NOVPUBThe internet lit up unexpectedly when the UFA dropped a post that no one saw coming.
[UFA OFFICIAL POST]
JUST IN: It's official.
Middleweight Championship Main Event
Damon Cross (27-0) vs. Ivan Novak (7-0)
The undefeated champion returns for his middleweight defense against a rising powerhouse.
DATE TO BE ANNOUNCED SOON.
VENUE: TBA
#UFAMiddleweightTitle #CrossVsNovak #ChampionVsChallenger
The comments section exploded instantly. Thousands of fans, media personalities, and fighters all trying to make sense of it.
Some praised the matchup. Others questioned Ivan's credentials. But one thing was clear, it had everyone talking.
@KnuckleTalks
"Ivan?? Really? I guess Damon's officially cleaned out the division. This ain't even a challenge."
#CrossVsNovak #ChampTooSharp
@MMAJunkie101
"Respect to Ivan but he's not ready for Damon. Not now, not ever. This feels like a stay-busy fight before he moves up."
@TheRealFightPost
"Ivan is good. But Damon's a different tier. Novak hasn't even faced a top 5 guy yet. This is going to be a one-sided lesson."
#ChampTalk #UFA
@JustBleedBro
"I mean… who else is left? Damon beat everyone. This might be the last name just to tick the box."
#UFA #CrossEra
@CombatQueen89
"Not gonna lie, this fight lowkey feels like feeding Ivan to the wolves. Damon's going to walk through him."
@OctagonNews
"Somebody said Ivan Novak is gonna humble Damon… Bro, he couldn't even humble PDD without catching one to the chin first."
@StreetScience
"Guess UFA couldn't find a real contender. Ivan's solid, but this is a warm-up for Damon's light heavyweight run."
@BlessedFights
"Damon's gonna style. If Novak survives two rounds I'll be shocked."
@MMAArchives
"Cross is just cleaning house now. This ain't matchmaking, this is spring cleaning."
#LegendStatus
@FightHypeSA
"No disrespect to Ivan… but let's be real. That title's not changing hands. Damon's just doing charity work at this point."
@TalkinOctagon
"This has to be Damon's last fight at 185. No more food on the table. He's too far ahead."
.
.
.
.
.
The gym was nearly empty. Most of the fighters had already left, their voices and footsteps fading into silence.
But the sharp rhythm of strikes still echoed through the space.
Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
Ivan stood near the far wall, locked in front of the heavy bag. Sweat soaked his shirt and dripped from his jaw, but he didn't slow down.
His fists hammered the leather with steady, punishing force. He exhaled with each shot, low and sharp through clenched teeth.
"Ah—gh!"
He kept moving—jab, cross, hook. Then a switch knee into the bag, followed by a short elbow.
His stance reset naturally, every step measured and drilled into habit. The gym might have been closing, but he wasn't done.
Another knee slammed into the bag, this time followed by a clinch grab and a short pivot as if visualizing the moment inside the cage.
His breathing grew heavier, but he welcomed the burn in his arms. His mind wasn't on conditioning it was on the fight.
Damon Cross.
The middleweight champion. The fight that no one thought he deserved.
That was fine.
Let them talk.
He would keep hitting until the doubt disappeared, and when the cage doors locked, he'd make sure they all remembered his name.
He was grateful to Damon for suggesting the match. The UFA had made it clear, this wasn't a case of rankings or last-minute replacements. Damon Cross had asked for him by name.
That meant something.
Usually, it was the challenger who called out the champion, not the other way around. But here he was, chosen.
Not because of noise or hype, but because Damon wanted to clear the division before leaving it behind. Ivan knew that.
The world knew it too. And while it wasn't rare for a champion to make that kind of move, it wasn't common either.
Still, the way people talked about it started to grate on him.
They treated him like an afterthought. A leftover.
The last name left on the list.
He had seen the posts, the predictions, the memes. People didn't think he belonged in this fight.
They thought Damon was doing him a favor. That it was a warm-up before light heavyweight.
Ivan respected Damon, he always had. He had learned from watching him, admired his balance, his fight IQ, his presence in the cage.
But respect didn't mean he'd hold back.
He was going to take everything.
He didn't want a competitive fight. He didn't want a split decision or a war people remembered as close.
He wanted domination. He wanted to make sure no one questioned why he was there.
His next shot slammed into the bag hard enough to shake the chain overhead. It rattled against the beam and rocked the heavy bag sideways, the sound echoing off the walls.
Ivan didn't stop. He stepped forward and threw again. And again.
He wasn't here to be remembered as a footnote in Damon's story.
He was going to write his own.
Someone walked in from the hallway behind him and clapped his hands once, loud and tired. "Ayy man, we're gonna close up."
Ivan didn't even turn. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath as he hammered one last low kick into the heavy bag. 𝔫𝔬𝖛𝖕𝔲𝖇.𝖈𝖔𝖒
"Just give me five minutes."
The man frowned, arms crossed, clearly not hearing that for the first time. "You said that thirty minutes ago, bro. Look, don't overtrain. You're just gonna burn yourself out or pull something. I need to lock up, I got kids to get home to."
Ivan finally stopped, his chest rising hard under the sweat-soaked shirt. He grabbed the towel slung over the ropes, wiped his face and neck, and gave a slow nod.
"Alright," he muttered, voice low. "I'm done."
He didn't argue. He'd done enough for tonight. Enough to keep the rhythm going in his body. Enough to keep his focus locked.
As he grabbed his water bottle and turned off the bag timer, the man hit the lights behind him.
"You're gonna kill somebody in that cage," he added on his way out. "Just make sure it ain't yourself."
Ivan didn't answer.
He just nodded again and walked toward the locker room, his mind already ahead, on Damon, on the belt, on the silence that would come after he shut everyone up.
He had been traveling from Russia to the US, he was already missing back home.
