MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 477: A Promise to Keep?

The arena buzzed with energy, a mix of celebration and anticipation. Damon Cross had dominated his way into the World MMA Tournament Finals, proving once again why he was considered one of the most dangerous fighters on the planet.

But while his victory was undeniable, there was one thing that couldn’t be ignored.

The apology.

Before this match, officials had stated that Damon would issue a public apology to the crowd for his actions in the England fight.

Many had waited for this moment, some eager to see him finally show humility, others hoping it would be the ultimate embarrassment.

Some fans had even prayed for his loss, believing a defeat would make the apology all the more painful. But instead, he had just steamrolled his way to the finals, making it impossible to mock him.

Now, all eyes were on Damon.

The commentators were already discussing it.

"Alright, let’s see if Damon holds up his end of the deal here."

"He won in dominant fashion, but this moment isn’t about the fight, it’s about whether he actually apologizes to the fans."

"Yeah, and let’s be honest, the officials clearly used this as a way to market the fight. They wanted people to tune in for this exact moment."

Inside the cage, Damon remained calm, wiping sweat from his face with his hand wraps. His team was still celebrating around him, but he knew what was coming.

One of the officials approached him, leaning in to speak over the noise.

"Microphone’s ready. Just step forward and give your statement."

Damon glanced at Victor, who stood at the edge of the cage, arms crossed, observing. Victor already knew the answer.

He had known since the meeting that Damon wouldn’t bow his head to anyone, let alone to fans who had screamed insults at him before his fight even started.

Damon took a slow breath and stepped forward as an event staff member handed him the microphone.

The crowd erupted, some cheering, many booing. The moment was finally here.

Damon lifted the mic to his lips.

"I just wanna say…" He let the words hang in the air, his expression unreadable.

Damon lifted the microphone, dragging out the moment as he surveyed the arena, a smirk already tugging at his lips. The crowd was a powder keg, waiting to explode. Some wanted the apology, others wanted to see if he’d refuse.

They were about to get their answer.

"I just wanna say…"

A pause. The tension was thick.

"…I’m sorry to…"

A hush fell over the arena. Some leaned forward in their seats.

Then Damon tilted his head, the smirk growing into something sharper.

"…all you crybaby, soft-ass, bottle-throwing bishes who thought I was actually gonna stand here and beg for your forgiveness."

The arena detonated. Boos rained down like a storm, but within the sea of outrage, there was a crackling POP of cheers from the Irish fans, his supporters, the ones who lived for this kind of chaos.

Damon laughed into the mic, his shoulders shaking, enjoying every second of it. "Oh, what? That hurt your feelings? That’s rich, y’all were screaming insults before the fight even started! You wanted me humbled? You wanted me crawling on my knees, saying ’oh please, forgive me’?"

His smirk widened into something crueler, more arrogant.

"You fuckers should be the ones on your knees, sucking these big Irish balls!"

The crowd ERUPTED into pure madness. The boos were suffocating, waves of outrage rippling through the arena. It wasn’t just an insult; it was a full-blown declaration of war against the entire country.

Damon just grinned, completely unfazed.

"You wanna throw shit at me and then cry when I laugh? You wanna talk reckless online and then demand ’sportsmanship’? Piss off. I don’t fight for your approval, I fight because I’m the best, and every time I step in here, I prove it!"

The officials outside the cage were already losing their minds, some scrambling to figure out how to cut this off before it got worse.

Damon wasn’t done.

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"You want an apology? Here’s one, I’m sorry you lot are so goddamn sensitive. I’m sorry your whole damn country had to watch their so-called ’future’ get flatlined in under five seconds! I’m sorry your little chants didn’t change a damn thing. And most of all…" He dragged his thumb across his throat, the smirk never leaving his face.

"I’m sorry you’re gonna have to watch me win this whole fookin’ thing."

BOOOOOOOOOOO!

A near riot broke out. Fans screamed, some even trying to shove against the barricades. Security tensed, looking ready to rush in at any second. One particularly furious fan launched a drink, but Damon casually stepped aside, mocking a flinch before breaking into laughter.

"Wow. Missed again. Y’all really can’t land anything tonight, huh?"

STATIC.

The microphone CUT OFF.

The moment it happened, the entire arena somehow got even louder, half laughing, half raging.

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Damon blinked, looking down at the dead mic in his hands. He tested it again, nothing.

Then he grinned wider and mouthed a single sentence.

"Y’all are soft as hell."

The crowd EXPLODED.

Security RUSHED INTO THE CAGE, pulling Damon back before things escalated further.

The officials? Livid.

Damon didn’t give a single damn.

He tossed the microphone to the ground, lifted both hands in victory, and strolled out of the cage, leaving behind one of the most chaotic moments in MMA history.

As soon as Damon tossed the dead microphone, the crowd’s rage hit its peak.

The arena was an absolute war zone of emotions. English fans were furious, their screams nearly drowning out the few Irish supporters who were laughing their asses off.

Some were furious beyond words, others were straight-up laughing in disbelief, as if they couldn’t believe this level of disrespect had just happened live.

Security was already pushing into the cage, moving fast, knowing that this could spiral completely out of control.

But not everyone was content with just screaming.

A chair suddenly flew over the barricade.

Yes, A CHAIR.

Damon had just turned when he saw something coming from the corner of his eye. A metal folding chair from ringside.

The Irish fans in attendance erupted into laughter the moment they saw it, while others gasped, actually horrified that someone had gone that far.

Damon casually sidestepped it, barely even reacting.

He turned his head, looking in the direction it came from.

His smirk returned.

Security swarmed the area, rushing into the crowd to prevent an actual riot.

Bottles, cups, even a shoe were thrown as Damon left, but nothing hit him. If anything, it just fed into the legend.

The man mocked a slip, pretending like he had to dodge imaginary attacks before throwing his hands up one last time, soaking in the absolute meltdown around him.