69novels Page 198
Page 198
But he couldn't show it; he was the coach, the soul of the team.
"Lennox, listen, this is your last chance."
While applying Vaseline to the wound on Lewis's brow bone, Manny said urgently, "Move! Move! Don't let him get close! Use your jabs to control the distance! Forget about clinching, it won't work on him!"
Lewis took a deep breath, trying to get oxygen into his tired lungs, and then nodded.
He knew the coach was right, but the pain and fatigue in his body felt so real.
His vision was somewhat blurred, and his ears were ringing—typical symptoms of being struck repeatedly.
“His right straight punch is dangerous, but you need to worry about his left hook.”
Manny continued quickly, "Watch his shoulder. Before each left punch, his right shoulder will drop slightly. When you see this signal, you either back off or dodge to the right."
In Victor's corner, it was a completely different scene.
"Keep the pressure on him, don't give him a chance to breathe."
Frankie calmly said, "His legs are already weak; the fight will be over in the next round."
Viktor nodded silently, his eyes fixed on the opposite corner like an eagle's.
His breathing was steady, and there was almost no sign of fatigue on his body; only the bloodstains on his boxing gloves proved the brutality of the match.
“Watch out for his jab; he’ll rely on that when he gets tired.”
Old Jack said, "After blocking, immediately cut into the inner circle. Don't give him a chance to grab you. Keep hitting him physically. His liver is already damaged. A few more hits and he'll collapse."
Viktor licked his dental guard and replied briefly, "Understood."
The stadium was in an uproar as the audience realized they were witnessing a heavyweight championship fight that could end very soon.
Lewis's fan club remained tensely silent, while Victor's supporters had already begun celebrating, as if victory was already in their grasp.
The bells have rung, the final round has begun!
Lewis tried to execute his movement tactics, but his legs seemed to be made of lead, and his speed noticeably decreased.
The multiple knockdowns and physical attacks in the second round severely hampered his mobility.
Victor Lee keenly grasped this point.
Without any hesitation, he charged straight at us like a heavy tank at full power!
He easily parried Lewis's weak jab and stepped into the attack range.
This time, he did not use a complex combination of punches.
Instead, it was an extremely simple, direct, and brutal right straight punch!
The fist, like a cannonball, carrying all the kinetic energy from his 407-pound weight, shot straight toward Lewis's face!
Lewis reacted a beat too slow; he tried to dodge backward, but his tired body couldn't carry out his brain's commands.
His chin seemed to have taken the blow himself!
A faint yet chilling crack echoed through the microphone—it could have been the sound of a bone breaking or just a sound effect, but the sound sent shivers down one's spine.
The fist landed precisely on Lewis' left eyebrow bone!
In an instant, the skin was torn open, and blood bloomed like a bewitching flower!
Lewis's body froze in mid-air for a moment, then his eyes lost all their luster and became empty.
He fell straight backward, crashing onto the canvas of the boxing ring with a loud thud, kicking up a fine cloud of dust.
This time, he did not make any move to get up.
"KO!!"
Jim Lampley's voice reached its climax, "Third round! An amazing KO! Victor Lee! He did it! He utterly crushed Lennox Lewis! A complete and utter stomp!"
Victor's supporters cheered wildly, while Lewis's fans covered their faces in disbelief—no American didn't want to kill the British.
The referee didn't even count down the seconds; he simply waved his hand to stop the game!
Medical staff rushed onto the stage.
Unlike other boxers, Viktor didn't celebrate. He simply looked calmly at his fallen opponent, then turned and walked to his corner.
His expression barely changed, as if he had just completed a routine task.
"Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable!"
Jim Lampley, nearly hoarse from shouting in the commentary booth, exclaimed, "We've just witnessed a massacre! Victor Lee has won the WBC heavyweight title in the most brutal way possible!"
Larry McCann shook his head and sighed, "I've never seen Lewis so helpless. Victor's power is devastating, but what's even more terrifying is his precision. Every punch lands in the right spot."
In the ring, medical staff are checking on Lewis's condition.
He gradually regained consciousness, but his eyes remained dazed, and the wound on his left eyebrow bone needed to be stitched up immediately.
Victor was finally declared the winner by the referee raising his arm.
He accepted the honor expressionlessly, then walked toward Lewis, who had resumed his seated posture.
Lewis spoke with difficulty, his voice muffled by his dental brace and injury.
Victor nodded: "You're tough. Few people can take that many punches from me."
