"LADIES and gentlen, I’m standing here with your reigning Middleweight Champion and your new Light Heavyweight Champion!"
The crowd roared around them, as the incage interview was happening.
The comntator’s voice stayed steady through the noise. "Damon Cross, congratulations on a stunning win and on achieving double champ status. You just made history."
Damon, still holding Ava in one arm and the belt glinting across his waist, leaned slightly toward the mic.
Sweat still lined his jaw, but his breathing had cald. His expression was steady but not cold, focused, with the weight of the mont fully registered now.
"Thank you," he said, nodding once. "We worked hard for this."
The comntator continued, "You’ve done sothing only a handful of fighters in UFA history have managed. Middleweight and Light Heavyweight gold, sa ti, sa man. What’s going through your head right now?"
Damon exhaled, glanced to the side where his family stood, then back.
"I’m grateful. For my team, my family... for everything we put in. I knew I could do it. But saying it and living it, those are two different things."
The comntator nodded. "Let’s talk about the fight itself. Alex Tereira, one of the most respected strikers in UFA. And yet, you managed to walk him down, control the pace, and finish him in the clinch with a brutal head kick. That mont, how was it going through it?"
Damon cracked a faint grin. "Was it planned?" He shook his head. "Nah. That was just creativity doing its job. I felt him fighting on the grip, I then loosened it, saw the opening, and sent it."
The comntator looked impressed. "And now that you’ve joined the ranks of legends, what’s next?"
Damon paused. Then he looked straight at the cara, not answering right away.
"You know, I wouldn’t call myself a legend. Not yet. I’m still young, I’ve got a lot of fight left in . Yeah, I’ve joined the ranks of so great nas, and maybe one day I’ll be rembered the sa way. But I’m only 24. I want to do things no one’s ever done. I want the na Damon Cross to an sothing, everywhere. This is a milestone, but it’s not the peak. It’s just the beginning."
The comntator adjusted the mic slightly, nodding at Damon’s answer.
"Well said. That mindset’s exactly why people respect you. Now, before we let you go, one last thing. You’ve been through wars. You’ve climbed through two divisions. Thirty and oh. At this point, is there anything that scares you in this ga?"
Damon didn’t flinch. He didn’t even pause to think.
"Ti," he said. "That’s the only thing. You can beat opponents. You can solve puzzles. But you can’t stop ti. You just use what you’ve got while you’ve got it. And I’m using every second."
The comntator raised his brows. "And what do you say to the next wave of contenders watching this right now, looking at you like the mountain they have to climb?"
Damon gave a short chuckle, not cocky, just real.
"Start climbing. I’m not moving."
The crowd roared again. Loud and clear. Chants of "CROSS!! CROSS!!" echoed through the venue.
The comntator smiled, leaning back.
"Ladies and gentlen, there you have it. Damon Cross, your undisputed Middleweight Champion. Your new Light Heavyweight Champion. Thirty wins. Zero losses. A na written into history."
Damon gave a small nod, stepping back as the cara panned around him. He kissed Ava’s forehead before handing her gently to Aoife at the cage edge.
The belt was handed off montarily so Damon could move freely.
He gave quick handshakes to officials, nodded at a few crew mbers, and bumped fists with the referee before turning toward his corner.
Victor wrapped an arm around him as they started walking. Macey smiled behind them, giving space but staying close. Svetlana had already stepped down from the cage and waited just outside.
The fans along the aisle reached out, trying to touch his glove, screaming his na, holding up flags, so Irish, so just handmade signs with bold black letters: CHAMP CHAMP. CROSS ERA.
Damon kept his pace calm. Focused. He wasn’t caught in the noise. He was soaking it in, without letting it drown him.
As they exited the tunnel and arrived at the back, one of the UFA event crew asked softly, "Press conference in thirty?"
Victor answered for him. "We’ll be there."
Svetlana walked beside him, her hand slipping into his naturally as the crowd noise faded behind them.
"You looked amazing in there," she said, glancing up at him with quiet pride.
Damon smiled, still a bit dazed from everything. "Thank you. How was Ava in the crowd?"
Svetlana gave a soft breath, half amused. "She didn’t sit still for even five minutes," she said. "Kept shouting, ’That’s my daddy!’ every ti you moved. I had to hold her down during the takedowns. Macey was trying to record but gave up halfway because Ava wouldn’t stop talking."
Damon chuckled under his breath.
"She was so excited," Svetlana continued. "Kept asking why everyone else was screaming too. I told her it’s because they all love you." She looked at him, squeezing his hand gently. "She’s going to rember this forever."
Svetlana shifted Ava in her arms, settling the little girl on her hip as they walked deeper into the lounge.
The room had a warm, private feel, dim lighting, soft couches, a table lined with bottles of water and post-fight snacks. The noise of the arena was gone now, replaced by soft conversation.
Victor was leaning against a wall with Macey beside him, the two speaking in low tones. Both looked worn. Victor’s jacket was off, his sleeves rolled to the elbows.
Macey looked like she’d been holding her breath for hours. They didn’t say it, but their bodies did. They were proud, and exhausted.
Damon eased himself down onto one of the couches, and Aoife joined him without hesitation. She didn’t speak at first.
She just placed a hand on his shoulder as he leaned into her, resting his head against her arm like he used to as a boy. She ran her fingers through his damp hair, gently, like muscle mory.
Across the room, Ava tugged gently at Svetlana’s sleeve and whispered, "Daddy tired?"
Svetlana smiled softly and nodded. "Yes, baby. Daddy’s tired."
Ava’s eyes stayed on him for a mont longer. Then she asked, "Is he hurt?"
Svetlana crouched down to Ava’s level, brushing a hand through her curls. "No, not hurt. Just sore from fighting. He’ll be okay. He’s strong, rember?"
Ava leaned against her mother’s shoulder and nodded like she understood completely. "Okay. Then I bring him my bear."
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