MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

"Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Before each kick, Damon let out a strong breath. He then launched a powerful kick against the heavy bag.

Every hit shook the bag with a loud "BAM," and his force made the bag move back and forth.

His form was solid, textbook Muay Thai, even. His kicks were strong and precise, but there was something missing.

Each strike required him to pause and reset, his balance shifting before he could deliver the next blow. It wasn't sloppy, far from it.

In fact, to the untrained eye, it would look seamless.

But Damon knew better.

Kru Wichan, leaning against a nearby post, watched silently, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

Damon hit with a single powerful kick, but Wichan had already shown a smooth chain of strikes, with one kick moving right into the next.

There was a rhythm to Wichan's movements, an artistry Damon couldn't yet replicate.

Uniqueness.

Damon stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow, and refocused.

He changed his position and hit the bag with another low kick, which made it shake very hard.

After that, he hit the middle with a roundhouse kick and then stopped to get his balance back.

He sighed, frustrated by the need to recalibrate between strikes.

"You think too much," Kru Wichan's voice cut through the sound of the bag swinging.

He stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. "Your body strong, technique good, but…" He tapped his temple. "Your mind slows you."

Damon turned, his chest heaving. "What do you mean?"

Wichan stepped up to the bag, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for battle. "Watch." Without hesitation, he launched a rapid sequence of kicks, low, mid, high.

The bag jerked and swayed violently under his onslaught, but Wichan's movements were smooth, almost effortless.

His balance never faltered, each strike transitioning naturally into the next.

He stopped abruptly, letting the bag swing back to stillness. "No thinking. Just feel. You let balance come naturally."

Damon gave a nod, and his brow furrowed in focus. He took a step forward and firmly planted his feet. He took a deep breath and put his leg through the bag.

The kick landed cleanly, and instead of resetting, he immediately threw another, then another.

Experience exclusive tales on empire

The sequence wasn't as fluid as Wichan's, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Better," Wichan said, his tone approving but firm. "But not enough. Again."

He clenched his teeth and went back to his stance. He kept going, and with each kick, the flow got better and pauses growing shorter.

The gym was filled with the sound of his hits, with Wichan correcting him and giving him thumbs up every so often.

"Good," Wichan said finally, his lips curving into a faint smile. "You learn fast. But to be great, you need this…" He tapped his heart. "And this." He tapped his head. "Balance is not just body. It is spirit."

Damon nodded, his respect for the older man growing with every word. He wasn't there yet, but he could feel the progress. And for now, that was enough.

Wichan walked toward the ring, his steps deliberate, his presence commanding even in the relative silence of the gym.

He motioned for Damon to follow him. "Come," he said simply, "let's test your moves."

Damon looked around as he climbed through the ropes.

There was an odd silence in the room. When he first walked into the gym, it was busy with fighters training and people gathered around Wichan to watch him show off his scary kicks.

Few people were still in the training area, but most of them had already left.

He couldn't help but ask, "Where'd everyone go?"

Wichan, busy adjusting his gloves, didn't look up as he waved his hand dismissively. "They leave. My training is not for everyone."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Finally, Wichan turned to face him, his expression calm and serious. "When I train, I expect focus. Discipline. Many here… they come to watch, not learn. They think watching makes them strong."

He shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "So I send them away. My ring is for fighters, not tourists."

Damon chuckled softly, nodding in understanding. "Makes sense."

Wichan's grin went away, and he returned to the serious, wise look he had been wearing earlier.

He took a step closer and pointed at Damon's chest. "Now, no more questions. Show me what you can do."

Damon inhaled deeply, his body tense but ready. If Wichan wanted to test him, he was going to make sure he didn't disappoint.

As Damon tightened the gloves around his hands, the leather made a soft creaking sound as he did so.

He put the headgear on over his head and tightened it up. He felt stable because of the familiar weight of the gear.

As he rolled his shoulders to relax, his attention sharpened.

He stepped into the center of the ring, assuming his usual Muay Thai stance, upright, balanced, and calculated.

His fists were high, elbows tight to his body, and his movements fluid as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet.

The rhythm was natural, instinctive.

Wichan stood in his corner and watched in silence. Even though he couldn't read his face, he could tell from the look in his eyes that this spar was about tob be peculiar.

Damon looked right into Wichan's eyes as he gave a small nod. They didn't say anything, but the meaning was clear.

Damon didn't waste time. He wasn't here to impress anyone with flashy moves or unnecessary risks.

After all he wanted to learn, not show off.

He opened cautiously, throwing a quick jab to test the waters.

Wichan didn't flinch. Instead, the older fighter leaned ever so slightly to the side, his movements economical and deliberate, as though anticipating Damon's strike a second before it came.

Damon circled, keeping his distance, his feet moving with a steady rhythm.

He knew better than to rush in blindly. Instead, he threw another jab, this time feinting with his shoulder to gauge Wichan's reaction.

The feint drew a subtle twitch from Wichan, a small shift in his weight, but nothing more.

"Good," Wichan said, his voice calm but firm. "But not enough. Again."

Damon's eyes narrowed, and this time he threw a jab-cross combination, following it up with a low kick.

The sharp crack of his shin connecting with the pads reverberated through the ring.

Wichan checked the kick effortlessly, countering with a lightning-fast front kick that sent Damon stumbling back a step.

But it wasn't the front kick that had him grunting, but rather Wichan's leg that felt like steel it was insane.