The spotlight shone on him, and his 407-pound body seemed to radiate an invincible aura.
The VIP section was completely silent.
Joe Lewis slowly uttered two words: "Terrible!"
Larry Holmes shook his head: "This is getting more and more interesting!"
Rocky Marciano's gaze was complex: "This power... is unbelievable."
Traud's face turned ashen, all traces of his arrogance from the weigh-in ceremony vanished, and he even subconsciously touched his chin.
After the fight, at the press conference, Victor Lee looked at the legendary boxers in the audience with their varied expressions, especially the pale-faced Traudl, and said with a sneer:
“I’ve said it before, I’m here to clean house. Lennox Lewis is the first, but certainly not the last. Anyone else have questions about my ranking? Or, who wants to be next in the hospital?”
His gaze, almost tangible, swept over Joe Lewis, Frazier, Holmes... and finally settled on Traudl.
Traud's lips moved, but after that display of absolute power, he ultimately couldn't say anything, simply avoiding Viktor's gaze.
Victor Lee smiled dismissively, picked up the WBA gold belt from the table, slung it over his broad shoulders, and turned to leave the venue amidst the frenzied flashes of cameras and the complex gazes of the crowd.
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Atlantic City in September had not yet fully awakened from the summer revelry, but there was already a hint of early autumn coolness in the air.
Victor stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of the hotel suite, looking down at the checkerboard-like streets below and the gray-blue Atlantic Ocean in the distance.
“They can’t do this to me, Frankie.”
Viktor's voice was low and restrained, his knuckles white from gripping his fists tightly. "He issued the challenge himself, and I accept it. What's wrong with that?"
Promoter Frankie sat on the sofa in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear, fine beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
He had been on the phone all morning trying to salvage the WBA’s sudden decision.
“I know, Viktor, I know.”
Mike hung up the phone, rubbing his temples wearily. "The WBA insists that Traudl must first fulfill the restart clause with Johnson. They say we jumped ship, which is against the rules."
Victor turned around and slammed his fist on the coffee table next to him, causing the glass surface to crack with spiderweb-like patterns.
"Screw the rules! This is how Traud treated me!"
“A verbal challenge—well, he did it in the newspaper—is not the same as a written contract.”
Frankie sighed. "We were too confident and started preparing for the signing ceremony without waiting for the official approval. That was my mistake."
Viktor took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
He walked to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and drank it all in one gulp.
The amber liquid burned his throat, but it couldn't quell the anger in his heart.
"The IBF gold belt...that'll take at least another year!!!"
Frankie pointed to the newspaper: "He probably won't play against you because he left after this match."
Chapter 167 Four Major Organizations Hunt Down Victor
"What should we do now?"
Victor asked, his voice regaining its usual calm.
"The bad news is that Traudl's fight is off. The WBA doesn't recognize the challenge in the newspapers. It's obvious they don't want you to become a double champion so easily. They also know that Traudl is no match for you."
Frankie took a document out of his briefcase: "The good news is that Klitschko's team replied to me yesterday, and they are willing to fight in October. Vitaly has only been a professional boxer for less than three years and needs a significant fight to improve his ranking. He said he would fight even if he couldn't win."
“Vitali Klitschko? I think the four major organizations have managed to unite as one on the road to sniping me.”
Viktor frowned. "He's very popular, technically proficient, has a great reach advantage, and his punches are incredibly powerful."
"It's precisely because he's strong but not famous enough that he agreed to fight you. You know, his appearance fee is only $200,000 right now, while you, Viktor, you've already fought five title defenses this year, earning $65 million in appearance fees alone, not to mention the box office revenue share."
Frankie explained, "For them, this is a chance to become famous quickly. For us, it's the best option to maintain our popularity. The WBA has verbally agreed that you can have a championship fight with Traudl after the fight between Traudl and Johnson."
Viktor remained silent for a moment.
He had studied Vitaly's fight videos. The Ukrainian was like a Siberian bear, with heavy punches and long reach, and superb technique. Although he lacked professional experience, he was exceptionally talented.
This is not an easy match.
These are tests by the four major organizations—they want to use a strong enough opponent to give Viktor a defeat, and then cripple him.
When will the contract be signed?
"This afternoon at three o'clock, in the conference room of this hotel."
Frankie glanced at his watch. "Four hours left. We need to revise the press conference content, notify the media, and also..."
"You handle it."
Viktor interrupted him, "I need to be alone for a while to sort out my thoughts."
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