MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon leaned against the wall, watching Demaien prepare, but his mind drifted for a moment.

He had been here before.

Back when he fought Edward. When Victor put them against each other, making it clear, only the winner would get a real shot.

The nerves. The pressure. The weight of knowing that failure meant fading into obscurity.

Damon had been in Demaien's position, feeling like everything rode on one moment. And he knew exactly how heavy that felt.

His gaze shifted to the screen in the locker room, where the broadcast continued.

The fans were still waiting.

Waiting for Collin.

When Damon fought Jon Dlachovizc, both of them stood for their post-fight.

But Collin NcGyver was nowhere to be found.

Garmrond had done his interview.

Damon exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

He wasn't surprised.

Not after what happened in the locker room. Not after Tommy Hughes ripped into Collin like he was some young prospect instead of one of Ireland's biggest MMA names.

With Collin's absence noted but left behind, the focus shifted to the final fight of the night.

Niklas Lebrowski vs. Demaien Ncguygan.

Unlike the previous two bouts, there was no global spotlight on these fighters. No major names, no past championships, no viral moments.

Both men had built their careers in regional circuits, grinding their way through the ranks without the luxury of mainstream recognition.

This was their first true international contest.

And with that came uncertainty.

The fans didn't know what to expect. The analysts didn't have much to go on.

The narrative wasn't about legacy, it was about potential.

Some questioned whether either of them was ready for a stage this big. Others saw it as an opportunity, two unknowns, one of them about to make their name.

The energy in the arena shifted.

This wasn't a fight between legends. This wasn't a grudge match.

This was about two fighters desperate to prove they belonged.

And now, all eyes were on them.

Pressure could break a fighter before the first punch was ever thrown.

Tonight, that pressure was suffocating.

For Demaien Ncguygan and Niklas Lebrowski, this wasn't just about winning, it was about defining who they were in front of the world.

No matter the outcome, their names would be remembered.

The only question was how.

Would they be known as the one who secured their country's spot in the first-ever World MMA Tournament?

Or the one who let the opportunity slip through their fingers?

It wasn't fair, but fairness had nothing to do with it.

Both men were young, around Damon's age. But neither had his experience.

For these two, it was their first time.

A crowd this large, the stakes this High.

They stood in the tunnel, moments away from stepping into the biggest fight of Demaien Ncguygan's career.

The energy in the air was different now. Tense.

Tommy Hughes still looked distracted, likely still seething over Collin's loss. Damon noticed but didn't say anything.

Instead, he glanced at the other coaches. They were locked in, ready.

Then, Victor turned to Damon, leaning in close.

"I saw how you did in that last match… With your help, Collin was able to avoid an earlier end. You did good."

Damon nodded, about to respond—

Then the music hit.

The Irish team fell in line behind Demaien.

Demaien's posture was stiff, his breaths measured but shaky.

He was nervous.

But the second he stepped out of the tunnel—

The noise hit.

A wave of sound. Cheering. Chants. The crowd was behind him.

They didn't know him, not really.

But they knew what he represented.

Ireland's last shot.

And they weren't about to let him walk into that cage without knowing he had their full support.

Demaien blinked, his shoulders loosening slightly. He rolled his neck, breathing in deep.

For the first time all night, he looked confident.

Demaien stepped into the cage, his body loose but his mind razor-sharp. He bounced lightly on his feet, keeping his movement fluid, trying to shake off any last remnants of nerves.

But in truth, the nerves were already fading. The roar of the Irish crowd had done its job. He wasn't just some unknown prospect anymore, he was their last hope.

Then, the energy in the arena shifted.

The Polish anthem hit.

A sea of red and white erupted from the stands as Niklas Lebrowski emerged from the tunnel, his team walking with purpose, his gaze locked on the cage.

The Polish fans matched the Irish energy, singing, chanting, making their presence felt.

This wasn't just a fight.

This was Poland vs. Ireland.

And these two young men were carrying the weight of their nations on their backs.

The commentators spoke over the moment, their voices thick with excitement and gravity.

"The pressure on these two young fighters is beyond words. To hold an entire country behind you… it's a privilege, but it's also a burden. You either rise under the weight, or you crumble."

Damon stood outside the cage, arms crossed, watching.

As Polish reached the cage, the noise in the arena didn't die down, if anything, it grew even louder.

Irish and Polish fans traded chants back and forth, the atmosphere electric, more like a championship football match than an MMA fight.
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Inside the cage, Niklas Lebrowski stood tall, rolling out his shoulders as he took his corner. His eyes never left Demaien.

Demaien bounced in place, breathing steadily, his confidence steady but the weight of the moment still present.

Then, the announcer stepped forward, microphone in hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the final fight of the night! Three rounds in the flyweight division!"

"Fighting out of the blue corner! Representing Poland! Standing at 5 feet 10 inches tall, weighing in at 125 pounds! This man is a mixed martial arts with a professional record of 11 wins, 1 loss, introducing Niklas Lebrowski!"

A wave of cheers erupted from the Polish fans, mixed with heavy boos from the Irish crowd.

Niklas raised his right fist in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable, locked in.

"And his opponent, fighting out of the red corner! Representing Ireland! Standing at 5 feet 9 inches tall, weighing in at 125 pounds! This man is a mixed martial arts with a professional record of 10 wins, 2 losses, introducing Demaien Ncguygan!"

The Irish crowd exploded, the roar deafening.

Demaien took a deep breath, lifting his hands for a brief moment before locking his focus back onto Niklas.

The announcer stepped back.

The referee moved between them.

"Fighters, step forward."

Demaien and Niklas walked to the center, inches apart, their eyes locked.

"You know the rules. Protect yourselves at all times. Listen to my commands. Touch gloves if you wish, then return to your corners."

Demaien extended his glove.

Niklas hesitated for a second, then tapped it lightly.

They backed up.

The referee raised his hand, then dropped it.

"Fight!"