MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 842: Face-to-face

@MMAZoneOfficial

How low can you go? Blake just crossed the line on that podcast. This isn't hype anymore, it's disrespect. #CrossVsBlake #RespectTheGame

@CrossFaithful

You don't talk about a man's past like that. Damon's been through more than most fighters could survive. My king's about to make him pay for it. 👑💥 #DamonCross #TheCrossEra

@FightTalk247

If Blake wanted attention, he's got it. But now he's poked the wrong bear. Damon's silence says everything. #WarIncoming

@MMA_GOD

Nah this ain't trash talk, this is personal. Blake's finished. We need that cold Damon back — the one who ends careers. #AnotherDeath #CrossEraContinues

@BoxingSceneBuzz

It's messy, but it's viral. Fans calling for Damon to "teach him respect." UFA's probably loving the numbers.

@CombatChirp

If you've ever seen what Damon does when it gets personal… Blake better rewrite his will. #YouAskedForIt

@TrueFightFan

"After what I'm gonna do to him—" bro that line's gonna haunt him. Damon's gonna erase that grin.

@CrossArmy

He mocked his trauma? Nah, he's done. Another death incoming. #CrossEra #ProtectTheKing

The media room was packed wall to wall. Cameras, mics, flashing lights, it looked less like a press conference and more like a world premiere.

The first face-to-face between Damon Cross and Blake Cole was hours away, and every seat in the hall had been claimed.

Reporters stood at the back, clutching notepads, while fans outside screamed just to get a glimpse through the glass.

For the last month, Damon had stayed quiet. Blake ran his mouth nonstop, throwing shade in every podcast and clip he could find.

The tension had built to a boiling point, and tonight, everyone expected Damon to finally speak.

But right now, in the back room, Damon wasn't thinking about any of that.

He sat relaxed, the corner of his mouth curled up as Joey paced in front of him, retelling the proposal story for what had to be the fifth time.

"Bro, I got to the restaurant, and as we sat there, I was sweating like crazy," Joey said, waving his hands as if Damon couldn't picture it. "I kept thinking, do I put it in the wine? Do I hide it in the cake? Then I thought—hell no, imagine if she just swallowed it."

Damon laughed, shaking his head. "That would've been one expensive trip to the hospital."

"Exactly!" Joey said, grinning. "So, I had my little man bring it over. Ashley was surprised 'cause we left Theo with the babysitter, right? Then he walks up holding this tiny box, and she just froze. I went down on one knee, man, and boom, whole place started clapping."

Damon leaned back, genuinely impressed. "That's smooth. I'll give you that."

Joey pointed at him with mock pride. "Yeah, see? Not everyone can pull off a dramatic move like you, Mr. 'Faint-Then-Pregnant-Then-Proposal.' You live like a damn movie."

Damon chuckled, covering his face for a moment. "Yeah, that was wild. But hey, yours had class."

Their laughter carried for a while, a small pocket of calm before the chaos outside. Through the wall, Damon could already hear the crowd noise rising as the press filed in and camera crews prepped for live broadcast.

Joey checked his phone and looked back up. "Alright, Showtime's in fifteen. You ready?"

Damon stood, rolling his shoulders and adjusting his jacket. The smile lingered, but there was something sharper behind his eyes now, that calm, measured focus that always came before a fight.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Let's give them a show."

The cameras flashed nonstop. The chants from both fanbases made it hard to hear anything clearly, but the host finally calmed the room enough to begin.

Blake Cole was already seated, his trademark grin stretched wide across his face, sunglasses on indoors, nodding along to the noise like it was a concert.

Damon entered a few moments later, walking up to the table with his team trailing behind him. The crowd erupted again, half cheers, half boos, all loud.

The host went through the introductions, listing every accomplishment, belt, and title, dragging it out the way promoters always did.

Damon stayed composed, hands folded, eyes fixed ahead. Blake kept smirking at him from the other end of the table, throwing small glances to the cameras, mouthing words no one could hear but everyone could guess.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the talking stopped, and the press conference officially began.

The first reporter stood up, voice loud enough to cut through the noise.

"Damon, this will be your first official boxing match. You've dominated in MMA for years, but boxing's a different world. Do you feel confident that your skills, your dominance, can translate into the ring?"

A collective groan rippled through the room. That wasn't the question people were waiting for. Everyone wanted to see Damon answer the personal shots Blake had thrown for weeks. But Damon just smiled faintly and reached for the mic.

"Yes," he said plainly. "I have all the tools, all the skill, and if I'm fighting someone like this"—he gestured loosely toward Blake—"then it's a guarantee."

Laughter broke out from parts of the crowd.

Blake leaned forward, raising a finger. "You sure about that, champ? Guarantee's a big word. Last guy who said that—"

Damon didn't even turn his head. He set the mic down for a moment, let Blake talk, then picked it back up. "I'm not here to debate. I'm here to fight. Talking's your thing. Winning's mine."

The crowd reacted instantly, half cheering, half booing again, but this time, Blake's grin faded just a little.

The crowd erupted, half in disbelief, half in anticipation. Even the reporters leaned forward, ready to see how far Blake would take it.

He picked up the mic with that same smug grin, the kind that said he'd been waiting all day for this moment. His sunglasses caught the stage lights as he turned toward Damon.

"Winning?" Blake said, leaning in. "Bro, you've been losing since the day you were born. This won't be any different." 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

The crowd gasped, a mix of shock and excitement. Blake smirked wider, feeding off the noise. "You must've been hit too hard in the head, right? All that cage fighting scrambled your brain. I'm undefeated, boy. You ain't got nothing on me."

He tossed the mic onto the table like he'd dropped a finishing line. Cameras flashed everywhere, reporters shouting over each other for a reaction.

Damon didn't move right away. He sat still, elbows on the table, eyes locked on Blake. The crowd noise dimmed a little, waiting for him to say something back.

When he finally reached for the mic, his tone stayed calm. "You talk like a man trying to convince himself," he said evenly. "But that's fine. You'll have twelve rounds to do that in person."

The room went wild again.