MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Chapter 38: Chapter 38: Fight Day

Damon woke up with a smile on his face. Today was the day he had been waiting for - fight day.

It had been two weeks since the examination, and he had received his results, all clean and good.

He felt of excitement as he threw off the covers and got out of bed.

He stretched his arms and legs, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles. He had been training hard for this moment, and he was ready.

He walked to the window and looked out, seeing the bright sunlight and feeling the cool breeze on his face.

Today was the day he would step into the cage and show the world what he was capable of.

He didn't know who his opponent was, but he didn't care. He was just grateful for the chance to fight.

He couldn't help but think about the past week. He had been dreaming about this fight every night, imagining himself winning and feeling the rush of adrenaline.

He had been training harder than ever, pushing himself to his limits and beyond.

He understood that because he had gotten a chance to fight due to someone's recommendation, he might be treated as less important.

But he didn't care about that. All he cared about was getting in the ring and showing himself to the world.

He looked behind, staring at the well-made single bed not far away from his, and noticed that it was empty. It seemed his mother had already gotten up.

He went to the bathroom, taking a refreshing bath and putting on some clothes.

Coming out, he went under his bed and pulled out a plastic container.

This was the container that held his mouthguard and MMA gloves.

As he stepped out of the motel room, he took a deep breath, feeling the cool morning air fill his lungs.

He looked around, taking in the familiar sights of the parking lot. His eyes landed on his mother, who was standing outside, taking a break from cleaning.

"Mom, good morning," he said, smiling as he walked towards her. Aoife looked at her son, her eyes shining with a mix of excitement and concern.

She already knew where he was going, and she had been worried sick about him all week.

"Damon, you look sharp," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Now, I don't want you to come back in a stretcher with a broken bone or any injuries, am I right?"

She was trying to sound stern, but he could see the smile in her eyes. He knew she was joking, but he also knew she was serious.

"Okay, mom, I have to go," he said, hugging her tightly. "I'll be back, okay? And I'll be fine, don't worry." He reassured her, trying to calm her nerves.

He pulled back and looked at her, seeing the worry etched on her face. He smiled again, trying to reassure her. "I'll be fine, mom. I promise."

With that, he turned and ran across the parking lot, his feet pounding the pavement.

He was excited to get to the venue to get ready for the fight. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he knew he was ready.

As he reached the sidewalk, he hailed a cab and got in, giving the driver the address of the venue.

He sat back, taking a deep breath, and tried to calm his nerves.

As he sat in the car, he repeated the mantra to himself, "It's the same as the backyard fights." He had studied the rules for the fight and was familiar with the procedures. Despite some minor differences, he felt confident in his preparation.

The car turned a corner, and a large hall came into view. This was the city hall, the venue for the event.

He expected to see a crowded parking lot, but instead, there were only a handful of cars. He wondered why it was so empty. Had he misunderstood the time or date?

He got out of the car and paid the fare, still puzzled by the lack of activity. As he walked towards the building, he took in the quiet surroundings. The stillness was a bit unnerving, but he pushed on, his focus on the fight ahead.

Upon entering the building, he went through the security procedures, presenting his ID and fighting registration to the guards.

They checked his pockets , patted him down, and then let him through. He walked into the hall, scanning the area.

The empty seats and quiet atmosphere were a far cry from what he had expected. He had envisioned a packed arena, electric with excitement.

Instead, he saw a fragment of people, mostly fighters and their corner teams. He nodded at a few familiar faces but mostly kept to himself. He was here to fight, not socialize.

As he approached the locker room, his heart began to beat faster. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He was ready for this. He was ready to step into the ring and show them what he was made of.

With a final nod to himself, he pushed open the locker room door and stepped inside.

The room was full of sound of the soft murmur of fighters preparing for their bouts. He took his place among them, his focus solely on the fight ahead.

Fighters began to enter the locker room, their faces set with determination. It seemed they were waiting for something, their eyes fixed on the door.

The locker room door opened, and a man in a suit walked in. His slick black hair was perfectly styled, his trimmed beard framing his jawline.

He looked at everyone, his eyes scanning the room as he checked the paper in his hand, flipping through the pages.

"Okay, it seems everyone is here," he said, his voice firm and authoritative. "You can all go to your teams and wait for your name to be called, so you can go weigh in."

As he spoke, his gaze swept the room, his eyes lingering on each fighter. Then, his gaze stayed on Damon for some time, his expression unreadable.

Damon felt a shiver run down his spine as the man's eyes seemed to bore into him.

Finally, the man turned and left the locker room, the door closing behind him.

The fighters began to move, their movements swift and purposeful. They filed out of the locker room, heading to the personal rooms given to them.

As the man in the suit finished speaking, he turned to leave, his eyes lingering on Damon for a moment before exiting the locker room.

The door closed behind him, and the fighters began to stir, their movements swift and purposeful.

"Wow, is that Victor Steele?" a fighter whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Stop glazing on a man, and go prepare, dude."

The whispers spread like wildfire, fighters nodding and glancing at each other in awe. Damon watched, his curiosity piqued. Who was Victor Steele, and why was his presence so significant?

As the fighters filed out of the locker room, they headed to their personal rooms, assigned to them for the duration of the event.

The rooms were small, with a single chair, a bench, and a mirror. Damon entered his room, taking a deep breath as he closed the door behind him.

The room was quiet, the didn't even have air conditioning. Damon sat down on the bench, his eyes fixed on the mirror.

He stood up, pacing back and forth in the small room.

As he paced, he heard the muffled sounds of fighters talking, laughing, and preparing for their own battles. He didn't have a team or coach, but that didn't matter to him now.