MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

And days and weeks passed like that, each one blending into the next.

Damon finally got the weekly training quest he had been waiting for from the system, and he threw himself into his training, preparing for his upcoming fight.

He spent hours in the parking lot of the motel, sweating and pushing himself to his limits.

He practiced his kicks and punches, his movements swift and precise. He ran laps around the parking lot, his feet pounding the asphalt.

He trained every day, his body aching as he pushed himself to get stronger and faster.

One of the moves he was determined to master was the Question Mark kick. He practiced it over and over in the parking lot, his legs swinging through the air.

But his proficiency was slow in coming. He didn't think it would be a good idea to use it in his fight when it was stuck on 14%, not yet.

As the days turned into weeks, they fell into a familiar routine. Damon woke up every morning to train in the parking lot, his muscles aching as he pushed himself to get stronger and faster.

Aoife spent her days cleaning the motel rooms, her hands moving as she made the beds and changed the sheets.

The parking lot became a comfortable training ground, a sense of normalcy in their once chaotic lives.

Damon moved through his training with ease, his movements practiced and familiar.

Aoife watched him from the motel room window, her eyes shining with encouragement.

Through the weeks, Damon had to visit the medical center for tests, which were required before any fight.

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He sat in the waiting room, flipping through magazines, waiting for his name to be called. When it was, he stood up and walked to the examination room, his feet echoing off the walls.

The doctor greeted him with a smile and began the examination, checking his blood pressure, heart rate, and reflexes. Damon answered the doctor's questions, his voice clear and strong.

After the examination, the doctor sent him for blood work and a urine test. Damon sat in the lab, watching as the nurse drew his blood with a quick jab of the needle. He winced slightly, but it was over soon.

Weels later, when the results came back, Damon was relieved to see that everything was clean. He had managed to keep his weight stable at 125 despite Aoife's good cooking. He had been worried about that, but his discipline had paid off.

But despite his progress, Damon had to admit that training alone had become harder.

It was hard to progress when he couldn't test his theories on someone or have competition.

This was one of the reasons he was determined even more to win his next fight and get Mr. Steele's backing, and get a team and coaches.

He wanted to be able to train with others, to push himself to his limits, and to have the support of a team behind him.

This time he knew his opponent's name, Mark Handerson. But that was all he knew. Damon had wished for more information, but now he realized it was useless without context.

He didn't know Mark's fighting style, his strengths or weaknesses, or anything about his experience.

Damon thought about how different it would be if he had a team behind him.

They would be studying Mark's every move, analyzing his techniques, and finding ways to exploit his weaknesses.

They would be watching tapes of Mark's fights, learning his patterns and habits.

But Damon didn't have that luxury. He was alone, with only his own skills and experience to rely on. And he knew that Mark's team, if he had one, was probably doing the same thing - studying Damon's one recorded match, looking for ways to take him down.

Damon felt determined. He couldn't mess up this chance with Mr. Steele. He had to win, no matter what.

He thought about all the hours he had spent training, all the sweat and blood he had put into this. He couldn't let it all be for nothing.

Damon's mind was focused, his eyes fixed on the prize.

He would do whatever it took to win, to make sure he didn't disappoint Mr. Steele or himself.

He was ready for Mark Handerson, ready to face whatever he threw his way.

Now that he had only one week left before his match, Damon pushed himself harder than ever before. He trained relentlessly, pouring all his energy into his preparations.

The fight would remain in the same venue, so there wasn't a lot of change. But he knew he had to give it his all if he wanted to win.

As the days passed, Damon's training started to decrease. He didn't want to overdo it and risk injuring himself just before the fight.

He had to pace himself, make sure he was fresh and ready for the big day.

He washed his kit, making sure everything was clean and ready for the fight. He laid out his clothes, his gloves, and his mouthguard, double-checking that he had everything he needed.

On the eve of the fight, Damon didn't do any strenuous exercises. He just stretched his body, loosening his muscles and getting his blood flowing. He took a break, avoiding any heavy movements that might tire him out.

Damon felt ready and focused for the fight. He had prepared well and now trusted his skills. His body was relaxed, muscles calm, and he was confident.

With a clear mind and a steady breath, Damon was in the zone. He had visualized this moment, trained for it, and was now ready to execute.

Damon snuggled under the blankets, feeling the softness of the bed beneath him. He closed his eyes, his mind quiet and focused.

He took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, and then slowly released it.

As he drifted off to sleep, Damon felt a sense of calm wash over him.

Mark Handerson, it's your funeral.