MM Racing Page 190
Page 190
Rocky tested his voice into the microphone, slightly hoarse from years of shouting, "I am Rocky Balboa, and tonight I will be with you to witness the weigh-in ceremony of this battle of the century."
Polite applause rang out from the audience.
Rocky's gaze swept over the VIP area in front, and he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
The people sitting there were even more distinguished than he had imagined—the mayor of Chicago, the governor of Nevada, and even several members of Congress.
His gaze finally settled on a blonde woman dressed in an ivory white suit, like a white rose in the desert.
“That’s Ivana Trump,”
Jack, the commentator next to her, whispered, "She's from New York. I heard she has a big deal with Victor."
Rocky nodded, understanding that this was no longer just a boxing match.
Boxing has never been just boxing; it's business, it's politics, it's power.
He knows the game too well—so he knows Viktor is right.
The crowd suddenly erupted in excitement.
Holyfield was the first to appear, wearing a blue jersey, his muscles as refined as obsidian sculptures.
At 28, he was at his physical peak, moving as lightly as a cheetah, with bright and piercing eyes.
He jumped onto the weigh-in platform, showing off his perfect physique to the audience, which elicited screams.
"Hollyfield looks to be in excellent condition,"
Rocky said into the microphone, "He weighs 238 pounds, almost 160 pounds lighter than Victor. Speed will be his deadliest weapon."
After weighing himself in, Holyfield turned to the audience, raised his fists, and gave a confident smile.
Then his expression suddenly changed, and he pointed to the entrance passage.
The spotlight suddenly shone at the end of the passageway.
Victor Lee appeared.
The 400-pound behemoth walked slowly, unlike Holyfield who was lively and energetic, but rather as steady and determined as a glacier moving.
He took off his suit jacket and handed it to his assistant behind him, revealing his muscular upper body.
Under the spotlight, those scars are like rivers on a map—old wounds on the brow bone, indentations between the ribs, each telling a story.
"Oh My God,"
Jack exclaimed, "Even though I knew, I have to say the visual impact of seeing it in person was even stronger!"
Viktor stepped onto the weighing platform, which sank slightly.
He met Holyfield's gaze, their eyes colliding in mid-air, almost sparking.
405 pounds!
When the host announced the weighing results, the entire audience gasped.
Holyfield suddenly stepped forward and snatched the microphone: "Vic, old friend, tomorrow I'll make your weight a burden. You'll slowly collapse like a rhinoceros trapped in the mud."
Exclamations and scattered laughter rose from the crowd.
Viktor simply smiled and took the microphone.
“Ivand, you taught me how to defeat the giants, but you forgot that the giants are also learning.”
Viktor's voice was deep and thunderous, yet surprisingly calm: "I will take care of you!"
The two stood face to face, their foreheads almost touching.
The photographers frantically captured this moment, their flashes almost turning the scene into daylight.
The referee quickly intervened and separated the two, but that photo of them gazing into each other's eyes is destined to make tomorrow's headlines.
After the weighing ceremony, the VIPs moved to the MGM Grand's luxurious ballroom.
The champagne tower gleamed under the crystal chandelier, and waiters carried silver platters as they moved among the crowd.
Victor changed back into a suit and moved with ease among celebrities.
Congressman Ubelman approached quietly, accompanied by Ivana Trump.
“Victor, a brilliant performance,”
During the handshake, Ubelman said his grip was firm and political, adding, "Ivana and I are both looking forward to tomorrow's match."
Ivana smiled and nodded, her blue eyes sharply assessing Viktor.
“Our project needs a winner, Victor. Don’t forget, your statue is already reserved on the blueprints for the Windy City Plaza Hotel.”
Victor raised his champagne glass: "Cheers to victory!"
But he knew in his heart that Ivana wasn't really infatuated with his 400-pound physique, nor did she completely trust his business acumen.
That 15% stake in Skywind City Construction Company is the reason she's standing here.
Within the Trump family, she needed her own foothold, and Victor provided that.
"The Vice President has arrived,"
Ubelman suddenly whispered, his gaze turning toward the entrance.
A commotion broke out in the banquet hall.
