The American TV series "Four-Round Boxing Champion Starts with Shameless"

Page 54

Apollo abruptly wiped the moisture off the mirror with a towel, forcing himself to look directly into those eyes.

He whispered to himself, "I'm not afraid."

But as he put on his clothes, carefully avoiding touching the bruises on his ribs, the thought still lingered:

If even training is this difficult, what will the real competition be like?

······

Dim neon lights flickered at the entrance of the 'Bloody Fist' bar, turning the damp asphalt pavement a sickly pink.

Rocky pushed open the heavy oak door, and was greeted by a stale air mixed with alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume.

Five figures followed behind him, filing in amidst deafening rock music.

“I’m telling you guys,”

Rocky turned and shouted, his voice almost drowned out by the music, "The whiskey here will make you forget who you are!"

Victor frowned. His massive 371-pound frame stood like a moving fortress in the crowd, but when he got to the front, he said to the bartender, "A glass of lemonade, please."

Rocky didn't take it seriously; many boxers don't drink alcohol—especially out-of-town drinks.

Victor took the lemonade from the bartender, and the condensation on the rim of the glass slid down his thick fingers.

"I don't use alcohol during training."

His voice was deep and thunderous, clearly audible even in noisy environments.

"Come on, big guy!"

Speed-type boxer Miguel patted Victor on the back, only to find his own hand suddenly numb. "Relaxing for one night won't kill you."

At the other end of the bar, Ethan was leaning over Millie and whispering something in her ear, making the chestnut-haired agent giggle softly, covering her mouth.

The silver earrings on her earlobes shimmered under the light, complementing Ethan's cunning black eyes.

"What are they talking about that makes them so happy?"

Michael muttered in dissatisfaction, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the beer bottle.

The twin brother, who looks almost exactly like Ethan but lacks the charisma of his older brother, is staring at the two of them with jealous eyes.

Victor sipped his lemonade and shrugged: "It's probably about the restaurant incident. Your brother's gun-drawing posture was really cool, and he was a good shot."

His gaze swept over Millie's slender waist and Ethan's arm draped over the back of her chair, his Adam's apple bobbing almost imperceptibly.

"You fired a shot too!"

Michael protested, drawing the attention of several tattooed men nearby.

Victor spread his hands: "I can't help it, Michael, I fucking weigh 371 pounds! Millie isn't even a third of mine!"

"Calm down, kid."

Rocky interjected, pushing a glass of amber liquid in front of Michael. "Women are like whiskey; if you're too hasty, you'll choke."

Miguel walked over, holding a wine glass, like a gentleman: "Gentlemen, sometimes women are like wine; the older the better!"

Michael scoffed, Victor remained silent, and even wanted to punch Miguel to death.

At that moment, cheers emanating from the basement level in the middle of the bar interrupted their conversation.

Miguel's eyes lit up: "Hey, there's a competition down there!"

Descending the narrow staircase covered with yellowed boxing posters, the air became even hotter and more sultry.

The underground boxing ring was more spacious than I had imagined. The central iron cage was bathed in glaring spotlights, and the area around it was crowded with gamblers waving banknotes.

A bald, left-handed white man is battling his Mexican opponent; both men's bare torsos are covered in sweat and old scars.

Observed for a while.

"Damn it, there's something wrong with this competition."

Viktor narrowed his eyes, his professional boxer instincts immediately telling him, "That left-handed guy is holding back."

Miguel nodded: "That was the seventh feint, and he held back a lot of force. He clearly had a chance to end the match."

Inside the cage, a left-handed boxer named Butch appears to be throwing a fierce punch, but subtly withdraws his force just before making contact.

His Mexican opponent staggered backward dramatically, drawing boos from the audience.

The gamblers angrily threw their ticket stubs at the iron cage, the air filled with the sounds of banknotes and disappointed curses.

"A typical rigged fight."

Rocky scoffed, "The bookmakers must have placed a huge bet on the Mexicans; they're trying to sweep the field."

