Damon and Victor exited the office, the heavy door shutting behind them. The hallway was quiet now, most of the noise and movement from earlier fading into the late-night stillness.
Damon exhaled sharply, the sigh that came from bottled-up frustration rather than exhaustion.
Victor reached over and put a firm hand on his shoulder, steering him forward.
"Come on," Victor said, voice even. "He's not wrong."
Damon walked alongside him, silent at first, listening.
Victor kept talking, his words steady but not harsh. More like a coach walking a fighter through the aftermath.
"Look at it this way," Victor said. "In their eyes, you're the middleweight champion. You're on track to be one of the greatest in that division. But you just got the belt. If you move up now and lose at light heavyweight, people won't remember how good you are. They'll remember the loss."
He paused, making sure Damon was hearing it.
