MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 748: Across the Mat

The mats were cleared.

Most of the fighters had taken a seat along the wall, some sitting on the floor, others standing with their hands on their hips, sweat still drying from their last rounds.

They weren’t leaving. No one wanted to miss this.

Damon and James stood across from each other.

There was no music, no loud countdown, just the thudding hum of the AC and the low murmur of voices.

Damon rolled his shoulders back. James tugged lightly at his gloves, adjusting the fit.

This wasn’t a fight. But it wasn’t a drill either.

They met in the center with a light touch of gloves.

Then they began to move.

James circled to his left, light on his feet. Damon mirrored the pace, staying relaxed, bouncing slightly on his toes. They kept their hands up, eyes fixed on each other’s chest, reading for tells.

James feinted a jab.

Damon didn’t bite. He edged back, readjusting his stance. Then he slid forward with a low calf kick.

James stepped out of range, lifted his lead leg just enough to glance the impact off the shin. He countered with a snapping jab that touched Damon’s forehead.

Damon grinned and reset.

The spar remained light, but there was no sloppiness. Every movement was crisp. Every twitch came from a habit, not hesitation.

Damon faked a step in and fired a quick double jab to test the reaction.

James parried the first, then rolled his shoulder against the second.

He came over the top with a looping right hand, but pulled the power and landed it with just enough pressure to test range.

Damon didn’t retreat. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Instead, he stepped into the pocket, keeping his guard high. He went for a short hook to the body.

James dropped his elbow, caught the shot, and used the angle to spin off to the side.

"Clean," Damon muttered.

James fired a kick to the body. Damon caught it, but didn’t dump him. He let go and reset. Mutual respect.

They traded again. Damon began using more footwork, slipping in with combinations, then bouncing out.

James didn’t chase. He picked his moments. Landed one clean uppercut off a missed jab. Damon felt it, even with the light contact.

The fighters watching barely made a sound.

Max whispered, "This ain’t no regular sparring."

José nodded. "This is like watching chess. Just fast as hell."

Damon changed rhythm, switched stances, then threw a quick side kick to the body.

James took it, grunted, and stepped back. Then he exploded forward with a fake level change and threw a spinning back elbow.

Damon ducked under it.

But barely.

They both reset. Breathing steady. Eyes locked.

James gave a small smile. "That was nice."

Damon didn’t reply. He stepped in again.

They clinched.

James dug in for underhooks. Damon reversed, pulled him into a collar tie and landed a knee to the thigh.

James responded with a slick foot sweep attempt, but Damon caught his balance and turned it into a body lock.

He didn’t slam him, but the control was clear.

They broke.

More circling.

Then another exchange. Hands fast, but tight. Damon touched the chin with a cross. James answered with a leg kick and pivot. They were smiling now.

Damon tried a spinning back kick. James leaned just far enough to avoid it.

"Almost," James said.

Damon exhaled through his nose. "I’ll get that next time."

They kept going. Light, but sharp. Minutes passed.

When they finally paused, they didn’t even look tired. They just stopped, touched gloves again, and nodded.

James turned to the group.

"This guy here," he said, pointing to Damon. "He’s sharp. Some of y’all better be watching how he sets traps. That’s high level shit."

Damon smiled once, just enough.

The room broke into quiet applause.

That was a real spar with just skill on display.

And everyone watching left the mat a little more educated.

Damon shook his head as he toweled off and stepped out of the cage. James was good, better than he expected, even with retirement in the picture.

Damon hadn’t gone all out, not even close. He’d intentionally played the underdog role, giving up position and reacting more than initiating.

He wanted to see how James moved, how he thought. That was the real purpose of the spar.

Still, even with that in mind, he couldn’t ignore the sharpness James carried. His timing was crisp.

His footwork was deceptive. And his feints? Subtle, but deadly. Even when James wasn’t trying to hurt him, Damon felt the pressure, like every second demanded a calculated answer. It wasn’t chaotic, it was clean.

That little session sparked something in Damon. He found himself wondering how it would’ve gone if both of them were in their primes.

The idea of standing across from a prime James "Bones" Jonas, at his sharpest, most dangerous, was something Damon had never fantasized about before. But now, after that glimpse? He couldn’t help it.

He grabbed his water and walked to the side, watching James move around and casually coach up José and Max. Damon had work to do. But for a second, he let the thought linger.

"I wish I could’ve fought him ten years ago," Damon muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

He smirked and took a deep breath before stepping back into coach mode. There was still a tournament to win.

He made himself a quiet promise. Once this show was over, after the last fight was done and the cameras stopped rolling, he’d load the simulation and test himself against James Jonas.

Not the version that came in today, but the peak version. The one who held the division in a chokehold for years.

He needed to feel that pressure. To know how he measured up.

But that was for later.

Right now, his focus stayed locked on the present. On this team. On making sure Ivan ate more losses before the season wrapped up. That was the priority.

Damon stepped back onto the mat and joined James, both of them switching into coaching mode.

They moved through the rounds, offering tips, adjusting stances, correcting bad habits.

Damon watched how James gave advice, not overbearing, but direct and sharp. When he spoke, the room listened.

By the time training wrapped up, the fighters were drenched in sweat and dragging themselves off the mats, but none of them complained.

Most of them stuck around longer than usual, trying to soak up any last-minute knowledge.

They were tired, but you could see it in their faces, the session had meant something.

They’d trained with one of the greats.

And Damon could already see the confidence in them rising.