MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 841: Hungry For Attention

[DAMON CROSS VS. BLAKE COLE CONFIRMED, OVER $50 MILLION ON THE LINE UNDER PROFESSIONAL BOXING RULES]

That was the headline plastered across every major sports outlet that morning. It was impossible to scroll through any page without seeing Damon's name tied to Blake's. The biggest story in combat sports had officially become real.

Every outlet ran the story in their own version. Some got the details right; others added wild claims or made-up quotes to feed the clicks.

Even smaller media pages jumped in, writing that Damon had already started "boxing full-time" or that he had been "pressured into it." Most of it was false, but the hype was unstoppable.

The confirmed facts were clear. The fight would take place at cruiserweight, twelve rounds, three minutes each, under full professional boxing rules.

There would be no kicks or

knees, no elbows, and most definitely no clinch fighting beyond the referee's breaks.

Ten-ounce gloves. Both fighters would enter the ring clean, with no hybrid exceptions or special allowances. It was pure boxing.

The payout was rumored to exceed $50 million, split between the two depending on pay-per-view sales and bonuses. The numbers alone made it one of the biggest crossover fights in history.

The reaction online was immediate. MMA fans were divided. Some called it brave, a champion stepping outside his comfort zone to test himself in another sport. Others called it foolish, that Damon was risking everything for a fight that didn't need to happen.

Boxing purists filled forums and podcasts, analyzing every angle. They debated stance, reach, movement, and habits. Some said Damon's precision and control made him a real threat.

Others said the cage champion was walking into a world where footwork and rhythm were everything and that Blake's experience in the ring gave him an edge.

The media didn't stop at analysis either. Talk shows ran segments comparing records, strength, and training camps.

Commentators who once avoided crossover topics suddenly had full panels debating whether a UFA champion could survive twelve rounds with a professional boxer.

And Blake?

He fueled the fire instantly.

A few hours after the announcement, he dropped a short clip on his social page — just him in his gym, sparring with the caption.

"He finally said yes. Let's make history."

The video hit millions of views in under an hour. It ended with Blake staring into the camera and saying, "Twelve rounds. There aren't any special rules, so when you lose, no excuses."

Meanwhile, Damon stayed silent. His team handled the announcements. Victor spoke to the press, and Joey coordinated media logistics.

But behind the calm, Damon understood what this meant.

Every fighter, every fan, and every analyst from both sports would be watching. If he lost, it wouldn't just be his name that took the hit. It would be the credibility of MMA itself in the eyes of the boxing world. But if he won, it would be history.

He trained as usual, quietly and methodically. He didn't let the headlines distract him or the noise shake his focus. He was used to pressure. It came with the territory of being at the top.

Still, as the days went on and the hype grew louder, one thought stayed with him.

If Blake wanted to talk, he could. Damon would answer the only way he knew how, in the ring.

At least, that was what Damon thought it would be, a fight built on competition and pride. Nothing more, nothing less.

He'd been in plenty of verbal battles before. Every opponent had something to say, but it was always about skill, confidence, or predictions. Never personal. Never about family.

Until now.

The clip surfaced late at night. It came from a podcast Blake had joined, a casual interview meant to discuss "awareness in combat sports." The host had been talking about using fame to raise attention for issues like domestic abuse. It was serious for a moment, until Blake opened his mouth.

"You know who else got his ass beat by his dad?"

The room went quiet. The host's expression froze, the laughter cut short, and for a few seconds, no one said a word.

Everyone in the MMA world knew what he was referring to. Damon's past wasn't a mystery, but it was never treated like gossip. It was an unspoken rule, something off-limits out of respect. Fighters had rivalries, but no one crossed that line.

No one but Blake.

The host tried to move past it. "Alright, Blake, chill out, man—"

Blake shrugged, smirking behind his sunglasses. "What? What's wrong? I'm just trying to uplift a victim," he said, dragging out the word with fake sympathy. Then he leaned forward, smiling wider. "After all, what I'm gonna do to him is times worse than what his dad ever did."

The host sighed, muttering something under his breath, while the crew in the background looked uncomfortable.

But Blake didn't care. He rubbed his beard, clearly pleased with himself, and added, "He can take a punch. He's been training for it since childhood."

The room fell silent again.

The clip didn't stay hidden for long. It spread across the internet within hours, first as a short highlight, then as full reposts on sports pages and fan accounts.

The title alone was enough to ignite a storm: "Blake Crosses the Line. Mentions Damon's Father in Podcast."

The reaction was immediate and ugly.

Even fans who supported Blake before started to turn. The comment sections flooded with outrage.

Fighters, journalists, and coaches from both sports spoke out. "That's low." "There's trash talk, and then there's this." "He just made it personal."

But the one person who didn't comment,

didn't post, didn't like nor share, and that was Damon Cross.

He didn't need to.

Those who knew him well, like Victor, Joey, and even his mother, understood what that silence meant. Damon wasn't ignoring it. He was internalizing it, the same way he'd always done with pressure, pain, and disrespect.

When Damon finally saw the clip himself, he didn't flinch or curse. He just watched. His face didn't change, but his jaw tightened slightly, and his hands stayed folded in front of him.

He didn't say anything to Svetlana, though she could tell something had shifted. His calm was too calm, though he tried not to let it affect him at home, she could see that he was training a bit harder.

To him, the fight had just changed.

It was no longer about testing himself or making history.

Now, it was about shutting a man up who didn't understand the weight of his own words.

This was, deep down, one of the reasons Damon had always avoided trash talk, especially the kind that turned personal. He'd seen what hunger for attention could make people say. Some men would drag anything into the spotlight just to trend for a week.

He never wanted to be part of that.

His past wasn't some secret weapon or sob story. It was real, and it carried weight. Every bruise, every night he and his mother hid in silence, every scar left behind, that wasn't something to weaponize. He'd buried it, built from it, and refused to let it define him publicly.

Blake didn't understand that.

He thought bringing it up made him clever, that he'd found something to rattle Damon. But people like him never realized that using someone else's pain for a headline always circled back. It made you look smaller.

So yes, Damon's past was easy ammo, but anyone who tried to shoot it always ended up shooting themselves in the foot.