''t fully understand, his brow furrowing. "What did he say?"


    Nok smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "Nothing important. Just something about my dad being a little too trusting."


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    Damon''s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Nok, his curiosity bubbling over. "Your dad¡­ who''s your dad?" he asked, his tone almost cautious.


    Nok''s lips curled into a small, amused smile. "Your coach," she replied simply.


    Damon blinked, processing her words. "Kru Somchai?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.


    She nodded, the yful smile still on her face.


    Before Damon could respond, Kru Wichan interrupted, his gruff voice cutting through the moment. He looked at Nok and spoke firmly, "Show him his room."


    Damon nced at Nok, who sighed lightly but motioned for him to follow her. As they started walking, Wichan called out from behind them, "Change ande train."


    Damon stopped in his tracks for a moment, nodding back toward Kru Wichan. "Got it," he said, his tone respectful.


    As he resumed following Nok, his thoughts raced. Kru Somchai''s daughter. It all made sense now, the familiarity with fighting, the confident demeanor, even her connection to Victor.


    It exined everything, but it still surprised him.


    He hadn''t expected someone like Nok to have such a strong connection to his coach.


    Nok nced back at him briefly, catching the contemtive expression on his face. "What?" she asked casually.


    Damon shook his head, a faint smile forming on his lips. "Nothing. Just thinking¡­ it makes sense now."


    "What does?" she asked, her tone light but curious.


    "You," Damon replied, his smirk widening slightly. "The way you carry yourself. The fighting knowledge. It all clicks now."


    Nok chuckled softly, shaking her head as they reached a small room. She gestured toward it with a nod. "Here''s your room. Get settled, then head to the training area."


    Damon looked at the modest but clean setup. It was simple, just a bed, a small desk, and a window overlooking the training grounds.


    He dropped his bag on the bed and turned to Nok. "Thanks," he said genuinely.


    She gave him a short nod, bing serious as she said that... speaking from experience. "Better hurry. Kru Wichan doesn''t like to wait."


    Damon stood silently for a moment, taking in the room.


    It was simple, modest, and uncluttered, just the basics.


    The bed was small but sturdy, with neatly folded sheets, and a desk sat tucked into the corner.


    What drew his attention most, though, was the wide window panel that spanned one wall.


    It framed a peaceful view of nature, lots of trees and a body of water that sparkled in the afternoon sun.


    Due to the view, the room seemed bigger and calmer than it really was.


    He sighed softly, feeling a brief wave of calm. "Not bad," he muttered to himself.


    Setting his bag on the bed, Damon unzipped it and began pulling out his belongings.


    Heid out his training attire, a fitted sleeveless shirt, shorts, and wraps for his hands.


    Each item was neatly ced on the bed in preparation.


    As he worked, he let his thoughts wander. He could still hear faint echoes of the rhythmic "ha!" and the heavy thuds from the training area, a reminder of whaty ahead.


    A slight smirk crossed his face as he nced toward the window one more time.


    "Alright," he said under his breath, rolling his shoulders. "Time to see what Kru Wichan''s got for me."


    With his training clothes ready, Damon began to change.


    Damon stepped out of the room, adjusting his hand wraps as he walked.


    As he walked toward the training area, the steady thuds of punches, elbows, and kicks got stronger.


    He looked at Kru Wichan, who was working hard on the heavy bag in a way that seemed almost supernatural.


    Kru Wichan''s moves were smooth but powerful, and each hit was the perfect mix of force and uracy.


    His fists snapped forward in rapidbos, the bag jerking violently with every hit.


    A sharp left hook followed by a brutal low kick sent the bag swinging, the chain above creaking under the strain.


    Damon paused, momentarily entranced.


    He''d seen Kru Somchai train before, but Wichan''s technique had a different vor, a raw aggression tempered by unshakable discipline.

 Chapter 254 Beginning Of A Legend II

    "Ha! Ha! Ha!"


    Before each kick, Damon let out a strong breath. He thenunched a powerful kick against the heavy bag.


    Every hit shook the bag with a loud "BAM," and his force made the bag move back and forth.


    His form was solid, textbook Muay Thai, even. His kicks were strong and precise, but there was something missing.


    Each strike required him to pause and reset, his bnce shifting before he could deliver the next blow. It wasn''t sloppy, far from it.


    In fact, to the untrained eye, it would look seamless.


    But Damon knew better.


    Kru Wichan, leaning against a nearby post, watched silently, his sharp eyes missing nothing.


    Damon hit with a single powerful kick, but Wichan had already shown a smooth chain of strikes, with one kick moving right into the next.


    There was a rhythm to Wichan''s movements, an artistry Damon couldn''t yet replicate.


    Uniqueness.


    Damon stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow, and refocused.


    He changed his position and hit the bag with another low kick, which made it shake very hard.


    After that, he hit the middle with a roundhouse kick and then stopped to get his bnce back.


    He sighed, frustrated by the need to recalibrate between strikes.


    "You think too much," Kru Wichan''s voice cut through the sound of the bag swinging.


