MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat - Chapter 796

Chapter 796: Chapter 796: Mixed Reactions

The media wasted no time. Damon’s refusal of the boxing challenge spread across headlines, sparking debate across different outlets and Chirper threads.

Some analysts were disappointed, arguing that Damon had the chance to restore MMA’s reputation in boxing. “If anyone could do it, it’s Damon Cross,” one article wrote. “He has the hands, the composure, and the discipline. But by stepping away, he leaves the narrative untouched, MMA guys can’t hang in the boxing ring.”

Others defended his decision, pointing out how meaningless the callout was.

A podcast clip was replayed on countless channels, the same loud voices insisting Damon was scared, while real fight fans countered that he had nothing to prove in boxing. “He’s a two-division UFA champion, undefeated, and weeks away from defending his title again,” a commentator noted. “Why would he waste his time on sideshows?”

On Chirper, opinions were just as split:

“Damon ducking the influencer fight? Smart move. Stay in your lane, champ. Legacy over circus.”

“Nah, this was the fight to change everything. MMA finally gets respect in boxing, he should’ve done it.”

“Bro doesn’t need boxing. He’s already the face of UFA. Let Blake fight washed-up guys, Damon has real killers to worry about.”

“If Damon actually boxed, he’d shock everyone. But he’s right, it’s not worth it.”

For Damon, it was nothing more than noise. He barely skimmed the coverage before setting his phone aside.

The finals were ahead, and Ivan was waiting after that. He had no time to entertain distractions, no matter how loud they got.

Many fans and media figures went after Damon for refusing the boxing callout.

On Chirper, comments piled up fast

The debate raged on, some siding with Damon, others calling him a coward. The noise grew so loud it finally prompted Blake Cole himself to post a response video.

Blake sits in front of the camera, phone angled slightly low, wearing a hoodie and a smirk. He talks fast, voice raised like he’s hyping himself up as much as the audience.

“Yo, so everybody’s tagging me, saying Damon Cross don’t wanna box me. Bro… of course he don’t. He’s scared. Simple as that. He knows what happens when MMA guys step in my world, they get slept. Period. I’ve done it to all of ’em. Doesn’t matter if they’re wrestlers, strikers, world champs. Put ’em in a boxing ring with me, they don’t last.”

He leans closer to the camera.

“And don’t give me that ‘legacy’ excuse. Don’t give me the whole ‘he’s got titles, he’s got belts.’ Yeah, cool, bro. Belts don’t save your chin. You step in a ring with me, you’re leaving with an L. Facts. And that’s why he ain’t saying yes. He knows it, I know it, the fans know it.”

Blake chuckles, shaking his head, putting on his fake “humble” act.

“Listen, I’ll give Damon credit. He’s a beast in MMA. For real, props. But this ain’t MMA. This is boxing. And in boxing, I’m the one who changed the game. I already fought legends, I already fought killers, I already fought Tyrone. I do what nobody else has the balls to do. So if Damon don’t wanna step up? Fine. I’ll take another name, another payday. There’s a line of guys begging for this work.”

He finishes with his usual taunt.

“But don’t get it twisted. Damon Cross, if you ever grow the balls to step in a boxing ring, I’ll be waiting. Until then? Stay in your cage, champ. That’s your safe place.”

Blake grins at the camera, throws up his fist, and ends the recording.

And with no more response from Damon, the noise faded.

The callouts, the podcasts, the Chirper debates, all of it eventually died out.

Blake tried to chase the storyline, posting clips, calling his name, doubling down on the trash talk, but without fuel from Damon’s side, the fire burned out.

It became yesterday’s news, one more headline in the endless cycle of combat sports drama.

Damon never cared to feed it. He was locked in, focused on what mattered: training his fighters.

The semifinals were around the corner, and his job wasn’t to answer clout chasers outside of the cage.

His job was to prepare the men who had trusted him to lead them.

The noise outside could wait. Inside the gym, it was sweat, repetition, and focus.

The day had finally arrived. The last two semifinal fights were here.

For Damon, there was nothing left to adjust, nothing left to tweak. He had done the work.

The long mornings, the split training sessions, the endless corrections, all of it was behind him now. It was time to let it show inside the cage.

The lightweight bracket was already settled in his favor.

Every man who had stepped forward there had been his, proof of the depth in his stable. But the middleweight division was different.

This one mattered more to him. Here, he wanted to see who would truly rise to the final.

Damon sat back, calm on the surface but alert underneath.

He knew once that cage door shut, there would be no coaching, no saving, just the fighters proving themselves.

He had prepared them as best he could, and now the semis would decide who carried on.

The cameras were ready, the officials set, and the fighters were warming up in the back.

The atmosphere was tighter, heavier. Everyone knew what was at stake.

For Damon, it was simple. The work was done. Now it was time to watch it unfold.

The cage stood under the bright lights, empty and silent except for the hum of cameras. It was time.

First to make the walk was Max Taylor.

The American’s music hit, sharp and heavy, and he stepped out from the tunnel with his jaw clenched and eyes locked on the cage.

He slapped his gloves together once, then brushed past the officials and climbed the steps, ducking into the cage.

He paced the inside, shoulders loose, bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready to go.

Across the tunnel, Kenji Sato’s music began. The contrast was immediate. Calm, measured, almost methodical.

Kenji walked slowly, his expression unreadable, eyes fixed straight ahead.

He bowed once before stepping onto the canvas, sliding off his sandals, and climbing into the cage.

Both fighters stood in their corners as the referee motioned them to center.

Damon sat outside the cage, arms folded, eyes fixed. He had trained them both, but tonight only one would move on.