MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

As Damon shook his head, he pushed away the frustration."Whatever," he muttered under his breath, trying to push the system's sudden shutdown to the back of his mind.

He cleaned up the bathroom mess and then left his room.

As he walked outside, there were regular sounds of training all around.

Damon's mind went back to the system. He thought that the change wouldn't take too long, no more than a week or a day.

He couldn't deny the unease it brought, but worrying about it now wasn't going to change anything.

He finally spotted Kru Wichan near the edge of the training yard, leaning casually against a bamboo pole with his arms crossed, observing a young fighter working on a bag.

Damon approached, curious as to what the old man wanted to discuss.

"Ah, there you are," Wichan said without looking up.

He didn't take his eyes off the fighter, who was having a hard time keeping his balance with each kick.

Damon slowed to a stop beside him, nodding in acknowledgment. "You wanted to talk?"

Wichan gestured toward the fighter in front of them. "What do you see?"

Damon raised an eyebrow, folding his arms as he observed.

The young fighter threw another kick, his form stiff, his strikes lacking the fluidity needed to create real impact.

"He's got power," Damon said after a moment. "But no control. Every kick he throws puts him off balance."

Wichan smiled faintly and nodded. "Good. Now, what would you tell him to fix it?"

Damon thought for a moment and raised an eyebrow."I'd tell him to slow down. Focus on the fundamentals, find his balance before worrying about power."

Wichan looked at Damon with a smile on his face. "Exactly. Fundamentals. A strong foundation."

Damon nodded, unsure where this was going. "So… what does this have to do with me?"

Damon saw Wichan staring at him with eyes that were a little narrowed, like they were looking at something strange.

"What?" Damon asked, confused.

Wichan turned his head and stared for a second longer before his lips started to twitch. "What is that?"

"What are you talking about?" Damon's confusion deepened.

As Wichan turned to leave, he let out a heavy sigh and waved his hand indifferently.

Damon followed, still not getting it. "When I said clean your face, I meant completely."

Wichan shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Ahh, ai… it doesn't matter anymore. You're not my problem."

Damon frowned, rubbing his mustache thoughtfully. "What's wrong with my mustache?" he muttered, almost to himself.

He looked thoughtful as he traced the shape of the neatly cut hair above his lip with his fingers.

As they walked, Wichan caught Damon in the middle of thinking when he looked back at him.

The older man sighed again, this time in frustration. He said, "Forget the mustache."

Damon followed him silently as they made their way through the training grounds.

Wichan led him to a more private area, away from the rest of the few fighters.

Wichan finally stopped in a quiet place, inside the gym, there wasn't any fighter near.

Still focused on something else, Damon brushed his mustache one last time before turning to look at Wichan, who was now watching him with annoyance and worry.

"The reason I called you here," Wichan began, his tone serious, "is because your father called."

The words hit Damon like a fast train.

The relaxed look on his face disappeared as his hand stopped moving in the middle of a move.

His jaw got tighter and his eyes got narrower.

"My father?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

Wichan nodded, his expression calm but direct. "Yes. Victor… he your father, no?"

When Damon heard the word "father," his heart skipped a beat, and he felt a rush of feeling.

His shoulders sagged a little, and his clenched hands let go.

He let out a breath and slowly shook his head to try to get rid of the response that had build up inside him.

No matter how much time passed, it seemed he wasn't healing from that wound.

The word alone still hit too close to home.

But Wichan's question puzzled him.

Why would he assume Victor was his father? Damon opened his mouth to correct him but hesitated.

Why bother? It was easier to let it go.

"Yeah, he is," Damon lied casually, his voice steady. "What did he say?"

Wichan's face remained unreadable as he delivered the news. "Your time here, in Thailand, has come to an end."

Damon's brows furrowed, his mind racing. He wasn't ready to leave. Not yet.

"What?" Damon asked, his voice sharp with disbelief. "Why now?"

Wichan met his gaze evenly, his tone firm yet understanding. "Victor say you have big fight coming, He want you ready for more… not just training here." He gestured around at the secluded gym, then back to Damon. "You learn much here. But now… time to test."

Damon let out a raspy breath and ran his hand through his hair as he thought about what Wichan had said.

But he was right, also Victor hadn't told him who his opponent was, so he would be able to know what's going on.

If it was a striker, fine.

He was ready. Find exclusive stories on empire

His months in Thailand had sharpened his striking to a razor's edge.

His Muay Thai was on another level, honed to the point where he could seamlessly adapt, crafting combinations or moves on the fly.

But if his next opponent turned out to be a wrestler or a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu specialist, things could get tricky.

His ground game wasn't bad, far from it.

His Jiu-Jitsu was solid, capable of handling most opponents.

But compared to his striking, it wasn't as polished or dominant.

Worse still, his last five or six months had been dedicated solely to Muay Thai.

He hadn't touched his wrestling or Jiu-Jitsu in that time.

Not even a drill. That singular focus on striking was both a strength and a glaring vulnerability.

Damon frowned, the realization hitting him like a jab to the gut. He needed to get back to training other disciplines. That was the safe play, the smart play.

He couldn't afford to leave himself exposed in a fight where the opponent's goal might be to take him down and keep him there.

And then there was the system.

Its absence left a gaping hole in his preparation routine.

Without it, he couldn't simulate opponents, analyze tendencies, or craft strategies in the virtual cage.

If he wanted to prepare for wrestlers and Jiu-Jitsu fighters, he'd have to do it the old-fashioned way, with real training partners.

It might return tomorrow, or a week later, but it was better to be safe.