    He stepped forward, his hands sped behind his back. "Your body strong, technique good, but¡­" He tapped his temple. "Your mind slows you."


    Damon turned, his chest heaving. "What do you mean?"


    Wichan stepped up to the bag, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for battle. "Watch." Without hesitation, heunched a rapid sequence of kicks, low, mid, high.


    The bag jerked and swayed violently under his onught, but Wichan''s movements were smooth, almost effortless.


    His bnce never faltered, each strike transitioning naturally into the next.


    He stopped abruptly, letting the bag swing back to stillness. "No thinking. Just feel. You let bncee naturally."


    Damon gave a nod, and his brow furrowed in focus. He took a step forward and firmly nted his feet. He took a deep breath and put his leg through the bag.


    The kicknded cleanly, and instead of resetting, he immediately threw another, then another.


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    The sequence wasn''t as fluid as Wichan''s, but it was a step in the right direction.


    "Better," Wichan said, his tone approving but firm. "But not enough. Again."


    He clenched his teeth and went back to his stance. He kept going, and with each kick, the flow got better and pauses growing shorter.


    The gym was filled with the sound of his hits, with Wichan correcting him and giving him thumbs up every so often.


    "Good," Wichan said finally, his lips curving into a faint smile. "You learn fast. But to be great, you need this¡­" He tapped his heart. "And this." He tapped his head. "Bnce is not just body. It is spirit."


    Damon nodded, his respect for the older man growing with every word. He wasn''t there yet, but he could feel the progress. And for now, that was enough.


    Wichan walked toward the ring, his steps deliberate, his presencemanding even in the rtive silence of the gym.


    He motioned for Damon to follow him. "Come," he said simply, "let''s test your moves."


    Damon looked around as he climbed through the ropes.


    There was an odd silence in the room. When he first walked into the gym, it was busy with fighters training and people gathered around Wichan to watch him show off his scary kicks.


    Few people were still in the training area, but most of them had already left.


    He couldn''t help but ask, "Where''d everyone go?"


    Wichan, busy adjusting his gloves, didn''t look up as he waved his hand dismissively. "They leave. My training is not for everyone."


    Damon raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"


    Finally, Wichan turned to face him, his expression calm and serious. "When I train, I expect focus. Discipline. Many here¡­ theye to watch, not learn. They think watching makes them strong."


    He shrugged, a faint smirk ying on his lips. "So I send them away. My ring is for fighters, not tourists."


    Damon chuckled softly, nodding in understanding. "Makes sense."


    Wichan''s grin went away, and he returned to the serious, wise look he had been wearing earlier.


    He took a step closer and pointed at Damon''s chest.  "Now, no more questions. Show me what you can do."


    Damon inhaled deeply, his body tense but ready. If Wichan wanted to test him, he was going to make sure he didn''t disappoint.


    As Damon tightened the gloves around his hands, the leather made a soft creaking sound as he did so.


    He put the headgear on over his head and tightened it up. He felt stable because of the familiar weight of the gear.


    As he rolled his shoulders to rx, his attention sharpened.


    He stepped into the center of the ring, assuming his usual Muay Thai stance, upright, bnced, and calcted.


    His fists were high, elbows tight to his body, and his movements fluid as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet.


    The rhythm was natural, instinctive.


    Wichan stood in his corner and watched in silence. Even though he couldn''t read his face, he could tell from the look in his eyes  that this spar was about tob be peculiar.


    Damon looked right into Wichan''s eyes as he gave a small nod. They didn''t say anything, but the meaning was clear.


    Damon didn''t waste time. He wasn''t here to impress anyone with shy moves or unnecessary risks.


    After all he wanted to learn, not show off.


    He opened cautiously, throwing a quick jab to test the waters.


    Wichan didn''t flinch. Instead, the older fighter leaned ever so slightly to the side, his movements economical and deliberate, as though anticipating Damon''s strike a second before it came.


    Damon circled, keeping his distance, his feet moving with a steady rhythm.


    He knew better than to rush in blindly. Instead, he threw another jab, this time feinting with his shoulder to gauge Wichan''s reaction.


    The feint drew a subtle twitch from Wichan, a small shift in his weight, but nothing more.


    "Good," Wichan said, his voice calm but firm. "But not enough. Again."


    Damon''s eyes narrowed, and this time he threw a jab-crossbination, following it up with a low kick.


    The sharp crack of his shin connecting with the pads reverberated through the ring.


    Wichan checked the kick effortlessly, countering with a lightning-fast front kick that sent Damon stumbling back a step.


    But it wasn''t the front kick that had him grunting, but rather Wichan''s leg that felt like steel it was insane.

 Chapter 255 Beginning Of A Legend III

    Damon winced as he adjusted his stance, his shin still throbbing from the impact.


    He looked up at Wichan, his face twisted in difort. "What is that?" he asked, unable to hide the cringe in his expression.


    "It felt like I kicked a steel pole," Damon muttered, rolling his ankle slightly to test if it still worked properly.


