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

Page 41

Old Joe stood up and patted the two men on the shoulder.

“You did the right thing. Now get back to your homes and leave this to me.”

Jason suddenly said seriously, "We shouldn't make decisions for Victor."

“We are not those so-called ‘free Americans’ who, no matter where we go or what we do, have family blood as our roots. There are only two ways to be kind to people: give them money and resources, or personally step in to solve their problems.”

Old Joe put on his hat and hung up his pistol: "And I had neither money nor resources, and I almost dragged him down with the mob."

Michael suddenly exclaimed, "That one hundred and twelve dollars—?"

"It's expired!"

Old Joe slapped him across the face. "And another thing, I'm hitting you because you're dressed like a hippie today! Dress like a proper nutritionist!"

When Old Joe pushed open the gym door, a heavy thud hit him.

In the corner of the boxing ring, Victor was furiously punching a badly deformed sandbag. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat, and the bandages on his knuckles were bleeding, but he seemed to feel no pain, just venting his anger with punch after punch.

Old Jack saw Old Joe and nodded.

Old Joe watched quietly for a while.

Viktor looks just like his father—the same dark hair and broad shoulders, the same stubborn and indomitable spirit, only his eyes are cleaner.

But now, he saw the child's most fatal weakness:

“Old Jack, be tough on him. You have to do some serious ideological work with him.”

Old Joe handed him a book, saying, "Give this to him for me; he must finish reading it."

Old Jack took it without saying a word.

At 11:43 p.m. that night, Veronica walked home with an umbrella.

The rain was pouring down, and she subconsciously touched her still flat stomach, thinking about all the benefits this child could bring in the future.

The car veered off course.

The umbrella spun a few times in the air, then fell to the ground like a bird with broken wings.

The car stopped for a few seconds.

I rolled down the car window, and a hooded man glanced at me.

Pull the trigger into the stomach.

It quickly disappeared into the rainy night.

When Viktor found out, he inexplicably felt relieved and didn't even go to the hospital.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Old Joe pushed his car into the sea, removed one of the revolvers, and casually tossed it aside on either side of the riverbank before turning around and going to his night shift as if nothing had happened.

The screen displayed a brief message: "Going home, something important."

Viktor put away his pager, closed his eyes, and thought about recent events.

All sorts of things were connected, all sorts of dangers were intertwined, and all sorts of consequences remained—but now, there are no consequences at all.

The rain was gradually subsiding, but the sky remained suffocatingly gloomy.

As Victor drove home, various fragmented thoughts kept flashing through his mind.

When I opened the door, Old Joe was sitting in an armchair in the living room, holding a cup of hot tea.

The sunlight after the rain shone through the clouds, casting a strange halo around the middle-aged man's temples and revealing a few strands of white hair.

Forty-five-year-old Joe looks younger than his actual age; only the wrinkles around his eyes and his overly clear-eyed gaze betray the passage of time.

"I did it."

Old Joe interrupted him, looking directly into Victor's eyes.

Time seemed to freeze in an instant.

Viktor felt his blood surging in his eardrums.

Old Joe's voice came from near and far: "...I warned you long ago to stay away from that kind of woman...A bastard child will ruin you...She's the kind of person who uses one child after another to keep a man tied down..."

Viktor roared in fury: "What gives you the right to make decisions for me?!"

"You don't want it either! She doesn't want it either! Otherwise, let's do a DNA test; it'll definitely show a deformity!"

Old Joe simply stared calmly into Victor's bloodshot eyes. "Either call the police to arrest me now, or calm down and let me finish."

Victor's fist hung in mid-air, trembling violently.

Old Joe was his father's younger brother. After his parents died in a car accident, this man raised him single-handedly.

For seven years, Old Joe has been his only family.

The fist finally slowly loosened.

His voice was like a judge reading a verdict: "Your surname is Li, and no matter how down on your luck you are, you can't marry a used woman! The family genealogy won't recognize you, and Mazu won't bless you."

Victor's nails dug deeply into his palms.

