MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The announcer took a deep breath, gripping the microphone as the tension in the arena reached its peak.

The entire crowd was on edge, a sea of Irish and Polish fans standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the final judge's score.

"The judges score the contest… 28-29… 29-28… and..."

The pause was unbearable.

The fighters barely breathed.

The chants had stopped.

The whole world seemed to hang on the next words.

"30-27… for the winner by split decision…"

"DEMAIEN NCGUYGAN!!!!!!!!"

The referee raised DEMAIEN NCGUYGAN'S hand.

The Irish crowd EXPLODED.

A deafening roar shook the arena as Irish fans screamed, jumped, and waved their flags high. Chants of "IRELAND! IRELAND!" erupted like thunder, drowning out every other sound.

Demaien's legs almost buckled, his face twisting into disbelief as he gripped his head, eyes wide, trying to process it.

He had won.

He had just won the fight that secured Ireland's spot in the World MMA Tournament.

The rest of the Irish corner rushed into the cage, swarming Demaien, hugging him, patting his back, shaking him in excitement.

Damon grabbed him by the shoulders, grinning. "You did it, man! You fucking did it!"

Demaien nodded rapidly, his breath coming out in heavy bursts, still in shock.

On the other side of the cage, Niklas stood motionless, his jaw tight. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared at the ground, his injured arm still stiff at his side.

The cage was still chaotic. The Irish team surrounded Demaien, lifting him briefly before he staggered back down, exhausted but grinning through the pain.

His body was battered, his face swollen, but nothing could take away the victory.

On the other side, Niklas finally took a deep breath and let it all sink in. His arms rested on his hips, his head slightly down.

He wasn't just exhausted, he was crushed. The realization that his country's chance at this tournament had ended because of him weighed heavily on his shoulders.

The Polish fans, though disappointed, still clapped.

It wasn't the outcome they wanted, but they respected what their fighter had done.

Damon stood back, arms crossed, watching it all unfold.

This was the beauty of the sport. The highs, the lows, the emotions that no other competition could replicate.

Victor came up beside him. "He did good," he said, nodding toward Demaien, who was still soaking in the victory.

Damon nodded. "Yeah, he earned that one."

His mind, though, was already shifting. Ireland had secured its place in the tournament.

That was done. Now, it was time for him to refocus. He had things to take care of back home, unfinished business.

Damon exhaled as the chaos in the cage began to settle. The celebration continued around him, but his mind was already elsewhere.

He had things to handle, things that couldn't wait.

The elixir.

Joey's brother was still in rough shape, and if there was even a chance he could help him recover faster, Damon had to take it.

He wasn't sure exactly how it would work, but the system had never failed him before.

If it could speed up healing, then maybe, just maybe, Jake could get his life back.

Then there was his mother.

Taro Saito was dead.

Damon didn't care. Not even a little. The man was a monster, and his absence from this world meant nothing to him. But his mother? That was different.

Despite everything, the abuse, the pain, the years they spent escaping his shadow, Damon had a feeling it wasn't always like that.

At some point, there had to be something before the monster.

Something his mother might still remember. Something that could make her feel… something.

It wasn't about sympathy for the man. It was about closure. She had the right to know, and Damon had the responsibility to tell her.

So when he landed back in Carli, that would be his first stop.

Not the gym. Not his apartment. Not anywhere else.

First, he'd see his mother. Then, he'd help Joey's brother.

And after that?

Well… there was always another fight.

Damon knew he'd have to return soon. Training in Ireland was essential, the next matchups would be different.

There wouldn't be the same level of uncertainty about qualifying. This time, his progress in the tournament would be entirely in his own hands.

No more relying on teammates to secure the country's spot.

No more watching from the sidelines, hoping for the right outcome. From here on out, every fight was his responsibility.
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His victories would push him forward, and his losses, well, there wouldn't be any. That wasn't an option.

As much as he looked forward to a short break in the U.S., his mind was already drifting back to training.

The altitude work, the sparring, the game-planning, everything needed to be sharper.

His fight with Jon Dlachovizc had proven that. He won, but it wasn't effortless.

If he wanted to dominate on the global stage, he had to be even better.

Victor had already made arrangements to keep the team(Damon's team) in Ireland for the next phase, ensuring that everyone would be primed for their upcoming fights.

Damon had no complaints about that. The facilities here were top-tier, and the energy from the home crowd gave him a boost he never expected.

As they stepped into the back, a familiar Ding rang in Damon's mind, and instantly, the translucent blue message appeared before him.

---

[System Message]

Congratulations!

You have successfully qualified for the World MMA Tournament.

Quest Progression: [Road to the World Cup] ✅

Next Objective...

---

Damon couldn't help but smirk. He swiped the message away for now, he'd claim the rewards later when he had privacy. Right now, he had other priorities.

As he looked up, Svetlana stood there, waiting for him near the exit.

She was still smiling, arms crossed, watching him with amusement.

"Look at you," she teased. "A country's hero already?"

Damon chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, real humble beginnings."

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, though, congrats. You did what you came here to do."

He exhaled, finally feeling the weight of the past few days settle on him. "Yeah… but there's still a long way to go."

She nodded, stepping closer. "That just means we celebrate tonight and then get back to work."

Damon tilted his head. "We?"

She smirked. "You think I'm gonna let you train for this without me around?"

Damon smirked back, shaking his head. "Of course not."

Just as Victor passed by, giving Damon a pat on the shoulder, Svetlana turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"Come on, Dad, come join us for dinner," she said casually, catching Victor mid-step.

Victor, who had clearly been planning to head off, paused for a second before exhaling. "Dinner, huh?" He glanced at Damon. "That alright with you?"

Damon shrugged. "Fine with me."

Right as they were about to head out, Demaien approached, still looking a bit dazed from all the excitement but smiling.

"Hey, you guys mind if me and some of the boys tag along?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head. "We're starving."

Svetlana and Damon exchanged glances, both nodding. "Of course," she said. "The more, the merrier."

But before they could move, a gruff voice interrupted.

Tommy Hughes.

"Feckin' hell," he muttered, rubbing his bald head. "You lot should be restin', not runnin' off to feast like it's a bloody holiday."

Demaien's shoulders stiffened slightly, as if expecting a scolding. Even some of the other fighters nearby looked like they were reconsidering.

Then Victor stepped in.

Not harsh. Not loud. But firm.

"They just fought their hearts out, Tommy," Victor said, looking the older coach in the eye. "They earned a meal. You want 'em to train hard, they need to enjoy moments like this too."

Tommy opened his mouth, but Victor wasn't done.

"Besides," Victor continued, arms crossed. "You don't run these boys. Not me, not Damon, not Demaien. You're part of the team, but you don't own it." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless I missed a memo?"

Tommy's mouth shut. He grumbled under his breath but didn't argue further, stepping back.

Damon resisted the urge to smirk. Victor didn't work for anyone, and he sure as hell wasn't about to take orders from Tommy.

"Right, then." Victor finally clapped his hands. "Dinner it is."