Chapter 38: Fight Day

Chapter 38: Chapter 38: Fight Day

Damon woke up with a smile on his face. Today was the day he had been waiting for - fight day.

It had been two weeks since the examination, and he had received his results, all clean and good.

He felt of excitement as he threw off the covers and got out of bed.

He stretched his arms and legs, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles. He had been training hard for this moment, and he was ready.

He walked to the window and looked out, seeing the bright sunlight and feeling the cool breeze on his face.

Today was the day he would step into the cage and show the world what he was capable of.

He didn't know who his opponent was, but he didn't care. He was just grateful for the chance to fight.

He couldn't help but think about the past week. He had been dreaming about this fight every night, imagining himself winning and feeling the rush of adrenaline.

He had been training harder than ever, pushing himself to his limits and beyond.

He understood that because he had gotten a chance to fight due to someone's recommendation, he might be treated as less important.

But he didn't care about that. All he cared about was getting in the ring and showing himself to the world.

He looked behind, staring at the well-made single bed not far away from his, and noticed that it was empty. It seemed his mother had already gotten up.

He went to the bathroom, taking a refreshing bath and putting on some clothes.

Coming out, he went under his bed and pulled out a plastic container.

This was the container that held his mouthguard and MMA gloves.

As he stepped out of the motel room, he took a deep breath, feeling the cool morning air fill his lungs.

He looked around, taking in the familiar sights of the parking lot. His eyes landed on his mother, who was standing outside, taking a break from cleaning.

"Mom, good morning," he said, smiling as he walked towards her. Aoife looked at her son, her eyes shining with a mix of excitement and concern.

She already knew where he was going, and she had been worried sick about him all week.

The room was full of sound of the soft murmur of fighters preparing for their bouts. He took his place among them, his focus solely on the fight ahead.

Fighters began to enter the locker room, their faces set with determination. It seemed they were waiting for something, their eyes fixed on the door.

The locker room door opened, and a man in a suit walked in. His slick black hair was perfectly styled, his trimmed beard framing his jawline.

He looked at everyone, his eyes scanning the room as he checked the paper in his hand, flipping through the pages.

"Okay, it seems everyone is here," he said, his voice firm and authoritative. "You can all go to your teams and wait for your name to be called, so you can go weigh in."

As he spoke, his gaze swept the room, his eyes lingering on each fighter. Then, his gaze stayed on Damon for some time, his expression unreadable.

Damon felt a shiver run down his spine as the man's eyes seemed to bore into him.

Finally, the man turned and left the locker room, the door closing behind him.

The fighters began to move, their movements swift and purposeful. They filed out of the locker room, heading to the personal rooms given to them.

As the man in the suit finished speaking, he turned to leave, his eyes lingering on Damon for a moment before exiting the locker room.

The door closed behind him, and the fighters began to stir, their movements swift and purposeful.

"Wow, is that Victor Steele?" a fighter whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Stop glazing on a man, and go prepare, dude."

The whispers spread like wildfire, fighters nodding and glancing at each other in awe. Damon watched, his curiosity piqued. Who was Victor Steele, and why was his presence so significant?

As the fighters filed out of the locker room, they headed to their personal rooms, assigned to them for the duration of the event.

The rooms were small, with a single chair, a bench, and a mirror. Damon entered his room, taking a deep breath as he closed the door behind him.

The room was quiet, the didn't even have air conditioning. Damon sat down on the bench, his eyes fixed on the mirror.

He stood up, pacing back and forth in the small room.

As he paced, he heard the muffled sounds of fighters talking, laughing, and preparing for their own battles. He didn't have a team or coach, but that didn't matter to him now.