MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon and Victor exited the office, the heavy door shutting behind them. The hallway was quiet now, most of the noise and movement from earlier fading into the late-night stillness.

Damon exhaled sharply, the sigh that came from bottled-up frustration rather than exhaustion.

Victor reached over and put a firm hand on his shoulder, steering him forward.

"Come on," Victor said, voice even. "He's not wrong."

Damon walked alongside him, silent at first, listening.

Victor kept talking, his words steady but not harsh. More like a coach walking a fighter through the aftermath.

"Look at it this way," Victor said. "In their eyes, you're the middleweight champion. You're on track to be one of the greatest in that division. But you just got the belt. If you move up now and lose at light heavyweight, people won't remember how good you are. They'll remember the loss."

He paused, making sure Damon was hearing it.

"But if you stay, dominate middleweight, stack defenses—three, four, five wins—then go up? Even if you lose there, your legacy here stays clean. You'll be the guy who ruled his division first."

Damon nodded, processing it.

He muttered under his breath with a small chuckle, "I'm not gonna lose anyway."

Victor smiled at that, giving him a light smack across the back.

"That's the spirit," he said. "But great fight tonight. Seriously."

They kept walking through the parking lot, the night air cooler against their skin.

The rest of the team was already gone. Joey had left with the others when Damon and Victor were pulled into the late meeting. The lot was mostly empty now, just a few lingering cars and the security staff posted near the exit.

Victor clicked the keys, unlocking the car with a beep.

Damon adjusted the belt on his shoulder and climbed in, thoughts still churning, but calmer now.

The night wasn't perfect.

But it was a win.

And the road ahead was still his to decide.

The car rumbled along the quiet highway, streetlights flashing by in even intervals. Damon stared out the window, belt resting across his lap, the city shrinking behind them.

After a few minutes, something pulled at the back of his mind.

He turned toward Victor.

"You mentioned you wanted to talk to me about something," Damon said.

Victor glanced over briefly, then back at the road. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, like he'd been waiting for Damon to bring it up.

"Oh, right. Yeah." Victor cleared his throat. "You remember that event you fought in back in Stockton?"

Damon thought for a second, frowning slightly as he tried to dig it up from his memory. "Extreme… something?"

Victor nodded. "Battle Extreme. That's the one."

Damon leaned back, arms crossing over his chest.

Victor kept his hands on the wheel, his voice steady.

"It's still running," he said. "But ever since you moved over here, and we got serious with UFA, I stopped paying much attention to it. Let the board members handle things."

He paused.

"From what I've heard, they're abandoning it. It's barely holding together."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "So what—you thinking about pulling the plug?"

Victor shook his head. "No. I'm thinking about buying it out completely. Restructuring it. Turning it into something else."

Damon turned more fully toward him now, curiosity rising.

"Like what? Another MMA league?"

Victor snorted under his breath. "No. I was thinking about a boxing promotion."

Damon blinked, surprised.

"Like a whole league? Like UFA, but for boxing?"

"Not exactly," Victor said. "More like the way boxing's always worked. Promotions, events, rankings—without locking fighters into exclusive deals the way UFA does. Open contracts. Co-promotions. Maybe even help clean up the mess boxing's turned into lately."

Damon leaned back in his seat, processing it.

It was a brave move. Big money. Big risk. And boxing promotions already existed, tons of them. It wasn't like MMA where UFA dominated the scene.

But this was Victor. Damon had seen firsthand how many businesses the man had touched and turned profitable. If anyone could pull it off, it was him.

Still, Damon wasn't naive. He knew boxing was a different beast.

He stayed quiet for a few moments, thinking it over, before finally saying what crossed his mind.

"That's a big play."

Victor chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Yeah. But so was you winning this belt. Didn't stop you, did it?"

Damon smiled, shaking his head slightly.

"Didn't you just say you didn't want to start or keep running more businesses?" he said, the grin clear in his voice.

Victor laughed once, low in his chest.

"I did," he admitted. "But this wouldn't be me working it day-to-day. I'm not looking to sit in an office again."

He shifted in his seat, hands steady on the wheel.

"My idea's simple. I buy it, restructure it, set up the foundation—and then hand it off. Hire a team to run it properly. Professionals. Boxing guys who actually know the sport inside out."

Victor glanced over at Damon for a second, serious now.

"I just want to own it. Build the system right. Then step back. Supervise from a distance, like I'm doing with everything else now."

Damon nodded slowly, understanding.

It wasn't about starting another full-time empire.

It was about planting the seeds, letting someone else water them.

Victor wasn't trying to get busier.

He was setting up a future that ran itself.

Victor shifted gears as they took an off-ramp, the city lights thinning out behind them. The road ahead was open, quieter.

He tapped the steering wheel lightly, then spoke again.

"The reason I'm telling you all this now," Victor said, his tone more direct, "is because I want you in on it."

Damon turned his head, listening carefully.

"Not as a fighter. Not as some face we slap on posters," Victor added. "I'm talking about ownership. Real stake. From the ground up."

Victor kept his eyes on the road but the weight behind his words was clear.

"Of course, it's your choice. I'm not going to shove it down your throat. You want to stay focused just on fighting? You can. No shame in that."

He glanced over briefly.

"But if you want something bigger later, something with your name on it, something that'll outlive this belt—you should start building it now."

Damon leaned back in his seat, letting the offer sit.

It wasn't a small thing.

Victor wasn't offering charity.

He was offering a seat at the table.