bookbashuk Page 60
Page 60
"Far East Fat Tiger is coming! Are you willing to bet on in which round he'll knock out his opponent?"
At the bottom is the name and phone number of Foucault Boxing Gym.
Seeing this, Ethan recommended Frankie to Max.
Franky saw a business opportunity and helped Max.
For the next two days, Max barely slept.
She traveled to every bar, pool hall, and underground casino on Chicago's West Side, using her silver tongue to persuade the owners to set up "Fat Tiger betting"—betting on which round Victor would win, with odds ranging from 1:3 to 1:10.
Franky vouched for her!
But the small prize pool of $100 is nothing special; it's just putting Victor's picture on the bar for a week!
She left those bright red flyers everywhere.
"Did you see the speed of his punch?"
She said to a skeptical bar owner, pointing to Viktor's blurry figure on the flyer, "371 pounds, punching power over 1000 pounds. Do you know how much Ali punched at his peak? About 900 pounds. This fat guy has already surpassed that!"
The following evening, Max returned to Millie's room exhausted. Millie told Max that tabloid reporters had contacted Foucault Boxing Gym, wanting to interview him.
Tony then sent a message saying that Franky and his team had convinced at least fifteen underground casinos to open "Fat Tiger's Casino".
Max believes he can succeed!
······
On the day of the first round of the competition, the Chicago Stadium was packed with people.
Max stood at the entrance to the players' tunnel, watching Viktor make his final preparations.
The massive 371-pound body was encased in a bright red boxing robe, while the bare skin of the figure resembled a ferocious, red tiger with its fangs bared.
Old Jack gave instructions from the side, while Ethan and Michael helped.
The referee's whistle sounded.
Victor took off his boxing robe, revealing his impressive physique—not the six-pack abs of a bodybuilder, but a raw, almost beastly power.
A gasp and a few scattered laughs rippled through the audience.
Across from him, Anthony Guerrero looked like a finely sculpted Greek statue, standing at 192cm tall with 240 pounds of well-proportioned muscles, a stark contrast to Victor.
"ladies and gentlemen!"
The announcer's voice echoed throughout the stadium, "Tonight's first match, the Elite Division of the US Boxing Championships Chicago Regional Tournament, three rounds! Blue Corner fighter, from Power Boxing Gym, 192cm tall, 240 pounds, 22 wins and 3 losses, 'The Hummingbird' Anthony Guerrero!"
Applause and cheers erupted.
Anthony waved gracefully and made a few quick jabs, showcasing his amazing wingspan.
"Red Corner fighter, from Foucault Gym, 185cm tall, 371 pounds, 20 wins and 1 loss, 'Far East Fat Tiger' Victor Lee!"
This time, the audience's reaction was much more complex—there was laughter, boos, and a few people—perhaps those who placed bets on "Fat Tiger"—cheering enthusiastically.
Max noticed several people in the stands holding up red "Fat Tiger" signs that she had designed, and a slight smile appeared on her lips.
The referee called the two contestants to the center of the ring for a final explanation of the rules.
Max gripped the railing tightly, watching Victor and Anthony stand face to face—even with a weight difference of over 130 pounds, Anthony's height still made him look more professional than Victor.
"Protect yourself,"
The referee concluded, "Follow the rules and follow my instructions. Now touch your gloves and go back to your corners."
The bell rang, and the first round began.
Anthony immediately demonstrated the origin of his nickname "Hummingbird"—lightning-fast footwork combined with precise jabs.
Viktor, on the other hand, remained as steady as a mountain, only slightly shaking his head to dodge attacks, barely moving an inch.
"What is he doing?"
Coach Foucault anxiously asked Max, "He should press forward!"
Max stared intently at the ring. "You're not the coach!"
After the first minute, Anthony had already landed three jabs, none of which were heavy blows, but enough to build an advantage on the scoreboard.
A small bloodstain appeared on Victor's face—Anthony's boxing glove had grazed his brow bone.
Then, just two minutes into the first round, Anthony launched another jab combination—a left jab feint followed by a right jab aimed straight at his face.
In that instant, Viktor suddenly turned his head, and the jab that should have hit his nose grazed his ear.
At the same time, the massive 371-pound body surged forward at an unprecedented speed, and Victor had already figured out what his opponent was doing.
"It's now!"
Max screamed, her voice drowned out by the sudden burst of gasps from the audience.
Victor's left and right swings were like two battering rams, forcing Anthony into a corner.
Anthony tried to escape with his agile footwork, but Victor anticipated his movement and delivered a vicious uppercut to the liver, freezing "Hummingbird's" movements instantly.
Max later watched the next fifteen seconds at least twenty times on DVD playback.
