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The referee moved to the middle of the octagon, calling both fighters to join him. The announcer, a tall, slender man with a booming voice, entered the cage, a microphone in hand.

The crowd was still cheering, their voices echoing off the walls of the arena. The lights were shining brightly, illuminating every detail of the scene.

Damon\'s eyes were fixed on the announcer, his face still flushed with excitement and adrenaline.

Michael Bosley\'s voice came through the broadcast, his words clear and concise. "Now the question is, is he going to be like The Titan? Because, looking at him now, they are very similar. No fighting records, but very experienced. No team, no coach. We might be looking at another rising star."

Daniel Greene agreed, his voice equally clear. "I see what you mean, and that\'s possible. But only time can tell. He\'s got talent, let\'s hope he doesn\'t waste it."

The announcer raised his hands, calling for silence. The crowd slowly quieted down, their voices dying away. The announcer smiled, his eyes shining with excitement.

The referee grasped the hands of both fighters, his grip firm but gentle.

The crowd\'s cheers subsided slightly, their voices dropping to a gentle hum as they awaited the official announcement.

The announcer\'s voice boomed through the arena, his words clear and concise.

"Ladies and gentlemen, referee John Doe has called a stop to this contest at 2 minutes and 35 seconds in the second round, declaring the winner by TKO... Damon Cross!"

As the announcer spoke, the referee raised Damon\'s hand high into the air, his arm straight and his fist clenched.

The crowd erupted into cheers once more, their voices growing louder and more intense. Damon\'s face broke into a wide grin, his eyes shining with pride and excitement.

He felt a surge of joy and elation, his heart racing with excitement. He had done it. He had won.

As he stood there, basking in the adoration of the crowd, Damon couldn\'t help but think of one thing.

He wished, just for once, that Grant Parker was the one announcing his victory. He wanted to hear those iconic words, "IT\'S TIIIIIME!" and "AND THE WINNER, BY TKO, DAAAAAMON CROSS!"

But for now, he was content with the announcer\'s words, and the crowd\'s cheers. He took a deep breath, savoring the moment, and let the referee\'s grip on his hand guide him around the octagon, basking in the glory of his victory.

The lights shone brightly overhead, illuminating every detail of the scene. The crowd\'s cheers grew louder still, a deafening roar that filled the arena.

Damon\'s face glowed with pride, his eyes shining like stars. He was the winner, and he knew it.

The referee released Damon\'s hand, and Damon thanked him with a simple "thanks." The referee nodded in response, his face breaking into a small smile as he said "congratulations."

Johnny approached Damon, his hand stretched out in a gesture of respect. Damon smiled, taking Johnny\'s hand in his and shaking it firmly.

Then, in a show of sportsmanship, Damon pulled Johnny into a hug. "Thanks, great match," Damon said, his voice sincere.

Johnny patted Damon\'s back, his eyes shining with genuine admiration. "Nah, you deserve it, you\'re good," Johnny replied, his voice filled with conviction.

Damon nodded humbly, his face still flushed with excitement. "I still have a lot to learn," he said, his voice filled with a desire to improve.

The two fighters shared a moment of mutual respect, their differences forgotten in the spirit of competition.

They said their goodbyes, and Johnny walked towards his team, who were waiting for him with nods of encouragement.

Damon, on the other hand, walked towards the gate, leaving the cage behind. As he stepped out of the octagon, the bright lights of the arena gave way to the dimmer glow of the backstage area.

The sounds of the crowd grew fainter, replaced by the murmur of voices and the rustle of movement.

Damon made his way back to the back room, his footsteps echoing off the walls.

Michael Bosley turned to his partner, Daniel Greene, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Well, Daniel, this was a hell of an opening match," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "I think I\'ll expect more from him. He\'ll certainly shake up the BE flyweight division."

Daniel Greene nodded in agreement, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Indeed," he said, his voice clear and concise. "I almost forgot it was an opening match. The way Damon Cross performed out there, it was like he was a seasoned veteran."

Michael Bosley chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I know what you mean," he said. "He\'s got a lot of potential, and I think we\'ll be seeing great things from him in the future."

Daniel Greene leaned forward, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "As for him staying in the flyweight division, I think we\'ll be seeing him higher on the next division soon," he said. "He\'s got the skills and the talent to make a real impact in the sport."

Damon entered his room, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He walked over to the table, his movements slow and deliberate, and set down the large box he was carrying. He let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of his exhaustion.

He wiped the sweat from his face, his hands moving slowly across his forehead. He sat up, his eyes fixed on the door, a small smile playing on his lips. Then, his gaze shifted to his gloves, still clutched in his hands.

He began to remove them, his fingers fumbling slightly as he pulled them off. His hands felt numb and free, the sensation a welcome relief after the intense fight.

Next, he took out his mouthguard, his teeth feeling strange and exposed without it. He let out a laugh, the sound echoing off the walls. "Ahh haha hahaha," he chuckled, his eyes shining with amusement. "This is fun, this is life," he said, his voice filled with joy.