The screen lit up with a classic showdown between Cellan Gustalam and Ismael Desayen, a fight renowned in the UFA for its intensity and technical brilliance.
Damon leaned forward, his focus sharpening as he studied every movement, searching for any gaps, any weaknesses in Gustalam's style.
The bell rang, and the two fighters met in the middle of the cage. They danced with their feet, using both speed and power.
As soon as Gustalam got closer, he took an offensive stance and hit Desayen hard with quick feints and strong jabs.
Desayen, taller and leaner, utilized his range, keeping his movements light and fluid, his guard high and reaction quick.
Gustalam darted in with a fast left hook, aiming to break through Desayen's defense, but Desayen sidestepped with a fluid counter, sending a jab directly to Gustalam's face.
Damon noticed how quickly Gustalam shrugged it off, his expression calm, his gaze locked onto Desayen, ready to absorb any information he could use.
'He doesn't flinch, He's willing to take a hit to close the distance'
Gustalam moved in again and hit Desayen with a low kick that made him change his stance.
Damon noted how each kick was calculated, aimed to disrupt Desayen's balance and timing. Desayen's reaction time was fast, but Gustalam had clearly studied him.
Each strike seemed to push Desayen toward the cage, where Gustalam could capitalize.
The first round continued with both men exchanging heavy strikes, and Damon could see one of Gustalam's key strengths, his endurance.
Even when Desayen landed a quick one-two combo, Gustalam brushed it off, keeping his defense tight and pressure constant.
But Damon could also spot some gaps.
'He's overcommitting on those hooks'
And Desayen keeps slipping out to his left, exploiting that opening.
Desayen's strikes were precise and sharp, and he used his range advantage to hit Gustalam at angles that were hard to counter.
Damon watched the screen as it went black before loading up the next fight.
He shifted on the couch, settling in as he prepared to watch more of Gustalam's fights, studying every angle and pattern.
A small smile played on his lips as he muttered to himself, "Looks like I'm going to bed late today."
He leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen, determined to uncover everything he could about his next opponent.
Tonight was about learning, planning, and preparing to face a fighter as relentless as Gustalam.
As the final video ended and the screen went dark, Damon glanced at the time, almost midnight. He stretched, feeling the fatigue in his muscles from both the long day and the intense focus he'd maintained while watching.
One thing was certain: Gustalam was going to be a challenge. The guy's aggression, endurance, and technique would test every skill Damon had.
But he felt a quiet confidence growing within him. He knew he could do well, especially with the preparation he'd already started.
He stood, grabbing his empty plate, and made his way to the kitchen.
The quiet clinking of the plate and water running in the sink filled the silence as he washed up, his mind still replaying the fights.
With a determined smile, he finished up, drying his hands and setting the plate aside.
Damon finished up with the dishes, letting the warm water rinse away any lingering thoughts about the fight.
After setting the last plate to dry, he wiped his hands and began switching off the lights around the house.
With the room now dim, he slipped the flash drive back into his bag, making a mental note to return it to Victor the next day.
He made his way to his room, where he pulled off his shirt and pants, tossing them aside as he sat on the edge of his bed.
The coolness of the sheets felt grounding after the long day, and as he ran a hand through his hair, he felt the weight of everything sink in, his victory, his new opponents, the path forward.
Damon had absorbed a wealth of information about Cellan Gustalam from the footage he'd watched.
Sitting back, he ran through everything he'd learned, carefully piecing together a mental profile of his upcoming opponent.