A week and a half had passed since that historic night. Since Damon stood at the center of the cage with the World MMA Middleweight Championship wrapped around his waist
Since his name was shouted across the globe, and the world recognized what many had already known, he was that fighter.
In those days after, his phone had barely been silent. Calls, messages, and endless notifications lit it up from morning until night.
Some were the expected congratulations from sponsors and people who suddenly wanted to align with his name. Others came from fellow fighters, some who had been in the trenches with him, and others who had just earned his respect from afar.
But the ones that mattered? Those were different.
His mother's call came the day after the fight. Aoife.
It was one of the most emotional conversations he'd had in years.
She was happy, so happy, but there was guilt in her voice, and Damon heard it immediately.
She apologized more than she congratulated.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be there, Damon," she had said, her voice breaking more than once. "It was important. You deserved to have your family there."
He didn't blame her. Never had.
She had her reasons, reasons that ran deeper than just being uncomfortable with violence. Damon knew that seeing him in a cage, fighting like he did, wasn't easy for her.
But she was determined now.
She wanted to be there next time.
And Damon promised. Next time he fought for a championship, he'd make sure she was there. Even if she had to sit with her hands over her eyes the whole time, she'd be there.
After that, the calls kept coming.
Ashley called. Then Ash.
Joey had FaceTimed him the next morning, baby in one arm, talking about how they were all gonna be cage-side next time, no excuses.
Ty called between training sessions, still buzzing about the fight, saying Damon's performance motivated him to push harder for his Olympic run.
Even Edward took time to call, something rare for him lately. He wasn't big on words, but he made it clear. Damon had made them all proud.
And then there was Svetlana's mother called too.
She wasn't always the most vocal about Damon's career, but when she spoke, there was warmth in her voice.
"You've made this family proud," she told him. "Victor might not say it the way you expect, but I see it in him. And we all feel it. You've earned this."
That one stuck with him.
Maybe more than most.
And then there was the paycheck.
When it hit his account, Damon had to stare at the screen for a good few seconds, just to let it sink in.
He wasn't new to fight purses. He'd made solid money in the UFA and The Supreme Fighter. But this?
This was championship money.
The total payout for winning the World MMA Tournament, factoring in his performance bonuses, pay-per-view shares, and sponsor cuts, came out to $5.8 million.
And that wasn't even counting the endorsement offers rolling in after the win.
Just cold, hard, fight money.
For a kid who used to wonder where his next meal was coming from, who lived out of a gym and ate whatever he could scrap together, it was surreal.
Hefty didn't even begin to cover it.
Victor had told him before the tournament,
"Win this, and you'll never worry about money again."
Now Damon had options.
Security for his mother.
A future for himself and, whether they admitted it or not, for Svetlana too.
He wasn't thinking about any of that.
For now, he just stared at that number, shook his head, and allowed himself the smallest grin.
Though Damon was about to leave England, his mind was already shifting gears. He had plans.
A much-needed break lined up. Somewhere quiet, somewhere far from all of this noise, where he could reset. But before any of that could happen, there were loose ends to tie up.
For one, his system rewards were still waiting.
The quest he completed, the World MMA Tournament Champion, had stacked up heavy bonuses. Skills, stats, items... all there, waiting to be claimed.
And yet, he hadn't touched them.
Not because he didn't want to, but because there simply hadn't been time.
Winning the tournament made him the biggest name in MMA overnight. And with that came everything else.
Televised interviews where he had to rehash every detail of his journey to the finals, break down the submission against Malikin, talk about what it meant to win it all.
Most of it he did out of respect, for the fans, for the sport, but it was exhausting.
Even he had to admit that.
His days had been back-to-back obligations, barely giving him a minute to sit still, let alone focus on the system and see what rewards were actually on the table.
But every time he thought about it, he could feel the anticipation in the back of his mind.
There was power sitting in that system menu.
And soon, when he had the space and quiet, he was going to collect it.
He did get more calls, plenty of them. Messages poured in from studios, networks, and platforms that wouldn't have given him a second look a year ago.
Now, they were eager.
Everyone wanted a piece of Damon Cross.
Interviews, documentaries, podcast exclusives, brand endorsements, and offers to feature in everything from sports panels to lifestyle magazines.
They all wanted their moment with the new world champion.
But none of them got it.
Joey had handled all of it.
Every request, every offer, every "urgent" call, he made sure they all got the same response.
"Damon won't be attending media appearances right now."
Damon didn't even have to lift a finger.
He filtered everything, lined up future opportunities, and delayed the rest. Made sure Damon could focus on what mattered.
And that wasn't the media.
It was getting out of England, cashing in his system rewards, and taking the break he'd promised himself.
And it made things a hell of a lot easier.