    Wichan''s face remained calm, but there was a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "It is called conditioning," he said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. "Somchai¡­ he did not teach you this?"


    Damon shook his head, his frustration barely contained. "No, he didn''t."


    Wichan sighed heavily, muttering under his breath in Thai, "Ai Somchai, s?xn xar? xy¨±? ne¨©?a" (Somchai, what the hell were you teaching?)


    Damon noticed the shift in tone but didn''t press. He still hadn''t picked up thenguage and decided it was best to stay silent.


    Wichan turned back to Damon, his stern gaze softening slightly. "You must condition. Muay Thai fighters¡­ are strong because we train body, not just skill. You learn this too."


    Damon nodded, though he wasn''t thrilled at the idea of his shins bing battering rams through sheer pain tolerance.


    Wichan motioned toward the center of the ring. "Okay, let''s continue."


    Damon reset his stance, bouncing lightly on his feet.


    He wasn''t going to give up, even though his leg hurt. He kept his eyes on Wichan and was ready to change.


    This was what he came to Thand for, to learn, to grow, and to face challenges that made him better.


    As they resumed, Damon silently vowed to make his shins just as unbreakable as Wichan''s.


    One step at a time.


    Damon kept sparring, and with every punch, kick, and elbow he threw, the gym resounded with his hits.


    Even though he moved quickly and smoothly, all of his attacks seemed to fail to break Wichan''s barriers.


    The older man stood rock solid, taking every blow without even flinching. His face stayed stiff and nk, not revealing anything.


    Now Damon was taking deeper breaths, and as he changed his stance, his forehead sparkled with sweat.


    Wichan tried to be unpredictable by changing targets, mixing up his moves, and feinting high and low. But nothing seemed to bother Wichan.


    It was like trying to break through a rock wall with your bare hands every time you hit it.


    Despite the mounting frustration, Damon pressed on. This wasn''t aboutnding blows; it was about learning. Testing himself against a fighter of Wichan''s caliber was the exact reason he was here.


    But damn, Damon thought, does this guy have any weaknesses?


    A low kick whipped out, aiming for Wichan''s thigh. Checked.


    A spinning elbow followed, targeting the temple. Blocked.


    Damon snapped a body kick, then threw a quick jab-crossbination, trying to break through Wichan''s guard. Nothing.


    Wichan moved with minimal effort, his calm demeanor unshaken.


    His hands stayed up, his footwork light, his movements deliberate.


    Damon caught his breath for a moment, studying the man in front of him.


    He''s not even sweating, he realized, shaking his head slightly. Is this what mastery looks like?


    As they continued, Damon noticed something strange. Wichan wasn''t offering any corrections or advice.


    He didn''t critique Damon''s technique, didn''t suggest adjustments, didn''t evenment on his performance.


    He just stood there, defending, observing.


    It was unnerving at first, but Damon quickly realized the point.


    Wichan wasn''t here to hold his hand. He wasn''t here to coddle or spoon-feed tips.


    He was here to see what Damon could bring to the table and push Damon to find his own way, his own pace.


    Damon respected that.


    Wichan raised a hand, signaling for Damon to stop. Damon froze mid-motion, his fist hovering inches from a jab.


    Wichan rxed, leaning casually against the ropes, his expression calm yet piercing.


    "You are good," Wichan began, his tone steady but authoritative. "You have good form. Strong. Precise. Everything is¡­ good."


    Damon''s brows furrowed. He knew a "but" wasing, and Wichan didn''t disappoint.


    "But," Wichan continued, his gaze unwavering, "there is one problem."


    He moved a little and put his weight on the ropes with the ease of someone who had seen a lot of fighterse and go. "Conditioning does not make you invincible," he said, tapping his chest with two fingers. "It only strengthens. It does not make you untouchable."


    Damon nodded, listening intently, his sharp gaze locked onto Wichan.


    Kru Wichan looked at Damon with a slightly softer gaze. After a short pause, he spoke. "Your problem is not skill. You are talented, very talented."


    He paused, letting his words settle before adding, in Thai, "Th?? ??xng m?? th¨¡ re???xng n??¨¡tdcl."(But one must not be boring.)


    Switching back to English, Wichan gestured subtly with his hand, as if shaping the air itself. "Your strikes are strong, precise. But they feel¡­ mechanical. Like someone wrote instructions for you to follow. There is no you in them."


    Damon tilted his head slightly, absorbing the critique.


    He didn''t respond, waiting for Wichan to borate.


    Wichan leaned forward, tapping his temple lightly. "You must make it yours. Your kicks, punches, elbows, they should have your style, your signature. Not just textbook form. This is not only to make the fight exciting but also to make your movements feel natural. When you fight with your own style, it flows. It bes alive."


    He stepped closer, pointing at Damon''s chest. "This will not only improve your fights for the crowd but for you. It will feel effortless when your body and mind work together."


    Damon nodded slowly, the weight of Wichan''s advice sinking in. He had never thought about his style that way before. Your journey continues on empire


    Sure, he had studied Muay Thai, well the system helped, but this idea of adding his personal touch felt new, both daunting and liberating.


