MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Morning arrived faster than Damon had expected.

As he blinked his eyes open, he could hear the faint beat of music from Ivan, who was already up, sitting on the top bunk with his headphones on, bobbing his head to the rhythm.

Shaking his head, Damon stood up and headed for the bathroom.

The cold splash of water on his face helped him clear away the last traces of drowsiness.

As the water ran down his face, he thought about the day ahead.

Whittier was taking them out, but the downtime wouldn't last long.

Soon enough, they'd be back in the gym, pushing themselves harder than ever.

With a deep breath, Damon dried off and steeled himself for the day.

Damon pulled on the clothes that had been sent to them the night before, sturdy, lightweight pants with plenty of pockets, a breathable long-sleeve shirt that felt comfortable against his skin, and a sleeveless vest with even more pockets.

The outfit had a rugged feel, designed for both comfort and practicality.

Outside, he noticed everyone else wearing similar gear.

The pants were loose but flexible, perfect for easy movement, and the vests looked well-suited for carrying small equipment.

On their heads, they each wore wide-brimmed hats, likely meant to protect them from the sun.

It wasn't immediately clear what they'd be doing, but from the look of the clothes, they were in for some kind of outdoor activity.

The van pulled up, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and Whittier hopped out first, stretching his arms with a satisfied grin.

He eyed the group, all decked out in their matching outfits. "Look at you lot, all dressed up. Looking chappy!" he said with a playful smirk.

Damon adjusted the brim of his cap, glancing at the others.

It was practical, but none of them had a clue what it was for.

As they piled into the van one by one, the doors shut with a strong thud. As the van started to move.

Everyone was eager to know what Whittier had planned, but nobody wanted to spoil the surprise too soon.

Miles, the impatient one, couldn't hold back any longer.

He leaned forward, eyebrows raised in anticipation. "Alright, Coach, spill it. What's the activity?"

Whittier's grin widened, clearly enjoying the suspense.

He glanced at Miles, then at the rest of the team through the rearview mirror. "I'll give you five guesses," he teased, his voice carrying a mischievous tone.

Miles leaned back, pretending to be deep in thought, tapping his chin dramatically. "Hmm, are we going hiking?" he asked, his eyes darting toward Whittier, trying to read his expression.

Whittier shook his head slowly, that grin never leaving his face. "Not quite."

A fighter in the back, stretching his legs, threw out another guess. "Camping?"
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Whittier glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "Nah," he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Dylan, always the beach lover, leaned forward with a smirk. "We're going to the beach, aren't we?"

Whittier chuckled, eyes flicking toward Dylan in the rearview mirror. "Nope," he replied, drawing the word out just long enough to keep them all hooked. "You're getting warmer, though."

Damon shook his head, a faint smile on his lips as he watched the exchange.

Everyone was clearly dying to figure out what was coming, throwing out guesses like darts, each one missing the mark but getting closer.

Another fighter finally chimed in, throwing out one more wild guess.

Whittier chuckled again, shaking his head as the van cruised along the road. "You'll find out soon enough," he said, keeping them all in suspense, his grin giving nothing away.

The van rumbled as it entered through a tall, rusted gate, the scenery around them changing as they drove deeper into the area.

The road became rougher, surrounded by scattered rocks, patches of grass, and a few swampy areas with the smell of fresh water.

The fighters leaned closer to the windows, trying to make sense of where they were heading.

The sound of the gravel beneath the tires grew louder, and soon, they approached the edge of a large, shimmering lake.

The van came to a slow stop near the shoreline, where the calm water stretched out before them.

The reflections of the trees and sky danced on the surface as if inviting them in.

Whittier turned off the engine and hopped out of the van with a satisfied grin.

"Alright, lads," he said, clapping his hands together, "Welcome to your day off."

He gestured toward the lake, the surrounding greenery, and the boats waiting by the dock.

Some of the fighters exchanged curious glances, while others grinned in anticipation. Miles squinted at the boats, realization dawning on him. "Fishing… We're going fishing?"

Whittier nodded, chuckling. "That's right. We've got boats, rods, and plenty of gear. Thought I'd let you guys relax a bit before we get back to smashing each other's faces in."

Damon stepped out of the van, taking in the scenery. The air felt different here, cleaner, lighter, and the sight of the lake gave him a rare sense of calm.

Damon glanced around, noticing they had the entire place to themselves.

It looked like Whittier(cough... Ronan had gone all out, probably renting the spot for their private outing.

The lake was peaceful, untouched by anyone else, which was rare for places like this. But of course, the ever-present camera crew was following closely, capturing every moment.

He chuckled to himself. Even on a day off, they couldn't escape the cameras.

It was part of the show, every smile, every joke, every second of relaxation was still being recorded.

But for now, the peaceful scenery and the idea of fishing offered a rare sense of calm away from the chaos of The Supreme Fighter.

The others were already getting excited, walking toward the dock, checking out the boats and gear.

Damon took a deep breath, ready to enjoy the day, even with the cameras in the background.

Time to be a fisherman.