Old Joe never used that insulting word to his face.

"Secondly, who is Veronica? A woman who can make money by flirting on pay-TV channels. Do you think she'd be soft-hearted towards you?"

Old Joe sneered, "Once the child is born, she'll suck you dry like a leech. Your income, your house, everything."

You don't understand her at all!

Viktor hissed, but he himself didn't know what he was thinking.

"I know enough!"

Old Joe continued, "In the South District, some people adopt a bunch of kids and live on subsidies, some bring their own daughters with them, and some sell their blood until they die! How did she survive? With her pitiful skills? With her high school education? Use your brain!"

Victor was speechless.

"Finally, and most importantly,"

Old Joe's voice suddenly softened, almost with pity, "The root of all this is your own recklessness and arrogance. Did you think the world would revolve around you? Did you think love could bridge all gaps?"

Victor looked towards the top floor.

Old Joe stood up, walked to the door, opened it, and saw Victor off: "If you decide to call the police, let me know in advance so I have time to turn myself in and my sentence can be shorter."

Victor left, and the sound of the door closing was particularly jarring in the quiet apartment.

Back in my apartment, a strange numbness spread from my feet throughout my body.

He mechanically walked to the coffee table and picked up the booklet that old Jack had handed him.

He turned to the first page and began to extinguish the illusory love that Hormone had ignited with cold words.

As dawn broke, Viktor finally found the answer:

"Hey, I knew I was here to do something big!"

Chapter 34 The South District is really chaotic

Chicago winters always come suddenly and fiercely.

Viktor stood at the window of his dilapidated apartment, watching the first snow falling outside, his breath condensing and dissipating on the glass.

He couldn't sleep last night, spending the whole night reading the red book. The insightful guidance and grand, righteous logic of the book enlightened him greatly. His eyes were bloodshot, but his gaze was clearer than ever before.

"There was never love."

He repeated the conclusion in a low voice, his voice dry like sandpaper.

The South District has 30 communities and 90 residents. There are definitely innocent people, but they are definitely not Veronica—this is a 'free' market where you are weak and therefore right, and I am hungry and I will eat you.

Outside the window, the first rays of morning light pierced through the clouds and shone on his sharply defined face.

Viktor suddenly smiled, a smile devoid of bitterness, only one of relief.

He turned and walked to the bathroom, splashing his face with cold water. When he looked up, the man in the mirror had a determined look in his eyes.

The old iron gate of the training ground creaked and groaned.

Old Jack looked up and saw Victor walk in, still carrying the chill of the outside air.

"You've arrived earlier than usual."

Old Jack tossed him a towel. "And it looks different now."

Viktor took the towel, offered no explanation, and simply asked, "What are we practicing today?"

Old Jack squinted and sized up the young man.

A month ago, Viktor was a naive young man blinded by love, but now he is like a drawn sword, sharp and cold.

Old Jack liked this change.

"Swimming builds endurance, then strength training."

Old Jack said, "But starting today, we'll add two hours of boxing combinations in the morning. So, you need to speed things up!"

The pool water was icy cold.

Victor plunged in and floated on the surface of the water like an inflatable pufferfish.

His muscles memorized the rhythm of each stroke, and his lungs gradually adapted to the oxygen-deprived state.

Ten laps, twenty laps, thirty laps... the numbers mechanically increased in his mind until old Jack blew his whistle by the pool.

The sounds of metal plates clashing together echoed throughout the strength training area.

Viktor lay on the bench press, his veins bulging as he pushed a barbell far exceeding his own body weight.

Sweat trickled down his temples and dripped onto the rubber mat.

His eyes were resolute, as if his soul had been detached, leaving only his muscles to carry out commands.

"You're like a pile of shit in a Chicago winter today, rock hard! Let's do another set!"

Old Jack's voice came from afar.

Viktor did not answer, but silently increased the weight.

His body was protesting, every muscle screaming, but his will was as strong as iron—after his worldview was shattered by a woman, Viktor's spirit was being rebuilt!