The press conference wrapped up. Reporters filed out with caras and laptops, staff shuffled along the edges of the room, and the air slowly lost its urgency.
Damon stepped out with his team, belt over his shoulder, the weight of the night finally starting to settle into his body.
He turned down a side hallway toward the fighters' exit, and saw Ivan Novak leaning against the wall.
Ivan had already changed. He wore a fitted jacket, duffel bag strapped across his back, and a water bottle tucked into his elbow. He looked relaxed, eyes scanning the hallway casually, until he noticed Damon.
They made eye contact and t halfway.
"Ivan," Damon greeted, a slight smile pulling at his mouth.
"Damon." Ivan nodded, then extended a hand.
"Congrats," Damon said. "That was a clean win. Looked sharp."
Ivan gave a half shrug, but he was smiling.
"Thanks. Yours was rougher."
Damon laughed under his breath. "Yeah… but it worked."
They both stood for a mont, letting the silence sit. No pressure to fill it.
Damon noticed it after a few seconds, Ivan's eyes kept drifting toward the belt. Not for long, he wasn't staring and drooling on it, but Damon saw the hunger.
"You've been busy since the show," Damon said, adjusting the belt slightly.
"So have you." Ivan looked back at him. "I watched it, by the way. The fight."
"Yeah?"
"You were calm," Ivan said. "You didn't look rushed once."
"Didn't feel rushed," Damon replied. "At least not until the knee didn't land."
Ivan laughed once. "Yeah, I caught that."
Damon noticed it again, another quick glance at the belt.
They didn't talk about titles and despite the stares Ivan didn't say a word about challenging him or talking about a title shot.
Victor called out from behind, gesturing toward a room that had silver na plate on it.
Damon gave him a nod, then turned back to Ivan.
Ivan stepped forward, lifted a hand, and patted Damon lightly on the shoulder.
"Hope you rember the promise," he said quietly.
Damon paused for a mont, then nodded once.
Ivan gave the belt a final look and walked off down the hall, disappearing around the corner without another word.
Damon stood there a little longer, staring at where he'd gone.
He knew everyone was after him now, or to be clear, his title, so even if you knew soone, or was a friend, being champion changed lives, no one was going to waste their career because they didn't want to fight their friend or acquaintances.
Damon stood in the hallway for a mont, eyes still on the corner where Ivan had disappeared. The air felt quieter now, the buzz of the press conference left behind in the room behind him.
Then it ca back to him, what Ivan ant.
During their ti on The Supre Fighter, the two of them had never fought. It wasn't because of skill gaps or avoided matchups. It was simply structure.
They had started on the sa team, and because of that, they couldn't be matched against one another under the rules of the show unless there were not enough match ups on the other team.
A mutual agreent that if they both made it to the UFA, eventually, they'd et in the cage.
It wasn't anything formal, in fact Damon didn't think it was caught on cara, he could be wrong, but it was just passing as they both wanted to test each other at that ti.
It being so long Damon hadn't thought of it that much.
And now Ivan had reminded him.
The glance at the belt, the hand on the shoulder, the parting words.
Damon hadn't forgotten either.
He stood a little longer, running his tongue across the inside of his cheek, the mory sitting a little heavier than expected.
Then a familiar voice called out from behind.
"Damon. You good?"
It was Victor.
Damon turned. Victor stood a few paces away, arms crossed, eyes scanning him like always, checking for sothing beneath the surface. Damon gave a small nod.
"Yeah," he said.
He lifted his head and adjusted the belt on his shoulder. Whatever that conversation with Ivan ant, it wasn't urgent.
It could wait.
He walked toward Victor, leaving the hallway behind.
Victor watched Damon closely as they walked, catching the slight pause in his step, the way his focus still lingered on sothing else.
"You sure you're good?" Victor asked. "We've got that eting with the UFA. I can handle it alone if you need ti."
Damon turned toward him with a small grin, brushing it off. "I'm fine. Just thinking about my future, that's all." He shifted the belt on his shoulder, then glanced sideways. "Anyway—what about you?"
Victor raised an eyebrow. "What about ?"
"I an, what's your plan?" Damon said. "You're a rich guy. Billionaire status. What do you do when I'm done?"
Victor let out a short laugh, surprised by the sudden turn.
"First of all," he said, "I'm not a billionaire. Hundreds of millions? Sure. But don't get carried away."
He shook his head slightly, still smiling. "Are you trying to get rid of ?"
"No," Damon said, amused. "Just wondering. You've been at the gym more than usual lately."
Victor nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're not wrong. I've pulled back on a lot of the deeper business deals. Letting the other partners run things—still with oversight, obviously—but I'm not chasing more. Not right now."
He looked at Damon more directly. "When do you plan to retire?"
Damon stopped walking.
He didn't answer imdiately. That question had never really been asked out loud.
"I don't know," he said after a pause.
Victor smiled again, slower this ti.
"Then I don't know when I'll stop either," he replied. "I'm planning to be there for every fight. So when you stop fighting, I'll stop investing this much of myself into all of it too."
He looked ahead, then back at Damon.
"I love fighting. I love running the gym. But it's a draining life. And like you said—I'm not getting younger."
There was another beat of silence, more comfortable this ti.
"I do have sothing I need to talk to you about," Victor added, tone quieter now. "Sothing important. But not right now. Let's take care of what we've got in front of us first."
Damon nodded, eyes narrowing just slightly.
"All right," he said. "Let's go."
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