MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat
Chapter 61: Chapter 61: To The Physical World

Morning hit the motel windows, casting a warm glow over the room.

Damon turned, hearing the curtains open with a soft rustle. He opened his eyes, squinting slightly at the bright light.

"Morning, mom," he said, sitting up in bed. He raised his hand to rub his eyes, then paused mid-air, remembering that he wasn't exactly fully recovered.

It had been a few days since the fight, and Damon wasn't feeling well.

He had been looking forward to opening his new punching bag, but he had held off, to recover.

Aoife answered, "Morning, Damon," her voice warm and gentle. She turned around, looking at Damon, and forced a smile after glancing at his bruised body.

Her eyes lingered on the purple marks on his face and the bandages on his hands.

Damon sat up, stretching his hand, trying to play it cool. "You're up early," he joked, attempting to hide the pain he felt.

Aoife scoffed, "More like you're up late," she said with a smirk, moving away from the curtains. Her long, dark hair swayed behind her as she walked towards the small kitchenette in the motel room.

Damon swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the soft carpet beneath his feet. He stood up slowly, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back.

His muscles protested with a dull ache, but he ignored it, knowing it was just part of the healing process.

Aoife turned around, watching him with a concerned expression. "You should be resting, Damon," she said, her voice firm but gentle.

Damon shrugged, trying to downplay his injuries. "I'm fine, mom. Just a few bruises," he said, attempting to smile.

Aoife raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "A few bruises?" she repeated, and said with sarcasm evident in her voice. "You look like you've been through a war."

Damon chuckled, wincing as his ribs protested. "It was just a tough fight," he said, trying to reassure her.

Aoife sighed, shaking her head. "You need to take care of yourself, Damon. You can't keep pushing yourself like this."

Damon stood up. He walked towards his mom, his bare feet making soft sounds on the carpet. He put his hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. "I'm fine, see," he said, attempting a smile.

Aoife just smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She playfully nudged him with her elbow, trying to get a reaction out of him.

Damon let out a mock "ahh" as he moved aside, protecting his bruised ribs. "Nice try, wrong side," he said, chuckling and shaking his head.

He moved towards the bathroom. He grabbed some clean clothes from the counter, wincing as he lifted his arms to take off his shirt.

He closed the door, standing in front of the mirror, and let out a deep sigh. "Man, I hope that Elixir shop has some stuff that can help me heal," he said to himself, examining his reflection. He couldn't wait to complete the quest and check out what rewards it had.

He undressed and entered the shower, feeling the warm water flow over his body. As he stood under the stream, he couldn't help but think back to days before, specifically the cab driver he had met.

He remembered the man's story, his son fighting to support him, and the weight of that responsibility.

Damon's mind wandered, imagining what it would be like if his mother's life depended on him winning every fight.

He knew it was a heavy burden, one that the cab driver's son probably felt every day. He thought about the pressure, the stress, and the fear that came with it.

He stood there for a few moments, lost in thought, before finally turning off the water and stepping out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and began to dry himself.

As he dressed in the clean clothes he had grabbed earlier.

The clothes he wore were solely for training, a pair of worn-out sweatpants and a faded t-shirt. He wasn't going to let these bruises stop him from doing what he needed to do.

Each day he missed meant he was losing days of progress, and he couldn't afford that.

So he finished up, cleaning up the bathroom, making sure to wipe down the sink and toilet, and then went out to the parking lot.

The bright sunlight hit him like a slap in the face, making him squint. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, feeling the warm rays on his skin.

The parking lot was empty, except for a few cars scattered here and there. Damon's eyes scanned the area, taking in the familiar sights.

Damon looked around, scanning the empty parking lot. He was about to open his system interface, but then paused, thinking better of it. That would be reckless, he thought.

What if someone was watching him, observing his every move? He couldn't afford to have his secret revealed, not now, not ever.

Damon took a careful look around. No movement. No people. He felt a sense of caution, realizing how easily he could make a mistake. He decided against using the system here. It wasn't safe.

Instead, he made up his mind to go for a run. It was a better way to clear his head and keep up with his training, he'll also just access the inventory right around the corner.

He took a deep breath and started jogging, leaving the parking lot behind.

Damon arrived around the corner, making sure he was alone. He glanced around cautiously, his eyes scanning the empty street.

Satisfied that no one was watching, he opened the system interface. The familiar screen flickered to life, displaying his inventory.

Damon's eyes landed on the punching bag icon, and he clicked on it. The description popped up, and he read through it quickly.

"Bag of steel" - a sturdy, oversized punching bag designed for intense training. He could use it for low kicks, practicing his technique and building his strength.

Damon's fingers hovered over the button, ready to bring the bag into the physical world. As he hesitated, he thought about the perfect spot to set up the bag.

With a decisive nod, Damon clicked the button. The system interface flashed, and the punching bag materialized in front of him. It was bigger than he expected.

Damon cracked his knuckles, a fierce grin spreading across his face. It was time to put in the work, to push himself to the limit.