The sun had barely risen when Jack woke to the sound of his phone buzzing incessantly. He groaned, feeling the weight of yesterday's decision still heavy on his chest. The MMA International Federation had accepted him, and his life was about to change in a way he hadn't fully prepared for. Rolling over in bed, he reached for his phone.
"Damn it," he muttered, seeing a slew of missed calls and notifications from every social media platform.
Lena stirred beside him, half-asleep. "What time is it?" she mumbled, eyes still closed.
"Too early for this much chaos," Jack sighed, rubbing his face. "They announced it."
Lena opened one eye. "You expected anything less?"
"I don't know... I guess I didn't think it'd blow up this fast."
He scrolled through messages from Derrick, his coach, friends, and even people he hadn't heard from in years, all with the same theme: congratulations or questions about his motives. The MMA world had quickly seized on the news that Jack from the underground had made the leap to the big stage. But mixed with the messages of support were criticisms, especially from old rivals in the underground fighting scene.
He opened a text from Marcus, a former fighter from the underground circuit: "So you're selling out now? Guess the fame got to your head."
Jack's jaw tightened. He tossed the phone onto the bed and stood up, pacing.
"What's wrong?" Lena asked, sitting up, her concern obvious.
"Same crap as always. People talking like they know me, like they know why I'm doing this."
"Well, why are you doing this?" she pressed gently.
He stopped pacing and looked at her. It was a question he'd been avoiding answering. For the fame? For the money? Or was it because he needed to prove to himself that he could be something more than just an underground fighter?
"I don't know," Jack admitted. "I thought I knew, but now..."
Lena slid out of bed, walked over to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're not doing this for them, Jack. You never have. You're doing this because you want something bigger, right? For you."
Jack looked down at her, grateful for her support. But the doubts gnawed at him. "Yeah, but what if it's a mistake? What if I can't handle the pressure? I've never been in the spotlight like this before."
"You've been under pressure your whole life," Lena said, standing on her toes to kiss him. "This is just a different kind. You've got this."
The words should have comforted him, but Jack felt the unease lingering. As Lena stepped away to start getting ready, he returned to his phone, reading through the media headlines:
"Underground Fighter Makes the Big Leagues – Jack's Shot at International Fame."
"From Grit to Glory – Jack's Journey from the Shadows of Underground Fights."
"Sellout or Savior? Underground Fighters Criticize Jack's Move to MMA International."
His eyes scanned the articles. Every move he made would be scrutinized now. And, as expected, there was backlash from the underground community. Fighters like Marcus saw him as abandoning the roots that had made him who he was.
I didn't sell out, Jack thought bitterly. I'm evolving.
Just as he was about to put the phone down, another notification popped up – this time from a news outlet. It was an invitation to an interview with a prominent sports journalist. Jack grimaced. He knew he'd have to deal with the media eventually, but he wasn't looking forward to it. He had seen what happened to fighters who got too wrapped up in the PR side of things.
Before he could decide on his next move, his phone rang. It was Derrick.
"Hey, man," Jack answered, leaning against the kitchen counter. "I'm guessing you saw the news."
Derrick chuckled on the other end. "Saw it? The whole damn world saw it. You ready for this?"
"I guess that depends," Jack replied. "Ready for what exactly?"
"For the circus, my friend. You're the hot topic now, and people are going to try and pull you in all directions. You've gotta keep your head in the game. This isn't about fame, remember that."
Jack rubbed his forehead. "Easier said than done. Marcus already texted, calling me a sellout. And there's an interview request. I feel like I'm being pulled in a hundred directions."
"Look, you need to block out that noise," Derrick said firmly. "You didn't bust your ass for years just to let a bunch of keyboard warriors mess with your head. Marcus? He's pissed because he never got this shot. But this isn't about them. This is about you."
"Yeah, that's what Lena said," Jack muttered, glancing at Lena as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
"She's a smart woman," Derrick said, his tone softening. "Listen, you're not doing this for fame or to prove anything to anyone but yourself. The media? Let them say what they want. You've got a chance to make a real name for yourself, to grow beyond what the underground ever gave you."
Jack hesitated. "What about this interview? Should I even do it?"
Derrick was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "It depends. Are you ready for the spotlight? Because once you step into it, there's no going back."
"I'm not sure," Jack admitted. "But maybe it's time I stop hiding. Maybe this is the next step I need to take."
"Then do it," Derrick encouraged. "Show them who Jack really is. Not the guy they think they know from the underground. You've got more to offer than that."
After the call ended, Jack stood in silence, weighing Derrick's words. Lena approached him with two cups of coffee, handing him one.
"Feeling any better?" she asked.
"A little. Derrick says I should do the interview, show people who I really am. But part of me just wants to avoid the media altogether."
Lena took a sip of her coffee. "I get it. But if you don't tell your story, someone else will. And they'll get it wrong."
Jack nodded slowly. She had a point. Maybe it was time for people to see beyond the rough edges, beyond the underground persona.
Later that day, Jack found himself sitting across from one of the most well-known sports journalists in the industry, a man named Paul Grayson. The cameras were set up, the lights bright, and the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Jack sat still, his hands clasped in his lap as Grayson looked over his notes.
"So, Jack, it's been quite a ride for you," Grayson began, flashing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You've come from the underground, fighting in back-alley cages, and now you've got a shot at the international stage. How does that feel?"
Jack leaned forward slightly, choosing his words carefully. "It feels... surreal. I never thought I'd be here, honestly. The underground taught me a lot, but I'm ready to move forward. This is the next step."
Grayson nodded, flipping through his notes. "Some of your old rivals, like Marcus, have been vocal about your move. They're calling you a sellout. What's your response to that?"
Jack clenched his fists under the table. He knew this was coming. "Look, I understand where they're coming from. We all fought in the underground for survival, not fame. But this isn't about selling out. It's about growing. Evolving. I'm still the same fighter, but now I've got a bigger platform to show what I can do."
Grayson raised an eyebrow. "So you don't think you've turned your back on your roots?"
"No," Jack said firmly. "I'm proud of where I came from, but I can't stay there forever. I want to prove that I'm more than just an underground fighter. I've got more to offer."
The interview continued, with Grayson digging into Jack's motivations, his past, and his plans for the future. By the time it was over, Jack felt a strange mix of relief and exhaustion. He'd faced tougher fights in the cage, but this felt like a different kind of battle—a battle for his identity.
As he left the studio, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was a notification from social media: Jack the Sellout trending now.
He stared at the screen for a moment, then turned the phone off. He couldn't control what people thought of him. All he could do was keep fighting.
As Jack climbed into his car, his phone buzzed again. A message from Derrick popped up: Saw the interview. You did good. Now focus. The real work starts now.