MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

As he and Victor left the airport, Damon took a quick look around to get a feel for the strange surroundings.

There was a lot going on in the parking lot, and the cool air from Ireland felt both refreshing and grounded.

They walked up to a sleek rental car that Victor had reserved ahead of time.

It was a black SUV that promised to be comfortable and reliable for their stay.

It wasn't fancy, but it did the job.

Victor got into the driver's seat and pulled up the GPS for their hotel.

Damon watched as he fixed his bag in the passenger seat.

"It's about thirty minutes from here," Victor said, glancing at Damon as he started the engine.

Damon nodded, leaning back into his seat. "Sounds good."

The drive was quiet at first, with Damon occasionally looking out the window.

The roads eventually led them to the hotel, a stunning five-star establishment nestled near the city center.

The entrance was adorned with elegant decor, and the polished exterior made it clear they'd be staying in style.

Victor pulled into the parking lot, cutting the engine. "Five-star, of course," he said with a smirk, glancing at Damon.

They weren't planning to linger long.

The main goal was to get Damon signed up for the tournament and to await the matchups.

With that in mind, their time at the hotel would be short.

After checking in, they each headed to their respective rooms, the process smooth and efficient.

Damon walked into his room, impressed by the spacious layout.

There were small nods to Irish culture in the modern decor, making it a balance of sleek design and rustic charm.

He put his bag on the soft bed and looked out the window at the city for a moment.

Within minutes, they were ready to head out, their minds already shifting to the next task.

After settling into their hotel rooms and notifying their loved ones of their safe arrival, Damon and Victor set out to the National Stadium in Dublin.

Known as the home of Irish boxing, the National Stadium is a historic venue serving as the only purpose-built amateur boxing arena in the world.

Beyond boxing, it has also hosted a variety of events, including concerts and wrestling matches.

This was the place where he would sign up for the tournament.

It didn't take Damon and Victor long to arrive at the National Stadium.

The drive from the hotel was short, and before they knew it, they were pulling into the parking lot.

Victor parked the black SUV, and both men stepped out, grabbing their bags before heading toward the building.

They didn't attract much attention, only a few passing glances here and there, which Damon found comforting.

It allowed him to focus on the task at hand without any unnecessary distractions.

As Damon and Victor approached the entrance of the National Stadium, a young man, barely out of his teens, sprinted toward them.

His youthful energy and slight awkwardness made it clear he was both excited and nervous.

Noticing the approach, Victor chuckled, nudging Damon with his elbow. "I'll catch up with you inside. Don't keep him waiting too long," he teased, heading toward the doors.

Damon nodded, shifting his attention to the boy who was now just a few feet away.

"Oi! Excuse me, are you Damon Cross?" the young man called out, his Irish accent unmistakable but not overly thick.

Damon stopped, offering a small smile. "Yeah, that's me."

The boy's face lit up, a mix of excitement and disbelief washing over him. "Jaysus, it really is you! I watched yer fights, like. You're a proper beast in the cage!" His words spilled out quickly, the admiration clear in his voice.

Damon chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Thanks, I appreciate that. You follow MMA, then?"

"Oh, absolutely," the boy said, nodding enthusiastically. "Been keepin' an eye on ya since The Supreme Fighter. When I heard you were comin' here for the tournament, I said to meself, 'I've gotta see him with me own eyes!'"

Damon raised an eyebrow, amused by the boy's enthusiasm. "Well, here I am," he said with a slight grin. "You here for the matches, too?"

The boy's excitement bubbled over. "Ah, not to fight, no. Just hopin' to catch a glimpse of the action, and maybe a few autographs. Me mates'll never believe I met ya."

Damon glanced toward the stadium doors, spotting Victor waiting just inside, before turning back to the boy. "I've gotta head in now, but thanks for the support."

The boy's eyes widened, and he fumbled in his pocket. "Wait, would ya… would ya mind signin' this?" He held out a small notepad and pen.

Damon took them, scribbling his name quickly but neatly. "There you go."

The boy stared at the signature, awe in his expression. "Thanks, mate. Best of luck out there. We're rootin' for ya!"

Damon gave him a nod and a small wave before heading into the stadium.

As he caught up with Victor, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the boy's enthusiasm.

For someone still finding his place in the sport, something like this was a reminder of how big he was growing, his fame and greatness.

As Damon and Victor made their way deeper into the National Stadium, they navigated through hallways lined with posters of past events and champions.

The atmosphere was lively, with the echoes of conversations and laughter bouncing off the walls.

Just as they turned a corner, they heard a distinct voice ringing out from down the hall, a mix of confidence, charm, and a sharp edge of humor that commanded attention.

"Ah, come on now, lads! You think yer jabs are landing? I've seen quicker strikes from me nan swatting flies!" the voice boomed, followed by a chorus of laughter.

Damon's ears perked up immediately. There was something about that voice.

It was brash, full of swagger, and unmistakably Irish.

"Tell ya what," the voice continued, clearly enjoying the attention. "When you're done shadowboxin' ghosts, I'll give ya a proper lesson. But don't be cryin' when I steal the spotlight."

Victor glanced at Damon, noticing the puzzled look on his face. "You alright?"

Damon nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. "Yeah... it's just that voice. I swear I've heard it before."

Victor smirked. "Sounds like someone with a healthy dose of confidence."

"More like overflowing," Damon muttered, but he couldn't shake the feeling. It wasn't just the tone, it was the delivery, the rhythm of the words.

It reminded him of someone he had watched countless times on screen during his early days of getting into MMA.

Another burst of laughter echoed through the hallway.

"Don't be shy, lads! Step up and I'll show ya how it's done. But I'll warn ya, when you're in the presence of greatness, it's hard not to look like a pair of amateurs."

Damon shook his head, his lips curling into an involuntary smirk. "Whoever that is, they sound like they own the place."

Victor chuckled, gesturing forward. "Let's keep moving. Whoever it is, you'll figure it out soon enough."