MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 843: The CrossEra crossover

The press dragged on longer than expected, and not in the way anyone thought it would.

Reporters kept trying to provoke tension, and Blake kept running his mouth, throwing every insult he could think of. But Damon stayed composed, answering questions with short, polite replies, smiling like none of it mattered. The lack of reaction made Blake even louder.

He eventually grabbed the mic again, grinning. "Damon, daddy's coming back, and I'm about to finish what he couldn't."

The entire room went quiet. Everyone knew the line he had crossed. Damon's smile faded as he reached for his mic.

"You know, clown—" he stopped himself. "No, this respectable man, Blake."

He adjusted the mic, his tone calm. "I've got a lot of anger in me, a lot I never released. My father's past, what he did… I never got to let that out. So I think it's a commendable thing you're doing, role-playing my father like that. Helps me get it out in the ring."

He turned slightly toward the audience. "Clap for him, everyone. Give this man a round of applause."

Laughter erupted across the room. Reporters clapped. Even a few fighters on stage tried not to smile. Blake forced a laugh, but it came out strained. Damon didn't look at him again. He simply set the mic down and leaned back, completely at ease.

He hadn't raised his voice once, but the press conference was already over.

...

The next thing was the face-off. The two stepped forward as the announcer kept talking, cameras flashing across the stage.

Damon stared straight into Blake's eyes. He wasn't listening to the words anymore. He just wanted to beat him to pulp.

He had long made peace with his past, but it wasn't only his pain. His mother had lived through it too, and that part never left him. So whenever someone used that past for a laugh or to sell tickets, it felt like they were mocking her suffering, not his.

The anger sat deep, but he didn't show it. He could have, people loved seeing fighters lose control, but he wasn't going to give anyone that moment.

Instead, he stood still, eyes locked, jaw tight. The silence between them said everything. Blake's grin stayed, but his eyes flickered, even if just for a second. Damon didn't move. He didn't blink.

He'd already decided. He was going to make this man pay.

The face-off ended like that, of course not without Blake faking an attack, which Damon didn't look fazed by, making Blake look dumb in front of everyone.

The event ended altogether, with the media rushing back home to clip moments and make videos to sell the fight.

...

Svetlana met Damon at the back. She touched his face gently and kissed him.

"You handled that amazingly," she said.

"Well, not like I didn't want to punch him right there," Damon joked.

"But you didn't," she replied.

Damon smiled slightly. "Yeah, I didn't."

Svetlana brushed her thumb across his cheek, her voice soft. "That's why you're different. You don't need to act like him to beat him."

He smirked faintly. "Maybe not. But I still can't wait to shut him up."

Svetlana chuckled softly. "Just don't kill him."

He smirked, half serious. "I'll think about it."

Svetlana frowned slightly and tapped his chest. "Don't joke like that," she said quietly. "I don't want our two babies growing up without their dad."

Damon's grin softened. He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah… I know. Don't worry. I'll be careful."

She smiled faintly, brushing his arm. "Good. Just win, come home, and let that be the end of it."

He pulled her close, his voice steady. "That's the plan."

Days passed, and only a week remained until the fight. Fans were on edge, waiting for Blake to suddenly pull out and make up some excuse.

Many believed he would, after all, he had spent weeks antagonizing Damon, and most people assumed he would back off before facing the consequences in the ring.

But Blake didn't pull out. In fact, he doubled down on his statements. Every day, there was a new clip, a new headline, a new video of him talking about how he was going to expose Damon. He mocked his technique, questioned his boxing skills, and even released edited clips comparing their training footage. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Instead of cooling down, Blake was adding fuel to the fire. Fans couldn't tell if he was being brave or stupid, but one thing was clear, the fight was happening, and there was no going back now.

The fight was everywhere. Every city billboard, every commercial break, every online ad showed the face-off image—

Damon Cross versus Blake Cole.

Damon was ready. Training had gone smoothly, every round of sparring fine-tuned to perfection.

The boxing footwork, the rhythm, the patience, and it all came together. Even his system simulations had paid off, sharpening his instincts until his movements felt automatic.

Now, in the back room, he warmed up in silence. The sounds of the crowd outside were muffled by the thick walls, but he could still feel their energy pulsing through the floor. Gloves on. Hands wrapped. Breath steady.

He shadowboxed in front of the mirror, jab, cross, slip, pivot.

It felt strange. In MMA, he was used to full cards with multiple fights leading up to his.

There was time to breathe, to feel the night build. But here, it was different. There was no undercard that mattered. This was the event.

Every single person in that arena came to see one thing, Damon Cross versus Blake Cole.

Damon sat on the wooden bench of the locker room, his elbows resting on his knees as Victor finished wrapping his hands. The bandages were tight.

His fight attire was dark green trunks lined with white and gold patterns, stitched with his initials near the waist. The gloves matched perfectly, green leather with gold trim that gleamed under the overhead lights.

His robe hung nearby, draped across a chair, carrying the Irish flag colors across the shoulders.

Victor checked the wraps once more, then gave a firm nod. "You're good." and with a light pat on the shoulder. "Time to move."

Damon nodded, grabbed his robe, and slipped it on. He glanced at himself once in the mirror.

"Let's finish this," he said quietly.

The door opened, and the sound of the crowd flooded in, thousands of voices blending into one wall of noise. The lights dimmed in the arena, the announcer's voice echoing through the tunnel.

It was time.

The CrossEra crossover.