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

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Old Jack's voice was as calm as if he were instructing a regular training session, "About your mental health and your thoughts during the game."

The next forty-five minutes felt like a long interrogation.

Howard and two other investigators bombarded him with questions, from Victor's training habits to his bank accounts, from his parents' finances to his connections with the mob.

Viktor's answers were always brief, his right fist clenching and unclenching under the sheet.

Howard straightened up and exchanged a meaningful glance with his two colleagues.

The three walked to a corner of the room and talked in hushed tones, while old Jack took the opportunity to hand Victor a glass of water.

"You passed."

Old Jack whispered, "Don't let them smell the blood."

When old Jack stepped forward, politely handed each of them an envelope, and told them they still had time to buy their wives a suitable outfit, Howard's expression softened subtly as the investigators turned back.

He straightened his tie and gave a professional smile.

"Mr. Victor, take good care of your injuries."

Chapter 31 Old Jack's First Month of Training

Two days later, the matter of Victor losing the boxing match came to an end. In the end, Victor still ranked first with a record of 7 wins and 2 losses, winning the championship of the South District Bad Boys Boxing Tournament and receiving a prize of $50,000.

Moreover, Third Master also sent $50,000 in 'compensation'.

At this point, Victor's savings instantly reached $120,000, which would have placed him in the upper-middle class in America at that time.

The three major gangs gained even more; the millions of dollars in gambling winnings were secondary. The biggest gain was the decline of Jack's influence and the disappearance of Black power.

But more importantly, the gangster symbols on Viktor have disappeared, allowing him to focus on training.

The fact that Sean and Fiona had a big fight and broke up, that Veronica was pregnant again, that Carl got into military school, and that Veronica trained as a senator, didn't actually affect Victor.

Like a dragon entering the sea, Victor felt completely relaxed and slept soundly for a whole day, snoring loudly, until he was woken up by two slaps from Old Jack.

Victor simply rented a house and moved in with Michael and Jason. The two of them studied, while Victor immersed himself in exercise.

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Victor stood at Old Jack's door, looking up at the faded signboard—Real Man Gym, a simple and direct name, just like Old Jack himself.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the creaking iron door.

"I'm three minutes late."

Old Jack's voice came from the dimly lit room, accompanied by the crisp sound of metal clashing, "You're late on the first day. Looks like you're not ready yet."

Victor's throat tightened, and he could feel his 361-pound body trembling slightly.

It wasn't out of fear, but because his unscientific weight loss methods over the past two months had brought his body to the brink of collapse.

His body had lost a lot of fat and lean meat, which was a disgrace for someone who was once as strong as a bear.

"I'm ready."

Viktor's voice was hoarse, but firm enough.

Old Jack emerged from the shadows. He was about the same height as Viktor, though he appeared much shorter because he couldn't straighten his back. But his imposing presence made Viktor unconsciously straighten his back.

Old Jack scanned Victor up and down with his hawk-like eyes, his gaze piercing through Victor's body like X-rays.

"Take off your shirt."

Old Jack commanded.

Viktor did as instructed, and his skin, exposed to the cold air, immediately broke out in goosebumps.

Old Jack's fingers gripped his shoulders, arms, and abdomen like iron clamps, each touch bringing a sharp pain.

"Stage 3 malnutrition, muscle mass reduced by 7%, and testosterone level estimated to be only half of the normal value."

Old Jack's voice was terrifyingly calm, "You're quite bold to try and break free! But this will only make you a sissy!"

Viktor's jaw tightened, making his neck look like a cylinder: "I can recover."

Old Jack sneered, "Come with me."

They walked through the training area filled with old but well-maintained equipment and came to a small room at the back.

In the center of the room was a medical bed, next to a refrigerator and an infusion pump that looked like it had been stolen from a hospital.

Old Jack opened the refrigerator and took out three bags of amber liquid. "Three times a day, twenty minutes each time. This is a high-concentration nutrient solution containing all the trace elements and amino acids your body needs."

Viktor obediently lay down, clenching his teeth as old Jack inserted the needle into the vein in his elbow.

The moment the liquid entered his blood vessels, a burning sensation spread along his arm, as if someone had lit a small flame in his veins.

"It will hurt a little,"

Old Jack said expressionlessly, "Your blood is too thick, caused by malnutrition. Bear with it."

Viktor's forehead was covered in cold sweat, but he remained silent—it wouldn't make a difference anyway.

The pain lasted for about half a minute before gradually subsiding, replaced by a strange warmth spreading throughout my body, as if parched land had finally received rain.

"This is just the beginning."

Old Jack dragged a thermal box out from the corner, opened it to reveal twelve individually packaged meal boxes inside. "Six meals a day, a total of 20,000 calories. I don't care what method you use, you have to finish them all."

