met free Page 175
Page 175
"Five minutes, Victor."
Ethan whispered a reminder, afraid of disturbing Victor's pre-match build-up of anger.
Viktor nodded slightly, without opening his eyes.
On the other side, a violent atmosphere permeated Mickey Green's lounge.
Standing at 196 centimeters tall, Green paced back and forth like a caged beast, his eyes bloodshot.
His team members carefully kept their distance, and everyone knew that "The Beast" was extremely emotionally unstable before the match.
"I'm going to tear that Chinaman to shreds!"
Green roared, slamming his fist against the wall, causing the towels hanging there to fall to the ground. "Let him know who the king of New York is!"
······
The stadium lights suddenly dimmed, and spotlights shone on the entrance.
"ladies and gentlemen!"
The host's voice echoed throughout the venue, "First up is 'The Beast' from Brooklyn—Mickey Green!"
Green roared as he charged out of the tunnel, waving his fists, drawing a chorus of cheers and boos.
His supporters were mostly gang members and street youths from Brooklyn, who shouted as if this was not a boxing match, but the prelude to a street war.
Ten minutes later, when Victor Lee appeared at the end of the tunnel, the stadium erupted in even more deafening cheers—this was the prestige of a world boxing champion!
Viktor remained calm and composed, his steps steady, his eyes chillingly so.
He nodded slightly to the audience, but not as flamboyantly as Green—Victor saw many veteran actors, many new actors, but mostly female stars, and star players from various teams:
But in this world, when the boxing match begins, all other competitions have to take a backseat!
Under the spotlight, two boxers stood in the center of the boxing ring.
Viktor appeared calm and composed, as if he were playing on home soil.
Green's eyes were bloodshot, like a caged beast enraged, roaring, his muscles tense with anger.
The referee gave a final instruction: "When I call a stop, the attack must cease."
Green barely listened, staring intently at Victor.
Victor tilted his head slightly, as if listening—but Green didn't know that he wasn't listening to the referee's voice, but perhaps to the gunshots that were about to ring out in the Brooklyn night, drowned out by the cheers of the boxing match.
Like an enraged grizzly bear, Victor, with his massive 185cm, 400-pound frame, launched a relentless, Chicago-type-machine-like attack on the 196cm "beast" Mickey Green without any hesitation.
His start was faster than anyone could imagine—it wasn't the agility expected of a heavyweight, but more like a rhinoceros bursting into full speed, charging into the center line in just two steps.
Before Green could fully raise his arm, Victor had already smashed through his defenses with his thick chest.
The dull thud of muscles colliding against each other echoed through the rope loops throughout the stadium, instantly eliciting gasps from the audience.
No one expected Viktor to adopt such aggressive tactics, and no one imagined that such explosive power was hidden in this giant's body.
Green staggered backward, a look of astonishment flashing in his eyes.
He originally thought Viktor would be a conservative player, good at waiting for opportunities to counterattack.
But in reality, Victor's attack had turned into a storm—two precise hooks, like heavy hammers, slammed into Green's unguarded ribs, followed by a right straight punch like a cannonball, hitting Mickey squarely in the forehead.
Green fell to the ground with a thud, and the boxing ring seemed to tremble.
The entire stadium was silent for a second, then erupted in deafening shouts—less than fifteen seconds into the game, a knockdown had occurred!
The referee begins counting.
Green struggled to his feet in the eighth second, his anger replaced by wariness.
Old Jack and Ethan nodded slightly on the sidelines.
They studied Green: this "beast" was fierce in attack, but had a fatal weakness in defense - his reaction to attacks on the waist and ribs was always a beat too slow, and once he was hit hard in the forehead, his judgment would be significantly impaired.
Green quickly changed tactics, trying to wear down Victor's stamina with frequent hugs and shoves, and drag the game into a protracted battle.
But Viktor's dodging skills were amazing—such a huge body and a thick waist, yet he displayed the agility of a light heavyweight, swaying, sliding, and retreating, making all of Mickey's attacks miss.
"Do you think you can win?"
During another hug, Green leaned close to Victor's ear and hissed, "I'll get my brother to 'take care' of your girlfriend!"
Viktor's eyes were cold, his anger roaring like flames, but his breathing remained steady.
He suddenly broke free from the embrace and threw a vicious uppercut straight at Green's chin, but Green barely managed to escape by leaning back.
"I will make you watch yourself... slowly rot away."
Viktor's voice was deep and steely as he pressed forward again.
·······
In Brooklyn, the night was deep and the cold was biting.
Frankie Lee stood at the second-floor window of an abandoned warehouse, gazing at the faint outline of Madison Square Garden in the distance.
Behind him, ten capable subordinates were inspecting weapons.
Next to him were his Chinese friends from New York.
"The convoy has set off, boss."
A burly man with a face full of scars reported.
Franky nodded, a cold smile curving his lips: "What did Mr. Liu say?"
