MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Ronan Black stepped onto the small platform at the front of the press conference room, wearing a dark UFA-branded jacket and jeans.

His presence shifted the room immediately. Cameras clicked. Reporters straightened. Phones lifted.

"Alright, let's get this thing started," he said, voice blunt and energized, like the adrenaline of the night hadn't worn off him yet. "Hell of a card, huh?"

No one answered, but they didn't have to. The buzz in the room said enough.

"We've got fighters comin' in, so let's keep it respectful, let's keep it tight. Don't ask dumb shit. You know the drill."

He gave a quick nod to the media staff behind him, who began calling in fighters one by one.

"You guys can start with the prelims and early main card," Ronan added, stepping to the side. "We'll get to the double champ in a bit."

The press began their rounds. A young featherweight, still flushed from his decision win, took a seat behind the table and leaned into the mic.

Flashbulbs went off. The first question was about his footwork. The second about his gas tank.

Ronan stood in the back, arms crossed, chewing gum, watching everything like he had somewhere else to be but wasn't going anywhere until this part was done.

Fighters filled the rows beside the stage as the press conference officially kicked off.

Cameramen adjusted lenses, reporters flipped pages, and a few phones were already live-streaming.

Ronan Black leaned against the wall near the side curtain, one hand in his pocket, the other still working a piece of gum.

Despite his earlier warning, it didn't take long for someone to test it.

A young fan-reporter near the back stood up, holding a mic. He wasn't part of the usual media crew, his lanyard was local and temporary, and he clearly wasn't used to speaking in front of a crowd.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, Mr. Black… I wanted to ask about the matchmaking for the upcoming Brazil card. There's been rumors online that, uh—some of the fighters feel like the UFA isn't pushing local talent enough and—"

Ronan didn't wait for the rest.

He stepped forward, flat tone, eyes half-lidded. "Yeah, no. We're not doin' that right now."

The kid froze.

"We're here to talk about tonight. You wanna ask about some Brazil card that ain't even official yet? Go tweet about it. This ain't Reddit."

Some reporters chuckled under their breath. The younger guy sat down quick, lips tight around the mic.

Ronan shook his head as he backed off again. "Jesus. Every damn time."

Ronan adjusted the mic in front of him, his voice cutting through the low murmur in the room.

"Alright. Let's do this. Anyone else asking these dumb-ass questions will be kicked out. Simple as that."

He pointed out into the crowd without looking directly at anyone. "Do you even know how many Brazilian champions the UFA's had? Huh? We've had killers outta Brazil. Three of them were legends in their divisions. One dominated the women's bantamweight division for years. One held the flyweight strap. Another ruled middleweight. And guess what, we had another Brazilian champ before tonight."

He leaned back in the chair, shaking his head slightly, then shifted gears.

"Okay. Let's move on. Main card recap, co-main was for the interim middleweight title, Ivan Novak vs. RDD. Ivan took that one. And the main event, Damon Cross vs. Alex Tereira. Damon gets it done, third-round knockout, becomes a two-division champ. Middleweight and Light Heavyweight simultaneously."

He leaned forward again, looking around.

"You guys can start with your questions. Let's keep it smart."

A reporter stood and raised a hand. Ronan pointed. "Yeah, go ahead."

The mic was passed down, and the man stood. "Question for Ivan Novak."

Ivan leaned forward, calm but alert.

"With your win tonight over RDD, and with Damon's win over Tereira, a lot of people are already asking, do you feel you have a real chance against him? I mean, after tonight, it's pretty clear Damon is the best fighter in the organization, maybe in the world. Do you honestly believe you can beat him?"

Ivan smirked. "I don't just believe it. I know it. Look, Damon's great, no question. But I'm not the guys he's been fighting. I'm stronger, more technical, and I don't fold under pressure. He won't walk me down. He won't control the pace. I'll be the one breaking him."

There was a pause, half the room froze.

Before another question could be asked, Damon leaned forward in his seat. The mic in front of him picked up his voice clear and low.

"I'd kill you."

Ivan turned slightly, expression still steady.

"I'm not joking," Damon said, sitting up straight now. "There's a big difference between surviving RDD and stepping in there with me. You won a belt tonight. Congrats. But you even think you're ready for me? You'll end up like the rest, broken on the floor."

The room stayed quiet for a second. Then reporters started murmuring again, the tension now crackling across the panel.

Ivan gave a short laugh. "We'll see."

Damon didn't smile back. "No. You won't."

Ronan sat forward, clearly entertained. "Okay, alright, let's keep this moving before we get a second main event at the table. Next question."

Another reporter raised their hand, voice more composed. "Damon, with this win, you're now 30-0. You've got two belts, you've beaten strikers, grapplers, wrestlers, everyone. What keeps you motivated now? What's next?"

Damon shrugged slightly. "I don't fight for attention. I fight because it's what I do. What keeps me motivated?" He paused, then looked across the table. "Guys like Ivan thinking they can take it from me."

There were a few chuckles in the room, but the tension didn't drop.

Another question came in from the left side of the room. "Ivan, if the unification bout happens, where do you want it? Location-wise?"

Ivan leaned forward. "Doesn't matter. Vegas, Dublin, Russia, doesn't change what I bring. I'm not here for a home crowd. I'm here to take that belt off his waist."

Damon tapped his mic. "Bring boots. You'll leave limping."

Ronan laughed under his breath. "Now that's a fight, folks."

A few more questions followed, less fiery but still focused, media asking Damon about his team, his daughter's reaction, and whether he would take time off.

Damon answered calmly, clearly still high from the moment but keeping composed.

"I'll take a week," he said. "But no, I'm not disappearing. I've got two belts now. That means double the target. I'm staying ready."

Eventually, Ronan stood back up, nodding once to signal the session was over.

"That's it for tonight," he said. "You'll hear more soon. Thanks for showing up."

The fighters stood, some shaking hands on the way out. Damon didn't approach Ivan, and Ivan didn't offer anything either.

As Damon walked backstage, Svetlana was waiting near the hallway with Ava in her arms. Damon reached out and scooped Ava up. She clung to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You done now?" she mumbled.

He smiled. "Not yet."