Tap, tap, tap.
"Stop," Damon muttered breathlessly, and the Chemasov simtion halted instantly, fading away into nothingness.
He sighed, ncing up at the simted ceiling of Madison Square Garden, the lights casting an almost haunting glow.
Ten rounds.
He''d gone through ten intense matches against the simted Chemasov, and for the tenth time, he''d been submitted.
Even though he hadn''t turned on the physical connection mode, where any strain in the simtion would carry over to his real body, he felt the weight of every defeat.
Chemasov was a monster, simted or not, and every fight had shown him the sheer gap in skill and power.
Damon clenched his fists, a mix of frustration and respect brewing within him.
He''d wanted a challenge, and the simtion had given him exactly that.
He stood up, catching his breath. This simtion had been more intense and fun than he''d anticipated, but he had to stay focused on his real goal, reaching rank A for now.
The system''s version of Chemasov was insane, almost relentless.
While the real Chemasov had his own stamina limitations, the simtion could be adjusted to bypass that entirely, creating an opponent who felt endless, impossible to wear down.
Damon could feel the strain even here, his body telling him it was time to step back.
He took a deep breath to calm down and get ready to leave this virtual world.
''Enough for now''
Time to wake up.
Damon closed his eyes, and the world around him began to shatter, fragments of the simted arena copsing into a swirl of light and shadow.
[Are you sure you want to leave the Simtion?]
[Y/N]
Without hesitation, he pressed "Y."
A sh of light, and he blinked against the sudden brightness as the real world came back into focus.
Sunlight streamed through the window, hitting his eyes, and he realized he was lying back in the guest bed.
He nced down at his body, half-expecting the lingering soreness of those intense rounds. But there was nothing, no exhaustion, no ache.
He felt just as refreshed as the first time he woke up, like the rigorous simtion had never happened.
Even though the system had mentioned it, he thought there would be small feeling.
The simtion left no trace of strain, only a mental imprint of what he''d learned and experienced.
A small smile crept onto his face.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he muttered, "Woo. Time to get out, then," with a small, amused smile.
He stretched his arms over his head, feeling the tension release from his muscles, then dropped his arms, exhaling a slow breath that left him feeling centered and grounded.
He moved to the bed, straightening the sheets with quick, practiced gestures. He smoothed out the fabric, adjusting the corners until everythingy just right.
His expression softened a bit; even though it wasn''t his room, he still liked leaving things tidy, a habit that kept him focused.
No point in leaving things messy, even if it wasn''t his room.
In fact, the fact that it wasn''t his room was more reason to tidy up.
When he was done, he stood back, giving the bed an approving nod.
Damon''s shifter shifted to his luggage he''d brought when going to The Supreme Fighter house.
Victor had promised to arrange for it to be taken back once the show wrapped up.
Satisfied, Damon moved to the door, twisting the handle and stepping quietly into the hallway.
The house was unusually still, a quiet that felt thick in the morning light.
He figured the others were likely sleeping offst night, probably hung over and set to sleep in for a while.
He walked softly down the hall, careful not to make too much noise.
With a faint smile, he thought about the rare luxury of a quiet morning like this, a chance to let the events of the past few days sink in without any rush.
When Damon walked into the kitchen, he was already thinking a lot about what was going to happen next.
Moving up the ranks, winning every fight, and making a name for himself were all clear but difficult steps ahead. If he yed his cards right, he could get a shot at the title.
But that was all easier said than done.
Reaching the counter, he went to the coffee machine.
He pulled out a fresh filter, spooned in the coffee grounds, and filled the water tank, watching as the machine sputtered to life with its familiar hum.
As a delicious smell began filling the kitchen, he heard footsteps behind him.
Without turning around, he called over his shoulder, "Morning... want coffee, Lana?"
A soft, sleepy voice replied, "Yeah, please."
He poured himself a cup, letting the warmth seep through his hands, then poured another for Svena.
Turning, he walked toward her, finding her standing there with her hair tousled and her eyes half-closed.
In the soft morning light, with her rxed expression and slight smile, she looked effortlessly beautiful.
He handed her the cup, and she took it with a grateful nod. "How''d you know it was me?" She asked with a smile on her face.
"I''m him," he said, attempting a confident grin. But the words hung awkwardly in the air, and he instantly felt the cringe settle in.
Svena raised an eyebrow, giving him a half-amused, half-baffled look.
Damon cleared his throat, quickly recovering. "Ahem... anyway, got any ns for today?" he asked, steering the conversation to safer ground.
Svena chuckled softly, her eyes lingering on him with a rxed warmth.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trailing slightly as she let her hand fall, brushing her arm.
Her posture was casual but open, her gaze unwavering as she spoke.
"Not much," she replied, her voice light. "I was thinking of going for a run and stretching."
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes bright as they met his. "Wanna join?"
Damon watched her, a small grin forming. "Sure, need a stretch after that tough night."
Sheughed, her shoulders lifting with the easy rhythm of it. "Tough night? You dominated the whole match." She took a slow sip of her coffee, her smile lingering as her gaze held his a moment longer than usual.