MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 576: First successful defense

Down below, the referee walked toward the officials. His team gathered near the cage door. The camera crew repositioned, moving for the post-fight angle.

When Damon climbed down from the fence, the officials were already inside the cage.

One of them knelt beside PDD, checking his eyes and wiping blood from his face. Another stood nearby, watching closely for signs of anything that needed urgent attention.

PDD sat upright but didn't speak. His corner was beside him now, giving him space but staying close.

Damon didn't look back.

He turned and walked toward his corner, where his team waited. Victor met him first, giving him a sharp nod and a firm hand to the shoulder.

Joey followed, grinning as he patted Damon's back. One of the coaches wrapped an arm around him as they moved toward the center.

Everyone said the same thing in different ways—"You did it," "That was clean," "Still champ."

He had retained.

But in Damon's mind, it wasn't about this one.

This was the first of many.

And he planned for all of them to end the same way. Control, damage, victory.

He stood beside his team, listening to the crowd as he caught his breath. His gloves hung at his sides, stained and cracked. Sweat still rolled from his jaw. But there was a calm in his posture, and a quiet smile pulling at the edge of his mouth.

His thoughts drifted.

The UFA title defense record stood at eleven—held by the flyweight legend, the one most people called the greatest of all time.

Damon wondered if he could beat it.

He didn't want to tie it. He wanted to pass it.

Eleven, he thought. Then twelve. Maybe more.

He didn't say it out loud. But the idea had taken hold. He wasn't chasing attention. He wasn't fighting to stay active.

He wanted to break records.

He wanted his name written where no one could touch it.

The referee, Mark Reynolds, stood at the center of the octagon, motioning for both fighters to approach.

Damon Cross stepped forward, his expression composed, while PDD followed, his face marked from the bout.

The referee stood between them now, one hand on each wrist.

Damon stood tall, his expression composed, sweat drying across his back. With his free hand, he raised his arm and pointed upward, eyes locked on the rafters.

Deuce Baffer, the announcer, stepped forward, microphone in hand. The arena quieted in anticipation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Baffer began, his voice resonating through the venue, "referee Mark Reynolds has called a stop to this contest at three minutes of the very first round!"

A pause.

"Declaring the winner by TKO..."

He turned slightly toward Damon.

As Deuce Baffer shouted, Ronan Black stepped in behind Damon with perfect timing.

"AAAANNNNNNDDDDDDDD!!!!! STTTTTTIIIIIIILLLLL!!!!

The belt was already in his hands. He wrapped it around Damon's waist as the announcer's voice echoed across the arena.

THE UNDISPUTED U!! F!! A!!

MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLDDD!!!!

DAMON!!!!

'The Ronin!!!'

Cross!!!!"

The crowd exploded.

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Damon didn't raise both arms. He looked down, ran his hand across the gold faceplate, then gave it two short slaps.

His breathing was steady now, and the adrenaline was fading, but the weight of the win felt good, heavy in the right way.

He turned slightly, reaching behind to shake Ronan's hand, both men exchanging a brief nod.

Then he faced PDD.

The former champion stepped forward and offered his hand. Damon took it without hesitation. No words were exchanged. They didn't need any. It was a quiet, mutual respect built from violence and endurance.

Damon gave him a quick nod, then stepped back, unclipped the belt from his waist, and pulled it free. He threw it over his shoulder and adjusted it once with his hand.

Still champion.

Damon smiled as someone from his team handed him a cold water bottle. He cracked the cap and took a slow drink, letting the chill settle his breathing. The belt stayed slung over his shoulder, shifting slightly with each movement.

A moment later, one of the commentators stepped into the cage with a mic in hand. He moved with purpose, headset still around his neck, and made his way straight to Damon.

They shook hands.

The commentator leaned in slightly, raised the microphone, and spoke with the usual energy.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here with your winner, and still the undisputed UFA Middleweight Champion of the world

Damon Cross!"

The crowd responded again, loud and clear.

Damon adjusted the belt on his shoulder, wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and waited for the first question.