As Damon looked at the screen in front of him, his eyes got bigger and his mind tried to make sense of all the information that was there.
The information on the screen seemed to go on and on, with information about every part of his life, from his personal life to how he fights.
Personal Information:
- Nationality: Ireland-Japan
He read aloud, but his voice was fraught with doubt. "What the fuck is this?"
As he scrolled through the profile, his eyes scanned the
physical information:
- Weight: 50 kg / 110 lbs
- Weight Class: Flyweight (Underweight for this class)."
It made Damon's face scrunch up in disgust. "Underweight? What does that even mean?"
He kept reading, and his brow wrinkled in concentration.
Damon's eyes got very dark. "Freestyle? I don't even know what that means."
He winced when he read the part about physical stats.
Damon was so embarrassed that his face turned bright red. "F-? What kind of grade is that?"
It wasn't much better on the mental stats part.
- Tactical Awareness: F+
Damon's eyes rolled. "Great, just what I need. More criticism."
When Damon got to the part about training progress, he stopped being confused and started being frustrated.
[Details on current training focus, skill development, and any notable improvements or setbacks.]
What was he supposed to do with that?
He grimaced when he read the health section.
Current Health: Malnourished
Injury Status: Disfigured Face
Damon's hand went straight to his face and traced the scars and bruises that made him look bad.
Achievements, title wins, knockouts, submissions - the list went on and on, each section a reminder of Damon's inadequacies.
Damon's eyes scanned the page, but there was nothing. No ranking, no division, no nothing.
The notes section at the end seemed to mock him. "Damon's a bit of a mystery in the Flyweight division, mostly because he's too light to be a real contender yet. With his physical stats in the basement and mental stats not far behind, he's definitely got some room for improvement. But hey, at least he's got the reach to make up for the lack of strength, if only he could reach the gym more often!"
Damon's face twisted in a scowl. "What the fuck is this? Some kind of joke?" He looked around, half-expecting someone to pop out and yell "Gotcha!" But he was alone.
Something felt off to him as he stared at the screen.
Who had created this profile? And why? The questions in Damon's mind were rushing, and his eyes got narrow.
He was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, no matter what it took.
Damon, fed up with the mysterious and unsettling encounter, stood up and abruptly left the narrow alley, continuing on his way to his intended destination.
His mind was fixed on the promised money as he walked back to the house where he had fought.
But as he walked, the sky turned a deep blue color and the air got cooler.
He stood in front of the front door when he got to the house and knocked. There was no sound at all.
There was no answer when he knocked again.
Dejected, he turned to leave, but as he reached the small gate, he heard the door creak open.
He turned to see a girl, clad in a stunning nightdress, her hair disheveled, and her eyes shining with a blend of irritation and interest.
When Damon looked into her eyes, he felt a sudden wave of desire.
He went back to the door, and the sound of his steps crunching on the ground of grass and concrete reached their ears.
"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual, but the girl's scowl deepened.
"The fuck? What are you doing here? We're not a charity. Get out of here before my boyfriend shoots you," she snapped, her voice venomous.
Damon's eyes widened, taken aback by her hostility. Before he could respond, a voice boomed from inside the house.
"Ayy, babe, who's at the door?"
The girl yelled back, "Just some bum!" She pulled the door close, but not before Damon caught a glimpse of her disgusted expression. "It seems these crackheads are getting more conceited day by day," she muttered.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from inside the house, growing louder with each passing moment. "Hey, what are you doing?" The girl looked back inside the house, and a head poked outside. Damon's eyes locked onto the familiar face - Joey, the guy who had offered him the fight.
"Ayy, man, what are you doing here?" With a smile spreading on his face, Joey asked.
Damon's eyes kept moving back and forth between Joey and the girl, who was now staring at him with disgust and disappointment.
After clicking her tongue, she slammed the door shut behind her and went back inside.
Joey chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry about that, man. She's just a little...passionate."
The look in Damon's eyes was intense as they locked on Joey's. "What do you need, man?" Joey put his back against the doorframe.
Damon didn't waste time. "You said I'd get money if I fought, so where's the money?" He looked at Joey dead in the eye, his tone firm but polite.
Joey's face went from being curious to being startled. "Wait, man, when I said you'd get money, I meant if you won the tournament. You didn't win the tournament, let alone your fight."
Damon's face fell as realization dawned on him. He thought about it, and it made sense.
Why hadn't he thought of that?
He looked at Joey with an apologetic expression. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. Can I come fight tomorrow? I promise I'll win the tournament."
Joey chuckled. "No, not tomorrow. We only hold fights on Saturdays. You can come next Saturday, that cool?" Damon nodded, and plans for the next fight were already going through his head.
As Damon turned to leave, Joey called out, "Hold up, man, I'll be right back." Damon looked back, curious, as Joey disappeared into the house.
He returned with a rush, carrying some bananas and a full loaf of bread. "Take this, I know it's not enough, but you can get some food, okay?"
Damon's eyes widened as he stared at Joey's outstretched hand, his mind frozen in disbelief.
No one had ever shown him such kindness before.
He looked at Joey's face, wondering if he was joking, but Joey's smile was genuine.
Damon's hand trembled as he reached out and took the offerings, his voice croaked but shaking slightly. "Thank you."
Joey smiled. "No problem, man. Saturday morning, you come here, there's always fights." Damon nodded, still in shock, and walked away.
As he disappeared, Joey watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face.