Damon stepped inside, and his ears picked up the sound of people talking.
He expected to see a room full of staff mbers, but instead, he only saw one person sitting behind a desk.
As he looked closer, he realized it was the sa man they called Mr. Steele. Damon's eyes scanned the room, trying to find the source of the sound.
That's when he saw it - a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, showing a MMA match.
The comntary filled the room, and Damon's eyes widened as he recognized the cage. It was the sa one he had fought in just hours before.
He took a step closer to the TV, his eyes fixed on the screen. The crowd was cheering, and the comntators were analyzing the fighters' moves.
Damon noticed that the crowd seed bigger than before, and he wondered if the crowd had started to fill up after his fight since his was only an opening fight.
Mr. Steele looked up from his desk, catching Damon's gaze. He smiled and nodded, his eyes returning to the screen.
Mr. Steele's voice broke the silence, his words unexpected. "Isn't it beautiful?" he said, his eyes still fixed on the screen.
Damon thought he had misheard, so he looked at Mr. Steele, seeking clarification. "Sorry, sir, I didn't catch that," he replied, his voice a bit louder than a whisper.
Mr. Steele stood up, his movents deliberate. He placed his hands on the table, his fingers splayed wide. "I ant, isn't it beautiful?" he repeated, his eyes locking onto Damon's. "The sport, for one who doesn't know martial arts, this scene would just be sweaty n busy punching each other like barbarians." He paused, his gaze intense.
Damon was about to respond, but Mr. Steele continued, his words flowing like a river. "But when you know what they're doing, you understand the beauty of it.
While they may not be as skilled as professional fighters, their hunger to win and dominate is what increases the excitent of the fight. Their dedication to the art of fighting."
Mr. Steele's voice was low and smooth, his words painting a picture in Damon's mind. He looked back at the screen, the fighters' movents taking on a new aning.
The sound of their heavy breathing, the sweat dripping from their bodies, the determination in their eyes - it all ca together to create a beautiful symphony of martial arts.
The room was silent, the only sound the comntary from the TV. Damon felt a sense of understanding wash over him, as if he was seeing the sport for the first ti.
Mr. Steele's words had given him a new perspective, one that appreciated the beauty in the brutality.
"Tell , Damon, why do you fight?" Mr. Steele's voice sounded, breaking the silence.
But instead of an imdiate response, silence followed as Damon tried to think of an answer. He opened his mouth to speak, "Because my mo-" but was cut off by Mr. Steele's raised hand.
"Wrong, I said why are you fighting, I didn't say what you are fighting for. Similar but very different," Mr. Steele said, moving around the desk and leaning on it.
He picked up the remote and turned off the TV, plunging the room into an uncomfortable silence.
Damon's mind went blank as he tried to think of an answer. Why did he fight? He did it because he needed money, but was that not a reason? Mr. Steele's words echoed in his mind, "Similar but very different."
Mr. Steele broke the silence, his voice low and gentle. "Maybe you don't know your reason yet." Damon's eyes snapped up, and he interrupted, "Because I want to be champion." But his answer didn't move Mr. Steele, who raised an eyebrow.
"Is that it? So if I give you the belt now, that's it, no reason to fight?" Mr. Steele's words hung in the air, challenging Damon's motivations.
Damon felt a surge of uncertainty, his mind racing to find a satisfying answer. But none ca.
The room remained silent, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning. Damon's eyes locked onto Mr. Steele's, searching for a hint of what he was looking for.
But Mr. Steele's expression remained neutral, his eyes piercing but unreadable.
Mr. Steele's smile grew wider as he spoke, "You know, this is the reason I let Jake pass on without any extended help and let him go to the UFA." Damon's mind flashed to Joey's brother, and he wondered what Mr. Steele saw in Jake that he didn't see in him.
"He's a hell of a kid in the cage, and from what I've seen from you, you have the potential," Mr. Steele continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But his reason was taking care of his brother, that's it. Comndable, and nothing wrong with it. But it's not what I'm looking for."
Mr. Steele paused, his gaze intensifying. "Even if you're not what I want at the end of the day, if you've got talent like you do, I won't hinder your path. Like Jake Morales, your talent will be shown if you have it. But tell , why do you fight?"
Damon's mind went blank as he searched for an answer. He thought for what felt like an eternity, but even he wasn't satisfied with the reasons he ca up with.
Do I enjoy fighting? The thought echoed in his mind, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that it was true. I feel happy when I fight, does that an I love it and enjoy it?
Damon's thoughts swirled in a vortex of confusion. He couldn't help but want to deny it.
Maybe it was because his father used to abuse him, maybe he didn't want to admit he liked fighting because it would an he enjoyed getting abused.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he pushed it away, unsure of how to confront it.
Mr. Steele's eyes never left his face, waiting for an answer that Damon wasn't sure he had.
Or maybe an answer Damon didn't want to believe.
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