MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The day passed without noise or tension. After the intensity of the past few days, the silence felt earned.

Yesterday's training had pushed everyone to their limits, and today was the pause. No one argued.

They all rested in their own corners of the house, eating, recovering, sleeping, or watching fights in silence. Even the usual small talk faded.

Damon arrived in the afternoon to check in. He didn't give a speech or call for a meeting.

He just walked through, nodded at a few of them, exchanged a few words with Max, and left him to it.

As Damon had left, in the living room, a few fighters from Ivan's team watched him walk out the door.

One of them, Chase, let out a small laugh under his breath.

Zulu turned to him. "What's funny?"

Chase shook his head and took a sip from his cup. "I mean, how old is he anyway? Nineteen?"

Zulu leaned back on the couch, expression calm but unreadable. He didn't like getting involved in gossip, especially about coaches.

Where he came from, you respected those above you. You earned your place, and when someone did, you didn't throw shade behind their back.

But the look on Chase's face said more than his words did. It wasn't the look of someone joking around. It was deeper than that, resentment, maybe even hate.

Not the kind that came from someone wronging you directly, but the kind people built on their own. Quiet jealousy. Internal bitterness.

Zulu didn't say anything at first. He knew Chase was a middleweight too. Maybe that was part of it. Maybe Chase didn't like the idea of someone younger, someone already more accomplished, being in charge.

Chase scoffed again. "I'm just saying. You take away all that hype, what even is he? Ain't no way I'm taking orders from a kid."

Zulu stayed quiet for a moment. The room had gone still. A few of the others heard it too.

"I saw his fights," Zulu finally said. "That 'kid' walked through people most guys here couldn't even touch. Double champ. Undefeated. That's not hype."

Chase raised his brow. "So you a fanboy now?"

"No," Zulu replied plainly. "I just recognize real."

Chase looked away, forcing a smirk that didn't match the irritation still in his eyes.

Zulu could already tell, this wasn't about Damon. Chase was angry at himself. Angry that someone else had done what he couldn't. And now that Damon was standing where he wanted to be, it made it easier to hate him than face it.

Zulu didn't need to say it out loud. He'd seen that look before. And he knew how dangerous it could be, not just for Chase, but for the team.

Chase was older than most of the guys in the house, probably pushing his mid-thirties. A veteran, at least in age, though not in accolades.

Damon, on the other hand, was barely in his mid-twenties and already standing on top of the sport. That contrast didn't sit right with Chase, and the bitterness in his voice only grew the more he spoke.

"You know what gets me?" Chase muttered, swirling the liquid in his cup like it helped him focus. "This whole setup. This kid walks in here like he's some kind of legend, like we should all be grateful to be coached by him. Man, please. You take away the cameras, the title belts, the fanboys chanting his name… he's just some punk with a couple years on a hot streak. That's it."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice tightening.

"You think he had it tough? You think he bled like we did to stay in the game this long? I've been grinding for over a decade. Slept in my car between amateur bouts. Broke bones just to get paid peanuts. And now I'm supposed to sit here and be taught by a guy who probably still gets carded buying liquor?"

Zulu didn't answer. He kept his eyes on Chase, silently reading him.

Chase scoffed and shook his head. "This world's backwards. They crown you king if you got the right sponsors and a perfect record, even if it's padded. You ask me? He's soft. All those pretty wins, all that hype, it'll break the second someone pressures him the right way. Watch."

Just behind the hallway entrance, one of Damon's fighters had stopped mid-step.

Max Taylor stood there, holding a protein bar he hadn't even opened yet. His jaw clenched, eyes locked on Chase, though he didn't speak right away.

He stepped forward into the room.

"You finished?" Max asked, voice calm but steady.

Chase turned slightly, his face shifting when he realized he was overheard. "What, you got something to say?"

"Yeah," Max said. "I do. You don't have to like the guy, but you better respect what he's done. Damon earned everything he has. You think it's luck that made him a world champ in two divisions? That put him at the top of the tournament twice? You don't get that far by being soft."

Chase raised a brow. "You his bodyguard now?"

"No," Max said. "I'm his fighter. And I actually listen, which is probably why I'm improving."

The room had gone quiet. A few heads turned, pretending not to watch while still listening in.

Max looked at Zulu, then back at Chase.

"If you've got a problem with him, say it to his face. Otherwise, maybe stop pretending your hate is anything more than jealousy."

Chase stared at him, saying nothing. He then stood up. He was tall and definitely bigger than a lightweight.

Max didn't flinch. Even with Chase towering over him and spitting threats in his face, he stood his ground.

His jaw was set, but he didn't move. He wasn't intimidated. Just disappointed.

Chase stepped in close, chest puffed. "Now get this, little man," he growled. "I'll fuck you up and show you hell."

Before it could escalate, Zulu stood up and quickly got between them, putting a hand on Chase's chest to hold him back. "Ayy, sorry about him," he said, glancing at Max. "Look, just ignore him. He's not worth it."

Chase's face twisted. He shoved Zulu's hand off hard. "The fuck don't speak for me!"

Zulu took a breath, trying to stay calm. "Chill out, man."

But Chase wasn't interested in calm.

He stepped toward Zulu now, eyes narrowed. "Or what? What—you think 'cause you're from South Africa you're the next big thing? The next PDD?" He laughed dryly, his voice full of venom. "Get a load of this guy."

Zulu's expression tightened, but he didn't say a word.

Chase pointed at him, still walking backward. "I can count the number of African champs on one hand. And I promise you, you're not gonna be one of them."

He turned and stormed out of the room.