MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

They celebrated a little longer, laughing, eating, sharing stories. The energy never dipped. It felt like the kind of night people would remember without needing pictures.

The gathering stretched on, comfortably. No one rushed to leave, and no one was in a hurry to end the good vibes.

Eventually, as the evening wore down, people started to say their goodbyes. Hugs were exchanged, promises to meet again soon were made.

Those who stayed behind helped clean up. Plates were gathered, cups stacked, leftovers packed into containers.

Once the last guests had left and only the family remained, the house grew quieter. Softer.

Victor walked past the kitchen, then turned his head toward Damon.

"Come help me out with this," he called.

Damon, still half-watching Svetlana and his mother chatting in the living room, stood and followed without hesitation.

As they stepped into the garage, the air was cooler, with the faint scent of oil and wood polish lingering from earlier projects. Victor moved over to a storage rack stacked with covered boxes and reached for one.

"Give me a hand with this," he said, motioning for Damon to grab the other side.

Damon stepped over without question. The box wasn't heavy, just big and awkward. Looked like it was filled with old decorations or something from past events.

Victor grunted as they lifted it. "Nice ring," he said casually. "Must've cost a dime."

Damon let out a low chuckle, nodding. "Yeah, it did." No shame in that, he'd wanted it to be perfect.

They set the box down on a bench by the wall. Victor leaned on the edge and looked at him, more thoughtful now.

"So," he started, "how's it feel? Knowing you're gonna be a father?"

Damon's eyes dropped for a second, but before he could say anything, Victor followed up, "Have you two found out the gender yet?"

Damon shook his head. "No. Svetlana wants it to be a surprise."

Victor nodded. "That sounds like her."

Then he asked again, quieter this time, more direct, like he actually wanted a real answer.

"How does it feel, Damon?"

Damon didn't answer right away. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at the garage floor like the words might be written there somewhere.

Victor noticed and let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back against the wall with a familiar ease.

"Nervous, I guess?" he said, almost answering for him. "Responsibility like that… it's no joke."

He looked off for a second, eyes a little distant.

"I remember when we adopted Svetlana. You know the story, what her life was like before she got here. But man… when she first came into this house, it hit different. Having to be responsible for a life like that. For a twelve-year-old girl who'd already seen more than most grown adults."

He paused, like he was choosing his next words carefully.

"You kinda throw everything else away in that moment. Priorities shift. Whatever you do… it's for them now."

Damon stayed quiet, but his eyes stayed on Victor, listening.

Victor's voice dropped just slightly, steady, but real.

"All I'm saying is… I've been in your shoes. Well, not exactly, Svetlana was twelve, not a newborn, but I've lived it. Raising a child? It's a blessing. But it's also work. It takes patience, and time, and a hell of a lot of self-control."

He pushed off the wall slowly, standing straighter.

"I just want you to know… I'm here. If you ever need help. Guidance. Anything. You're not doing this alone."

Damon looked at him, no words needed for a moment. Just a quiet nod of appreciation.

Because as much as he tried to carry everything himself—

He didn't have to.

They talked more as they walked back toward the house, the quiet of the garage left behind, replaced by the sounds of soft conversation and dishes clinking from inside.

Victor glanced over at Damon, more casual now, but his tone shifted slightly.

"So," he said, "what's the plan now? Career-wise, I mean. You've still got momentum from the tournament win. People are watching."

Damon didn't hesitate. His voice was clear, steady.

"I want you to set up the fight against Desayen," he said. "Then after that, we push for the title shot."

Victor looked at him with a small, approving nod. "Alright then. You're in luck, Balim Chemasov and PDD are set to fight for the title next month. Once that's done, we'll know exactly who you're going after. We'll get the Desayen fight locked in, negotiate the purse, make it worth your time."

He paused before adding, "And while we're at it, we need to review your contract. You're not some rookie anymore, we've got leverage now. Tournament champion, still undefeated… It's time the numbers reflected that."

Damon gave a quiet nod, his jaw tightening slightly, not from tension, but focus.

He was already locked in.

The break was good. Needed.

But now, the real run was about to start.

His baby would be born into a world where their father was already a champion. That meant something to Damon, more than he could explain.

It wasn't about the belt.

It was about the legacy.

The name they'd carry.

And in the quiet spaces between conversations, he thought about the tournament, the one that had changed everything.

The association's new rules gave winners the choice: defend or step back.

To him, there wasn't a choice.

He was going to defend.

He wasn't going to disappear just because he had a belt now.

Whenever the next one came, he'd be there, waiting for whoever clawed their way to the top.

He'd only taken a month and a half off. In MMA terms, that wasn't even considered a layoff.

His name still trended.

Highlights still ran.

The media still talked.

He hadn't lost an ounce of status.

On the official rankings, he still sat at number two.

Only one man stood above him, Balim Chemasov.

But Damon knew… that wouldn't be for long.