MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat - Chapter 483

Chapter 483: Chapter 483: Damon The Bully
The cameras rolled, the lights were bright but not overwhelming, and the show began.

Ava, seated across from Damon, gave him a relaxed smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She was casual in her approach, wearing a hoodie and jeans, looking more like someone who just happened to be in the studio rather than a professional host.

“Welcome, everyone. Today, we’ve got a special guest, Damon Cross.” She turned to him. “Damon, thanks for coming on.”

Damon gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”

Ava shifted slightly in her seat. “Big year for you. A lot of wins, a lot of momentum, and now you’re stepping onto the global stage. How’s that feel?”

Damon shrugged. “Good.”

Ava blinked, waiting for more. It didn’t come.

“Uh-huh,” she muttered, glancing briefly at her notes. “Well, we let fans send in some questions for you.”

Damon gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. “Cool.”

She exhaled through her nose and went to the first question. “Alright, here’s one: ‘If you could fight one historical figure, who would it be and why?'”

Damon paused for a moment, then answered simply. “Genghis Khan.”

Ava blinked. “And why?”

“Strong guy.”

Silence.

“That’s it?” she asked after a beat.

“Yeah.”

She pursed her lips, glancing at the crew, then moved on. “Next question: ‘If you weren’t fighting, what would you be doing?'”

“Something else.”

Ava’s mouth opened slightly, then closed. She tilted her head. “Like what?”

Damon thought for a second. “Dunno. Something.”

She let out a short breath, glancing at the paper again. “Alright. What’s your favorite post-fight meal?”

“Food.”

Ava slowly looked up at him. “Food.”

“Yeah.”

She tapped her fingers lightly against the table. “Any specific kind?”

“One that fills me up.”

She let that sit for a second before moving on. “Okay. Favorite color?”

“Gray.”

Her eyebrows furrowed a little. “Really?”

Damon nodded. “Yeah.”

She moved to the next one without comment. “What’s the hardest part of being a fighter?”

“Fighting.”

Another pause. Ava blinked a few times before nodding. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

The interview carried on, but it was clear to everyone in the room what was happening. Damon wasn’t being rude, but he wasn’t giving them anything extra. No elaboration, no exciting soundbites, nothing to stir headlines.

Just answers.

Short, simple, and almost mechanical.

Ava did her best to keep the conversation moving, but Damon had already decided how this would go.

And it was going exactly as he wanted.

Ava shuffled through her papers, her fingers tapping anxiously against the table. She was starting to fidget now, her previous confidence slipping as the reality of the interview set in.

The short answers, the lack of engagement, Damon wasn’t giving her anything to work with, and the pressure of the situation was becoming obvious.

“Um, alright,” she muttered, clearing her throat. “Let’s, uh… let’s go to the next one.”

She looked at the paper in front of her, but her eyes darted slightly, as if she was trying to find her footing. Her fingers gripped the edge of the card, and Damon caught the subtle shake in her hand.

He blinked.

For the first time since the interview started, he actually noticed her.

Sure, he had been aware of her before, just another interviewer, another media obligation. But now, watching her struggle, seeing the quiet panic in her eyes, it hit him.

She wasn’t the one who twisted his words. She wasn’t the one who spread headlines full of nonsense just to get clicks. She wasn’t the one who painted him as something he wasn’t.

She was just… a kid. Maybe a year or two younger than him. Probably new at this. Trying to do her job.

And here he was, treating her like she was one of them.

Ava cleared her throat again, forcing a nervous smile. “S-So, um… next question. W-what’s your, uh, what’s your pre-fight routine?”

Damon glanced at her hands again. The slight tremor. The way she kept shifting in her chair.

She was panicking.

And for what? Because of him?

He exhaled slowly.

Maybe this wasn’t the right way to handle it.

Sure, the higher-ups were scum. The media had done him dirty before. But punishing her? Some newbie host just trying to keep her show together?

Yeah. That wasn’t fair.

Damon leaned back slightly in his chair, loosening up just a bit. “I usually stick to the same warm-up. Shadowboxing, stretching, then some pad work. Keeps me sharp.”

Ava blinked, visibly surprised by the sudden change in his tone. It wasn’t much, still straight to the point, but it was an actual answer.

She nodded quickly, latching onto it. “Oh, okay, cool! Uh, and do you have any, like, superstitions or anything?”

Damon shook his head. “Nah. I just train hard and go in ready.”

Ava let out a quiet breath, her shoulders easing just a little.

The panic wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t worsening anymore.

Damon figured that was enough. He didn’t owe the media anything.

But this girl? She didn’t deserve to drown just because of what the people above her had done.

Damon was about to ease up on her.

He figured she was just trying to do her job, and he didn’t want to make it harder for her than it already was.

But then, she asked that question.

“So, during your last fight, there was, uh… the chair incident,” Ava started, her voice hesitant. She flipped through her notes, glancing at the paper as if searching for the right phrasing. “Some people feel like… well, like maybe it was, um, provoked by how you handled the English crowd. Do you—”

Damon blinked.

Ava exhaled slightly and continued, rushing her words now. “Like, do you feel responsible? I mean, what if someone got hurt?”

Silence.

For a second, the studio felt colder. The slight hum of the cameras and equipment was the only sound in the room. A few crew members exchanged glances, some subtly straightening up as they sensed a shift in the atmosphere.

Damon tilted his head slightly, his eyes locked on her.

“Wait,” he said, voice slow, calm. “You think I provoked them into throwing a chair at me?”

Ava hesitated, her fingers tensing slightly against her notepad. “I—I mean, some people—”

“Some people?” Damon repeated, his tone as neutral as ever. “Some people also believe the earth is flat. Doesn’t mean we gotta take them seriously.”

Ava blinked rapidly. “No, that’s not—I just meant, um, the way the crowd reacted, with how you, uh—”

Damon leaned forward slightly. “How I what? Won? Was that my crime?”

Ava swallowed, her face heating. “N-No, of course not. I just—”

“Let me make sure I understand,” Damon continued, his tone still disturbingly calm. “I go to their country, fight their guy, win, and because they got mad, because they threw a chair at me, I’m the one getting asked if I feel responsible?”

Ava’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“You ever been in a fight?” Damon asked.

She shook her head quickly.

“Right. So let me explain something,” he said, his voice smooth but firm. “When you fight, the only thing you’re responsible for is yourself. I didn’t throw a chair. I didn’t start a riot. I did my job, and I won. Whatever happened after that is not on me. And if you think it is, then maybe you should be asking why grown adults can’t handle a loss without throwing furniture.”

Ava’s fingers curled around the edge of the notepad, her knuckles slightly white. She let out a nervous breath, then forced a small, awkward chuckle, trying to regain control.

“I-I wasn’t trying to, um, blame you, I just—”

“But you did,” Damon cut in. “You just didn’t expect me to call it out.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

The crew was dead silent. The energy in the room had completely changed.

Ava quickly turned a page in her notes, flustered, her voice shaky as she pushed forward. “O-Okay, um—l-let’s move on—”

Damon leaned back, now fully uninterested.

The rest of the interview dragged on, but it was clear the mood had shifted. Ava was rattled, her questions rushed and uneven, her voice lacking the confidence she had at the start. Damon, on the other hand, went back to bland, unbothered answers, nothing extra, nothing more than necessary.