MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon has made his choice.

He took a deep breath, got out of the car, and locked the door.

The porch was dark, with just a little light from a nearby streetlamp shining on the small house.

Damon squinted at the windows, wondering if anyone was still awake.

Considering the time, it was unlikely.

Each step toward the house felt heavier than the last.

The crunch of gravel beneath his feet was the only sound in the stillness of the night.

When he reached the door, he stopped.

He stood still, looking at the patterns in the door, his thoughts racing.

His hand was close to the doorbell, but he didn't ring it.

For a long time, Damon remained there, stuck between his memories and what was happening now, not sure if he was ready to move forward.

The quiet around him matched the struggle inside him.

Damon hesitated, but finally, he pressed the doorbell.

The chime softly echoed in the house, and Damon felt his heartbeat become louder in the quiet that came after.

He felt a nervousness he hadn't felt in years, with the quiet night making every heartbeat feel louder.

Seconds passed.

No one came.

He pressed the bell again, the sound almost taunting him as the house remained still. Experience more tales on My Virtual Library Empire

Damon took a step back, his nerves getting the better of him.

Maybe coming at this hour wasn't the best idea.

He turned to leave, already chastising himself for not thinking it through.

But just as he was about to walk away, he heard the faint sound of the door unlocking. He froze, turning back to face the door.

The door opened slowly, revealing a man standing in the doorway.

He was middle-aged, his belly protruding slightly under his loose shirt, and his face wore a look of pure irritation.

His unkempt hair and groggy eyes made it clear he'd been woken up.

The man squinted at Damon, his expression shifting to one of suspicion.

"Who the feck are ye? Comin' round bangin' my bell at this hour! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, do ye not know what time it is?" He stepped forward slightly, his voice rising as he continued. "Ye lookin' for someone, or just here to ruin me night's sleep?"

Damon opened his mouth to speak, but the man cut him off, throwing his hands up.

"Well? Spit it out, lad! Ye better have a good reason for draggin' me outta me warm bed!"

The man was clearly frustrated, but there was also a sense of caution in him.

He crossed his arms and waited for Damon to explain.

Damon gulped nervously as he tried to think of the right words to explain why he came so late at night.

Damon spoke cautiously, "I was looking for–" He stopped himself mid-sentence, realizing this wasn't the time for an explanation.

The man's irritated expression, his furrowed brow, and the way he stood firmly in the doorway told Damon that talking now wasn't ideal.

He was entirely at fault for waking the man at this hour, and he knew it.

"I'm sorry," Damon said, his voice calm but apologetic. "I just wanted to ask about someone who lives here… or maybe used to live here."

The man's eyes narrowed, still skeptical but slightly less combative.

Damon reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper with his number scribbled on it, along with a few bills.

He held them out.

"Look, I didn't mean to disturb you at this time of night," Damon continued. "If you don't mind, I'd really appreciate the chance to talk tomorrow. Here's my number. Call me, and we can meet when it's convenient for you."

The man stared at Damon, then at the paper and money, his mouth twitching slightly as if he were deciding how much more annoyed he wanted to be.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, taking the items from Damon's hand.

"Ye've got some manners, I'll give ye that," he muttered, stuffing the money and paper into his shirt pocket. "Feckin' strange hour to be askin' questions, though. Yer lucky I'm not the sort to throw punches first and ask questions later."

The man looked Damon up and down, then gave a small grunt. "Alright, lad. I'll give ye a ring tomorrow, but don't be showin' up at me door like this again, aye? I might be friendly, but I've limits."

Damon nodded respectfully. "Thank you. I appreciate it. Have a good night."

The man grumbled something under his breath, then stepped back inside, closing the door with a slight slam.

As Damon turned back to his car, he exhaled deeply, relieved the encounter hadn't gone worse.

Now, all he could do was wait for tomorrow, and hope the man would keep his word.

With that done, Damon climbed back into his car and started the engine.

The quiet hum of the vehicle seemed to mirror his own state of mind, steady but restless.

He could have stayed in Limerick, rented a place for the night, and dealt with everything in the morning.

But he had told Svetlana he was coming back, and he wasn't the type to go back on his word.

Besides, he didn't want to worry her. She deserved better than cryptic phone calls and silence.

Damon tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he pulled onto the road, the long drive back to Dublin stretching ahead.

As much as he wanted to avoid explaining everything, he knew Svetlana deserved to know what he was up to.

This wasn't something he could keep bottled up forever, not from her.

If he was going to build a future with her, she needed to understand the parts of his past he was trying to confront.

The night sky hung heavy over the quiet roads as he drove, his thoughts churning with what tomorrow might bring.

For now, though, his focus was on getting back to Dublin, and back to her.

But as Damon drove, one question kept whirling in his mind: Why wasn't he there?

That was his home when he grew up. The place he remembered so clearly.

Maybe he moved, Damon thought, trying to dismiss the uncertainty.

But the thought lingered, adding another layer to the questions he needed answers to.