George Herbert Walker Bush, the Vice President of the United States, is walking into the venue, accompanied by his son, George W. Bush, who looks rather silly.
The crowd parted like a red sea to make way for them.
Ubelman gave Viktor a gentle nudge: “Remember, Viktor, the Chinese community in the Midwest respects you. George H.W. Bush needs their votes, and you need… a friend of a higher caliber.”
Victor nodded.
He understood the game—protection and reward, support and incentives.
In the United States, it takes more than just money and strength for a Chinese person to truly reach the top.
George H.W. Bush walked straight up to them and extended his hand: "Victor Lee! I've always wanted to meet this young man who has shaken the entire boxing world."
"Mr. Vice President, it is an honor."
Viktor carefully controlled the force when shaking hands.
George W. Bush stood behind his father, awkwardly fiddling with his wine glass.
Victor turned to him and handed him his business card: "I've heard you're also interested in sports, Mr. Bush. Perhaps we can go to a baseball game together sometime."
George W. Bush paused for a moment, then gave a genuine smile, pulled out his business card and exchanged it with George: "Just call me George. To be honest, I'm more interested in how you manage to move so fast despite your weight."
Viktor laughed: "We will support you, we will support you all, and the strength of our support will determine the level of our support."
George H.W. Bush cast an approving glance at him, and Ubelman nodded slightly.
Viktor knew he had made the right move.
"I have some connections that can help you... not George H.W. Bush."
······
On the night of July 20, the MGM Grand Garden Arena was packed to capacity.
All 31000 seats were occupied; tickets had been sold out two weeks in advance.
Black market tickets have been sold for up to five times the original price—the winner will be able to take home more than $1400 million in box office revenue.
The air was thick with the smells of cigars and expensive perfumes, mixed with the beer odor of fans in the regular section.
Johnny "Die Hard" Rossi was an ordinary Chicago plumber who saved up three months' wages to buy a back seat.
As a loyal fan of Victor, he witnessed Victor's journey from a small boxing gym in Chicago's South Side to the world stage.
"Look! That's Schwarzenegger!"
Johnny nudged his companion and pointed to the VIP area in the distance.
"Where? Damn it, we can't even see the boxing ring from this far away, let alone see any celebrities!"
"My partner complained, raising his cheap binoculars."
Johnny didn't take it seriously.
He was content even if he could only watch it on a big screen.
He came for Victor, for the boxing champion who represented Chicago and every ordinary worker.
Victor's victory was like their victory—the son of a Chinese immigrant who carved out his own path with his own fists.
In the front row of VIP seats, Ivana Trump elegantly crossed her legs, appearing calm on the surface, but inwardly calculating every penny of the Windy City Plaza Hotel's budget.
Congressman Obelman, standing nearby, glanced frequently at the box where George H.W. Bush was, calculating his political capital.
Rocky Balboa adjusted his headphones in the commentary booth and took a deep breath.
He knew that tonight he would witness history.
The lights suddenly dimmed, and spotlights shone on the entrance.
"First up is the challenger! 28 years old, from London, England, with a professional record of 31 wins and 2 losses, including 18 knockouts, the 'True Deal' – Evander Holyfield!"
Holyfield, clad in a blue jersey, strode into the passageway, his eyes like those of a predatory raptor.
His procession followed closely behind, and the pastor offered him a final prayer.
He leaped onto the boxing ring and executed several rapid shadowboxing moves, the speed of which drew gasps of surprise.
“Hollyfield looks unstoppable,”
Rocky commented, "His speed and technique will be key to his fight against Victor tonight."
After a moment of silence, the host raised his voice:
"Now entering the arena is the defending champion! From Chicago, with a professional record of 17 wins and 1 loss, including 17 knockouts, the 'Windy City Tiger,' the youngest world boxing champion—Victor Lee!"
The crowd erupted—everyone wanted to see Victor beat up the Englishman!
Victor appeared at the end of the tunnel, wearing a Chicago dark blue jersey embroidered with the Windy City logo.
He didn't jump or perform; he simply walked steadily toward the boxing ring, like an unstoppable force of nature.
A unified chant rang out from the crowd: "Victor! Victor!"