MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon entered the room and immediately noticed its relaxed vibe.

The lounge was simple but comfortable. A large sofa took up most of the space, and several fighters were seated on it, talking and laughing amongst themselves.

Their voices filled the room, but as soon as Damon stepped in, they went quiet, turning their attention toward him.

He paused, offering a casual nod, "Sup, guys."

One of the fighters, a guy with a bit of a beard, nodded back, followed by a few others. "Ayy, another one," the bearded guy said.

"Congrats, man. Go through that door over there," he pointed to the far side of the room, "there's a locker room. You can find showers in there."

Damon glanced at the door he pointed to and gave a quick thanks.

The group had already started to go back to their conversation, laughter and chatter resuming as if nothing had happened.

"I'm telling you, bro, she was moving like..."

Damon, feeling the adrenaline still pulsing from the fight, made his way toward the door they'd indicated, ready to cool off and take a moment to collect himself.

As Damon stepped into the locker room, it was completely empty.

The quietness felt different compared to the lively lounge he had just left behind.

He set his bag down on one of the benches, laying out his clothes for after the shower.

The fight had left his muscles tense, and he was more than ready for the cold water to help him relax.

Stripping out of his gear, Damon made his way toward the showers.

He turned the handle, letting the cold water hit him hard. His body flinched instinctively as the cold ran down his skin.

A deep, sharp breath escaped him as the cold bit at his muscles.

Cold showers were something he had gotten used to over time.

At first, he was hesitant. He laughed a little at the memory of how much he used to hate it.

There was a time when he'd brace himself, barely able to handle the shock of cold water.

But now, it was routine, something his body had adapted to, even though it still caused that initial flinch.

As the cold water cooled his body, Damon let his mind drift back to the fight.

He had done well, and he knew it. Unlike many of his past fights where he had gone in with little more than instinct, this time, he had a plan, a strategy that worked.

He had kept calm and composed through the whole match, reading Randy's moves, setting him up, and delivering that final blow with precision.

He was impressed with himself. Damon let the water run down his face, thinking about how far he had come as a fighter.

This fight wasn't just about winning. It was about proving to himself that he had grown, that he was evolving as a competitor.

Damon stood under the cooling water a moment longer, letting the sensation wash over him.

His mind swirled with thoughts of the future, the possibilities stretching before him.

He could feel it. His chances of winning The Supreme Fighter felt real.

Actually, scratch that, his chances of making it in the UFA felt real. But he also knew the game was more than just about fighting well.

Winning fights was the core of the sport, sure. But the landscape had shifted.

Lately, fighters could win and still not get the recognition they deserved.

Being technically sound wasn't enough anymore. The fans craved excitement and spectacle.

If you didn't put on a show, if you didn't have a personality that grabbed attention, you risked being labeled as boring.

And a boring fighter didn't sell fights.

Damon thought back to some of the recent champions.

Even those at the top could get criticized if their style wasn't flashy enough. It wasn't fair, but that's how it worked now.

Of course, this wasn't every fan or an opinion everyone had. After all, he loved fighting, but still.

If your fights didn't sell, you could forget about getting a title shot, no matter how skilled you were.

It was a harsh reality. Even worse, without marketability, good fights didn't come your way. You got stuck in the grind.

He turned the shower off, running a hand through his wet hair.

But as he thought about it, Damon didn't believe he was a boring fighter.

Maybe that was his ego talking, but deep down, he knew he had something different, something that people would want to see.

He had the ability to make every fight feel intense.

The way he fought, especially recently, was strategic but always pushing. He didn't think it lacked excitement.

Shaking off the thoughts, Damon stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. He didn't need to stress about that yet.

That was something to worry about after he won The Supreme Fighter. For now, the goal was simple: focus on one fight at a time and keep doing what he did best.

He toweled off, his muscles already feeling relaxed, the tension from the fight slowly easing away.

He knew that if he kept winning, the attention would come.

That was all he needed to do, win. But in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think about the long road ahead, the real battle waiting for him in the UFA.

He pushed those thoughts into the back of his mind. One step at a time, he reminded himself. Right now, his focus was on The Supreme Fighter.

Everything else could wait.

Damon dressed quickly, going through his usual routine, deodorant, a quick check in the mirror, making sure everything was in place.

Once he was done, he grabbed his bag, double-checking that nothing was left behind.

Satisfied, he slung it over his shoulder and made his way out of the locker room.

Stepping back into the lounge, the atmosphere was still relaxed.

The other fighters hadn't moved much from where they were sitting, still chatting and laughing as they waited.

Damon joined them, finding an open spot on the couch. No one said much as he sat down, just a few nods of acknowledgment.

It was an unspoken understanding. Everyone here was in the same boat, waiting for the next step in the audition process.

The minutes passed slowly as they all waited for the auditions to finish. Some of the fighters were scrolling through their phones, while others chatted quietly about their own fights, sharing quick snippets of what went down in the cage.

Damon leaned back, pulling out his phone. He opened WhatsDown and texted Svetlana, telling her about what had happened.