Ethan had somehow squeezed next to Victor, with Millie close behind him.

"That bald guy's finished,"

Ethan said gleefully, "His boss is going to lose everything, not even his underwear."

Viktor said sourly, "You're doomed too. Millie will be very disappointed when she sees your eleventh finger."

Ethan didn't care: "Victor, we're drawn together by soul."

Victor: "Heh!"

Michael: "Hehehehe!"

Just then, the situation suddenly changed.

Butch suddenly changed his rhythm, delivering a powerful left hook that landed squarely on the Mexican's chin.

The opponent's expression froze in shock before he collapsed to the ground.

When the referee counted to ten, the entire stadium was so quiet that you could hear the sound of sweat dripping down.

"Holy shit!"

Miguel exclaimed, "He really hit me just now!"

Cheers and curses erupted simultaneously.

Butch didn't celebrate. Instead, he nervously looked around, quickly slipped out of the cage, and disappeared into the chaotic crowd.

"What did I say?"

Ethan glanced smugly at Millie, who was frowning and staring toward the exit.

Suddenly, all the lights in the basement went out.

A black giant, nearly two meters tall, pushed through the crowd and walked toward the iron cage, his muscles, encased in a custom-made suit, trembling with anger with each step.

“Send Jules and Vincent over there,”

His voice made the air tremble, "Get Butch sorted out for me!"

Viktor felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

As a professional boxer, he could sense real danger—not the adrenaline rush of a match, but the deadly stench of blood.

"We should go."

He whispered to his companions, his massive body blocking Millie's path.

But there was no response for a while. I turned around and saw... damn it!

Ethan has already escaped with Millie.

Chapter 44 A Brief Friendship

When Victor walked into the training hall, no one could miss the young man with the Asian face.

Aside from his skin color, he looked more like the Hulk. At only 1.85 meters tall, he was considered short for a professional boxer. Wearing a plain gray hoodie and worn-out sneakers, he looked like any ordinary Asian immigrant you might encounter on the streets of Philadelphia—or so you might think!

At least no one is that burly.

They have already conquered this boxing gym in just a few days.

"Do you come this early every day?"

Rocky Balboa sized Viktor up and down, his gaze carrying the assessing quality typical of a professional boxer: "You didn't receive a single card at the bar last night?"

Viktor nodded without saying anything—the loss had already been resolved inside the blankets he had pulled up in the morning.

"Apollo is warming up inside,"

Rocky pointed inside the training hall. "He said he needs a sparring partner who can throw heavy punches. Looking at your physique... I'm really envious."

Victor took off his hoodie, revealing his large but muscular upper body, which made the tattooed crimson tiger look like it had its fangs showing.

What is most striking are his hands—his knuckles are unusually large and covered with calluses, like two rough rocks.

"Don't worry, I promise..."

"He won't be disappointed," Viktor said calmly.

Inside the training hall, Apollo Creed was jumping rope, his white vest soaked with sweat.

Although this former heavyweight boxing champion has been retired for many years, his physique is still textbook perfect.

Seeing Viktor enter, he stopped what he was doing and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The second day of training was like a small war, even more intense than the previous day.

Viktor's powerful punches were concealed within jabs, hooks, and uppercuts. His punches were delivered at tricky angles, with power rising from the ground, twisting through his waist, and finally being released through his granite-like fists.

However, it's impossible to tell where the force is coming from.

Apollo was once again forced back two steps by a hidden right uppercut in the first round.

Apollo spat out his mouthguard, clutched his stomach, and bent over on the ground: "That punch of yours really hit me! I feel like you're going to knock the shit out of me."

Viktor did not respond, but simply assumed his stance and waited for the next round.

His gaze was focused and calm, as if he were not sparring with a legendary boxing champion, but simply completing a routine task.

The training lasted for a full thirty minutes.

By the end, Apollo's chest and abdomen were covered in red fist marks, while Victor's right knuckle was bleeding from the continuous heavy blows.

"Continue tomorrow?"