MM Racing Page 214
Page 214
Albert shook his head helplessly. "Calm down, Jose! Anger will cloud your judgment!"
But José was no longer listening; all he could see were imagined enemies and scenes of violence.
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The host walked to the center of the boxing ring, where the spotlight made his sequined suit sparkle.
"ladies and gentlemen!"
His voice resounded throughout the arena through the microphone, "Welcome to tonight's WBA Heavyweight Championship match!"
The audience erupted in cheers, and many waved their betting slips.
"First, let's introduce the challenger! From Cuba, standing 6 feet 4 inches tall, weighing 238 pounds, with a professional record of 32 wins and 4 losses, and 29 knockouts! Jose—'The Raging Bull'—Ribarta!"
As the music started, José, dressed in the colors of the Cuban flag, rushed out of the passage.
He jogged along, his face contorted with barely suppressed anger.
When he arrived at the boxing ring, instead of taking the steps, he jumped up and almost bumped into the host.
"It seems our challengers are getting impatient!"
"Loki, what do you think of Ribalta's condition?" Katton asked from the commentary booth.
Rocky leaned closer to the microphone: "He's too excited, Bill. Boxing requires control and rhythm. If he doesn't calm down, he could make a fatal mistake."
When José took off his jersey, revealing his battered upper body and strong muscles, gasps of amazement erupted from the stands.
His body looked as if it were carved from rock, every muscle taut.
The host raised the microphone again: "Now, let's introduce the defending champion! From Chicago! 6 feet 1 inch tall, 408 pounds, with a professional record of 18 wins and 1 loss, 18 knockouts! WBA Heavyweight World Champion! Victor 'Iron Fist' Lee!"
Victor's appearance sparked even louder cheers.
He was dressed in a crimson battle robe, on which the Chinese dragon pattern shone brightly.
His steps were steady and firm, and his eyes calmly swept across the entire room.
After stepping into the boxing ring, he silently walked to his corner without even glancing at José.
“Victor looks very focused,”
Catton commented, "Loki, as a former champion, what are you thinking at a time like this?"
Rocky chuckled: "Thinking about the game plan, Bill. But at the same time, observing the opponent, looking for subtle weaknesses. Victor is doing a good job; he's completely unaffected by Jose's emotions."
But in reality, Viktor's anger was burning.
Jose insulted him before the match!
The referee called the two boxers to the center of the ring. Jose immediately pressed his forehead against Victor's, his eyes wide open.
"You're dead, Chinaman! I swear!"
Jose growled in a low voice.
Viktor remained silent, only responding with a cold gaze.
The referee separated the two players: "Listen, I want a clean game. Protect yourself at all times, and follow my instructions. Now go back to your corners and wait for the bell."
The two boxers exchanged a glance, as if electricity crackled in the air.
"Ding--!"
The crisp sound of the bell cleaved through the air like a sharp sword, instantly igniting the entire stadium.
José Ribalta shot towards the center of the boxing ring like a cannonball, the resin floor beneath his feet screeching.
His bronze-colored muscles gleamed under the spotlight, each muscle fiber resembling a taut bowstring.
On the other side, Victor was like a flowing shadow.
He moved around the field with light steps, his red boots drawing elegant arcs as his eyes calmly measured the distances.
For the first thirty seconds, the two danced a deadly tango in the center of the boxing ring.
Jose kept thrusting his left fist, the glove whistling as it cut through the air.
Viktor dodged the attack with millimeter-level precision, sweat glistening on his skin as he moved.
"It seems that both sides are being very cautious in the initial stages."
"Kalton said from the commentary booth."
As Rocky shook his head, the scar on his chin became faintly visible: "No, Bill, it's a repressed caution. Like the calm before the storm."
Before he could finish speaking, Jose suddenly exerted his strength.
A right straight punch, like a battering ram, slammed into the opponent's face, the force of which caused Viktor's hair to fly backward.
Victor narrowly avoided the attack by leaning back, but Jose's barrage of attacks had already begun—a left hook to the abdomen like a venomous snake emerging from its hole, a right hook that drew a deadly arc straight for the temple, and a final uppercut that tore through the air from below.
"Oh! Ribalta has launched a fierce attack!"
The sound of the pause suddenly rose in pitch.
The dull thud of boxing gloves striking the body echoed throughout the arena via microphone.
Victor's arms formed an impenetrable wall, but a heavy body strike still pierced through the defense.
A wave of gasps erupted from the audience.
"A brilliant counterattack!"
Rocky suddenly slammed his fist on the table and stood up, "Watch how Victor takes advantage of the opening after Ribalta's attack!"
