MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 620: Conference (Part 2)

Shane Brickland brought the mic to his mouth, leaning forward like a man who'd been itching to speak for the past hour.

He glanced at the crowd, at Damon, then back to the crowd again as the cheering continued. His expression was a mix of disbelief and irritation.

"Come on, you guys," he muttered, waving a hand. "This guy makes one cupcake-ass joke and you all lose your minds like it's the second coming of fucking Ncgyver."

Some boos came his way, but he wasn't fazed. He pointed right back at them.

"Yeah, yeah—boo me, I know. You boo the guy who says what you're too soft to admit. Fuckin' figures."

He shifted in his seat and stared at Damon, speaking into the mic without breaking eye contact.

"You're funny, man. I'll give you that. You walk in here with your belt and your movie star smile and you got all these people suckin' you off like you're untouchable. But the truth is, I'm the guy who doesn't care. I'm the guy who's gonna walk through that cage door and turn this whole fairytale into a fuckin' funeral."

Some gasps. Some laughter. A few chants from the back row tried to start up again, but Shane raised his voice over them.

"Nah, don't cheer now—let me talk, you soft bastards."

He looked around again, shrugging with mock innocence.

"I've been saying it for years. This sport's full of actors. And now we got the lead one right here. The family man. The hero. The dude who posts zoo pictures like he's a fuckin' Pixar dad."

The crowd booed harder. Shane just chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah—boo. I know. You hate the truth. You want the fantasy. But here's what's real—Damon's soft. He's been handed cupcakes on silver plates. No real adversity. Not from someone like me. And now you're all gonna watch him bleed."

He slammed the mic down on the table like a gavel.

"Fuck your fairy tale. I'm the monster in the story."

One of the fans asked, " I have a question for Brickland,"

"Shane, in your first match with Damon, you lost in a clear loss. Do you think you can change it this time around and win the championship?"

Shane leaned forward with the mic, brushing his mustache with the back of his hand. "Do I think I can change it?" he repeated with a grin. "Buddy, I didn't show up to sing songs and clap hands. Of course I can change it. I'm better now. Smarter. Meaner. More pissed off. Damon had his win. Cool story. But this time? I'm showing up to ruin the script."

The crowd buzzed with mixed reactions—some laughs, some support, some doubt.

But then—laughter. Loud and genuine.

Damon leaned back in his chair, mic in hand, laughing with his head tilted.

"Oh man," he said between chuckles. "You're serious too."

He shook his head and leaned forward, face calm, voice firm.

"Shane, I mauled you the first time. You remember that? Because I do. You had one good moment, then I folded you and left your head bouncing like a basketball. And now you think you're gonna walk in here and do something different because what—you've yelled louder on social media since then?"

The room stirred.

"You wanna talk like you're built different, but the truth is your career's just loud losses and louder interviews. No defense. No footwork. No evolution. You fight like a drunk uncle at a barbecue—aggressive, sloppy, and confident for no reason."

Even the media table chuckled.

"You're tough. I'll give you that. But toughness isn't enough when you're facing someone with actual skill. You didn't lose because of a bad night. You lost because you're not on my level. And you never will be."

Damon glanced at the crowd, then back at Shane.

"You're not the monster in the story, man. You're the guy who talks like one right before the hero breaks his jaw."

Damon leaned into his mic, his voice calm but his smile sharp.

"And I'm very happy to tell you that I'm not the hero here," he said, eyes locked on Shane. "Because a hero would let all the dumb shit you've said slide. But nah. I'm not letting it slide."

The crowd got quieter, listening.

"I'm going to ragdoll you," Damon said. "I'm going to take you to the ground and make you my little bitch. The whole world is going to watch you choke, and I'll make sure to whisper you to your end, boy."

The room lit up with gasps and shouts. Before anyone could speak, Shane sat up and fired back, waving his hand wildly.

"Ohhh look at this guy," Shane snapped. "Whisper to me? What are you, my ex-girlfriend now? You wanna cuddle me into a loss?"

He pointed across the table, getting louder.

"Face me like a damn man, huh?! All this ground hugging—what are you, gay? This guy talks about choking people like he's in a fucking romance novel."

Boos erupted again. A few fans even laughed. Ronan Black shifted awkwardly in his seat, looking toward the media team already.

Shane didn't slow down.

"You keep running your mouth like you're this unbeatable god—but let's not forget, you came up cuddling people in a gym no one knew. You ain't special, cupcake. You're just the guy who didn't get hit yet."

He jabbed a finger toward Damon. "I'm not here to dance. I'm not here to play daddy daycare. I'm here to punch holes through you."

He dropped the mic back to the table with a thud, breathing through his nose.

Damon smiled again.

He didn't need to say much more.

Everyone watching could see who was composed—and who was cracking.

A fan stood up from the media pit. "Damon, you spoke about Shane's career... but he did win the championship. Isn't that credible enough?"

Damon looked at Shane, then turned to the fan. "And that's special?" He leaned into the mic. "Look, becoming a champion in the UFA is easy. It's keeping it—that's the hard part. A lot of fighters win belts. One-trick ponies get their moment, flash through the rankings, then fade out. They're not even a drop in the ocean."

He shifted in his seat and continued, "I'll say this, he's better than most. Sure, he won the belt twice. But he also lost it—twice. That's not legacy. That's recycling."

The room was quiet. Even Shane didn't interrupt yet.

Damon tapped the table once. "And hear me out—I don't like Shane. Especially not after these past few months with him constantly talking about me, trying to get my attention. But I'm not going to lie and pretend he's trash."

He looked at Shane again.

"I think I'd beat him a hundred times if we fought a hundred times. But he's a great fighter. He took the belt off Desayen, one of the best strikers this division's ever seen. And I'm smart enough to admit the Desayen I fought wasn't the same Desayen he fought. Shane faced him in his prime."

A few reporters scribbled down notes.

Damon leaned back. "And me and Shane? We've got a lot in common. We came up hard. Real hard. I'll never take that from him. Even if I'm going to break him in that cage... I still respect the fighter in him."

He paused.

"Do I like him? No. Am I going to murder him and end his career? Yes. But that's the point. I don't want to talk about it anymore. This is fun and all, but I'd rather shut his big mouth up when the cage closes."