MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

When the night finally arrived, the energy in the air was electric.
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The weigh-ins were long done. The fighters were locked in. And now, the arena was packed to its absolute limit.

Sold out.

Fans from all over the world had flown in for this event, eager to witness history unfold. Some were here for the love of the sport. Others had come to see if their country's fighter would rise or fall. And then there were the ones who simply wanted to be part of the moment, to say they were there.

The atmosphere was insane.

Every section of the venue was filled. Flags waved proudly from different parts of the stands, representing nations still in the tournament. The chants, the songs, the anticipation, it was a storm waiting to explode.

Even in the VIP section, some of the biggest names in combat sports and entertainment had taken their seats. Cameras had already caught glimpses of former world champions, Hollywood stars, musicians, and high-profile athletes. Everyone wanted to see what would happen tonight.

Backstage, the fighters prepared.

Tonight, four warriors would enter the cage, and only two would move forward to the finals.

It wasn't just another event. This was legacy-defining.

And now, it was time to begin.

Back in the private area of the arena, Damon sat on a bench, taping his hands while his team moved around him. The air was tense, not because of nerves, but because Victor had made sure there was security around their section.

Not just for Damon, but for Svetlana too.

She was always at his side, and if things went south tonight, Victor wasn't about to take any risks. People were unpredictable, and the last thing he wanted was his daughter caught up in something stupid.

Damon didn't argue against it. He knew how things had escalated after the England fight. The media had gone crazy with their narratives, and the apology announcement had only thrown more fuel onto the fire.

Damon had no doubt that some fans were still bitter about what had happened last time.

Victor stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching everything with that unreadable expression of his. He hadn't asked Damon for details, hadn't pressed him on what exactly he was planning to do after the fight. But he knew.

He knew that Damon had no intention of standing in that cage and humbling himself for anyone.

And that's why there was tension.

Not nervousness, but anticipation.

They had agreed to reduce the fine based on an apology, and now, Damon was about to throw all of that out the window.

But how?

That's what Victor didn't know.

Svetlana sat nearby, scrolling through her phone, but Damon could see the way her eyes flickered up to him now and then. She knew something was up, too. She just didn't know how far he was going to take it.

Damon flexed his hands, feeling the tightness of the wraps.

Tommy had been quiet for the most part. Ever since Damon had started handling his own training and making it clear who was really in charge, Tommy had backed off.

But that all changed after the meeting with the officials.

Now, the old man was hovering, making sure Damon understood exactly what was expected of him.

"Just get up there, say the words, and we move on. It's a simple thing, lad," Tommy had said more than once, his voice laced with that authority he loved to throw around.

Damon had let him talk.

He had let Tommy feel like he was doing something, like he had control.

At one point, Tommy had even handed him a sheet of paper, a carefully drafted statement, no doubt written with input from the officials and some PR expert.

Damon skimmed through it.

It was bullshit.

The entire thing read like he was begging for forgiveness, like he was admitting to being in the wrong, like he was some reckless fool who had made a mistake and was now groveling to be accepted again.

Not a single word of it sat right with him.

But he didn't react. Didn't scoff, didn't tear it up in front of Tommy's face like he wanted to. Instead, he just nodded, folded the paper, and tucked it into his pocket.

"Yeah, I'll apologize," he said simply.

Tommy looked at him for a moment, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Damon kept his expression neutral, unreadable.

"Good," Tommy finally said, satisfied. "It'll be good for your image, and it'll settle things down. Best for everyone involved."

Damon didn't respond, just gave a small nod.

But inside?

He was already planning how he was going to flip this entire thing on its head.

He wasn't about to let them dictate the narrative.

If they wanted an apology, they were going to get one.

Damon leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms as he prepared to watch the other matches unfold.

His fight was the main event. Again.

It didn't take a genius to see what was happening.

The officials weren't just punishing him with a fine, they were using him.

All this talk about controversy, about apologies, about "setting things right", it was just another way to promote the event. The more people talked about Damon Cross, the more tickets sold, the more eyes tuned in.

It was a business move, plain and simple.

Damon smirked.

He didn't mind.

At the end of the day, they could twist narratives, spin controversy, and push whatever agenda they wanted. But once that cage door closed?

He controlled the story.

Victor sat beside him, arms crossed as he watched the screen in front of them. He wasn't stupid, he knew exactly what was happening, too.

"They really milked this one, huh?" Victor muttered, shaking his head.

Damon took a sip from his water bottle, not looking away from the screen. "Yeah. But it works. They get views, I get paid, and I get to do whatever I want when the mic's in my hands."

Victor smirked. "So you're still not telling me what you're gonna say?"

Damon grinned. "Nope."

Victor sighed but didn't push. He knew Damon well enough to trust him.

Tommy, on the other hand, was pacing a few feet away, probably still stressing over whether Damon would actually go through with their scripted apology.

Damon almost laughed.

He'd find out soon enough.

For now, though, Damon relaxed. He still had time before the walkout. He'd watch the fights, see who won, and enjoy the chaos leading up to his own.

After all, tonight wasn't just about fighting.

It was about taking control.