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"I have an offer for you."He walked towards the table, his movements deliberate and calm, like a predator stalking its prey.

Damon\'s eyes followed him, wondering what could be the offer that Mr. Steele was about to present.

"You know, even with all that talent, your skills are still not par," Mr. Steele said, his voice measured and calculated. "Today\'s knockout could be called a fluke."

So here\'s what I\'m going to do." He paused, his gaze intensifying, like a laser beam focusing on its target. "From what I\'ve seen, you\'re good, but I need convincing. I want you to win your next three fights."

Damon\'s eyes widened, his mind racing with the implications.

Three fights? That was a tall order, especially considering his last fight was a knockout.

But Mr. Steele\'s confidence was infectious, and Damon found himself wanting to believe.

"And I will make sure you get the best training," Mr. Steele continued, his voice dripping with conviction. "I\'ll bring in the top coaches, the best sparring partners. You\'ll have everything you need to succeed."

He paused, his eyes glinting with determination. "You\'ll be a contender, Damon. A real contender."

Damon couldn\'t believe it. This was an opportunity of a lifetime, one that he couldn\'t afford to pass up. But why was Mr. Steele doing this for him? What did he want in return?

"Why?" Damon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Steele ignored his question, his expression unreadable. "Not only will I do that, I\'ll make sure you get paid for your fights. You\'ll be well taken care of."

He pulled an envelope from his suit pocket and held it out to Damon. The white envelope seemed to glow in the dim light of the office, its edges crisp and sharp.

Damon looked at Mr. Steele\'s hand, his eyes fixed on the envelope. He felt a surge of excitement mixed with nervousness. What did Mr. Steele want from him?

He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took the envelope, his heart pounding in his chest.

"There\'s the money for your fight, tonight," Mr. Steele said, his voice firm and matter-of-fact. "Make sure you spend it well, you won\'t get any for your next three. The event will be here in Stockton for the next four shows." He turned to sit back in his chair, his movements smooth and deliberate.

Damon looked down at the envelope in his hand, feeling the weight of the cash inside. He then looked up at Mr. Steele, his eyes locking onto his. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "I\'ll make sure to win."

Mr. Steele\'s expression remained neutral, his eyes fixed on Damon\'s. "I hope so," he said, his voice low and even. "Now go on, I have matches to watch, and I\'m sure you want to leave and go home." He waved his hand dismissively, his fingers spread wide.

Damon nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude towards Mr. Steele. He thanked him once more, his voice a little louder this time. "Thank you, sir."

He turned to leave, his footsteps echoing in the quiet office. He reached the door, grasped the handle, and pulled it open.

The bright lights of the hallway spilled in, illuminating the dim office.

Damon stepped out into the hallway, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs.

He looked down at the envelope in his hand, feeling a sense of determination. He was going to win, no matter what it took.

He started walking down the hallway, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He passed by the rows of seats, the empty chairs seeming to stretch on forever.

He walked back to his room, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Thankfully, the door wasn\'t locked yet, and he slipped inside, closing it behind him. He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.

He went back to his room, thankfully it wasn\'t locked yet, and entered, taking the box with his fighting kit. He lifted the lid, revealing his gear, neatly arranged and organized.

His gloves, hand wraps, mouthguard, and shorts were all packed neatly inside. He ran his hand over the gear, feeling a sense of familiarity and comfort.

Leaving the room, he walked out of the building, into the warm glow of the golden hour.

The sun was setting, casting a golden light over everything. He smiled to himself, thinking about the offer Mr. Steele had made.

He walked across the parking, he couldn\'t help but mumble to himself, "I\'ll run through them." He felt a surge of determination and confidence. He was going to win those fights, no matter what it took.

He settled into the worn leather seat of the cab, the soft creaking of the cushions enveloping him in a sense of familiarity. "To the Sunset Motel," he said, his voice firm and clear, as he gazed out the window at the passing cityscape.

The drive took its time, the cab crawling through the evening traffic like a slow-moving beast.

Damon decided to open up his status interface to pass some time. He focused his mind, and a holographic display flickered to life in front of him.

The interface materialized, its sleek lines and minimalist design a testament to its advanced technology.

[Congratulations for completing the quest]

The first notification read. He smiled, a sense of pride and accomplishment washing over him like a warm wave.

[A dramatic finish]

[Reward: Striking move, and proficiency feature]

He grinned, feeling a surge of excitement at the new abilities and upgrades.

He spent the next few minutes scrolling through the interface, taking in the details of his reward.

The cab ride seemed shorter now, his attention focused on the holographic display.

The cab driver\'s voice broke the silence, "We\'re arriving at the Sunset Motel, sir." Damon nodded, his eyes still fixed on the interface.

He closed the interface, the holographic display flickering out of existence, and looked up at the motel\'s neon broken sign, its bright colors glowing like a beacon in the evening light.