Damon woke up feeling well-rested for the first time in days.
The morning sun was already creeping up the walls when he slipped out of bed, dressed, and grabbed his keys.
He kissed Svetlana on the cheek, hugged Ava goodbye, and left with a quiet smile on his face.
Today marked the official start of The Supreme Fighter. Unlike the previous tournaments he'd been part of, this wasn't just about fighting.
This time, he'd be a coach. A leader. And the competition would unfold right inside the UFA's APEX facility.
The drive didn't take long. Damon pulled into the lot, parked, and took a moment to look at the building.
The UFA logo gleamed above the entrance. This was familiar ground, yet something about it felt different today.
There was more at stake this time. Not just for the fighters he'd train, but for himself.
When he stepped through the front entrance, staff immediately greeted him. Some offered handshakes, others gave small nods of respect. He returned each one with a polite grin.
He was pointed toward a large conference room on the second floor.
Damon walked down the hallway calmly, still wearing that same relaxed smile. But when he got to the door, he paused for a moment before knocking twice and pushing it open.
Inside, Ivan Novak was already seated, arms crossed, back straight. He didn't smile. He just looked at Damon with that same steady, unreadable expression he always wore.
Ronan Black, the UFA president, stood at the head of the table. A few familiar UFA staff members were seated nearby, quietly reviewing tablets and schedules.
"Damon," Ronan said, motioning for him to enter. "Glad you could make it."
Damon stepped in, nodding to the others before sitting across from Ivan.
"This where we decide who gets what team color?" he asked, half joking.
Ronan cracked a smile. "Among other things."
Ivan didn't say anything. His eyes just stayed on Damon, watching him was already round one.
Damon noticed but didn't flinch. He sat back in his chair, hands on the table, posture relaxed.
Ronan sat down, resting both forearms on the table as the door clicked shut behind Damon. The room quieted, the tension subtle but present. His expression was professional, focused, but not heavy. He glanced between the two fighters, then straightened the tablet in front of him.
"Alright, let's go over what you both already know, and what's new," Ronan began. "You've both agreed to coach this season of The Supreme Fighter. That's been signed, announced, and the fan buzz is exactly where we want it."
He tapped on the screen, and a UFA-branded display lit up on the wall behind him.
"This season will be structured a little differently than past ones. We're running two weight divisions simultaneously, lightweight and middleweight. Eight fighters per class. Sixteen total."
Damon nodded, listening. Ivan stayed quiet, watching.
"You'll each coach a team. The weight class split is even. Four lightweights, four middleweights per team. Once we finish this meeting, we'll finalize the draft order and your assistant coaching staffs."
Ronan leaned back slightly.
"Now, the format is straightforward. One elimination fight per episode. We move quickly. Fighters lose, they're out. Winners advance. At the end, the finalist from each division faces off for a guaranteed UFA contract and immediate placement in the global rankings."
He paused, letting the information settle.
"For you two, the real incentive comes later. At the end of the season, you'll face each other. Damon, Ivan, middleweight championship, unification bout. Five rounds. Main event slot. And the eyes of the entire world on it."
Neither man spoke, but their eyes met for a second.
Ronan continued, tone slightly firmer.
"This is not just a tournament. It's a platform. Every move, every word, every interaction you have with your fighters is going to shape how fans see this rivalry. I don't care if you want to play the nice guy or stir the pot, but either way, keep your head in the game."
He looked to Damon first.
"Damon, you're the double champ. Undefeated. You're a big name. That means expectations. Eyes on how you lead."
"And Ivan, this is your shot to break through. You've got the interim strap, but this is about more than belts. This is legacy territory."
He sat back, voice calm but clear.
"Any questions before we move forward with team selections?"
Both of the fighters shook their head, they had asked the important questions during the contract signing.
Ronan rose from his chair as he finished, clapping his hands together once. "Let's head over to the viewing suite. You'll both get a look at the qualifiers before making your picks. Pay attention, some of these kids are raw, but a few might surprise you."
Damon stood up with a relaxed expression, adjusting the sleeve of his hoodie.
Ivan followed, expression unreadable. Neither said a word as they stepped toward the door, both focused on the task ahead.
As they walked down the hallway, Ronan added over his shoulder, "These fights were recorded over the last two weeks. Each weight class had private qualifiers, full regulation matches. You're not just picking based on paper, you'll get to see how they fight under pressure."
Damon nodded once, eyes forward. "Good."
Ronan glanced back. "Also, don't forget what I said. You're allowed to bring in outside help for a single session, fighters, coaches, whoever. Just let the production team know in advance, and we'll take care of the logistics."
Ivan's voice came low and short. "Understood."
The group entered a wide, dimly lit screening room with a large projector and several rows of seats.
Production crew were already present, a few quietly working behind their laptops. On screen, the first lightweight qualifier was paused mid-frame.
Ronan gestured toward the seats. "Take your spots. This will help you figure out who's coachable, who has raw talent, and who's just trying to survive."
Damon sat with his arms crossed, eyes locked on the screen as the match began to play. His mind already started sorting fighters the way he did opponents, form, habits, weaknesses.