Victor's series of punches was like a meticulously choreographed storm—a hook punch shattered Anthony's guard, a straight punch broke up his defense, and the final uppercut, originating from Victor's knee, twisted his waist and propelled him with his shoulder, carrying his entire 371-pound weight, precisely struck Anthony's chin.
Anthony Guerrero, a 22-3 light heavyweight rising star, fell straight down in the ring like a tree struck by lightning.
The referee didn't even count to two; he simply waved his hand to end the game.
The stadium fell into a brief silence, then erupted in deafening cheers and gasps of amazement.
Max looked at Victor—"Far East Fat Tiger" raised his arms, not towards the audience, but directly towards the gamblers holding "Fat Tiger" signs, revealing a savage smile.
KO victory at 2 minutes and 45 seconds in the first round.
Max's "Fat Tiger Bet" became the talk of the town in every bar on Chicago's West Side, and those who bet on a first-round knockout received a $100 share—a split of the winnings.
As Max made her way through the cheering crowd to the backstage, a man in a suit stopped her.
"Ms. Black?"
The man handed her a business card. "I'm Al Torreto, from 'Iron Fist Promotion' company. Interested in discussing the future of your 'Fat Tiger'?"
Coach Foucault stepped forward: "Al, it's too early!"
Max turned and headed toward the locker room. What Coach Foucault didn't know was that the notebook contained the phone numbers of at least twenty new contacts.
In the locker room, Victor Lee was being questioned by reporters, answering questions about the power of his combination punches.
Max leaned against the doorframe, watching this scene, and realized two things:
First, she may never have to worry about those seventeen debt collection calls again;
Secondly, this is just the beginning—the combination of "Far East Fat Tiger" and "Bankrupt Fat Girl" will bring in a lot of money.
Chapter 49 Continuous Battles and Successful Victories
The air in Chicago's South Side smelled of cheap beer and barbecue. Victor Lee stood in front of the mirror in the locker room, wrapping bandages around his hands.
The mirror reflected a colossal figure—371 pounds, making his body resemble a moving mountain, with layers of fat concealing unimaginable muscle strength.
"Victor, come on in two minutes!"
Coach Jack called from outside the door, his voice penetrating the thin plywood door.
Victor nodded and continued wrapping the bandage.
His knuckles were covered in calluses, marks left from countless hours of hitting the sandbag.
The first match was easier than expected. My opponent had good technique but was far weaker. After probing, I unleashed a barrage of attacks and knocked him to the ground.
Viktor's heavy punches left his opponent swaying precariously during the round, forcing the referee to stop the fight.
Viktor is testing his place, much like a sub-adult tiger determining its position in the food chain—what it can eat and what it needs to work harder to get its way!
Therefore, Viktor needs to determine his own strength level through a series of battles.
"Your opponent today is Max Howard,"
Old Jack pushed open the door and came in, holding a tablet computer. "The young master of a wealthy family in the North District has won nine consecutive games... no, ten consecutive games. His skill rating is very high."
Viktor grunted and stuffed the last piece of bandage in.
“I know him! I’ve watched his matches, all show and no substance.”
"Don't underestimate the enemy,"
Old Jack frowned. "This kid is arrogant, but he's fast and knows how to use the rules. He wins more matches by points than you win by knockout."
"I'm going to beat the shit out of him, then hold him down in the shit and beat him!"
Victor was prepared: "Finally, beat him with his shit!"
"Then let's see if you can fight it out!"
Old Jack had absolutely no liking for Max, because Max had filed a complaint with the boxing league two days earlier—reporting that Millie had contacted her opponent in an attempt to win him over, violating the spirit of the fight. Millie had been suspended for six months.
"Don't hold back! Even if you have to use an anal plug, you have to force it out!"
The noise in the arena grew louder and louder, and the host's voice came through the speakers: "Next up is—from the North Division, the 'Golden Boy' Max Howard, who holds a ten-game winning streak!"
Amidst deafening cheers, Victor followed old Jack toward the weighing area.
Max was already standing there, his blond hair neatly combed, his eight-pack abs gleaming under the spotlight.
When he saw Viktor, he widened his eyes dramatically.
"Good heavens, which circus did they hire these sumo wrestlers from?"
Max shouted, eliciting laughter from the surrounding reporters and staff. "This is a boxing match, not sumo, man."
Victor clenched his fists at his sides, but his face remained calm. He stepped onto the weigh-in, and the pointer snapped up to 371 pounds.
372 pounds!
The host exclaimed, "This sets a new weight record for the Chicago regional competition! The previous record was also set by this gentleman at 371 pounds!"
Max made an exaggerated fall, "Hey, Fatty Huang, want to take some diet pills before the competition? I don't want to go to jail for killing someone."
The crowd burst into laughter again.