MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon and his team made their way into the house, walking through the entrance with their bags in tow.

The place was just as impressive inside as it was outside, but something else quickly caught their attention, laughter echoing from the living room.

As they stepped further in, they could hear the muffled voices of the fighters who had already arrived, members of Team Chemasov.

The laughter grew louder, and soon enough, the words became clear.

"Look at them finally showin' up!" one voice said, barely holding back a chuckle.

"Yeah, about time. Hope they fight better than they walk in," another added, the room erupting into more laughter.

Damon exchanged glances with his teammates, knowing full well the kind of tension that was already brewing.

He wasn't surprised. Trash talk was inevitable, and some of the fighters clearly wanted to start building that tension early.

Damon smirked slightly but kept walking. He wasn't here for the nonsense. They'd handle it in the cage.

Damon made his way through the house, scanning the rooms as he passed. He spotted one downstairs, empty.

That worked fine for him. He didn't care much about where he slept, as long as he had a place to rest.

As he stepped inside and began setting down his things, he heard the door creak behind him. Turning around, he saw Ivan standing in the doorway.

"I share room with you," Ivan said, stepping inside without hesitation.

The room had bunk beds, so it was clear the fighters would have to pair up and share rooms.

Damon glanced at Ivan, surprised he hadn't chosen one of the rooms upstairs.

"You don't want any of the rooms upstairs?" Damon asked, knowing some fighters had likely gone straight for the second floor.

Ivan shook his head, setting his suitcase down on the side of the bed. "Room is room. Don't matter where. Only thing that matter is fight," he said in his rough, broken English, his voice carrying that heavy Russian accent.

Damon nodded, understanding the mindset. It was all about the competition for guys like them. The rest was just background noise.

Damon couldn't help but respect Ivan's mindset. A lot of things in this environment could distract you from your goal, and being able to ignore the materialistic stuff was a strength in itself.

"You're from Russia, right?" Damon asked as he glanced around the room, noting the private bathroom with a shower and toilet—nothing fancy, but enough for what they needed.

Ivan nodded. "Yes, I move here for UFA, you know. But guys here... talk too much, not fight much," he joked with a slight grin.

Damon chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Haha, that's true. Well, I'm Irish."

Ivan raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You not American? You sound American."

"Yeah, I grew up here, but... I'm really Irish," Damon explained. "Japan too, I guess, but I've never been there," he added, shrugging off his Japanese heritage. It wasn't something he often talked about.

His father had been an abusive bastard, and any connection to his Japanese side always reminded him of that.

Still, part of him wished to visit Japan one day, just to see that part of his identity from a different perspective.

Ivan nodded slowly, seeming to pick up on Damon's brief moment of reflection. "Maybe one day, you go. See it for yourself."

"Yeah, maybe," Damon replied, offering a small smile before moving to unpack his things.

They both started unpacking their clothes in silence for a moment before Damon spoke up again. "What do you think of the guys here?" he asked, curious to hear Ivan's take on the competition.

Ivan paused, thinking for a second. "Strong," he said simply, his response short but honest.

Damon nodded, finishing off his unpacking. He stretched, feeling the stiffness from the bus ride settle in his muscles. "Alright, I'm gonna check out the others," he said, deciding it was time to explore.

It was still the afternoon, so sleep wasn't on his mind just yet.

He figured now was a good time to get familiar with the house and maybe catch up with some of the other fighters.

As Damon walked out of his room, he could hear voices from the other team talking down the hallway.

He recognized Kevin's voice, from the opposite team.

"Aight, look, name your top three in UFA," Kevin said, sounding playful.

Another voice quickly followed, "Mmh, shit, let me think, you put me on the spot here."

Laughter echoed from the room, and then the fighter responded, "Okay, number one, James Jonas. Number two, JSP, mmmh... three, Kamil Murnamadov."

There was a brief silence before laughter broke out again, and someone chimed in, "That's a crazy list you got there."

Damon shook his head with a small smile, amused by the casual banter.

He didn't spot any of his own teammates in the living room, where the other team seemed to be hanging out.

Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, he continued his exploration of the house, hoping to find where his team had gone.

He stepped out into the backyard and immediately noticed his teammates sitting under a large gazebo, its wide canopy providing shade from the afternoon sun.

It was the perfect spot to relax, and they seemed to have claimed it for Team Whittier.

Damon could see how quickly the division had already set in, with each team naturally keeping to their own spaces.

Team Chemasov was nowhere in sight,as they hung out at the living room.

As he walked further outside, Damon couldn't help but admire the backyard.

The pool sparkled under the sunlight, and the wide-open space gave the entire area a sense of luxury.

This place is amazing, he thought to himself, taking in the view before heading over to join his teammates under the gazebo.

As Damon approached the gazebo, he could hear the conversation already in full swing.

The guys seemed to be getting to know each other, chatting about the basics of life before they got into the serious stuff.

"So, where's everyone from?" one of the fighters asked, leaning back in his chair and taking a look around.

"Philly, born and raised," a tall guy with a shaved head replied. "Been fighting outta there for a few years now."

Another fighter with a thick accent chimed in, "Brazil, man. We breed fighters down there, you know that," he said with a grin.

A third fighter, with long hair tied in a bun, nodded. "California here. It's all sun and surf, but I've been training in San Diego, best spot to train, no distractions."

The guy from Philly raised an eyebrow. "No distractions, huh? You're telling me all that sunshine and beach life doesn't mess with your focus?"

The California fighter shrugged. "You learn to tune it out. Besides, the real distractions come from people. You gotta learn to stay locked in."