MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The following week didn't slow down for Damon, it picked up.

The media wanted him.

Sponsors wanted updates.

The UFA's PR team needed interviews and promo spots.

Training resumed, sharp and focused.

And when he wasn't drilling combinations or reviewing Desayen's last few fights, he was at home with Svetlana, helping organize everything she needed.

The pregnancy added a whole new layer to life.

Svetlana, calm and composed as she usually was, had become laser-focused on creating a peaceful, safe environment around them.

It wasn't just about vitamins and scheduled doctor visits, she was rearranging the apartment, replacing furniture, researching baby room layouts.

Damon didn't question it.

He helped where he could, kept up with the new doctor appointments, and followed her lead whenever she waved her hand and said, "No, not like that."

She wanted things to be perfect.

And Damon wanted to make sure she didn't do it alone.

So even as the countdown to the fight began ticking louder, he moved between two worlds, fighter and father-to-be.

Both roles demanded everything from him.

And somehow, he was okay with that.

The match had been officially announced as the co-main event, just under the middleweight championship bout between Chemasov and PDD. It was a massive spot, and it told the world just how important Damon vs. Desayen really was.

Everything felt back on track. Damon was training hard, handling media with more ease than before, and spending his off-hours wisely, especially with Joey.

Their bond had always been strong, but now, something had shifted. They were both headed into the same chapter of life. Joey was knee-deep in fatherhood already, learning on the fly with Ashley and their newborn. Damon had always supported him, but now? He was listening more. Asking questions. Taking mental notes.

They didn't always talk about it directly. Sometimes they just hung out, talked fights, watched replays, cracked jokes. But the energy was different. There was mutual understanding, an unspoken brotherhood forming on top of years of friendship.

Becoming fathers had made them closer.

And both knew they'd be leaning on each other more than ever in the months to come.

The days rolled by fast.

Weeks passed, and the event loomed closer.

The buzz didn't fade, it only grew.

Fans from all over the world bought tickets. Some traveled from other continents just to be there live. Others upgraded or renewed their streaming subscriptions, making sure they wouldn't miss a second. The UFA's numbers were already breaking records weeks before fight night.

What made it all even funnier, at least to hardcore fans, was the betting lines.

Ismael Desayen, once one of the most feared strikers in the division, was listed as the underdog.

And not just slightly.

Despite being a former champion. Despite his legacy. Despite the fact that Damon Cross had only recently taken a break, Desayen wasn't the favorite.

And he wasn't alone.

In the main event, PDD, known for his creative striking and unpredictable style, was also the underdog going into his title fight against Balim Chemasov.

Two legends, both placed below their opponents.

It was strange.

But it was also MMA.

And in this sport, lines didn't mean anything once that cage door shut.

But either way, fans were stoked.

The hype was real, forums, sports channels, and social media couldn't stop talking about it. It didn't matter who the betting favorite was. What mattered was that two elite fights were booked back-to-back, and the stakes were massive for everyone involved.

And as the days passed, time showed itself in other ways too.

At home, Damon noticed the changes more than anyone. Svetlana's tummy had started to show. Not dramatically, but enough that loose sweaters and oversized hoodies no longer fully hid it.

He'd catch himself looking sometimes, quietly, in moments when they were lying on the couch or brushing their teeth together, and feel that strange mix of awe and disbelief.

It was really happening.

A child.

Their child.

The fight was approaching, but so was something even bigger.

Things were truly starting to settle in.

They went to check-ups together. Damon always made time, even if it meant adjusting his training schedule or skipping a media obligation. He wanted to be there for everything, even the small things.

Blood work, ultrasounds, nutritional assessments.

They even went through full panels to check for any potential health issues, on both sides.

The results came back clean.

No genetic complications. No underlying conditions.

Just a healthy pregnancy so far, and two people slowly adapting to the idea of parenthood, each in their own way.

Damon took a flight to Las Vegas, where the arena lights never dimmed, and the city was always buzzing. Svetlana accompanied him, her hand resting lightly on her small but noticeable baby bump during the flight.

As soon as they landed, the schedule kicked in.

Damon was swept into the usual pre-fight grind, media calls, weigh-ins, appearances.

The official weigh-ins went smoothly. Damon made weight with ease, and so did Desayen. No drama. No tension. Just mutual professionalism.

The press conference followed, and while the energy between Damon and Desayen remained grounded and respectful, two fighters fully aware of each other's skills, the real sparks flew between the main eventers.

Balim Chemasov and PDD weren't playing nice.

Their back-and-forth got aggressive fast. Shouting. Interrupting. Even standing up at one point before security stepped in.

And amid the fire, both fighters, separately, mentioned Damon Cross.

Chemasov smirked and said Damon could get it next, champion or not.

PDD laughed and said if he wins, he's calling Damon out instantly.

Damon didn't react. He just sat back, calm, almost amused. He'd let the cage decide who came next.

Later, under brighter lights and louder crowds, it was time for the ceremonial weigh-ins.

Fans packed the venue for the traditional face-off. Damon stepped on stage first, lean, calm, locked in. The crowd roared.

Then came Desayen, stoic, experienced, eyes sharp.

They faced off. Quiet. No words. Just a nod. Mutual respect.

It was time.