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

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This punch, a culmination of all his composure, calculation, waiting, and explosive power, landed precisely and solidly on Ruiz's exposed chin flesh!

A heavy, crisp, and unusually loud bang even drowned out the noise at the scene!

A sharp, teeth-grinding crack (likely the sound of a toothbrush breaking or a jawbone injury) could be faintly heard even amidst the commotion, sending a chill down the spines of those near the ring.

Ruiz's massive forward momentum came to an abrupt halt.

The wild flame in his eyes was extinguished instantly, replaced by a complete blankness and emptiness, as if the power had been suddenly cut off.

Consciousness was extracted by absolute force in a fraction of a second.

His solid, mountain-like body stiffened abruptly, then, as if all his bones had been removed, he fell backward, stiff yet limp.

He slammed his fist heavily onto the canvas floor of the boxing ring, making a dull thud and even kicking up a little dust.

He lay there limp, his limbs outstretched at an extremely unnatural angle, unresponsive to anything around him.

There was a moment of deathly silence in the entire venue.

Everyone was stunned by this lightning-fast reversal.

From Ruiz's seemingly inevitable fatal blow to Viktor's masterful evasive counterattack, and then to that earth-shattering punch and the instantaneous finish, everything happened in the blink of an eye.

People's brains don't even have time to process everything their eyes see.

After the silence came earth-shattering screams and wild cheers that almost burst through the stadium roof!

The roar swept across the entire arena like a tsunami!

The referee reacted extremely quickly, rushing forward and bending down to begin loudly counting down the seconds:

"…Sri!…Five!!…Seven!!…"

But it was clear to everyone that Andy Ruiz had completely lost consciousness.

His body was limp as mud, unresponsive to the referee's counting, the roar of the crowd, or any other stimulus.

His team members stood on the sidelines, their faces pale, some covering their faces.

Viktor stood by the ropes, staring blankly, thinking to himself, "I threw eighteen punches, only to be knocked down by Tyson with one punch and become a background character. This is what happens!"

The referee counted to 'ten' and then, without hesitation, waved his arms to stop the game!

"My God! Unbelievable! Unbelievable!"

The commentators went absolutely wild. "We witnessed a perfect counterattack! A textbook dodge and finish! Victor Lee! He did it! 1 minute 49 seconds into the first round! KO win!"

Another commentator analyzed at lightning speed: "Ruiz launched a fierce attack at the start, but Viktor's defense was watertight. His evasive maneuvers were too beautiful! He was calculating and waiting!"

He capitalized on the opening created by Ruiz's relentless attack! That right uppercut—the timing, the angle, the power—was flawless! It was a finisher worthy of the year's best knockout! He proved his rightful place on the throne and completely shook off the shadow of his previous victory!

One commentator reopened the wound: "The last time there was such a spectacular knockout was when Tyson dodged eighteen punches and then knocked out the opponent with one! Oh my god! That was when Victor was on the receiving end!"

Viktor glared at him angrily!

Under the spotlight, Victor Lee slowly straightened up.

He glanced at his opponent lying on the ground, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure.

He didn't celebrate wildly; he simply raised his gloved hands and gestured to the audience around him—the commentary didn't excite him!

The sweat on his forehead glistened under the light, but at this moment, it looked more like a medal symbolizing victory and perseverance.

Medical staff quickly went on stage to check on Ruiz, and the crowd erupted in continuous, rhythmic cheers—these were the people who had won money, following Victor's bet of 'finishing the opponent within four rounds':

"Viktor! Viktor! Viktor!"

He emerged from an anticipated storm, declaring his status as a title challenger in the most decisive and incisive way.

This match, which was expected to be a fierce battle, ended in a dramatic and lightning-fast manner.

Victor Lee, with his composure, wisdom, and that earth-shattering right uppercut, told the world:

It is no accident that we have become what we are today.

When the storm came, he chose to become the storm itself and directed it toward the provocateur.

On the boxing ring, only the composure of the victor and the figure of the loser being quickly carried away remained, along with countless bursts of passion and amazement that lingered in the night sky of Atlantic City.

Victor didn't celebrate wildly; he simply walked slowly to the corner of the stage and opened his arms.

His team rushed over to stop his bleeding and hugged him.

He raised his head, his eyes stained with blood, and looked at the stunned media below, his gaze cold and challenging.

Then, he pushed aside the people around him, walked to Ruiz who was still unconscious, and glanced at him.

Medical staff are providing emergency treatment.

He made no insulting gestures, simply stared at the scene in silence for a second, and then turned and left.

He won $80, keeping the huge bet, and silenced all those who questioned his form and ability with a clean knockout, temporarily silencing those who made unfavorable comparisons between him and Tyson.

But after stepping off the boxing ring, the noise subsided, and the sweat and blood were wiped away, Victor Lee sat alone in the locker room.

A huge check and a glittering gold belt were placed on the table to the side, but he was just holding an ice pack to his stitched-up brow bone.

Frankie excitedly planned his next game and more endorsements, talking non-stop.

Victor suddenly interrupted him, his voice a little hoarse: "Ethan, double the money for the detectives. I want them to use every means possible; I need Max."

