MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 478: Chaos in the Aftermath

Damon was pulled to the back by security, but he wasn’t in a rush. The energy in the arena was still insane, echoing through the halls even after he disappeared from sight.

The guy who threw the chair? Immediate consequences.

Officials weren’t playing around. Security swarmed the fan section instantly, yanking the man from his seat and escorting him out in front of thousands of furious spectators.

Some English fans cheered for him like he was some kind of hero, but others looked concerned, knowing he had just thrown his life savings away on banned-for-life tickets.

The official response was swift.

Arena security detained the fan on the spot.

Event organizers immediately held an emergency meeting.

The venue released a statement minutes later, confirming an indefinite ban and potential legal action.

Despite all this, the crowd still raged on.

Bottles were still being thrown.

Fans were still screaming.

Some left to avoid getting hurt over stupid crowd.

---

BACKSTAGE.

Damon walked through the halls, completely unfazed, wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel.

Victor kept pace beside him, shaking his head, half-smirking. "You know they’re probably drafting a new fine for you as we speak, right?"

Damon laughed, tossing the towel onto a bench. "They might as well just set up direct deposit at this point."

Svetlana was not laughing. Arms crossed, standing off to the side, she was giving him the look, the one that meant she was debating between scolding him or just sighing and accepting his insanity.

Tommy Hughes? Pale. The old man was pacing back and forth like he had just witnessed the collapse of Irish MMA in real time.

"What the hell were ya thinking!?" Tommy snapped, throwing his hands up. "Do ya know how much trouble this is gonna cause!?"

Damon shrugged, still smirking. "Bro, if I knew this was gonna be the reaction, I would’ve started talking worse."

Tommy looked ready to explode. "You don’t take this seriously at all, do ya!?"

Victor, sensing the argument about to unfold, stepped in. "Alright, cool it. What’s done is done." He turned to Damon. "Now we just gotta see how bad the damage is."

Just as he finished, an event official approached them, face tight with stress.

"The event organizers want to see him. Now."

Victor sighed, nodding. "Of course they do." He glanced at Damon. "You ready for another meeting?"

Damon rolled his shoulders, grinning. "Sure. Let’s see what price tag they put on that apology."

Inside the Office:

The tension in the private meeting room was undeniable.

Seated around the long table were tournament organizers, event officials, and senior representatives, all wearing varying expressions of frustration, concern, or outright exhaustion.

The aftermath of Damon Cross’s post-fight speech was unfolding, and they had no choice but to deal with it.

The head organizer, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, rubbed his temples. "We’ve got a full-blown disaster on our hands."

The woman with glasses, one of the lead PR strategists, exhaled loudly. "Define disaster. Because from a marketing standpoint? This is the most attention this tournament has ever had."

That statement split the room.

Some of the executives nodded in reluctant agreement. Because whether they liked it or not, she was right.

"This was already trending worldwide before the fight even ended," she continued. "And now? Everyone’s talking about it. Fans, fighters, sponsors, hell, even people who don’t watch MMA are tuning in just to see what’s going on."

"Yeah? Well, the venue’s calling us about security concerns, and I just got off the phone with a legal rep from one of our sponsors," an event coordinator snapped. "They’re worried about liability. That chair-throwing incident could’ve escalated. This isn’t just about marketing, we have to control this before it blows up in our faces."

"We do need to address it," the head organizer agreed. "But let’s be clear about one thing: We cannot disqualify Damon Cross."

The room shifted again.

The PR strategist leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. "If we even consider a DQ, we risk ruining this entire event."

"We need to set an example," one of the more senior officials argued. "If any other fighter did this, they’d be gone already."

"And how would that look?" she countered immediately. "You really think that wouldn’t blow up in our faces? We built this tournament around getting the best fighters in the world, and now you want to DQ the biggest name in the finals? That’s not setting an example, that’s killing our credibility."

A few murmured in agreement.

The younger event coordinator, still visibly shaken from the chaos of the night, crossed his arms. "We’ve had to physically pull him out of the cage twice now. How do we let that slide?"

"We don’t," she replied, "but we don’t screw ourselves over it, either. You DQ him? You just hand Russia the finals. And guess what? Everyone watching will turn on us."

"She’s not wrong," another official admitted.

The PR strategist continued, her voice steady. "Like it or not, he’s a finalist. He got there fair and square. And people want to see that fight. If we screw with that, we become the story, and not in a good way. That’s bad business."

The head organizer nodded. "Disqualification is off the table."

There was no argument this time.

"So," the strategist continued, adjusting her glasses, "what we can do is control the fallout. Because despite all this chaos, you know what we have right now?"

She smirked.

"A perfect storm."

The event coordinator looked skeptical. "How the hell is this a perfect storm?"

She leaned back, confidence clear in her tone. "We have controversy. We have drama. We have a fighter who is, like it or not, one of the most talked-about athletes in combat sports right now. Whether people love him or hate him, they’re watching. That’s leverage."

Some nodded.

"We need damage control, sure. But let’s not pretend this isn’t exactly what drives numbers."

The head organizer exhaled through his nose. "Alright, so no DQ. What’s the next move?"

One of the officials drummed his fingers on the table. "We fine him."

A murmur of agreement went through the room.

"We already fined him $10,000 last time, and he didn’t even blink. This time, it has to actually mean something."

"How much?"

"$100,000."

That caused a reaction. Some were in favor, but others hesitated.

"That’s steep," one said.

"But it sends a message," another added.

The PR strategist shook her head. "That’s too aggressive. We’re already walking a fine line here. If we fine him that much, it looks like we’re punishing him for being successful, rather than for his actions. We need to be careful about how we frame this."

"Then let’s structure it," the head organizer suggested. "Make it a disciplinary fine, tied to specific breaches of conduct."

A logistics manager added, "And we include a warning, if there’s another incident, the next consequence is immediate suspension."

More nods.

Then, a new suggestion.

"What if we force him into a media interview?"

The PR strategist’s eyes lit up. "Now that is smart."

A media strategist elaborated, "A mandatory sit-down interview where he has to answer tough questions. We put him in a controlled environment, let the media drill him. Make him address it there instead of in the cage."

"I like it," the head organizer said. "We’ll have full control over the optics."

"And what about an official statement?"

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freёnovelkiss.com.

"Yes," the PR strategist agreed. "We condemn his behavior, make it clear we expect professionalism, but we don’t vilify him to the point where we risk him walking."

The head organizer tapped the table. "Here’s what we’re doing."

.

. Find more adventures on novelbuddy

.

"Agreed?"

The room nodded.

The decision was made.

Now, they just had to call Damon in.