Damon smiled as he watched the finish replay on the arena screen.

The right hook was sharp, the follow-up uppercut brutal, and the clean KO undeniable. Ronny had done it.

Against every doubt, every question about whether he belonged here, he had just punched his ticket to the finals.

Ronny threw his arms up and roared, bouncing off the cage with both fists high.

He soaked it in for a moment, chest heaving, before his eyes drifted back to Ayo.

Ayo Fasusi was already upright, seated against the cage with the medics giving him space.

His eyes were clear now, though the knockout was still written across his face.

He blinked, processing, shaking his head once before looking at Ronny. There was no bitterness in the look, only acceptance.

Ronny walked over, still breathing heavy, sweat dripping down his face. He crouched, touched Ayo's shoulder, and leaned in. "You good, brother?"

Ayo let out a tired laugh, then extended his glove. "That was clean, bro. You got me."

Ronny nodded and bumped his glove, then pulled him up to his feet.

The two shared a quick embrace, the kind that spoke louder than words. They had gone to war, and in war there was respect.

Damon's smile grew wider. This was exactly what he wanted to see, fighting spirit backed by respect.

The referee waved them in, gesturing both men to the center of the cage.

Ronny's chest was still heaving, while Ayo kept his head high despite the sting of defeat.

The official gripped their wrists firmly, raising them slightly as the announcer's voice boomed from the background, filling the arena with anticipation.

"Ladies and gentlemen… after two minutes and forty-three seconds of round two… by knockout… advancing to the finals of the The Supreme Fighter…"

"RRRROOONNYY MMCCGREGOOOR!"

The referee shot Ronny's hand into the air.

Ronny lifted both arms, grinning through the exhaustion, while Ayo clapped his gloves together and gave him a nod of respect.

The moment belonged to Ronny, another step taken, another barrier shattered.

Ronny's arm dropped after the referee let go, and Damon stepped forward right away. He clapped Ronny's glove and pulled him into a quick dap.

"Solid work, mam," Damon said, giving him a nod. "You kept your composure after that first round, didn't rush, and you found your shot. That's what matters."

Ronny let out a breath, still catching himself. "Appreciate it, man."

Damon patted his shoulder once more before moving toward Ayo. The younger fighter looked frustrated, jaw tight, but Damon didn't let it sit there. He reached for his glove and pulled him in.

"Hey," Damon said, his tone steady but not condescending, "you looked sharp early. That jab and your movement in the first round? That was giving him problems, for real. You just got caught because you lingered a little too long on that exit. That's an experience thing, not a skill problem."

Ayo nodded, eyes down for a moment. "Yeah… I should've seen it coming."

Damon shook his head. "Nah, don't kill yourself over it. Everybody gets clipped, it happens to me in sparring all the time. What matters is you showed you belong here. You've got the tools. Clean it up, stay patient, and next time you'll be the one landing that shot."

Ayo finally looked him in the eye. Damon gave him a firm nod and a half-smile, the kind that carried weight without being over the top.

"You did good," Damon finished. "Hold your head up."

Ayo exhaled slowly, and for the first time since the stoppage, his shoulders relaxed.

Damon gave his glove a tap before stepping back, leaving both fighters with respect and something real to hold onto.

Had he ever been clipped in training? Yes, at least that's what he said.

Maybe two or three years back it happened, but not recently. Before this show, he was already operating at a different level.

His real-life sparring partners were sharp, but they were safe. Nobody tried to take his head off, not the way opponents did under the lights.

The only place he truly got clipped was inside the system.

In those simulations, he tested himself against versions of fighters at their absolute peak, levels most of them might never actually touch in real life.

Getting hit there wasn't shameful; it was part of the grind.

But to these guys? These fighters standing beside him, close to his age, carrying the same ambition? He lied.

He told them he had been clipped. Because it made them able to relate to him, but they weren't him.

They didn't know what it meant to walk the line between reality and a system built to break you down.

They were good. They were hungry. But they weren't Damon Cross.

Thami Zulu and Chase Dunham were next tosquared off in the cage, both with the calm composure of men who knew each other's style well from training under Ivan.

Damon leaned forward with his arms crossed over his knees, his eyes following Chase more than Thami.

He wasn't dismissing Thami, but Chase had been on his radar since Max told him about the comments he'd been making.

To Damon, talk didn't matter much unless it was backed up, and Chase's last fight had at least proven that he had more than just a mouth.

He thought back on that performance, the way Chase burst out in the first round throwing spinning kicks, flashy combinations, and constant motion like he was trying to show off for a highlight reel.

Damon had almost written him off right then. But when the second round started, it was like a switch flipped.

Chase dropped the nonsense, tightened his stance, and moved with the kind of patience that didn't belong to someone just chasing clout.

He stalked his opponent, forced mistakes, and then closed the fight cleanly.

That second-round Chase was the one Damon wanted to see again, because that was the version who might actually be a problem.

"Zulu's no easy out though," Damon muttered, almost to himself.

Thami had a solid frame and carried himself with a kind of quiet confidence that told Damon he didn't care who Chase was or what he'd been saying in the house.

He was there to fight, plain and simple.

Damon shifted back in his seat, resting his chin on his fist.

He wasn't rooting for either of them, not really. Ivan had put both men in, so the outcome wouldn't affect his side directly.

But he was curious. Curious about how Chase would handle someone he couldn't overwhelm with theatrics.

Curious about whether the serious Chase was the real Chase, or if it was just a glimpse of something he couldn't sustain.

Either way, Damon wasn't taking it personal. Chase could talk all he wanted, but at the end of the day, they weren't the same.

Damon knew it. His team knew it. And if Chase kept winning, maybe eventually Chase would know it too.