Ethan froze, the smile on his face slowly fading, finally turning into a sigh, and he nodded.

Chapter 134 The Boxing Champion Agreed!

The brief joy of defeating Little Fatty had barely settled when $320,000, after taxes on $800,000, had just been deposited into his account—the Chicago tax office and Victor had reached a strategic cooperative partnership.

A challenge from the world's top experts was delivered to Victor Lee.

WBA heavyweight champion Nikolai Valuev has officially invited him to be his challenger for his second title defense.

When the news arrived, Viktor was doing recovery training in the gym, his massive body soaked in sweat.

Agent Frankie, holding a fax, walked up to him with a complicated expression.

“Viktor, he’s from Valuyev’s side. He wants to defend his title and has agreed to let you participate.”

Viktor stopped using his equipment and took the paper. The paper was light, but the weight it represented was enough to crush many professional boxers.

His thick fingers traced the words "WBA World Boxing Championship Title Defense," and his eyes sharpened.

He certainly knew what this meant, especially since Viktor was ranked fifteenth in the WBO—an intercontinental champion—so he understood even better why Valuev chose him—it was by no means out of recognition of his strength.

"You said you could get four million dollars from KO,"

Frankie's voice was low and deep. "That's what he's after. In his eyes, we're just walking, huge checks, a money bag, a... pushover."

"A soft persimmon?"

Victor snorted, his entire body fat seeming to tense at the word, but his eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "He better not expect to be too easy to pinch, or you'll break his teeth."

The enormous economic benefits are obvious, and no boxer would refuse a match that could bring in huge wealth.

Even though it was Viktor's own choice, a mixture of anger, humiliation, and an intense desire to prove himself churned in his chest.

The WBA world championship belt is a symbol of the pinnacle of boxing.

Valuyev gave him this opportunity because of the money, and this condescending attitude stung his pride as a boxer.

But at the same time, an even stronger thought overwhelmed everything:

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a springboard for him to truly step from a much-doubted "super fat new star" into a world-class boxing champion.

At any other time, Viktor would not have had the opportunity—it just so happens that the WBA championship belt is held overseas.

"You think I'm a clown, a walking punching bag? I'll surprise you all."

He silently repeated to himself, his belief hardening like tempered steel: "Frankie, tell the WBO, ask them for their opinion, can I, the WBO Intercontinental Champion, win the WBA World Championship belt if I defeat Valuev?"

Frankie pulled out two pieces of paper: "The WBA and WBO are waiting for your answer; they've agreed!"

"Hehehe! The WBO looks down on me! The WBA is joining in the fun too? Then let's fight!!!"

·······

On November 1, 1986, in New York, the signing ceremony was packed with media reporters.

The flashes of light were almost constant, capturing every exchange before this seemingly unequal contest.

When Victor Lee and his team entered, the reporters' eyes were filled with curiosity, skepticism, and even a hint of pity.

When the nearly seven-foot (approximately 213cm) Valuyev stood up like a tower, a spontaneous gasp of amazement rippled through the crowd.

Valuyev wore a well-fitting suit, but it couldn't completely conceal the terrifying muscle lines and skeleton beneath. He looked down at Viktor as he approached, a hint of undisguised contempt on his lips.

Victor, on the other hand, appeared unusually calm. He was wearing oversized sportswear, and his 400-pound weight made every step he took seem steady and powerful, like a moving mountain.

The huge height difference (29 cm) was particularly striking when the two stood side by side, and the media's cameras worked frantically, eager to capture this visually impactful scene.

The signing process itself was brief, but the subsequent media segment was the real battleground.

Valuyev struck first, picking up the microphone and speaking in a low, mocking voice:

“I am very grateful to Mr. Li for being willing to use his pension to challenge me. To be honest, seeing such a… well… ‘plump’ challenger standing in front of me makes me feel more like this is an exhibition match.”

He's short, fat, and weighs 400 pounds? That'll only make the fall louder.

His words drew light laughter from some of the reporters in the audience.

Viktor took the microphone without changing his expression. He didn't look at Valuyev, but instead scanned the media in the audience before slowly speaking, his voice calm yet carrying a chilling coldness:

"Tsarist Russia is very tall, but no one is afraid of him! Nicholas is very tall, which is impressive. But the boxing ring isn't about who has the longest shadow. What I see is a weakling who is all show and no substance, a giant who is afraid of a real punch."

Your title defense? It won't last long. I only need four rounds—after four rounds, the WBA belt will be given to a truly deserving owner.

As soon as he finished speaking, the scene erupted in uproar.

Valuyev's face instantly darkened. He took a sudden step forward, his massive body casting a shadow that almost enveloped Viktor.

Viktor looked up at him without backing down, their eyes clashing, and a strong sense of tension filled the air.

Staff quickly stepped forward to separate the two, but the tense, disparately sized eye contact in the photo had already become the front-page illustration of the next day's newspaper.

The match was set to take place in London, England, and the fact that Valuyev was banned from competing in the United States due to some controversial past events added a special dimension to the contest.

In the days following the signing ceremony, media commentary poured in, almost unanimously pessimistic.