Mr. Liu's real surname is Jin. He is skilled with double swords, so the nickname "Jin Shuangdao" (Golden Double Swords) became Mr. Liu after he gained status. He is not yet thirty, his gray hair is neatly combed, and a custom-made Colt pistol is hidden under his expensive suit jacket.
He was the true king of the Chinese underworld in Brooklyn, while Mickey Green was just a nobody.
He looked at the Thompson submachine guns under Franky's command with utter disdain: "Outdated stuff, from some small workshop. We all use these now!"
As he spoke, Mr. Liu's men brought over ten Type 56 pistols and several magazines.
"Look at these things, they're all good stuff! People from my hometown sold them to me, they're great quality and cheap, you can buy ten for ten thousand US dollars!"
Franky took it and tried it out, then was quite disappointed: "Chicago isn't as convenient as New York; it's hard to get this kind of thing in..."
"Don't worry, leave it to me. We're partners! I'll only charge 10% for shipping. We'll use the seafood route; those corrupt officials won't bother with rotten fish and shrimp!"
Mr. Liu was very generous, having already gained the upper hand over his friends in Chicago. He called out to his men, "Show them what you've got! Bring out your ghost fire grenades too!"
Tonight's operation kills two birds with one stone:
He needed to both eliminate the increasingly uncontrollable "Beast Gang" and prove his power in New York to his partners in Chicago—the way to prove it was, of course, to suppress the matter!
Chicago has excellent sources of goods!
Franky stood aside, letting his ten men 'learn' from the side.
Mr. Liu turned to his men and said, "Quickly finish this, leave no survivors. Put on your bulletproof vests, I don't want to eat your food!"
The car slid silently out of the garage, like a group of bloodthirsty sharks, heading towards the area where Mitch Green's "Beast Gang" usually operated.
The streets were emptier than usual, a deathly stillness hanging over them—they wanted to wipe out the Beast Gang before Mickey Green fell, to let Mickey Green experience the feeling of falling into the abyss.
On the boxing ring, the invisible pressure felt real, mixed with the pungent smell of sweat, rosin, and rubber mats, permeating the scorching beams of the spotlight.
The noise from the audience was a constant background noise, but to Victor Lee, it all seemed to be shut out by a thick layer of glass.
His world at this moment consisted only of the man opposite him nicknamed "The Beast"—Mitch Green—and his own steady, deep breathing and heartbeat.
The bell had just rung to end the second round.
Viktor quickly retreated to the corner, his chest heaving slightly, his forehead covered with fine beads of sweat, but his eyes remained as sharp as an eagle's.
Old Jack nimbly stepped over the ropes with an ice pack and a water bottle, while Ethan was already spraying Victor with 'asthma medication' and applying Vaseline at the same time.
“Well done, Victor,”
Old Jack's voice was deep and clear as he pressed an ice pack against his disciple's slightly swollen chest—Green hadn't hit his head once:
"He has a great rhythm. His punches are really scary, but they're pointless if they don't land. Remember, his left side, his ribs, those jabs and body strikes from the last round are starting to work."
Victor nodded silently, taking small sips of water but not swallowing, his gaze never leaving Green across from him, who was raging and being scolded by the coach.
Green was like an enraged bull, his muscles bulging and brimming with destructive power, but Victor saw only the subtle gaps in his defense, the cracks caused by pain and impatience.
"He's very irritable!"
Old Jack leaned closer, lowering his voice even further, "Slow down a bit, make him think you're tired and running out of energy. But keep moving and protect yourself. Lure him, make him think his chance has come, and let him attack with all his might. He'll be more exhausted and have more openings."
Viktor nodded again: Showing weakness is not cowardice, but the most effective tactic.
He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled the stale air from his lungs, relaxed his muscles, and deliberately made his shoulders appear slightly slumped.
"when--!"
Round three begins!
Chapter 149 First Title Defense Victory
Round three begins!
Viktor stood up, his steps seeming slightly heavier than in the previous two rounds.
He maintained a tight stance, but the frequency and power of his punches decreased significantly. He relied more on jabs and agile movement to control distance, no longer displaying the aggressive and imposing presence he had before.
"Oh? The match has entered the third round, and Victor Lee's offensive seems to have slowed down."
The commentator's voice carried a hint of doubt, "Was the high-paced confrontation in the first two rounds too exhausting? Against a heavy hitter like 'Beast' Green, any drop in stamina could be fatal!"
Green on the other side immediately noticed this change.
His scarlet eyes were fixed on Viktor, like a hungry beast spotting the signs of its prey's exhaustion.
Victor threw a right straight punch that was originally quite threatening, but Green only slightly blocked it with his gloves, feeling that the power was indeed not as strong as before.
He's tired!
The thought flashed through Green's mind, and a bloodthirsty excitement surged to his head.
He completely ignored the coach's shouts from below the stage ("Calm down! Mickey! It might be a trap!").
His animalistic instincts overwhelmed his reason—it was time to tear this cunning Asian to shreds!