Damon worked out the plan for the last two fights, sitting down with his team and breaking down every detail.
They went over matchups, tendencies, and possible adjustnts until nothing more could be said.
When the day ended, the weight of it all left him drained.
He returned to his hotel room, washed up, and sat down in silence. The show was almost at its end.
Only the two semifinal fights remained, then the finals, followed by his own main event against Ivan as the opposing coach.
His champion would be on the line, and everything had built up to this.
Still, Damon couldn't shake the pull of ho.
It hadn't been that long since he'd left, but the distance felt heavier now.
He wanted to be back with his family, to take care of Svetlana during her pregnancy and ease her burdens instead of adding to them.
He pushed the thoughts aside. For now, his focus had to stay here. But deep down, he knew this would be the last ti.
He wasn't doing another season of this show. The schedule, the constant demands, the ntal and emotional drain, it wasn't worth it.
Not for the money, not for the exposure. At his level, it felt unnecessary, even if others saw it as an honor.
At the sa ti, he respected what it had shown him. Being a coach wasn't easy.
It required patience, discipline, and energy on a different level than fighting.
It was a burden most people never saw, and he ca away with a deeper appreciation for those who chose this path. Coaching was no joke.
It demanded everything from a person, and Damon understood now more than ever that it wasn't sothing to scoff at.
Another thing on his mind was his own fight with Ivan.
Once the finals were drafted and his duties as coach wrapped up, he would be stepping into his own training camp.
He wanted to begin as soon as possible, sharpening every edge before the inevitable clash.
Ivan wasn't a slouch. He had experience, size, and a proven record. Damon knew he couldn't afford to take him lightly.
Coaching was a responsibility, but fighting was his calling, and once these last fights were finished, he needed to switch gears completely.
The idea of starting camp energized him, even through the exhaustion of the show.
Damon's phone buzzed just as he was about to call Svetlana, like he did every night, to hear her voice and talk to their daughter, Ava. He glanced at the screen and saw Victor's na.
He answered. "Hey."
"Damon," Victor's voice ca steady, "just calling to check in. I've been watching the show. You've done a great job coaching."
Damon chuckled. "Haha, don't lie. I'm not like you. This coaching thing is harder than I thought."
"You've done well," Victor replied. "You already won the lightweight division, and now you've got your guys in the middleweight bracket. That's no small feat."
"Thank you," Damon said, humbled.
"But I didn't call to pump your ego." Victor's tone shifted. "We've talked plenty about Ivan. What I want to know is, what cos after? What's the real goal?"
Damon went quiet. He hadn't thought that far. He knew he wanted to stack so title defenses, but beyond that? He hadn't put it into focus.
"Well, I can't say. I'm light heavyweight champion, middleweight champion. I guess the goal would be to stack up defenses, cent my status. There's not really anything else from here." Damon paused. "Unless…"
"Unless what?" Victor asked.
"Well, when I moved up to light heavyweight, I wondered if I could handle heavyweights. I haven't thought of it in a while, not since I started the show. But being a three-division champ, simultaneously, that would be big. And of course, defenses. Other than that, I think I've conquered the MMA landscape."
Victor stayed quiet for a mont. "I'll say this, you've done what many couldn't. The fact that you're still undefeated through all of it is incredible. I see your vision. As for the heavyweight thing, I don't know. We'll talk about it. But for now… I do have an opportunity for you. Well, not exactly, but sothing that ca across my radar."
"Let send you this video of this guy. You get ntioned. Call back right away after you watch it."
"Sure."
They hung up. A mont later, Damon's phone buzzed with a link.
He hadn't been on social dia in a while. Truthfully, he was never much of a social dia guy, so he didn't recognize the n on the podcast. But judging by the view count, they had to be popular.
The video started.
The video opened with the bright studio lights of the Intrualsive-style set.
The hosts were sitting around a polished table, caras angled in tight on their faces.
Laughter and half-finished drinks made the atmosphere loose, but the conversation carried weight.
Ryan leaned forward, shaking his head. "Bro, let's be real for a second. Influencer boxing isn't just influencer boxing anymore. It's mainstream. It's real now."
Luke Cole smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Facts. It's grown into a whole new lane, and a lot of people don't want to admit it. But you know who kicked that door open." He gestured across the table. "This dude right here."
Blake Cole grinned, tapping his chest. "Of course. I made this shit. I'm the reason people even care. I took on everyone they said I couldn't, put up numbers that fighters with twenty years in the ga could only dream of. And I'm still here, still headlining, still undefeated in my lane."
The yes-man on the couch nodded imdiately. "Bro, no one's done what you've done. You fought pros, you fought legends, you even fought Steel Mike. People forget that."
Blake cut in sharply, "They forget because they want to. They want to move the goalpost every ti. 'Oh, Blake's only fighting YouTubers.' Then I fight MMA champions. 'Oh, Blake's only fighting old guys.' Then I fight pri boxers, and it's still not enough. At this point, I'll fight whoever. I don't care. I'm built for this."
Ryan raised an eyebrow. "But you know what they say, bro. You're always fighting older dudes. Legends, yeah, but older. You've heard that, right?"
Blake's face tightened, his tone sharper now. "Yeah, and it's bullshit. I'll fight anyone. Who's the guy right now? Who's supposed to be the boogeyman? Damon Cross?" He leaned into the cara with a smirk. "Please. Don't make laugh."
Ryan chuckled under his breath. "Co on, man. Damon's MMA. We've seen how that goes. MMA guys co into boxing, they get folded. Every ti."
"Exactly," Blake snapped back. "It's not even fair to . People act like this guy is special. He's not. He's another wrestler who learned how to throw a punch. Big deal. I've fought real strikers, I've fought world champions, I've fought Tyson for God's sake. Damon Cross? He hasn't been in there with hands like mine. He hasn't been in there under my rules. And the second he tries, he's going to look like every other MMA dude who thought boxing was easy, flat on the canvas."
The yes-man leaned forward, grinning. "Talk that talk, Blake."
Blake jabbed a finger at the cara. "I'm not even sweating him. Honestly, I don't care about MMA fighters. Give a real boxer. Give whoever's next. These guys calling my na just want the payday, and I get it. But don't pretend like Damon Cross is on my level. He's not."
Luke gave a half-laugh, half-shrug. "So you're saying, if Damon stepped into boxing—"
Blake cut him off. "He wouldn't last. Period. End of story. Damon, if you're watching this, stay in your lane. Stick to your cage fights. Because in a ring with ? You'd be just another highlight."
The set went quiet for a mont, and then Ryan burst out laughing. "You're crazy, bro."
Blake leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Crazy? No. Confident. There's a difference. Rember that."
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