Victor opened the first lunchbox, and a smell of metallic tang and bitter herbs wafted out.

The paste inside had an unnatural grayish-green color, with some suspicious particles floating on top.

"what is this?"

Viktor's stomach clenched.

"This specially formulated nutritional meal is rich in protein, vitamins, and metal ions. To make it easier to digest and eat, I blended it into a puree."

Old Jack handed him a spoon. "Each bite costs two dollars, so don't waste it."

After the first bite, Victor almost threw up.

The taste was like raw liver, rust, and bitter melon mashed together and fermented for a week.

His taste buds protested strongly, but Old Jack's gaze forced him to swallow it down.

“Old Jack, believe me, you have no talent for cooking,”

Viktor smiled wryly: "Moreover, I personally strongly suggest that next time you don't blend it into a puree; it might make it more appetizing."

“That’s a good suggestion, but I won’t take it. Let’s rest for twenty minutes after we finish eating, and then we’ll go to the swimming pool.”

Old Jack glanced at his watch. "You have a month to recover to a point where you can start training. Not a single day can be wasted."

Viktor forced himself to swallow the horrible paste spoonful after spoonful, each mouthful feeling like a small battle.

Halfway through his meal, his stomach began to protest, but thinking of the muscles and strength he had lost, he gritted his teeth and continued eating.

Twenty minutes later, as Victor trudged along with old Jack to the indoor swimming pool, he felt the food forming a leaden mass in his stomach.

The pool wasn't large, only 25 meters long and 4 meters wide, but the water temperature was noticeably lower than normal—there were two huge ice balls inside.

"The water temperature is 8 degrees Celsius, which is enough to keep you awake without causing cramps."

Old Jack tossed him a specially made weighted swimsuit. "Put this on and swim twenty laps to warm up."

Victor was distressed: "Old Jack, I can't swim."

Old Jack insisted, "Don't worry, you have your own lifebuoy. Even if you were to be filled with cement, you'd use more than others, so you won't sink."

Victor put on his swimsuit and immediately felt a weight on his shoulders—the suit added at least twenty pounds of drag.

He slipped into the water, the cold water making him gasp.

The first round trip went smoothly, but by the fifth round, his arms were starting to ache and his breathing became rapid.

"Rhythm! Pay attention to the rhythm!"

Old Jack yelled from the poolside, "Your paddling efficiency is too low! How can you live up to your nickname 'Chicago Typing Chicken' at this speed? They can swim much faster with their fingers!!"

Viktor adjusted his breathing, forcing himself to maintain a steady stroke rate, and tried to lift his head back while cursing:

"Fuck you!!"

By the fifteenth round, his muscles felt as heavy as lead, and each time he raised his arm it felt like lifting a mountain.

His vision began to blur, and he could only rely on instinct to keep going.

"Five more! Speed ​​things up!"

Old Jack's roar came through the mist.

Viktor gritted his teeth and used all his strength to increase the frequency of his strokes.

When he finally finished his twentieth lap and clung to the edge of the pool, gasping for breath, he felt as if his lungs were on fire.

"Rest for five minutes, then do strength training."

Old Jack handed him a bottle of special electrolyte drink. "Sip it slowly, don't choke. Your throat is more fragile than your vas deferens right now!"

The drink tasted like sea salt mixed with expired juice, but Victor forced himself to drink it anyway, and then mustered the strength to yell, "Old Jack, don't make such a vicious analogy, or I'll retaliate!"

Old Jack kicked Victor into the water: "Let's talk when you have the stamina to fight twelve rounds!"

Five minutes later, he was taken to the strength training area, where old Jack was already waiting for him in front of a squat rack.

"Today's weight is 315 pounds, ten sets, five reps per set."

Old Jack started adding weight to the barbell. "Your tendons need to readjust to heavy weights. I'm going to make your thighs as strong as a bullfrog's!"

Viktor frowned: "In my current condition, this weight might—"

"It will tear some muscle fibers? That's exactly what I want."

Old Jack patted him on the back. "If you want to have endurance, core strength is your choice. Your blood vessels are thick, don't worry, they won't burst! I've observed that you have a strong absorption capacity, which will allow you to repair and grow muscles faster. Pain is a necessary price to pay."

Viktor stood under the squat rack, and as the barbell pressed down on his shoulders, he felt a sharp pain—malnutrition had made his bones and joints fragile.

As he squatted down for the first time, his thigh muscles protested sharply, and his knees trembled slightly.

Old Jack poked his back with a stick. "Straighten your back and engage your core!"

"Idiot! I'm not asking you to sprint! Don't strike a pose like you're raping or murdering someone!"