MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon winced as he adjusted his stance, his shin still throbbing from the impact.

He looked up at Wichan, his face twisted in discomfort. "What is that?" he asked, unable to hide the cringe in his expression.

"It felt like I kicked a steel pole," Damon muttered, rolling his ankle slightly to test if it still worked properly.

Wichan's face remained calm, but there was a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "It is called conditioning," he said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. "Somchai… he did not teach you this?"

Damon shook his head, his frustration barely contained. "No, he didn't."

Wichan sighed heavily, muttering under his breath in Thai, "Ai Somchai, s̄xn xarị xyū̀ neī̀a" (Somchai, what the hell were you teaching?)

Damon noticed the shift in tone but didn't press. He still hadn't picked up the language and decided it was best to stay silent.

Wichan turned back to Damon, his stern gaze softening slightly. "You must condition. Muay Thai fighters… are strong because we train body, not just skill. You learn this too."

Damon nodded, though he wasn't thrilled at the idea of his shins becoming battering rams through sheer pain tolerance.

Wichan motioned toward the center of the ring. "Okay, let's continue."

Damon reset his stance, bouncing lightly on his feet.

He wasn't going to give up, even though his leg hurt. He kept his eyes on Wichan and was ready to change.

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This was what he came to Thailand for, to learn, to grow, and to face challenges that made him better.

As they resumed, Damon silently vowed to make his shins just as unbreakable as Wichan's.

One step at a time.

Damon kept sparring, and with every punch, kick, and elbow he threw, the gym resounded with his hits.

Even though he moved quickly and smoothly, all of his attacks seemed to fail to break Wichan's barriers.

The older man stood rock solid, taking every blow without even flinching. His face stayed stiff and blank, not revealing anything.

Now Damon was taking deeper breaths, and as he changed his stance, his forehead sparkled with sweat.

Wichan tried to be unpredictable by changing targets, mixing up his moves, and feinting high and low. But nothing seemed to bother Wichan.

It was like trying to break through a rock wall with your bare hands every time you hit it.

Despite the mounting frustration, Damon pressed on. This wasn't about landing blows; it was about learning. Testing himself against a fighter of Wichan's caliber was the exact reason he was here.

But damn, Damon thought, does this guy have any weaknesses?

A low kick whipped out, aiming for Wichan's thigh. Checked.

A spinning elbow followed, targeting the temple. Blocked.

Damon snapped a body kick, then threw a quick jab-cross combination, trying to break through Wichan's guard. Nothing.

Wichan moved with minimal effort, his calm demeanor unshaken.

His hands stayed up, his footwork light, his movements deliberate.

Damon caught his breath for a moment, studying the man in front of him.

He's not even sweating, he realized, shaking his head slightly. Is this what mastery looks like?

As they continued, Damon noticed something strange. Wichan wasn't offering any corrections or advice.

He didn't critique Damon's technique, didn't suggest adjustments, didn't even comment on his performance.

He just stood there, defending, observing.

It was unnerving at first, but Damon quickly realized the point.

Wichan wasn't here to hold his hand. He wasn't here to coddle or spoon-feed tips.

He was here to see what Damon could bring to the table and push Damon to find his own way, his own pace.

Damon respected that.

Wichan raised a hand, signaling for Damon to stop. Damon froze mid-motion, his fist hovering inches from a jab.

Wichan relaxed, leaning casually against the ropes, his expression calm yet piercing.

"You are good," Wichan began, his tone steady but authoritative. "You have good form. Strong. Precise. Everything is… good."

Damon's brows furrowed. He knew a "but" was coming, and Wichan didn't disappoint.

"But," Wichan continued, his gaze unwavering, "there is one problem."

He moved a little and put his weight on the ropes with the ease of someone who had seen a lot of fighters come and go. "Conditioning does not make you invincible," he said, tapping his chest with two fingers. "It only strengthens. It does not make you untouchable."

Damon nodded, listening intently, his sharp gaze locked onto Wichan.

Kru Wichan looked at Damon with a slightly softer gaze. After a short pause, he spoke. "Your problem is not skill. You are talented, very talented."

He paused, letting his words settle before adding, in Thai, "Thæ̂ ṭ̂xng mị̀ thā reụ̄̀xng næ̀ātdcl."(But one must not be boring.)

Switching back to English, Wichan gestured subtly with his hand, as if shaping the air itself. "Your strikes are strong, precise. But they feel… mechanical. Like someone wrote instructions for you to follow. There is no you in them."

Damon tilted his head slightly, absorbing the critique.

He didn't respond, waiting for Wichan to elaborate.

Wichan leaned forward, tapping his temple lightly. "You must make it yours. Your kicks, punches, elbows, they should have your style, your signature. Not just textbook form. This is not only to make the fight exciting but also to make your movements feel natural. When you fight with your own style, it flows. It becomes alive."

He stepped closer, pointing at Damon's chest. "This will not only improve your fights for the crowd but for you. It will feel effortless when your body and mind work together."

Damon nodded slowly, the weight of Wichan's advice sinking in. He had never thought about his style that way before. Your journey continues on empire

Sure, he had studied Muay Thai, well the system helped, but this idea of adding his personal touch felt new, both daunting and liberating.

Wichan stepped back, folding his arms, his expression unchanging. "A fighter who fights like everyone else is predictable. Predictable is easy to beat."

The words hit Damon like a switch had been flipped.

He slightly clenched his hands and felt a new resolve rising inside him.