MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

"So how does being pregnant feel like?"

Damon raised an eyebrow at Joey, side-eyeing him as they stepped through the hotel lobby doors. The question caught him so off-guard, he didn't even know how to respond.

Joey just chuckled, patting him on the back. "Relax, man. I don't mean literally. Just how's it been? Y'know... for you."

Damon gave a half-shrug. "Tiring," he admitted. "I'm not the one carrying, but it's still a lot. I'm glad after this match I'll be able to take a break and help her out properly."

Joey nodded as they walked toward the elevators. "I get that. After my boy was born, I didn't sleep for like... what, three months? But it's worth it. You're gonna love it, man. You'll be smiling so hard people'll think you're crazy."

Damon gave a small smile but kept his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. I know."

They stepped into the elevator, and Joey leaned against the wall.

"Got the name yet?" he asked, casually.

Damon shook his head. "Nah. We don't even know the gender. She wants it to be a surprise at birth."

Joey looked impressed. "That's brave."

Damon smirked. "She said it's one of the few real surprises left in life. I couldn't argue with that. Plus… I'm not exactly a naming genius. I think I'll leave that to her."

Joey laughed again. "You're not that bad. But yeah… smart move. Just don't let her name the baby after you."

Damon gave him a side glance. "That bad?"

Joey grinned. "Come on, Damon Jr.? Sounds like a mini warlord."

The elevator dinged and opened.

Damon stepped out, shaking his head. "Could be worse."

He paused.

"Could've been Joey Jr."

"Okay, now that's just disrespectful."

As Joey and Damon stepped into the hotel lobby, it didn't take long to spot familiar faces.

Ash stood front and center, dressed like a man who knew he looked good, fitted blazer over a crisp black tee, sunglasses indoors for no reason, smirk already loaded.

Ty stood beside him like a statue, broad shoulders in a gray hoodie, calm expression. Edward, quiet as ever, leaned against a nearby column, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

As soon as they noticed each other, the vibe clicked instantly.

Ash was the first to speak, grinning wide. "Look who finally made it, Mr. Future Champ."

Damon smirked, walking over as Joey laughed.

Ash dapped Damon up, firm and loud. "Hey, I told people I was gonna watch this in person. No way I'm missing you take that belt."

Damon nodded. "Appreciate it. Just don't jinx me."

Ty stepped forward next, offering a fist bump. "Whole country's watching, man."

Joey clapped Ty's shoulder. "Still a mountain, I see."

Ty gave a slight grin. "That's the goal. Olympic prep's no joke."

Edward stepped in quietly. Damon gave him a respectful nod, bumping fists. "Still running film in your sleep?"

Edward smirked. "Always."

Ash shook Damon's hand again. "No joke, though., you win this, that's history. I already bet on you, by the way."

Damon raised a brow. "For real?"

Ash shrugged. "Not crazy odds, but still. Don't mess it up. I'm trying to flex at brunch."

They all laughed.

Damon looked around, genuinely appreciating the moment. "Glad you guys made it."

Ty nodded. "Wouldn't miss it."

Joey added, "Man, we've been waiting for this since the tournament. This is your moment."

And it felt like that. Old friends, each on their own path, but all here now, ready to see Damon claim what he'd earned.

Damon made his way toward the elevator, pulling his hoodie over his head as he glanced back at the group.

"Aight, let me go get right. Gotta meet up with Victor, prep for the weigh-in. No lunch, no snacks, no nothing. Gotta keep this body carved up."

Ash raised an eyebrow. "Tough life, champ."

"Yeah," Damon said, hitting the elevator button, "but a short one if I don't take it serious."

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open. Damon stepped in, tossing a wave. "Y'all enjoy your feast. I'll see y'all later, just try not to end up in some random club video, alright?"

Joey smirked. "No promises."

Ty gave him a thumbs-up, while Edward just nodded, already scrolling through something on his phone.

Ash called out as the doors started to close, "Hey, win that belt, and maybe I'll toast with water."

Damon chuckled as the elevator shut. The others turned, walking off, already debating where to eat, and maybe where the night might lead if things got interesting.

..

..

..

Hours Later.

The low rumble of the crowd instantly erupted into a roar.

The lights dimmed slightly, music building underneath as Jim Logan paced to the center of the stage, mic in hand, voice booming over the speakers.

"AND NEXT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE MAIN EVENT OF THE EVENING, A MATCH FOR THE UNDISPUTED… UFA MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!"

The crowd went wild, chants echoing through the packed venue.

The big screen behind him lit up with a montage of the fighters, Balim Chemasov's dominant wrestling finishes, Damon Cross's highlight reel knockouts and fluid counters. It was war in motion.

Jim raised a hand as the music dropped.

"INTRODUCING FIRST… THE CHALLENGER… FIGHTING OUT OF LIMERICK, IRELAND… WITH A PERFECT RECORD OF 21 WINS, NO LOSSES… THE 2024 WORLD MMA TOURNAMENT CHAMPION… DAMON… CROSS!"

The crowd popped again, Damon stepping out from behind the curtain wearing a fitted black tee, hood down, that signature calm confidence in his step. He walked slow, hands relaxed, nodding at a few fans screaming his name. When he reached the scale, he flexed once for the cameras, then stepped up.

"185 EVEN!" the official called out.

Damon stepped off, giving a small nod, then faced forward.

Jim turned to the other side.

"AND HIS OPPONENT… FIGHTING OUT OF GROZNY, RUSSIA… HE IS THE REIGNING, DEFENDING, UNDISPUTED UFA MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD… BALIM… CHEMASOV!"

Another loud wave of cheers, mixed with chants, as Balim stepped out. Shirt off, stone-faced, eyes locked ahead. His corner was behind him, but he didn't acknowledge anything, not the crowd, not the cameras. Just the scale.

He stepped up. Calm. Unshaken.

"185 ON THE DOT!"

Chemasov flexed, growling low as he stepped off. His eyes immediately locked on Damon, walking right up.

The two men stood face-to-face.

Crowd still shouting.

No words. No gestures.

Just fire in their eyes.

Jim Logan stood between them, letting the silence speak for itself.

"This is it! Damon Cross. Balim Chemasov. For the undisputed title. Let's gooooo!"

The flash of cameras lit up the stage. The crowd knew, this wasn't hype. This was real.

And tomorrow, one man would leave with gold.