MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon let the footage roll for a few more minutes, then grabbed the remote and paused it again. He shifted slightly, one foot resting over the other, and scratched his jaw as he thought.

Svetlana looked over, sensing he was about to say something.

"I think Joren's gonna win," Damon said finally. "But it's not going to be dominant. Not this time. It'll be close."

She sipped from her glass, waiting as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"See, stylistically… this is the kind of matchup real fight fans actually wanna see," he continued. "You've got two elite guys with opposite rhythms. If they didn't already fight once, I'd say it's fifty-fifty. But they did. And Joren won."

He raised the remote, scrolled back ten seconds to a frame of Edlen stalking a previous opponent.

"Joren's the pressure cooker. Wrestles nonstop, never gives space. He doesn't rush, but he doesn't stop either. The man is a cardio tank. He'll feint ten times just to set up the one shot he needs."

Svetlana nodded slowly.

"And Tolkov?"

Damon pointed at the screen.

"Tolkov's the bruiser. Patient. All his power is real. Doesn't move unless he has to. But if you give him a mistake, he makes it count. That right hand? He's put people to sleep without loading it."

He paused, switching folders back to one of Tolkov's fights.

"Striking-wise, Tolkov's more dangerous. If he lands clean, he can hurt Joren. Probably worse than anyone Joren's faced. But Edlen's always moving. Hard to find clean angles on a guy who never stays still."

The clip showed Joren slipping a hook, changing levels, then chaining a takedown against the fence.

"And once Joren gets inside? He chains everything. You can't stuff just one shot, you have to stuff five in a row. He breaks your balance, pushes you against the cage, and chips away until you're too tired to fight back."

Svetlana glanced at him. "So you think it's just pace?"

He shook his head.

"It's more than that. It's fight IQ. Joren adjusts mid-fight. He doesn't just press forward. He watches. If something doesn't work, he changes it. That's rare."

He leaned back again, letting the thoughts settle.

"But… if Tolkov catches him early, like within the first or second round, it changes everything. Joren hasn't been hit by someone like him yet. And if Tolkov slows the pace, makes it a staring contest? Then times his shot?"

He nodded once.

"That's his best chance."

Svetlana gave a short hum of agreement, watching the screen switch between their fight highlights.

"Who do you want to face?" she asked.

Damon smirked.

"Doesn't matter. One drowns you, the other shuts you off. I like swimming. And I've never been afraid of silence."

He pressed play again, and the sound of punches and canvas echoed through the living room.

.

.

.

.

.

They continued watching for a while, quiet and focused.

The only sound was the low hum of fight footage playing on the screen, accompanied by the occasional faint babble from the baby monitor resting on the coffee table.

Eventually, the babble turned into a soft cry.

Damon didn't wait for it to grow. He set the remote down and stood up.

"I got her," he said.

When he was in camp, Svetlana handled most things. But now that he was home, Damon made sure to do his part—and more.

He walked to the nursery and returned a minute later with Ava in his arms, wrapped in a small blanket, her tiny hands curled against his chest. She made a few quiet noises but wasn't crying anymore.

She wasn't fussy today.

Damon settled back onto the couch and gently shifted her into the crook of his arm.

Her head rested under his chin while he adjusted the blanket over her. Her eyes fluttered as she looked around, then started to relax against him.

Svetlana smiled slightly as she watched them, then leaned back into his side again, pulling the blanket over her own legs.

Ava stayed quiet, content to just sit there while her parents watched the screen. Her small fingers moved lazily, occasionally grabbing at Damon's hoodie, but she didn't cry or fuss. It made the moment peaceful.

Damon held her securely with one arm and grabbed the remote again with the other, letting the footage continue.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that he paused the video again—not because of Ava, but because something else had been sitting on his mind.

He looked over at Svetlana.

She glanced at him and tilted her head slightly, already reading his face. "What is it?"

"I was thinking," he said, adjusting Ava in his arms. She let out a soft babble as he shifted. "How do you feel about visiting Stockton?"

Svetlana raised an eyebrow. The question caught her off guard. She hadn't thought about it much.

Maybe once or twice in the early days, back when she'd first wondered where Damon had gone after leaving Ireland. Where he lived. Where he trained. Where he grew into who he was.

She knew he and Joey lived in the same area and knew Damon was homeless at the time, so she wondered more about it now that it was brought up.

"Why now?" she asked, curious.

Damon leaned back again, keeping Ava close as he spoke.

"Your dad wants me to accompany him," he said. "He just bought an MMA promotion based out of Stockton. Wants to check it out in person."

That surprised her, too. But it didn't take long for a smile to form.

"Alright," she said. "I'd actually love that. I want to see where you came up."

Damon looked down at Ava, her small hands curled against his chest. She was quiet now, breathing softly, her eyelids heavy but still awake.

His thoughts drifted.

Stockton.

He wouldn't say he missed it. But he wouldn't say he didn't, either.

Life there hadn't been easy. Not for him. Not for his mother.

Being homeless wasn't a memory he could wrap in nostalgia. People liked to hear those kinds of stories—"from the streets to the cage," that kind of narrative always played well in interviews. But living through it wasn't the same as retelling it.

Sleeping in an alley didn't build character. It just made you cold. And tired. And hungry.

He hadn't thought about those days in a while.

Not that he hated it or lived in sadness when he thought about it, he appreciated the life he had before starting to fight, it had shaped who he was.

He was kind of excited to go there.