    Wichan stepped back, folding his arms, his expression unchanging. "A fighter who fights like everyone else is predictable. Predictable is easy to beat."


    The words hit Damon like a switch had been flipped.


    He slightly clenched his hands and felt a new resolve rising inside him.

 Chapter 256 Read Like An Open Book I

    [24 June 2027]


    Thementators'' voices filled the arena as the crowd settled in for the main event.


    "And this main event has officially begun! Damon Cross versus Emarn Petrosin," onementator announced with excitement as the referee stepped between the two fighters,ying down the rules.


    "This is a fight we''ve all been waiting for," the othermentator chimed in. "It''s been two months since Damon Crossst stepped into the cage. He epted this fight on just four weeks'' notice. Do you think we''ll see any changes in his performance?"


    "We''ll find out soon enough," the firstmentator replied. "If he feels confident enough to ept a fight against a dangerous opponent like Emarn Petrosin, you know he''s got something up his sleeve. But make no mistake, this is a tough matchup."


    The camera moved to Emarn Petrosin, a skilled kickboxer known for his powerful strikes.


    He stood at 6''3", lean and muscr, bouncing lightly on his toes as he locked eyes with Damon.


    He looked like he was ready to show off his skills, with a sharp, focused face.


    "Unlike hisst opponent, Cen Gustm, Emarn Petrosin is in incredible shape," onementator pointed out. "He''s well-prepared, and he looks ready to bang it out with the youngster."


    The camera turned to look at Damon Cross. He was a little shorter than Emarn at 6''2", but it wasn''t obvious. His body was leaner and more defined than before.


    As Damon waited for the fight to start, he kept a cool and focused face and a loose stance.


    Having spent thest two months in Thand getting better at what he did, it showed in the way he acted.


    Damon stood in a way that was both strange and interesting.


    The way he was standing gave the impression that he was calm, but inside he was a fierce fighter.


    Enjoy exclusive chapters from empire


    His posture revealed traces of Muay Thai, the high guard, and bnced weight distribution, but it wasyered with a unique, fluid energy.


    His hands floated slightly lower than a traditional stance, his lead hand hovering near chest level, ready to parry or feint, while his rear hand stayed close to his chin, protecting his temple.


    His legs, slightly wider apart, allowed for quick adjustments.


    It wasn''t a textbook stance, not tied to any singr discipline. It was adaptive, versatile.


    To the untrained eye, he might even appear too rxed, almost nonchnt.


    Even those who didn''t understand would keep a cautious eye.


    Across from him, Emarn Petrosin mirrored a stark contrast.


    At 6''3" with a reach advantage, his stance was ssic kickboxing, upright, bnced, and built for striking.


    His lead hand floated high, his rear hand tucked by his chin, protecting his head while remaining ready tounch devastating power shots.


    Emarn''s stance and every move made it clear that he was dangerous.


    And he was.


    The referee stepped between them, his voice cutting through the anticipation. "Ready? Ready? FIGHT!"


    And with that, the match was underway.


    The cage door mmed shut, and the crowd roared as the fight officially began.


    Damon moved lightly on his feet, his stance loose but calcted, his eyes locked onto Emarn Petrosin, not on his face, but his body.


    This was one of the lessons Kru Wichan had drilled into him, the body tells the story.


    The subtle shifts in bnce, the twitch of a shoulder, or the positioning of the hips, all were cues to anticipate the attack.


    The face was a distraction, the real truth was in the body.


    Damon shifted slightly, testing his range as he circled, his breathing calm and steady.


    Emarn, as expected from the tapes, didn''t waste time. He rushed forward, aggressive and eager to set the tone early.


    His lead leg bounced, the muscles coiling before heunched a sharp low kick, aiming for Damon''s thigh.


    Damon read it instantly.


    The slight tilt of Emarn''s torso gave it away. He stepped back just enough to avoid the impact, the whoosh of the kick cutting through the air.


    The crowd let out a small cheer at the disy.


    Emarn pressed forward, unfazed. He snapped out a jab, followed by a fast high kick aimed at Damon''s temple.


    Damon ducked under the kick, his movements fluid, and countered with a quick jab to Emarn''s midsection, testing his defense.


    The strikended, light but intentional, and Damon noted how Emarn absorbed it, his core tightening reflexively.


    Damon kept moving, never staying in one spot for too long, his focus unwavering.


    Emarn''s aggression was relentless, but Damon had expected this.


    The tapes had shown Emarn''s tendency to start fast, throwing high-volumebinations to overwhelm his opponents.


    But this wasn''t Damon''s first storm.


    Emarnunched another low kick, then followed it with a swift jab-crossbination.


    Damon slipped the punches effortlessly, his eyes glued to Emarn''s body. The kick was heavy butcked the fullmitment Damon had seen earlier.


    He noticed the slight shift in Emarn''s rhythm, a fraction of hesitation as if testing the waters.


