UFA president Ronan Black stood tall at the podium, his voice cutting across the packed room as cameras flashed and microphones crackled.
The press conference backdrop stretched across the wall, logos of sponsors plastered in every direction.
One by one, fighters began to take their seats at the long table, each with water bottles and nameplates in front of them.
When Damon entered, the noise in the room swelled. Reporters whispered, flashes lit up, and every eye locked onto him.
The belt gleamed as he placed it carefully on the table, but Damon himself didn't carry the same shine.
He didn't grin, didn't flex, didn't look like a man who had just defended his world title against a bitter rival. Instead, he sat back in his chair, arms resting on the table, gaze distant.
His body was here, but his head was somewhere else, the weight of something heavier than gold pulling at him.
