NOVPUBFour months had passed, and Damon's world moved in steady rhythm.
He had defended his middleweight title again, delivering a performance that solidified his reign.
That victory marked his second-to-last fight before moving up to light heavyweight.
Only one name remained on the list before he would shift his focus upward.
In recent months, one name had climbed quietly into the conversation.
Ivan.
He had always been talented, but his recent domination of PDD had turned heads.
Even on short notice, he had dismantled a respected contender and done so with calm, efficient violence. Damon had taken notice.
Ivan's striking remained simple, but it was clean, and paired with his strong grappling base, he created consistent pressure that broke his opponents down.
Damon had always respected skill, and Ivan was showing that in abundance now.
Initially, Damon hadn't considered him. Ivan was still developing his name among the fans, and no one had pushed for a matchup between them.
The hype wasn't there. The buzz didn't exist. But Damon didn't care about hype. He cared about legacy.
And legacy meant facing anyone and everyone who might matter before leaving a division.
Of course, there were problems. Ivan had only fought a few top names, and outside of PDD, none of them held much weight.
It wouldn't be a fan-demanded matchup and it wouldn't sell massive numbers.
But Damon didn't want to skip any names. He wanted the division clean behind him. No loose ends.
He had already seen the post from Jon Dlachovizc. The light heavyweight standout had made it clear, he wanted to run it back.
He called it respect. He called it unfinished business. Damon knew what it really was.
It was a warning.
A welcome.
An invitation.
And Damon was interested.
He hadn't forgotten that fight in the tournament. Damon had won, but it wasn't easy.
He had landed a clean shot and followed up for the finish, but Jon had made him work. And now, Jon wanted to face him again—this time at his own weight class.
Damon knew he couldn't just jump the line and demand a title shot.
Even with his resume, that wasn't how things worked. He had to take fights. Earn it in the new division.
Prove that the dominance he carried in middleweight could survive in heavier waters.
And that's what he planned to do.
One fight left.
Then it was war at 205.
Though he understood he could jump to light heavyweight and demand a title shot if he wanted, that wasn't the way Damon saw things.
To each their own, but he didn't believe in skipping lines. That division already had contenders waiting, names grinding their way toward a belt.
For him, a middleweight champion to leapfrog all of them would feel wrong.
He wanted to earn it.
He wanted to establish himself first. Three fights, maybe. Enough to shake the division, get his footing, and prove that he wasn't just visiting, he was there to take over. 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒑𝒖𝙗.𝒄𝒐𝒎
That was also why he needed to finish things properly in the middleweight.
Because when he moved up, he didn't want anyone left behind shouting his name for attention. No claims of being ducked. No what-ifs.
So he sure as hell wasn't vacating. The only way the title would leave him was if someone beat him in the cage.
That was the way it should be.
So that was the entire gist of his career, at least for now.
He had climbed from nothing, fought his way through shadows and noise, and become a symbol of dominance. He was still undefeated. Still holding gold. Still standing tall.
Other than what had already happened, nothing new had shaken the ground beneath him.
Though he hadn't made the call yet, Damon had already made up his mind.
He'd speak to Victor and Joey soon, probably that evening. Once Victor knew he wanted the Ivan fight, the wheels would turn.
Victor had his way to negotiate to make it happen, and Damon knew Ivan wouldn't decline.
After all, who didn't want a shot at the world champion?
Ivan was no different. From their days on The Supreme Fighter, they both had a quiet understanding. one day, they'd fight.
He really wanted to test himself one more time in this division and shut it down.
But in the part of Damon's life that mattered most, his family, something had changed in a way no title fight ever could.
Ava had spoken her first real word.
It wasn't just babbling anymore. For months, she had filled the house with soft, almost-words.
Sounds that felt close to meaning. Things like "muh" or "guh" that Damon and Svetlana sometimes joked about, pretending she was already talking. But they both knew she wasn't there yet.
Until she was.
There wasn't a special moment leading up to it. It had happened on an otherwise quiet afternoon, in the middle of a normal day.
One second she was just watching her mother move around the room, the next, she reached out and said it.
"Mama."
That single word pulled all the air out of the room. It wasn't gibberish. It wasn't a sound passed off as speech. It was clear, intentional, and real.
Damon had heard it from across the room. He didn't say anything at first. He just stared. For a heartbeat, time stilled. He felt a rush that no belt or crowd could ever match.
Ava had spoken. For the first time. And her first word was "Mama."
It didn't matter that it wasn't "Papa." He didn't feel any jealousy. Just pride.
Just the swelling, unmistakable pride of a father realizing that his daughter, his tiny, blabbering daughter, was growing up in front of his eyes.
She said it again later. And again the day after that. It became more consistent.
And with that, the world at home shifted again.
But the very next day, the moment grew even bigger.
As they moved through another calm morning, Ava sat in her usual spot, half-wrapped in a blanket, playing with her toy while the light poured in through the window.
She had already said "Mama" once that morning, casually, almost like it was part of her vocabulary now.
But then, without fanfare, she turned her little head toward Damon, reached out with one hand, and said it, clear, soft, unmistakable.
"Dada."
Damon froze. The sound hit him deeper than he expected.
It wasn't just the word, it was the way it landed, like a reward he didn't even realize he'd been chasing.
There wasn't any show of celebration in that moment. No shouting or jumping or disbelief.
Just Damon standing still, taking it in, and smiling in a way only a parent could understand.
He didn't need recognition from the world.