    "He''s looking for an opening," Damon thought, his instincts kicking in.


    Damon didn''t back away; instead, he moved forward, closing the gap before Emarn could restart.


    When he faked a left hook, Emarn raised his guard.


    He then quickly pivoted and delivered a leg kick to Emarn''s lead thigh.


    The shock was loud, a satisfying crack that made people in the crowd react.


    Emarn winced, and for a moment he lost his bnce. But he quickly got it back.


    Damon gave a small grin, and his confidence grew.


    He wasn''t here to fight without thinking.


    He nned to stay three moves ahead.


    Again, Emarn pushed forward. His footwork was smooth as he fired another set of blows.


    A jab, a body kick, and a spinning back fist.


    He dodged, blocked, and parried, and his reflexes were quick.


    He could feel the energy in Emarn''s strikes, the raw power behind each blow, but there was a predictability to his movements.


    Damon''s training in Thand had honed his ability to exploit those patterns. Every feint, every step, every counter, it was deliberate, calcted.


    Damon moved fluidly, his eyes locked on Emarn''s body, his mind calm but active.


    As he weaved to the left, narrowly dodging a sharp straight punch from Emarn, his thoughts returned to the words of Kru Wichan "A fighter who fights like everyone is predictable."


    Emarn wasn''t like every fighter, not in skill or style. His kickboxing was sharp, his strikes powerful and well-timed.


    But predictability didn''te from what a fighter did; it came from how often they did it.


    Damon, having dissected countless hours of Emarn''s tapes, knew how he thought, how he adjusted, and when he didn''t.


    He had trained to think like him, to see his openings and his blind spots, to know his tendencies before they showed.


    As Emarn''s punch missed, Damon pivoted with precision, his body shifting seamlessly into a counter.


    A crisp left hook snapped across Emarn''s guard, forcing him to step back and reset. The crowd roared, a ripple of excitement coursing through the arena.

 Chapter 257 Read Like An Open Book II

    Damon stayed on the balls of his feet, his stance loose but calcted.


    He couldn''t help but reflect on what he''d learned over the past months.


    Somchai had been invaluable, teaching him pure Muay Thai, the art in its truest form, perfecting his technique.


    But Wichan... Wichan took it a step further and taught Damon how to make it his own, to adopt a way of fighting that was unpredictable, adaptable, and all his own.


    They bnced each other.


    Somchai had gave Damon the foundation, the unshakable core of Muay Thai.


    Wichan showed him how to build on it, to evolve beyond it.


    He smirked faintly at the thought, ducking under a wild hook from Emarn and stepping into range, throwing a quick knee to Emarn''s midsection.


    The strikended cleanly, forcing Emarn to grunt as he backed away again.


    Damon didn''t chase him. Instead, he reset, his breathing steady, his movements patient.


    Emarn''s strength was in his aggression, his ability to overwhelm opponents with speed and volume.


    But even his frustration began to show. His punches came harder, his kicks sharper, but the subtle hesitations in his movements betrayed his mindset.


    Damon could see it, the pressure was building.


    Damon feinted a low kick, watching as Emarn instinctively shifted his weight to check it.


    In that split-second, Damonunched a lightning-fast teep kick, his foot striking Emarn square in the chest.


    Damon didn''t stop there.


    The roar of the crowd and thementators'' voices faded to the background as he locked in on Emarn.


    His instinct was unbelievably sharp, and years of hard training had sharpened his instincts.


    He was in charge of the fight''s pace now, and he wasn''t going to let Emarn catch his breath.


    Damonunched a barrage of blows as he moved into range.


    His punches snapped forward with speed and precision, a jab to test Emarn''s guard, a cross that forced him to shift his stance, and a lightning-fast hook aimed just below the ribs.


    It hit hard, with a dull thud that made Emarn wince and take a step back. Damon didn''t give up.


    A quick elbow flew through the air and hit Emarn''s high guard.


    He had to take another step back because the force of it made his arms shake, even though it was stopped.


    Then Damon hit Emarn with a hard low kick that hit him in the thigh and made him lose his bnce a little.


    Thementators couldn''t hold back their excitement. "Oh, look at this! Damon is absolutely unloading on Emarn here!"


    Damon tightened hisbinations as Emarn moved back even more.


    He hit Emarn with each strike, just like a piston, trying to get through his shields.


    Never letting Emarn settle, he changed his sights to high, low, and mid.


    A perfectly timed overhand hit Emarn on the top of the head, and then a hook to the belly made him grunt loudly.


    It felt like the tide was changing for Damon.


    As he got closer, he dodged Emarn''s attempts to fight back.


    He took a wild jab, but Damon moved to the outside and snapped a counter right across Emarn''s chin.


    The crowd went wild as Emarn stumbled backwards and could hardly keep his bnce.


    Damon wasn''t done. He surged forward, now mixing in short, punishing elbows.


    Each blownded with a sharp crack, chipping away at Emarn''s defenses and forcing him into a full retreat.


