Cellan's strengths stood out right away. His boxing was crisp, powerful, and fast.
Damon could tell that Gustalam's left hand was particularly lethal, a weapon he used with pinpoint precision.
He didn't just throw punches; he threw them with an intent to finish.
This skill, paired with his speed and agility, made him a menace at close range, and he could close the distance on taller opponents with impressive footwork, something that Damon would have to be cautious of.
Then there was Gustalam's wrestling background.
The guy knew how to mix up his game, shooting for takedowns when his opponents least expected it, using his wrestling both offensively and defensively.
He could keep an opponent guessing, constantly shifting between strikes and takedowns.
Damon respected that versatility, knowing it could disrupt his own rhythm if he didn't stay sharp.
Damon also couldn't ignore how strong Gustalam was. The man had a rock-solid chin, and every fight showed how tough he was.
Even when he took a beating, he pushed through, as if the harder the fight, the stronger he became.
And that cardio, Damon had to admit, Gustalam's stamina was something else.
He'd seen him stay active and dangerous through grueling five-round battles, barely slowing down, his pace relentless and unyielding.
But no fighter was perfect, and Damon found areas where he could exploit weaknesses. Gustalam's reach disadvantage, for one.
Standing around 5'9", he was shorter than most middleweights, which meant he sometimes struggled against opponents who could control range well.
Damon's 6'2" height advantage might allow him to keep Gustalam at bay, forcing him to fight from a distance where his power wasn't as effective.
Another thing that caught Damon's eye was Gustalam's inconsistency. Since his iconic fight with Ismael Desayen, his performances had been a bit unpredictable.
While he'd never lacked aggression, Damon had seen moments where Gustalam struggled to maintain his top form, especially against more elite-level opponents.
It was something Damon would keep in mind; if he could push Gustalam hard enough, maybe he'd find that inconsistency creeping back in.
And then there were those defensive vulnerabilities. Gustalam's aggressive approach sometimes led him to drop his guard, exposing him to counters.
Damon spotted instances where he'd been caught by clean shots because he was so focused on pressing forward.
[That's amazing! But... I'm gonna miss having you around here.]
He felt nice from what she said, and it reminded him of how much he valued his connection with her. He carefully chose his words as he typed back.
[I'm gonna miss you too. But I'll be back soon, and we can always keep in touch, right?]
A moment later, her reply came through.
[Of course. Just promise you won't come back with an accent!]
He laughed, and the stress of the day began to melt away. He typed one more message and then put down his phone.
[Deal. I'll catch you tomorrow?]
As he lay back, a sense of peace settled over him.
Damon was just about to slip into the simulation again when it hit him.
"Ah, damn it, I didn't tell Mom about Thailand," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
He let out a sigh as the thought raced through his mind. Was it really time to go now? He was getting ready for a long trip around the world while she had just told him about her problems.
But as he lay there, he shook his head. "I'll think about it tomorrow," he murmured to himself, closing his eyes.
There was still time to sort it all out, at least until after his fight with Gustalam.
No point overthinking it now.
With a final exhale, he let the tension fade, easing back into his plans for the night.
The blank white scene shifted, morphing into a gym with a spacious ring in the center.
Damon watched as a figure began to take shape before him, pixel by pixel, growing clearer with each passing second.
Standing before him now was Cellan Gustalam. Stocky and powerful, Gustalam was built for close-range combat.
At 5'9", he had a compact, muscular frame, his body honed through years of training.
His arms were thick, built for delivering crushing hooks and uppercuts, and his torso looked like a wall of muscle, ready to absorb punishment and keep moving forward.