MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 831: Questions Beyond the Cage

UFA president Ronan Black stood tall at the podium, his voice cutting across the packed room as cameras flashed and microphones crackled.

The press conference backdrop stretched across the wall, logos of sponsors plastered in every direction.

One by one, fighters began to take their seats at the long table, each with water bottles and nameplates in front of them.

When Damon entered, the noise in the room swelled. Reporters whispered, flashes lit up, and every eye locked onto him.

The belt gleamed as he placed it carefully on the table, but Damon himself didn’t carry the same shine.

He didn’t grin, didn’t flex, didn’t look like a man who had just defended his world title against a bitter rival. Instead, he sat back in his chair, arms resting on the table, gaze distant.

His body was here, but his head was somewhere else, the weight of something heavier than gold pulling at him.

Even the way he adjusted his mic, slow and absentminded, showed it. Damon Cross, the champion, looked more like a man lost in thought than a man basking in victory.

The questions rolled down the table, each fighter giving their answers.

Ivan kept his short, nodding at reporters, his English clipped as he spoke about going back to camp and improving.

The focus shifted again when a reporter near the front raised his hand.

"A question for Damon."

Damon blinked, snapping out of the distant stare he’d worn since sitting down. He leaned slightly forward, adjusting the mic.

"Damon, today you defeated Ivan Novak and added another defense to your streak. Thirty-one straight wins, double champ status intact. But looking at you, you don’t seem happy or in a celebratory mood. Why is that?"

Damon smiled faintly, shaking his head. "No, I’m happy. I think it was a great performance. Ivan’s tough, and I showed what I needed to show in there. It’s just that... I had a compelling conversation with my wife after the fight. About my career."

Reporters leaned forward, pens scribbling, cameras zooming. Damon continued.

"She asked me if I was done with everything. And honestly, I had to think about that. I’ve accomplished a lot. More than I ever imagined when I first started. Enough for people to consider me the greatest." He paused, exhaling slowly. "But... I also believe there’s still some things left to do. Maybe not many, but they’re there. I’m not satisfied yet."

The room buzzed instantly, reporters exchanging glances, already preparing follow-up questions.

Damon leaned back in his chair, calm but firm, as if he had just confirmed something important not only to them, but to himself.

A hand shot up from the second row. "Damon, when you say there’s still things left to do, what exactly do you mean? What’s next for you?" 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Damon leaned forward, his voice steady but with a hint of excitement behind it. "Well... I want to have fun with my career now. I’m young. People already mention retirement, but I’m not there. I want more. I want to hold three division championships simultaneously. I want to fight the best. And maybe even try myself in other stuff."

The room stirred, the flashes from cameras doubling. Another reporter quickly followed up. "We saw earlier this year you rejected Blake’s call-out to a boxing fight. Would you reconsider that now?"

Damon smiled faintly, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "Sure. But not just him. I want to fight skilled fighters. The ones who really bring something to the table. I believe I’m the best in the world, and I want to prove it, no matter the discipline."

The words landed heavy, the buzz in the room swelling as reporters shouted over each other for the next question.

Damon leaned back in his chair, calm as ever, letting the storm around him grow.

This was crazy because, for people outside the fight scene, Damon’s words sounded normal.

But for those inside, they knew the reality. Damon wasn’t just another fighter, he was considered the most balanced fighter the sport had ever seen.

He could wrestle, grapple, strike, kick, and move seamlessly.

He had combined so many disciplines into one complete style that it made him nearly untouchable inside the cage.

Still, there was a difference. Training each discipline as part of MMA was not the same as training one discipline exclusively for years. The phrase "jack of all trades, master of none" existed for a reason.

MMA fighters who looked like elite strikers in the cage often got exposed when they crossed into pure boxing or kickboxing. The rules were different.

The setups were different. In boxing, you couldn’t throw kicks to create openings. In kickboxing, you didn’t have to worry about takedowns.

Every adjustment changed the rhythm of a fight completely.

So when Damon talked about stepping into other arenas, people understood the risk. To most, it looked like another way for him to test himself.

To those who had studied the sport, it looked like Damon was daring to step into territories where even the best MMA fighters had fallen short.

And that was exactly why the world buzzed louder after his words.

The room was buzzing out of control. Reporters were shouting over each other, half the hands in the room were up, and the noise was rising with every second.

Damon sat back in his chair, unbothered, while the other fighters at the table looked like they’d just been dragged into a storm.

Ronan Black finally stepped up to the podium, slamming his hand down lightly on the mic stand. His voice boomed, cutting through the noise.

"Alright, alright, relax! Jesus Christ, you guys act like the man just said he’s fighting a bear next week." The crowd laughed, but quieted enough to let him continue.

"Look, Damon just went five rounds with Ivan Novak, defended his belt, stayed undefeated, and you vultures already wanna throw him in a boxing ring tomorrow night." Ronan shook his head, grinning. "Give the guy a minute to breathe, huh? Let him enjoy the fact that he’s still the champ."

The reporters chuckled, some lowering their hands, though their eyes still burned with questions. Ronan leaned forward on the podium, his grin widening.

"Now don’t get me wrong, if Damon really wants to go box somebody or fight in three weight classes, trust me, I’ll sell the tickets. But tonight? Tonight, he just reminded everyone why he’s the best in the world. That’s the story. Everything else can wait."

The room relaxed, laughter mixing with the fading noise, and even Damon smirked at the way Ronan had defused the frenzy.