MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 607: Return of the Maxed-Out

They finally arrived in Stockton, easing off the freeway as the sun dipped lower across the skyline.

The city looked quiet in that late afternoon way, cars still moving, shops still open, but everything starting to slow.

To most, Stockton had its charm. The trees. The weather. The hum of neighborhoods still holding on. It could be beautiful.

But Damon hadn't grown up in those parts.

He didn't know the parks or the good diners or any of the safe corners.

His childhood had been spent in the alleyways, the broken sidewalks behind motels, and whatever concrete could shield him and his mother from the rain.

So for him, there wasn't nostalgia here. There were just old echoes.

Hunger. Cold. Restless nights. None of the warmth people attached to "home."

Still, it felt strange to return like this.

He was driving a blacked-out SUV worth more than every motel he'd ever stayed in.

Dressed in fitted casual wear. Champion of the world. Belt tucked into the back compartment.

Rich beyond what he could've ever imagined when he used to walk these same roads hungry.

Svetlana looked out the window, smiling to herself. She had a handheld console in her lap, screen still on.

She'd picked up gaming during her pregnancy, and stuck with it ever since. Claimed she'd always played, even before.

Damon didn't question it, though he was sure she'd picked up half her lingo from the new ones she started after Ava was born.

As he turned onto a familiar street, the thought struck him and he smirked.

He felt like one of those level 100 bosses she always talked about, someone who'd cleared the map, defeated the world's top players, only to walk back into the starting village where the level 1s were still figuring out how to throw a punch.

Not that he looked down on Stockton. It was home for a lot of people. It was where his life started.

But he couldn't forget the version of himself that had left this place, skinny, coughing, stomach growling, sleeping behind dumpsters.

And now he returned with more wealth than he ever thought possible, with a fiancée, a daughter, and enough financial freedom to secure his family for three generations, if they used it wisely.

He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled as they passed an old gas station.

"Still standing," he murmured to himself.

Svetlana looked over. "Hm?"

"Nothing," he said, smiling faintly. "Just remembering something not worth remembering."

But despite the bad memories he could attach to this place, Damon found himself thinking about the good ones too.

There were some.

The nights when he and his mother managed to find warmth.

The cheap meals they sometimes laughed over. The rare days where hope felt like more than just a trick.

He was grateful for this city, for what it taught him, for what it demanded of him. Stockton didn't give anything.

You had to earn your breath here. And he had. Every scrape. Every fight. Every sleepless night. freewebnσvel.cøm

This place had shaped him. Hardened him. Built his instincts and sharpened his grit.

This was where he started.

This was also where he met Joey.

Joey, who had thrown him into a makeshift backyard ring before Damon even knew how to wrap his own hands.

Joey, who always talked too loud and got into trouble but never left his side when it mattered. Who believed in him before the world did.

He thought about how much Joey had grown since then, how Ashley and fatherhood had pulled a different side out of him.

Calmer. Smarter. Less reckless.

Damon was proud of him for that, even if he didn't say it much.

But above all, this was where his professional career had begun.

The first real fight. The first real coach. The first moment he realized he could make a living from this, maybe even more than a living. Maybe a legacy.

So, despite everything, despite the hunger, the pain, the dirt, Damon loved Stockton. And maybe that's why it hurt to say it wasn't home.

Because in some twisted way… it was.

And the truth was, he'd never really had another.

Ireland was his origin, but not his experience. He had never grown up there, not really.

Not how he'd like to think, Ireland was his birth place, but it was also the place he and his mom suffered the most, he thought.

And that's one of the biggest reason he stood for Ireland in tournaments, and when they announced him on fights, it said " Fighting out of Limerick, Ireland."

It was that he didn't want to attach a country full of wonderful people to dead trauma.

This was also what he was trying to do with Stockton. Just because he grew up hard does not mean it's a bad place. It had wonderful people and it had its hardships.

That was why Damon would always credit his growth as a person and status to Stockton.

The man the world now knew as champion was forged in the backstreets of this city.

And now, as he drove through those same streets with a woman who loved him and a daughter who carried his name, he felt something settle in his chest.

Peace, he was at peace in his life.

They finally arrived at the hotel.

Damon parked the car in the underground lot, then stepped out to stretch as Svetlana gathered a few essentials from the back seat.

He scooped up Ava gently and they made their way toward the entrance.

The lobby was calm. Modern lighting. Neutral tones.

A few other guests sat in the lounge area, speaking quietly or scrolling on their phones.

Damon approached the front desk, confirmed the reservation, and received their keys without issue.

They took the elevator up in silence, the kind that only comes after a long drive.

Ava had finally dozed off in Svetlana's arms, her tiny face pressed against her mother's collarbone.

Once in the room, Damon placed the bags down, then reached for his phone. He called Victor first.

"We're here," he said simply.

Victor sounded groggy but pleased. "Good. I'll be by tomorrow morning."

Damon ended the call, then checked in with his mother back home, sending a quick voice message letting her know they'd arrived safely.

With that done, they began to unpack.