69novels Page 100
Page 100
The host announced, "This is the source of power that can destroy everything! This is a daunting suit of muscle armor!"
A gasp of amazement erupted from the audience.
Despite being shorter than his opponent, Viktor's almost physics-defying muscle density made it clear to everyone that this man's fists were definitely not to be trifled with.
"Next up is Eddie Nightmare Richardson, also from Chicago, the 'Giant Slayer'!"
As a burst of jarring music played, Eddie Richardson swaggered onto the stage.
His height of 196 cm made him look like a moving tower, and his weight of 240 pounds appeared strong and powerful on his tall frame.
He deliberately tried to bump into Victor, who was standing to the side, but failed, drawing a chorus of boos.
"Hey, little dwarf,"
Eddie looked down at Victor with a contemptuous smile. "Tomorrow I'll crush you like a cockroach, and then tell you to go back to your hometown!"
Victor's eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not respond.
He was all too familiar with this kind of pre-match psychological warfare. However, Eddie clearly wasn't going to give up so easily.
"I heard you earned 50,000 in the last competition?"
Eddie continued his provocation, deliberately raising his voice so all the reporters could hear, "That's probably the biggest sum of money you've ever seen in your life, you country bumpkin."
Victor felt a throbbing in his temples, but he simply said calmly, "Tomorrow in the boxing ring, I'll beat you so badly that even $50,000 wouldn't be enough to heal you!"
As is customary, the two were arranged to stand face-to-face for the media to take photos.
Eddie suddenly pressed his forehead against Victor's, their noses almost touching.
“I’ll let you spend the rest of the summer in the hospital,”
Eddie threatened in a low voice, spitting in Victor's face.
Victor could smell the strong stench of bad breath and whiskey on the other person's breath.
Standing to the side with a commercial smile, promoter Foucault said to the reporters, "Look, the two contestants can't wait to compete!"
Just as the photographer pressed the shutter, Eddie suddenly delivered a hidden short punch with his right hand straight to Victor's forehead.
Viktor instinctively leaned back, a reaction honed through years of training, but the fist still grazed his forehead, leaving a small bloodstain.
There was an uproar at the scene.
Foucault's expression changed drastically, and he quickly stepped between the two—stopping Victor, who was about to deliver a groin kick to Eddie.
"Calm down! Everyone calm down!"
He shouted, but his eyes gleamed with excitement—this unexpected conflict was the best free publicity.
Viktor wiped the blood from his forehead with the back of his hand, his eyes chillingly cold.
Eddie raised his arms high, as if he had already won the match, and shouted to the audience: "See? This is what will happen tomorrow! First round KO!"
Back in the hotel room, Michael applied ointment to his forehead while cursing, "That bastard was totally fouling! We should protest!"
"If protests were effective, what would be the point of having fists?"
Viktor stared at himself in the mirror, the scar resembling a red warning line. "I'm going to eat it alive tomorrow!"
"What's better? Are you crazy?"
Foucault didn't understand Chinese: "Eating people is illegal! And human flesh is sour."
Viktor turned to face Foucault, a dangerous glint in his eyes: "Now everyone knows what happened. Tomorrow, when I destroy him in the ring, no one will say it was just luck."
During the pre-match interviews that evening, reporters kept pressing for details about the conflict that occurred during the weigh-in ceremony.
“Victor, Eddie says he'll knock you out in one round, what do you think?”
Victor gave the camera a cold smile: "I heard Eddie likes to gamble. Tomorrow I'll show him what happens when you bet on the wrong thing."
Will the injury on your forehead affect your performance in the game?
Victor gently touched the scar: "This is just a reminder—a reminder to be more focused tomorrow."
······
On the evening of July 19, the Trump Plaza Hotel Conference Center was packed to capacity.
Although it was just a preliminary match before the main fight between Tyson and Sims, the conflict at last night's weigh-in ceremony has already made the match the focus of attention.
When Victor walked into the arena cloaked in black, the stands erupted in a deafening cacophony of cheers and boos.
"ladies and gentlemen!"
The host announced loudly, "A 15-round heavyweight bout (after 1987, heavyweight bouts were changed to 12 rounds; before that, most were between 10 and 15 rounds)! Wearing black shorts, from the South Side of Chicago, with a professional record of 1 win and 0 losses, Victor the Fat Tiger, who brutally knocked out his opponent! He has the explosive power of a Far Eastern tiger! He has the attack frequency of a Chicago typewriter!"
Victor removed his cloak, revealing his granite-like muscles and a red tiger tattoo that seemed ready to spring into action!
He hopped lightly, his gaze fixed on Eddie in the opposite corner.
"Wearing red shorts, from Chicago, Illinois, with a professional record of six wins and zero losses, including six knockouts, 'Giant Killer' Eddie Nightmare Richardson! His jabs are swift and powerful, with attack angles like mortars!"
Eddie jumped onto the boxing ring ropes like a rock star, waving his arms toward the audience.