Sure enough, the moment José's wide-angle hook missed, Victor moved.
His counterattacks were as precise as a scalpel—a left hook slammed into the same spot under his ribs, a right straight punch struck the same spot again, and finally, a left hook grazed Jose's brow bone like lightning.
The three-hit combo sounded rhythmically, like the footsteps of death.
When José fell to the ground, the entire stadium seemed to be muted.
Sweat traced a glistening arc in the air, followed by the dull thud of his heavy body hitting the table.
"one two Three!"
The referee's countdown was like a death knell.
Under the spotlight, José's eyes were unfocused, but when he shook his head, the splattered sweat and blood droplets shone like red pearls under the light.
When he read the number "six", he suddenly stood up, supporting himself with one hand, and the sound of his boxing gloves hitting the ground was like the heavy beating of war drums.
"Incredible! Ribalta actually survived Victor's famous 'Chicago Typewriter' combo and got back up!"
Rocky leaned forward, his eyes sharp: "Victor should continue to attack the body; Jose's defense has already shown weaknesses."
The moment the game restarted, Viktor pounced like a cheetah.
But surprisingly, José did not retreat; instead, he charged forward to meet the attack.
The two instantly engaged in close-quarters combat, the sounds of their fists colliding like raindrops pounding on a tin roof.
A left hook to the chin, a right straight punch to break through the defense, and an uppercut tore through the air.
The two exchanged primal power in the center of the boxing ring, sweat and blood splattering with each strike.
Jose's brow bone was split open, and blood stained half of his face.
Viktor's nose also began to bleed, but the two continued to bombard each other tirelessly.
"Crazy! Absolutely crazy!"
"This isn't the kind of tactic you'd use in a heavyweight championship fight!" (Carton's voice was hoarse.)
Rocky smiled knowingly: "Sometimes boxing isn't just about technique and strategy, Bill. Sometimes it's about the heart and the will."
When the bell rang to end the round, the two were still exchanging heavy punches wildly.
The referee had to rush forward and physically separate them, while the four boxing gloves continued to try and find an angle to attack.
His sweat-soaked chest heaved violently, and the sweat mixed with blood stained the canvas with an abstract red blush.
Under the spotlight, two soldiers stared intently at each other, an arm's length apart, their eyes burning with the same flame.
Back in the corner, old Jack watered the plant while urgently saying, "Damn it, Victor! Don't play these games with him! Stick to the plan! He wants you to be angry!"
On the other side, Jose's coach Albert was practically roaring: "What the hell are you thinking? Taking Lee's combination punches head-on? Do you want to be knocked out in three rounds?"
José, panting heavily, stared intently at the corner opposite him: "I'm going to tear him to pieces next round!"
Chapter 181 The Man Who Won't Get Knocked Out!
As soon as the bell rang to start the second round, José Ribalta charged toward Victor with heavy breathing, like a bull completely enraged by the red cloth.
His attacks were even more ferocious than in the first round, his fists like two tireless pile drivers, pounding at his opponent's vitals at an astonishing frequency.
Each heavy punch tore through the air, emitting a terrifying whistling sound, as if it were about to devour Victor whole.
But Viktor was already fully engaged in combat.
His warrior genes caused his adrenaline to surge, and his body seemed to be infused with a new soul. His steps, propelled by his strong and powerful muscles, were incredibly quick and light.
His forefoot-landing movement made him glide like he was on ice, sometimes circling clockwise, sometimes suddenly changing direction and cutting in reverse, each turn precisely hitting Jose's blind spots.
This is not something an ankle weighing 408 pounds could withstand, but his steel frame allowed him to remain unharmed.
"Did you see that? Viktor has adjusted his center of gravity."
Rocky pointed at the ring, his voice rising with excitement, "He's landing on the balls of his feet now, which allows him to change direction and generate power much faster. I can't believe a 400-pound man can do that!"
Jose unleashed a powerful straight punch, carrying the weight of his entire body, but it only grazed Viktor's chin, the force of the punch even lifting a strand of hair from Viktor's forehead.
His subsequent left hook only hit air; due to the excessive force, Jose almost lost his balance.
"Perfect distance control!"
Rocky couldn't help but slam his fist on the table in admiration, "Victor consistently maintained the edge of Jose's maximum attack range, making every strike he made precise and precise. This is the ultimate display of boxing artistry!"
Years of training in reaction speed and dodging on antelopes have honed Viktor's dodging skills to perfection, perfecting the essential skill for a short man to defeat a tall man.
Dodging, closing in, hook punches... Victor's boxing setup is world-class.
Just as Jose withdrew his fist, Victor seized that fleeting opening.