Damon watched the screen as Joren Edlen raised his arm, calm and composed in the middle of the cage.
The celebration was simple, since it wasn't a crowning moment, there weren't any grand celebrations.
Damon sat back on the couch, resting his elbow on the armrest.
If he had to face someone from this tournament, he would've picked Joren ten times out of ten. Tolkov was a killer, no question, but Damon had already visualized that fight.
He knew how it would've played out. Tolkov was slow-footed, static, and patient. And Damon thrived against that.
But Joren was very different.
He moved fast. He wrestled very well. He fought to win moments, not rounds. And he hadn't lost yet.
That's what made this more interesting.
"He's undefeated," Damon muttered, mostly to himself.
He'd done it before—he handed Balim Chemasov his first loss. And there was something different about taking an opponent's zero. It was more than a win. It was a rewrite of their identity.
No matter how they rebounded afterward, they could never be the same again.
And if Joren stood across from him next, that chance was real.
Damon looked over at the screen again, where the broadcast replayed the clean knockdown and the submission finish.
He nodded to himself.
"Yeah," he muttered, "I one."
Damon turned off the TV, the faint noise of the broadcast fading as he stood up and stretched. The fight was done, and so was the night.
He walked through the hallway barefoot, moving quietly. Before heading to his room, he stopped at Ava's door and pushed it open gently.
She was still asleep in her crib, curled slightly on her side, her tiny hands resting near her face. Her breathing was slow and even.
He stood there for a moment, just watching.
Then, he closed the door softly and made his way to the bathroom.
The water hit his shoulders and back, washing off the stillness of sitting for hours. He didn't rush. He stood under the stream, letting his thoughts drift.
He still had to visit Stockton. He wondered if they would go there before the match or after, but after today, training camp would start.
After the shower, he dried off and stepped into the bedroom. Svetlana was already in bed, half-asleep under the covers.
He slid in behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. She moved slightly at the contact, shifting closer, but didn't say anything.
He pressed his forehead lightly to her shoulder and closed his eyes.
With the fight officially set, the promotion machine kicked into full motion. Posters, highlight reels, and tournament footage flooded every platform.
The tournament organizers released a high-production face-off graphic, Joren Edlen on one side, stoic and locked in, Damon Cross on the other, arms folded, belt draped over his shoulder.
It didn't take long for fans to start weighing in.
Some were thrilled. A clash between the undefeated Bellator champion and the reigning, undefeated UFA king. Two worlds colliding.
Others weren't as pleased.
A growing number of voices questioned the short turnaround. Joren had just gone through a four-round war, and in only two weeks, he'd be stepping in to face someone like Damon—someone fresh, someone fully prepared.
A few journalists suggested that the commission or organizers should've allowed at least one or two more weeks. "This isn't an average contender fight," one article read. "It's a historic champion vs. champion bout. Why rush it?"
But the talk didn't last long.
Joren himself addressed the situation with a public post. Calm. Confident. Direct.
"Yeah, I hear the noise. Two weeks isn't ideal. But I'm not here to be ideal. I'm here to prove I'm the best.
Damon's tough, no question. But that belt doesn't belong to him anymore.
I'll be ready. And I'm taking MY championship."[]
The statement was simple, but it silenced most of the criticism.
He didn't complain. He didn't stall. He accepted the fight on schedule.
And now, so did the world.
But as the media storm centered on Damon and Joren's upcoming clash, another ripple surfaced in a different division—quiet at first, then sharper with each share.
His name still carried weight in the light heavyweight ranks. A top contender, known for his patience, power, and ability to shut fights down before they ever found rhythm.
He wasn't just a random name in the conversation either. Damon and Jon had history.
Last year, during the inaugural World MMA Tournament, they had crossed paths—not in light heavyweight, but in middleweight.
Jon had made the cut down, hungry to qualify for Poland's slot in the bracket. Damon had been right there, fighting for Ireland's.
The match had been one of the most physically demanding of Damon's entire run.
He won it, but not without struggle. Jon had pushed him and pressured him with size and ate shots most others folded from.
In the end, it was a bloody elbow followed by a trip that finally cracked him. Damon followed, forced the TKO, and moved on.
But even then, everyone had known.
That wasn't Jon's real weight class.
It was a single match, at middleweight, with Jon looking drained and smaller than his usual form. Still powerful, but not the monster that dominated up a division.
Damon had the win. It was on paper. It counted.
But in many people's eyes, it still had an asterisk beside it.
And now—on the eve of his potential rise into light heavyweight—Dlachovizc had posted something.
『 "Been hearing the talks. Word is Damon Cross might move up soon.
We've shared the cage before. He got the win—clean and fair. No excuses from me. That shot was well-placed, and he earned it.
But that wasn't me at my best. That wasn't my weight class. I cut too much, felt flat, and I've said it before—that drop to middleweight was a mistake.
If Damon's really stepping into the light heavyweight division… then I'd be more than happy to welcome him. No hard feelings. No fake drama or hate from me, I just wanna fight the best, and I'm sure he does, too.
Let's run it back the right way.
You beat the lighter version of me.
Now let's see what you do with the full one."』