He deliberately made a slapping motion towards Victor's direction, eliciting a scream—which made Victor's fragile pride flare up, leading him to believe that Eddie was mocking him for having sold his buttocks.
The referee called the two men to the center of the ring for final instructions.
The spotlight in the boxing ring cast long shadows of the two men, and Victor could feel the sweat welling up inside his boxing gloves.
The clamor of the audience rose and fell like waves, and the air was filled with the mixed smells of sweat, leather, and adrenaline—Victor couldn't wait as the anger for the enemy churned in his mind.
“Listen, lads,”
The older referee said sternly—his muscles were so prominent they couldn't be hidden by his shirt—his eyes, which had seen countless boxing matches, scanning back and forth between the two men, "I want a clean fight, understand? Victor, do you understand?"
Victor nodded, ignoring the referee's deliberate attention, his gaze never leaving Eddie's face, which wore a contemptuous smile.
He could see the old scar on Eddie's nose, a remnant from a game last year.
The referee turned to Eddie: "And you, Eddie?"
Eddie just snorted dismissively, cracking his neck as if the game was nothing more than a warm-up for him.
Victor noticed that Eddie's boxing gloves had a sponsor's logo on them—the logo of a high-end gym that Eddie was clearly proud of—which was disheartening, as Victor didn't have any sponsors like that.
"Bump gloves, then go back to your corner."
The referee ordered.
The two mechanically bumped their boxing gloves together, and in that brief moment of contact, Eddie took the opportunity to lower his voice and say, "Ready to go to the hospital, little guy?"
His breath smelled of mint gum, a stark contrast to the malice in his eyes.
Victor didn't answer, but just gave Eddie a deep look.
That look wasn't anger, nor fear, but a cold, focused intensity, as if he had seen through everything about Eddie—in reality, it was just the expressionless face the coaches had Victor practice.
That look made Eddie unconsciously take a half step back, and the smile on his face froze for a moment.
Back in his corner, Viktor made his final preparations.
His coach Frankie whispered in his ear, "Remember, he's used to exposing his left rib after the third punch."
Victor nodded and put the mouthguard in his mouth.
He could hear people in the audience shouting his name and others mocking his physique—385 pounds was indeed too bulky for a heavyweight.
The moment the bell rang, Viktor shot out of the corner like an arrow, once again abandoning the usual probing phase.
Frankie and Old Jack both said that when you encounter a stupid boxer with "broad shoulders, long legs, big chest muscles, eight-pack abs, and a V-shaped waist," just keep hitting him!
Eddie's meticulously sculpted muscles gleamed under the spotlight, but Victor knew that true strength lay not in appearance.
Eddie clearly hadn't expected this start. A flicker of panic crossed his blue eyes, and he hastily threw a jab, which Victor easily blocked with his left arm.
Victor could feel the force of Eddie's punch—powerful but too straightforward, lacking variation.
The commentator exclaimed, "Viktor started with an extremely aggressive style! It's exactly the same style he used in the last game!!"
Victor's fists rained down, each strike carrying the force of his 385-pound body weight, but more importantly, precision and timing.
His combination punches were precise and deadly. Eddie was really bad; he hadn't anticipated Victor's attack and his defenses were breached directly—a left hook to the ribs. Victor could hear a dull thud coming from Eddie's ribs.
Eddie's abdominal muscles tensed, but he still let out a muffled groan as a right straight punch landed on his abdomen.
He followed up with a vicious uppercut, which Eddie dodged by leaning back, but it had already achieved its deterrent effect.
Eddie was forced to step back; his 196cm height became a hindrance, and he had to bend over to protect his torso with his forearms.
Victor noticed that Eddie's breathing had become rapid, and sweat was seeping from under his meticulously manicured eyebrows.
"Incredible!"
The commentator exclaimed, "Victor has completely taken control of the game! It's like the Chicago Typewriter has turned on full auto! Eddie looks completely helpless!"
Victor gave Eddie no chance to recover, constantly pressing forward and maintaining the offensive.
Forty seconds into the first round, Eddie finally found an opportunity to counterattack.
Using his astonishing 205cm reach, he delivered a long-range right straight punch that grazed Viktor's cheek.
Viktor felt a sharp pain, and warm blood flowed down his cheekbone, but he remained calmer.
The pain acted like a sobering agent, making his movements even more ferocious, like a raging, mad tiger.
But instead of maintaining the pace, Viktor deliberately slowed down, making his breathing noticeably rapid.
He made Eddie think he had found a breakthrough, but in reality he was setting a trap.
"Victor seems tired!"
The commentator remarked, "Eddie is starting to find his sense of distance."
This is exactly the effect Victor wanted.
As Eddie confidently pressed forward, ready to unleash his combo that he had boasted about countless times on social media, Victor suddenly lunged into the inner circle.
Two consecutive blows to the liver struck the target precisely. Eddie doubled over in pain, his handsome face contorted in agony, his lips turning white.
Chapter 81 Victory and Openness
The audience erupted in exclamations of "Oh!"