    Damon''s strikes were relentless, but not mindless, each attack set up the next, breaking Emarn''s rhythm and forcing him onto the back foot.


    Emarn''s back nearly hit the cage, and he fired a desperate one-twobination to regain some control.


    But Damon saw iting.


    He ducked under the first strike, pivoting slightly to the side, and raised his forearm to deflect the second.


    The movement was fluid, almost effortless, and left him in perfect position to fire a crushing left hook to Emarn''s ribs. Stay tuned to empire


    Thementators were losing their minds. "Emarn is in serious trouble here! Damon Cross is not letting him breathe!"


    Despite the onught, Damon was aware of his own limits.


    The pace was brutal, and he could feel the burn in his arms and legs.


    He knew maintaining this intensity would drain his stamina quickly.


    But he wasn''t just throwing wildly, this was calcted aggression.


    He had a n.


    Emarn''s guard stayed up, absorbing strike after strike, but Damon''s unyielding assault left him no choice but to backpedal toward the cage.


    Each step narrowed his options, and Damon exploited every mistake.


    Another wild counter came from Emarn, this time a looping right hook, but Damon read it like a book.


    He weaved under the strike, stepping inside and throwing apact elbow thatnded flush on Emarn''s temple.


    The impact drew a gasp from the crowd as Emarn staggered again.


    With Emarn staggering, his legs unsteady from the barrage of strikes, he had no choice but to retreat further.


    Step by step, he backed up until his shoulders met the cold steel of the cage.


    Damon''s lips curled into a faint smile. This was it. This was the moment he had been building toward.


    This was his n.


    He didn''t need to rush. He didn''t need to force anything. Everything was ying out exactly how he had envisioned it.


    Through hours of tape study and countless simtion rounds, Damon had dissected Emarn Petrosin''s fighting style like a puzzle.


    He knew the weaknesses that others might have overlooked.


    One ring w stood out, Emarn struggled when he couldn''t maintain distance.


    And if backed against the cage? His options became even more limited.


    Damon had spent weeks drilling this exact scenario, watching Emarn''s past fights on repeat.


    Every pattern, every tendency, every mistake he knew.


    This wasn''t just about reacting, it was about knowing what Emarn would do before Emarn himself even realized it.


    But that wasn''t all. Damon could have easily taken the fight to the ground.


    Emarn''s grappling was rudimentary at best, and once on the mat, he would have been utterly helpless.


    But that wasn''t what Damon wanted.


    No, a ground fight would have been too easy.


    Too predictable.


    Too boring.


    Damon wanted to dominate him where he was strongest.


    He wanted to prove that even in Emarn''s world, in the realm of striking where he was supposed to shine, he could be broken.


    Damon stepped in closer, his footwork smooth and measured.


    His eyes locked on Emarn''s, daring him to find a way out.


    Emarn''s breathing was heavy now, his chest rising and falling with each desperate gulp of air.


    The crowd roared, sensing the impending end.


    Damon shifted his weight, his bodynguage calm yet menacing, ready to unleash the final act of his n.

 Chapter 258 Closed The Book III

    Damon used his advantage to make sure Emarn had no way to get away.


    He used the cage as a weapon to inflict pain, and made sure Emarn stayed in one ce.


    Each movement was precise, each strike nned to cause maximum damage. Experience tales at empire


    Damon was dismantling Emarn.


    He hit Emarn in the thighs and midsection with sharp knees that made a painful sound.


    With each hit, Emarn''s body jerked, and his stance got weaker as his legs gave way from the force.


    Damon''s elbows followed in fast session, slicing through his opponent with lethal uracy.


    Each blow connected with Emarn''s guard, forcing him to cover up tighter, his vision obscured.


    He couldn''t see where the next strike wasing from, and that was exactly what Damon wanted.


    But Damon knew better than to linger in the clinch for too long.


    The referee was watching closely, ready to separate them if the action stalled.


    That wasn''t an option Damon was willing to give.


    He adjusted his angle,nding a brutal knee to Emarn''s ribs that caused him to wince audibly.


    Damon responded with a quick elbow that brushed off Emarn''s temple after Emarn attempted to counter with a brief punch but was able to evade it by leaning back just enough.


    The crowd erupted, sensing the one-sided nature of the exchange.


    Damon was methodical, controlling the pace, the space, and the rhythm.


    Emarn''s options were dwindling with every second, his body absorbing a relentless storm of punishment.


    Damon drove another knee into Emarn, first striking his liver, then his thigh.


    The movement was fluid, almost rhythmic, like a sequence out of Kru Wichan''s relentless demonstrations.


    His leg didn''t touch the ground before setting off again.


    It was a skill he had practiced tirelessly, while not yet at Wichan''s level, he was steadily closing the gap.


    The devastating impact caused Emarn''s body to seize.


    The liver shot forced him to hunch over, and the follow-up knee to the thigh buckled his stancepletely.


    His body crumbled awkwardly, one knee hitting the canvas while his other leg stretched out in an unnatural position.


    His back slumped against the cage, his arms iling momentarily as he tried to recover.


