MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat - Chapter 641

Chapter 641: Chapter 641: The Shiver of Doubt
In the corner, Victor watched with unblinking focus as Damon pressed on Jon, throwing those sharp punches that had always carried him forward.

But the moment Jon’s overhand connected, when Damon’s head snapped back and his body folded to the canvas, Victor felt his heart drop.

He had been here for every fight, every battle, but this was different. This was the first time since Damon had joined the UFA that Victor felt a real, gut-level fear. Damon wasn’t just down. He was in real trouble.

Victor’s breath caught, his hands gripping the edge of the cage as he forced himself to stay calm.

Around him, the other assistants and coaches were yelling out orders, their voices a jumble of desperate commands and encouragement.

But Victor barely heard them. His mind was locked on Damon, on that dazed look, on the way Jon followed him down.

He tried to tell himself it was okay. Damon was smart on the ground. He’d find a way to turn it.

But in that moment, all Victor could think about was what it would mean if Damon lost. If he finally tasted real defeat.

It wouldn’t just be another fight, it would be the end of the perfect run they’d all gotten used to.

He had to remind himself that no one stayed undefeated forever. Even the best fell eventually.

Unless you retired early, there was always a fall. But it still hit him in the gut, the thought that Damon’s legacy, everything they had built together, might be about to take its first real crack.

Victor took a deep breath and forced himself to push those thoughts aside. Damon was still in there, still fighting. And that was what mattered.

Victor snapped himself out of his thoughts, his voice rising to join the others. “Stay calm, Damon! Breathe, breathe, get your head clear!” he shouted, his words cutting through the din of the corner.

On the ground, Damon could feel the weight of Jon’s power above him, each shot slamming into his guard, shaking his arms.

He tucked his chin and rolled with the punches, trying to find a rhythm in the chaos.

His heart was hammering, but he forced himself to control his breathing, slow and measured, even as his ribs ached from Jon’s barrage.

He felt a flicker of fear, a moment of cold in his gut. When that punch landed and he went down, he realized how close he was to losing everything he had worked for. But he pushed that thought away. He wasn’t done.

He shifted his hips, sliding a knee in to create space.

Jon’s weight pressed down hard, but Damon’s mind was clear again. He grabbed Jon’s wrist, pulling it tight to his chest and using it to push Jon off-balance.

He twisted his hips, planting a foot on the mat and bridging just enough to throw Jon off his center.

Jon adjusted, but Damon didn’t stop. He worked his other hand in, framing Jon’s face and pushing against his shoulder to break the posture.

For a moment, the punches stopped as Jon adjusted to keep control. Damon used that split second to shrimp his hips out, sliding his back closer to the cage wall.

He felt the canvas against his shoulders, the cage behind him. He planted his feet, pressed against the mat, and forced himself up.

Jon tried to pin him again, but Damon posted on his elbow and exploded upward, breaking free.

The crowd erupted as they rose together, the violence of the ground exchange replaced by the tense stand-up once more.

Damon’s face was marked now, a cut on his cheekbone bleeding, but his eyes were clear, his breathing steady. He knew he was back in the fight.

Then the horn sounded, ending the round. The noise of the arena surged as Damon backed away, chest heaving.

He hadn’t been finished. As he walked back to his corner, he knew he still had more to give.

As Damon sat on the stool, the commentators’ voices were still echoing through the arena, a mix of shock and excitement.

“Wow, what a first round,” one of them said, shaking his head. “I’m stunned, Jon Dlachovizc just dropped Damon Cross for the first time in his UFA career. I don’t think anyone saw that coming.”

The second commentator nodded, his eyes wide. “Damon’s usually so composed, so hard to hit clean, but Jon’s power at light heavyweight is no joke. That was a statement from the former champ.”

Meanwhile, in Damon’s corner, Victor crouched in front of him, his voice low but intense.

The cut man worked quickly, dabbing at the blood on Damon’s cheek and applying the cold iron to stop the swelling.

“What the hell happened in there?” Victor asked, his eyes locked on Damon’s.

Damon took a deep breath, still feeling the buzz in his skull from that shot. “I don’t know,” he said. “One moment I was punching, the next I was down. He caught me off guard. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” Victor said, his tone calm but firm. “Look, keep your footwork. Move around. Try to open the distance, he’s stronger than you in the clinch. Don’t try to trade power. Use your reach to your advantage and keep him guessing.”

Damon nodded, his breathing steady now, his mind clearing with every word. He could still feel the fear of that knockdown, but he buried it. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

On the other side of the cage, Jon’s corner wasn’t celebrating either. They knew the fight wasn’t over, but they used the knockdown to fuel his confidence.

“Jon, słyszysz mnie?” one of them said, his voice calm but direct. (Jon, do you hear me?)

Jon nodded, his breathing even.

“To jest twoja waga, twoja klasa,” another added, leaning in close. (This is your weight, your class.)

“On jest w twoim domu, Jon,” a third coach said, a hand on Jon’s shoulder. (He’s in your house, Jon.)

They tapped his back, reminding him that this was where he had always belonged. “Nie daj mu wrócić,” the first coach said firmly. (Don’t let him come back.)

Jon’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded again, ready to get back to the fight.