MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon sat in the hotel's living area, leaning back on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.

His social media was still flooded with posts about his fight, his celebration, and, of course, the controversy surrounding it. Some were defending him, others condemning him, but none of it really mattered right now. Explore new worlds at My Virtual Library Empire

What mattered was the meeting he was about to attend.

He exhaled, tossing his phone onto the table in front of him. The fine was a problem, not because he couldn't pay it, but because of what it represented.

A warning.

A leash.

A way for officials to try and keep him in check.

Victor was running late, but Damon wasn't surprised. The man never rushed for anything unless he had to.

When the door finally opened, Victor stepped in, looking unbothered as usual. He gave Damon a nod before taking a seat across from him.

"You ready?" Victor asked, crossing one leg over the other.

Damon shrugged. "Not like this is gonna be an actual debate. They've already decided what they wanna do."

Victor smirked. "Maybe. But that doesn't mean we're just gonna roll over and accept it. Ten grand is too much for what happened. We'll talk, see if they're willing to cut it down."

Damon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And if they don't?"

Victor's smirk didn't fade. "Then we push back harder."

Damon chuckled. "That your way of saying we'll threaten to walk?"

Victor tilted his head. "Let's just say… they need you more than you need them. And they know that."

Damon exhaled, standing up. "Alright, let's get this over with."

With that, they left the hotel, heading toward a meeting that would decide whether Damon's actions would cost him, or if his rising power in the sport was enough to bend the rules in his favor.

The moment they stepped into the meeting room, it was clear that the officials weren't entirely sure how to handle Damon Cross. The tension in the air wasn't just about the fine, it was about control.

Damon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, while Victor sat beside him, completely at ease. Across from them, a panel of tournament officials and executives, some looking stern, others indifferent.

One of them, a middle-aged man in a suit who clearly wanted to sound authoritative, leaned forward. "Let's get straight to it. The behavior after your fight, taunting the crowd, escalating tensions, was reckless. It could have led to serious consequences. That's why the fine stands at ten thousand."

Damon barely reacted. Victor, on the other hand, let out a short chuckle.

"Come on," Victor said, shaking his head. "Let's be real here. You're not fining him because you care about crowd safety. You're fining him because it looked bad for you."

The man frowned. "That's not—"

"It is," Victor cut him off, his tone calm but firm. "Look, I get it. The optics weren't great. But let's not act like you don't need Damon in this tournament. He's one of the biggest names here, and if he wins, this event skyrockets in value. If he loses, it's even bigger news. Either way, you win."

A few of the officials exchanged glances. They knew Victor had a point.

Another one spoke up, this time an older woman who seemed more measured. "Regardless of his star power, rules are rules. We have to maintain order, or else every fighter will start acting out."

Victor nodded. "Fine. But ten grand? That's excessive. Let's be reasonable here."

Silence filled the room as the officials deliberated among themselves.

Damon sat in a chair, arms crossed, sunglasses still on despite being indoors. Victor was beside him, leaning back in his seat, his usual relaxed demeanor slightly strained.

The conversation started the way Damon expected, formalities, a reminder of the "importance of professionalism," a mention of how "crowd control" was a shared responsibility between fighters and the organization.

Then came the real issue.

"The fine stands at ten thousand dollars," one of the officials stated, glancing down at his notes. "However, given your status in this tournament and your undeniable draw as a fighter, we're open to discussing a resolution that benefits all parties involved."

Victor immediately leaned forward. "A resolution, huh? You mean besides making Mr Cross pay a ridiculous fine for reacting to a crowd that was throwing shit at him?" His voice was calm. "I want to know what part of that was his fault."

The officials exchanged glances before one of them, the most senior-looking of the bunch, folded his hands and spoke.

"We understand the situation. However, from a business standpoint, this tournament is meant to showcase global talent in a way that promotes sportsmanship and unity. Your actions, Mr. Cross, while understandable in the heat of the moment, did not reflect that."

Damon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. He wasn't about to argue, it was pointless.

They weren't here for the truth. They were here to find a way to protect their image while still keeping him in the tournament.

"So what's the deal?" Victor asked.

The senior official nodded. "We're willing to reduce, or even nullify, the fine entirely, on one condition."

Victor scoffed, already knowing it would be bullshit. "Let's hear it."

The official cleared his throat. "After your next fight, in your post-fight speech, we ask that you offer a public apology to the crowd. A statement acknowledging that your actions were not in the spirit of competition and that you regret any unintentional provocation."

Victor's jaw tightened. His fingers drummed on the table as he leaned back, shaking his head. "So let me get this straight," he said. "You want Damon Cross, one of the most dominant fighters in this damn tournament, to apologize to a crowd that he didn't provoke? For what? Laughing? Are you serious?"

The official didn't flinch. "We believe it would go a long way in easing tensions with the English fans and setting a precedent for future international tournaments."

Victor's patience snapped. "You want him to set an example? For who? The same fans who were flipping him off before the fight even started? The same ones who were chanting insults at him while he was getting checked by the officials? That crowd?"

One of the other officials, a younger man who had been mostly silent until now, finally spoke up, trying to sound reasonable. "Mr. Steele this isn't about fairness, it's about optics. We have a global event to manage. If we let this slide, it sets the wrong impression—"

Victor cut him off, his tone measured but firm. "Wrong impression? Let's talk about impressions for a second." He gestured toward Damon.

"You have one of the most marketable fighters in this tournament, a man who just delivered a record-setting knockout, clean, no controversy, no foul play. And your concern isn't how to capitalize on that momentum, but rather how to penalize him for reacting to hostility directed at him before, during, and after the fight?"

He let the words settle for a moment before continuing. "Your tournament is in its inaugural stage. You need credibility, and fighters like Damon bring that. Yet instead of focusing on the bigger picture, on ensuring that this remains a global showcase of elite talent, you're looking to publicly reprimand one of your biggest assets over a situation that, frankly, should have been prevented by your security measures. If anything, the discussion here should be about improving event management, not about forcing an unnecessary PR stunt."

Victor's eyes remained locked on the officials, his expression unwavering. "So tell me, is this really the narrative you want to push? That a fighter who performed flawlessly in competition should be disciplined because the crowd didn't like the outcome?"

The officials remained silent.

For the first time since the meeting started, Damon finally spoke. His voice was calm, but the words made Victor whip his head around in shock.

"I'll do it."