    Damon''s instincts kicked in, and his body moved to follow up with another knee. But as his leg lifted, his mind caught up.


    That would be illegal. He quickly controlled himself, stopping mid-motion and instead pressing his knee into Emarn''s chest, pinning him firmly against the cage.


    The liver shot had done its job, forcing Emarn''s guard to open slightly as his arms twitched reflexively to protect his torso.


    Damon took advantage right away and started throwing punches.


    Each strike found its mark,nding cleanly on Emarn''s face.


    His head snapped back against the cage with every punch, and though he tried to bring his hands up to defend, they couldn''t keep up with Damon''s speed and ferocity.


    It got louder in the arena with each blow, and the fans roared even louder.


    It didn''t take long before the referee stepped in, pushing Damon back and creating space between him and Emarn.


    Damon backed away immediately, hands still up, breathing steady but deep. His eyes stayed locked on Emarn, watching as the referee checked on him.


    Emarn shook his head, his lips moving slightly as if trying to protest, but his bodynguage told a different story.


    He leaned heavily against the cage, his chest heaving, his arms dropping limply to his sides.


    The referee waved his hands, signaling the end of the match. "It''s done!" he dered, and the small crowd erupted into cheers, the sound echoing through the intimate venue.


    Damon''s expression shifted, a mix of relief and triumph shing across his face.


    He turned toward the cage and ran to it, leaping onto the fence with the agility of a man who had just conquered a mountain.


    Perched on the edge, he beat his chest with one hand, the other gripping the top of the cage.


    He roared into the crowd, his energy infectious as the cheers grew louder.


    His eyes darted to his corner. Victor and the others stood quietly.


    Damon had requested they remain silent during the fight, he wanted to prove to himself that he could handle this on his own.


    Now, seeing them talking and shaking their heads with amused smiles, he felt a swell of satisfaction.


    He hopped down from the cage, his adrenaline still coursing through him, and turned to look at Emarn.


    His opponent had slumped onto the stool brought in by his corner, his face weary but not defeated in spirit. Damon respected that.


    As the medics checked Emarn over, Damon lingered for a moment, watching.


    Damon turned to see his team entering the cage, their expressions a mix of pride and relief. Victor was the first to approach him, pulling him into a strong hug.


    "You''re growing pretty well, kid," Victor said with a grin, patting Damon on the back.


    Damon chuckled, returning the hug. "Haha, thanks for going along with my request," he replied, a hint of gratitude in his tone.


    Victor pulled back, holding Damon''s shoulders for a moment as he looked him in the eye. "Don''t you remember where you started? You used to fight with no one in your corner. I know you, Damon, you''re smart. You''ve got this."


    Damon smiled warmly, the words settling in his chest. "Thanks, Vic. That means a lot."


    He shifted his gaze to the assistant coaches standing nearby, each giving him nods of approval.


    Edward, however, was noticeably absent. Damon''s eyes flickered for a moment, and he couldn''t help but think about why.


    Edward was deep in preparation for a fight in the Ronan ck Contender Series, an opportunity too important to miss.


    Damon understood. Edward was at a critical stage in his training, and this was a moment where he needed to focus entirely on himself.


    Damon exhaled softly, shaking off the thought. "Edward''s got bigger things to focus on," he muttered to himself, then smiled at his team. "Let''s get out of here. I need to eat."


    Victorughed, pping him on the back again. "You earned it, kid. Let''s celebrate."

 Chapter 259 The Winner!!

    The announcer stepped into the ring, microphone in hand, his voice cutting through the cheers of the crowd.


    Now that Emarn Petrosin could stand, he leaned against the cage and his chest moved up and down heavily. The energy was still exciting.


    His face showed the damage from Damon''s constant attacks: a cut above his brow, a swollen cheek, and a tired look that said he knew the fight was over.


    Damon joined them at the center of the cage, his expression calm but focused, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.


    He nced at Emarn briefly, his respect for the veteran striker intact despite the one-sided oue.


    The ref moved forward and waved for both fighters toe up to him. He grabbed their wrists and raised them a little, getting ready for the final choice.


    Damon''s team stood in the corner with their eyes fixed on the scene. They were filled with joy.


    The announcer put up the mic and his voice went boom. "Ladies and gentlemen, referee Mark Caldwell has called a stop to this contest at 2 minutes and 45 seconds of the very first round!"


    The crowd erupted, their cheers echoing through the small arena.


    "Dering the winner by TKO¡­ DAAAMON CROOOSS!"


    The referee lifted Damon''s hand high, and the crowd''s roar grew even louder.


    Damon allowed himself a small smile, his chest heaving as he soaked in the moment.


    He looked over at Emarn, who gave him a faint nod of acknowledgment, a silent gesture of respect from one fighter to another.


    Real recognized real.


    Damon raised both fists in victory, turning to face the fans.


    The shes of cameras lit up the arena as the crowd chanted his name.


    He didn''t need to scream or celebrate wildly, his performance had done all the talking.


