MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon followed the usual routine when he got back to the hotel. He took a quick shower, changed into fresh clothes, and called Svetlana.

Their conversation wasn't long, but it was enough. She told him about Ava's day.

Damon smiled, laying back on the bed with the phone pressed against his cheek, eyes half-closed.

They said their goodnights like always, with her telling him to rest and him promising to be careful.

After the call ended, the quiet in the room settled.

Damon stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then turned on his side, the system's interface appeared.

He didn't even hesitate. Instead of falling asleep, he activated the simulation.

The moment he entered, everything around him shifted.

The room faded away, replaced by the familiar dark space lined with data streams and glowing fighter models.

His system had already processed everything he'd seen and recorded throughout the week.

The names, stats, body types, reactions in drills, sparring footage, even José's fight just hours earlier. Every detail was stored and ready.

Damon stood in the center of the space, watching as digital projections of his team began to load one by one.

They weren't just vague approximations. The system built them with precision, from how they stood and moved to how they reacted under pressure.

The scans included weaknesses, slow pivots, delayed counters, breathing patterns under stress.

He opened the first file: José Alvarez.

The model rotated in front of him, stats lined down the side.

Reach, stance, strike frequency, preferred combos, and small notations like "drops lead hand when feinting" or "hesitates after connecting a big shot."

The simulation didn't lie. It didn't flatter or soften. It just laid everything bare.

Damon started running the first scenario. He input José against a striker modeled after Dorian Vega.

Not the real Dorian, but a sharper, faster version. He watched as José engaged, won the early exchanges, but then, just like in reality, he pulled back after hurting his opponent.

The hesitation cost him. The simulation repeated the sequence several times, tracking the pattern.

Damon made mental notes as he observed. "He reacts too slow after clean shots. Doesn't trust the moment. Needs drills that trigger follow-ups. Needs confidence under success, not just pressure."

He moved to the next fighter. Then the next.

This wasn't about running fantasy matches. It was about seeing what they couldn't see in themselves, then drilling it into them before they stepped into the cage.

Damon was going to break them down in this world first, where failure didn't cost anything, so he could rebuild them in the real one.

And in doing so, he could make sure that by the time each man fought, they wouldn't be guessing what to expect.

They'd already lived it.

Damon didn't linger on José's file for long. He had already noted the critical flaws and mental blocks that needed attention.

With José's fight now behind them, it was time to focus ahead, on the lightweights.

He navigated to Ronny McGregor's profile first.

The Irishman had a solid base, good footwork, and a sharp jab, but the simulation picked up on how he struggled when his rhythm was disrupted.

Fast, unorthodox strikers forced him into sloppy entries.

Damon queued up matchups with erratic switch-stance fighters, and it showed, Ronny lost his timing, dropped his guard when reacting, and occasionally bit on feints too hard.

Damon ran it back, changing variables each time until Ronny's model began to adjust. He recorded everything.

Next was Max Taylor. The American had the look and attitude of a confident brawler, but in the sim, his aggression had holes.

He threw wide. He leaned into shots. The system showed how a counter striker with even average precision could pick him apart in a prolonged exchange. Damon sighed. "He needs defensive structure. Less chaos, more discipline," he muttered, adjusting the AI to mimic Max's likely future opponent.

He moved on to Ayo Fasusi. The Nigerian had raw power and explosiveness, especially in short-range scrambles, but the simulation caught how easily he gave up cage control.

If he wasn't the one pressing forward, he didn't reset well. Damon ran a pressure-heavy simulation against him, then broke down clips where Ayo got walked down and failed to create space. He bookmarked drills to fix that.

Finally, Kenji Sato. The Japanese striker had clean mechanics but didn't like being touched.

His model flinched more often than it should in tight exchanges, and when backed against the fence, his movement turned reactive instead of calculated. "He needs to get used to chaos," Damon noted. "He doesn't trust his chin yet."

He worked through the night, refining, adjusting, simulating every angle. But he wasn't just thinking about his own fighters. He was already planning further ahead.

As the show moved on and matchups were revealed, Damon intended to break down every opponent just as brutally, understanding their habits, their panics, their comfort zones.

He wasn't going to leave anything to chance.

But the night dragged on as Damon remained seated in the simulation chamber, eyes locked on the data cycling in front of him.

Each fighter's profile, each reaction under pressure, each simulated round, they all moved like puzzle pieces in his head. He wasn't just studying his team anymore. He was strategizing for what came next.

Since Ivan would be picking first in the next fight, Damon knew he had to anticipate the move.

He studied possible matchups from Ivan's lightweight pool, trying to predict who they might send.

If Ivan went with someone explosive, Damon would counter with someone calculated.

If they chose a pressure-heavy striker, Damon had already noted which of his fighters could handle chaos and answer with composure.

He replayed clips. He watched simulated fights until the moments blurred.

He wasn't seeking the "easiest" matchups. He wanted ones that would win. Clean, confident wins that would build momentum and trust.

Still, even in the perfect mental setup, where time bent to let him work, his brain felt heavier with every passing second.

The simulation didn't exhaust his body, technically, he was asleep. but the decisions, the constant observation, the pattern recognition, it all stacked up. His mind was carrying weight even if his muscles weren't.

By the time he finished sorting his lightweights by matchup potential and set a list of plan A and plan B selections, he was mentally worn.

He rubbed the side of his temple, leaned back slightly in the chair within the simulation space, and sighed.

There was more he could do, of course. There always was. But for now, the mental strain had caught up to him.

His eyes grew heavier. The simulation hummed quietly, no longer displaying data. Just stillness.

Tomorrow was activity day, supposedly a break. But he knew better. It was a short breath before the next sprint.

A chance to observe personalities outside the gym.

Damon let out a quiet exhale, then finally shut the simulation down. His body was rested. His mind would have to catch up.