MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The event came to a close as the main event ended, leaving the crowd murmuring with mixed reactions.

While it wasn't a terrible fight, it didn't deliver the explosive action the fans had hoped for.

People were leaving the arena, and their conversations were louder than the closing bell. A lot of them weren't even talking about the main event.

"It's crazy how the co-main ended up being the fight of the night," one fan said as he walked out with a group of friends.

"Damon Cross, man," another replied. "That was insane. I don't think I'll ever forget that knee."

Damon's fight wasn't the only one drawing praise.

The bout right before his also delivered on the drama and action, with both fighters pushing each other to their limits.

Those two matches were the highlights of the night, giving fans exactly what they'd come for.

Even though the event was ending, the mood backstage was lively. Fighters talked to each other, with some praising each other and others getting ready for interviews. Damon leaned back on a bench.

Victor stood nearby, speaking with one of the event coordinators, but his eyes occasionally flicked toward Damon.

Edward, on the other hand, leaned against a wall, smirking. "You're the talk of the night, man. Not bad for someone on short notice."

Damon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It's not over yet. There's still the post-fight conference. They'll have a million questions."

Victor walked over, catching the tail end of the conversation. "Good. You better get used to it. After tonight, your name's only gonna get bigger."

Damon nodded, standing up and rolling his shoulders. "Guess I'd better clean up and get ready."

As he headed toward the locker room to shower, the sound of the crowd still faintly echoed in his mind.

As for why he hadn't cleaned up yet, it was simple, he'd been wasting time, lounging around and letting the adrenaline of the fight settle.

He didn't mind it, though. Sometimes, after a match like that, you needed a moment to decompress.

But now, with the post-fight conference looming, Damon knew he had to get moving.

He stood, stretched his arms overhead, and made his way to the locker room.

Damon grabbed a towel and his toiletries from his bag and stepped into the showers.

The hot water cascaded over his body, washing away the sweat and remnants of the fight. His muscles, still slightly tense from the match, began to relax under the stream.

He didn't dwell on it too long, there was no room for overthinking now.

He Finished quickly, dried off with a towel, and put on clean clothes. Damon fixed his shirt and took a moment to gather his thoughts as he looked at himself in the mirror.

"Alright," he muttered under his breath. "Time for the unending questions."

With that, Damon left the locker room, ready for the next part of the night.

Damon made his way to his group, walking with measured strides as they were escorted to the conference stage.

He noticed the subtle buzz of the staff, the flashing lights of cameras just beyond the doors, and the murmurs of the press already gearing up to fire their questions.

Victor leaned in before they reached the stage. "Alright, Damon. It's just you from here. We'll wait in the back."

Damon nodded, adjusting his shirt and rolling his shoulders. "Got it."

He stepped into the room and was greeted by the bright glare of lights and the click of countless cameras.

Several fighters from the event were sitting behind a long table that ran across the stage. They were all at different levels of being tired or excited.

Damon's eyes scanned the table as a staff member directed him to a seat in the middle.

He walked up, his movements calm and confident, though his mind was alert.

He was pointed to an empty chair next to another fighter, a looked like a lightweight or something who looked completely spent.

Damon gave him a polite nod and quietly greeted him.

The fighter barely acknowledged him, staring ahead with a vacant, tired expression.

Damon didn't take it personally. "Guess he's drained," Damon thought to himself, settling into his seat.

He leaned back slightly, letting the atmosphere wash over him.

Reporters with notes, recorders, or cameras were all over the room, ready to break down every word that was said.

Damon glanced at the fighter to his other side, who seemed more relaxed, leaning on the table with a faint smirk as he waited for the questions to begin.

Damon took a deep breath, preparing himself. This was a new stage for him, not just the fight but now the post-fight spotlight.

He straightened his posture and let his hands rest loosely on the table, ready to handle whatever came his way.

The conference was in full swing, with the room buzzing as reporters fired off questions.

One by one, the fighters at the table answered, their voices mingling with the occasional laughter or serious nods from the crowd.

Ronan Black, head of the UFA, also took some questions. His commanding presence easily held the attention of everyone in the room.

Damon sat still and looked over the crowd of faces, waiting.

Even though he tried to stay calm, he couldn't help but wonder when it would be his turn.

The other fighters were asked many questions, but Damon was not noticed at this time.

He leaned back slightly, masking his anticipation, but his thoughts churned. "Patience," he told himself. "It'll come."

Finally, a reporter raised his hand. "I have a question for Damon Cross."

Damon's posture straightened almost instinctively, his eyes brightening as they locked onto the reporter. This was it.

Damon nodded, leaning forward slightly. "Sure, go on," he said, his voice calm but carrying a hint of curiosity.

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the reporter who had spoken.

He was a man with a bald head and a neatly trimmed beard, dressed in a simple black shirt.

His demeanor was professional, but there was an edge to his presence, like someone who had been doing this for years and knew how to ask the right questions.

The reporter adjusted his microphone, glancing down at his notepad briefly before looking back up at Damon.

"Damon..."

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