    The Post-Fight Interview


    One of thementators walked into the cage with a big smile on his face and a microphone in his hand.


    The crowd calmed down a bit, eager to hear from the one  won the exciting fight that night.


    "I''m here with Damon Cross, the winner of tonight''s main event! Damon, first off, congrattions on an incredible performance. That was as dominant as it gets. How does it feel to get a finish like that in the first round?"


    Damon leaned into the mic. His face was still wet with sweat and he had a confident demeanor "It feels great," he began, his tone calm yet brimming with confidence. "I knewing into this fight that I''d prepared for whatever he had. Emarn''s a tough guy, dangerous with his striking, but I did my homework. I knew where to push, and I pushed."


    Thementator nodded, impressed. "Speaking of preparation, you looked like you knew exactly how to neutralize him, especially when you backed him into the cage. Was that part of your game n?"


    Damon smirked faintly, brushing his hair back before answering. "Oh, absolutely. We studied him. Emarn likes space, he thrives at range, and I wasn''t gonna let him y his game. I knew if I closed that distance and kept the pressure on, he''d have nowhere to go. And once I got him there? It was just a matter of time."


    The crowd cheered loudly, clearly appreciating the tactical breakdown.


    Thementator pressed on. "You''ve fought twice in three months now, and both times you''ve put on dominant performances. What''s next for Damon Cross? Are you ready to take on the bigger names in the division?"


    Damon gave a smallugh and shook his head "Bigger names? They better be ready for me. I''m just getting started, and I''m only getting better. Anyone in the division who thinks they''re at the top, enjoy it while you can. Because I''ming."


    The audience roared in approval, feeding off his confidence.


    Thementator smiled, clearly loving the way Damon was both humble and cocky. "Last question for you, Damon. You''ve been working hard, training abroad, and now you''ve put on a show for these fans. Any final words for everyone watching?"


    Damon turned to face the crowd, raising a fist before speaking. "Thank you to everyone who came out tonight and everyone watching at home. I''m here to entertain, and I hope you all enjoyed the show. Keep your eyes on me¡ªI promise, this is just the beginning."


    Thementator stepped back, raising Damon''s hand one more time as the crowd erupted again. "Damon Cross,dies and gentlemen!"


    Damon nodded, stepping back to his corner with his team, already thinking about the next challenge ahead.


    The announcer moved toward Emarn, who stood alongside his interpreter.


    Though battered and showing the signs of the tough fight, heposed himself with dignity.


    The crowd quieted as the announcer raised the microphone to address him.


    "Emarn Petrosin, you came into this fight with a lot of expectations, and though it didn''t go your way tonight, you showed heart and grit in there. Can you walk us through what happened?"


    Emarn took a deep breath, then began speaking in Italian, his voice steady and respectful.


    "Damon ¨¨ unbattente straordinario. Mi ha studiato bene e ha eseguito il suo piano a perfezione. Aveva una risposta per tutto quello che facevo."


    (Damon is an extraordinary fighter. He studied me well and executed his n to perfection. He had an answer for everything I did.)


    The interpreter tranted his words, earning cheers from the crowd for his sportsmanship.


    The announcer nodded. "It''s clear he brought a solid game n. Was there anything that surprised you about him in this fight?"


    Emarn nced toward Damon briefly, a faint smile on his bruised face. He spoke again, his tone thoughtful.


    "¨¨ stato pi¨´ rssato e calcto di quanto mi aspettassi. Pensavo che sarebbe stato pi¨´ aggressivo, ma ha scelto i suoi momenti in modo impabile."


    (He was more rxed and calcted than I expected. I thought he would be more aggressive, but he picked his moments impably.)


    The interpreter ryed his words, and the crowd murmured appreciatively, recognizing the respect in Emarn''s analysis.


    The announcer continued, "You''ve been a staple in the division for years now. What''s next for you after this fight?"


    Emarn''s expression grew determined, his voice firm as he replied in Italian.


    "Questa ¨¨ solo una battuta d''arresto. Torner¨° pi¨´ forte. Il mio obiettivo rimane lo stesso: diventare il migliore. Damon ¨¨ stato migliore stasera, ma questo non cambia il mio percorso."


    (This is just a setback. I''lle back stronger. My goal remains the same: to be the best. Damon was better tonight, but this doesn''t change my path.)


    The interpreter tranted, and the crowd responded with respectful apuse. It was clear Emarn''s humility and determination resonated.


    "Any final words for the fans, Emarn?" the announcer asked.


    Experience more on empire


    Emarn turned to the crowd, lifting a hand slightly in acknowledgment as he spoke with heartfelt sincerity.


    "Grazie a tutti per il supporto. Siete ragione per cuibattiamo e continuiamo a inseguire i nostri sogni. Prometto di tornare pi¨´ forte."


    (Thank you all for your support. You''re the reason we fight and continue chasing our dreams. I promise toe back stronger.)


    The interpreter echoed his words, and the arena erupted in apuse. Emarn nodded respectfully before stepping back, his mind already set on redemption.


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