bookbashuk Page 58
Page 58
Millie stared at Victor for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. "At least one of you understands."
She straightened her collar and turned to Ethan. "I need your trust, Ethan. Especially in public. If you can't, we can break up!"
Ethan's lips were pressed into a thin line, and the red mark on his left cheek had not yet faded.
Millie didn't wait for his reply and turned to walk towards the door.
The gym fell silent.
Viktor continued doing pull-ups with great difficulty, his breathing rhythm remaining perfectly steady.
Michael pretended to focus on bandaging his boxing bandages, but his eyes kept darting between Ethan and the doorway.
Ethan suddenly rushed towards the door.
"Where are you going?"
Michael asked.
Ethan's voice came from the corridor.
Viktor finally jumped off the pull-up bar and shook his head.
Michael couldn't help but laugh. "I bet fifty he'll kiss her in the parking lot."
Victor picked up another bottle of water. "I bet fifty he'll kneel down and kiss her in the parking lot."
Fifteen minutes later, Ethan returned with a suspicious smile on his lips, and the red mark on his left cheek had been mostly gone after being iced.
Victor and Michael exchanged a glance—they noticed the mud on Ethan's knees.
Michael deliberately drew out his words, then pulled out fifty dollars and handed it to Victor: "She forgave you?"
Ethan scratched the back of his head. "Uh, yes. We... started talking."
"I can tell."
Victor began adjusting the angle of the bench press.
"What? No! I just...admit I overreacted."
Ethan finally discovered his knee.
Michael grinned mischievously, mimicking Ethan's voice: "Milly baby, I was wrong, hit me, I deserve it—is that right?"
"Shut up, Michael."
Ethan's face turned red again, but this time it wasn't because of the slap.
Viktor lay on the bench press, gripping the barbell. "Next time, let's just propose directly, to save all this nonsense in the middle."
Ethan grabbed a training ball and threw it at Victor, who caught it easily and then crushed it with one hand like popping foam.
A burst of laughter erupted in the gym, and even Victor's lips curled into a slight smile.
But when he started bench pressing, his smile disappeared, and his eyes became focused and indifferent again.
Amidst the heavy metallic clang, Victor told Ethan, "Personal relationships are personal relationships, but Millie is unprofessional, and I won't choose her again!"
Chapter 47 She and I were equally thirsty
On the morning of the third day, Viktor was awakened by a series of urgent doorbell rings.
He rubbed his temples. He had been discussing preparations for the U.S. Boxing Championships next month with Michael and Ethan until 11 p.m. last night. He had gotten up at 5 a.m. for endurance training and then just went to sleep after eating 'pig slop'.
The apartment still smelled of pizza and beer, and several crumpled tactical analysis papers were scattered on the coffee table—the handiwork of Jimmy and Ethan.
"Who the hell is up so early?"
Jimmy climbed off the sofa, his hair a mess like a bombed bird's nest. As Victor's legal advisor and roommate, he had drunk the most last night—because he was nearly driven to death by books of economic law that were as tall as him!
Victor glanced at the clock on the wall—9:15 a.m.
He dragged his feet toward the door and saw a strange woman standing outside through the peephole.
Her long brown hair was tied into a neat ponytail at the back of her head, her white tight-fitting T-shirt outlined her proud chest curves, and her long legs were visible beneath her black pencil pants.
She was impatiently tapping her arm with her fingers while ringing the doorbell with her other hand.
"Fuck, so beautiful!"
Victor muttered a curse under his breath, "It sounds like that woman who said she was coming to interview for an agent position today."
"The one from the phone call?"
Michael came out of the kitchen with a cup of black coffee in his hand. "I thought he was joking. Did old Jack really fire his daughter?"
"That's polite!"
Victor opened the door, and the woman immediately flashed a businesslike smile, her red lips and white teeth gleaming brightly in the morning light.
“Victor Lee? This is Max Black. Foucault Gym notified me by phone to arrive at nine o’clock this morning.”
She held out her hand, "I hope I didn't come too early."
It wasn't too late, because Victor never expected Foucault Gym to be so efficient, even though he said he was still in New York yesterday at noon.
Victor shook her hand and noticed that her nails were short and unpainted, and her palms were somewhat rough—unlike the pampered girl he had imagined.
"Come in,"
He stepped aside, saying, "My friends are all here."
Max walked into the apartment, his gaze quickly sweeping over the messy living room, the corner piled with exercise equipment, and the three men with different expressions.
She showed no discomfort, and instead naturally walked to the only relatively clean chair, sat down, and took out a thick folder from her backpack.
Victor brought her a cup of coffee and sat down on the sofa opposite her. Michael and Ethan stood behind him like two bodyguards. "You said you want to be my agent?"
Max looked him straight in the eye. “I know it sounds crazy, an inexperienced woman suddenly popping up and saying she wants to be your agent. But I’m fully prepared.”
She opened the folder and took out a neatly bound stack of papers.
"This is my resume, my transcript from the University of Tennessee—even though I only attended for a year—and my career plan for you."
She paused, then said, "Forty pages, handwritten."
Jimmy whistled and brought out a few cans of Coke from the kitchen to share with everyone.
"Are you serious? Forty pages?"
“Every page.”
Max handed the document to Victor, “From your performance in the South Division last year to your possible career path over the next three years. This includes opponent research, market value assessment, and social media operation strategy.”
Viktor flipped through the documents, his brow gradually relaxing.
The densely packed notes and charts on the paper showed an astonishing amount of work, with some places marked with different colored pens.
He noticed that for each potential opponent analyzed, there were video links and detailed statistics for that player's last three matches.
"You know about boxing?"
Ethan asked skeptically, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I’m not very good at it, but I have enough knowledge about it. After all, boxing managers make more money than those in other sports.”
Max smiled. "My dad was a cleaner at a small boxing gym in Brooklyn. I've been doing odd jobs there since I was six. I've watched thousands of fights and handed towels and water to countless boxers."
Her smile faded slightly. "Until he passed away, I couldn't afford the rent."
Victor looked up at her. "So you dropped out of school?"
"Tuition is 8,000 yuan a year, and student loans are like usury."
Max shrugged. "I've worked as a waiter, cashier, telemarketer, and now I work at two bars. But boxing is the only area I really know anything about."
Victor continued flipping through the documents, stopping at a page that contained a tactical analysis of his most recent fight. Max even pointed out a minor defensive lapse exposed after his left hook, a detail that even his coach, Foucault, hadn't mentioned.
"Why choose me?"
Viktor pointed to page forty and suddenly asked, "If there's something like that, you can go find a more famous boxer."
Max looked him straight in the eye. “Because I’m just like you, Victor. We’re both people who were abandoned by reality and climbed up with our fists and willpower. I don’t have your talent, so I can only rely on being a boxer.”
She pointed to the document, “I’ve watched all your matches, and I feel that you have something they don’t have—a hunger. It’s not a desire for money or fame, but an instinctive pursuit of survival. You seem to have a natural aversion to this world, which is why you play so intensely, and you rarely socialize. Perhaps it’s because of this aversion that you have some fear of communicating.”
A brief silence fell over the living room.
Michael and Ethan exchanged a glance, while Jimmy thoughtfully stroked his chin.
"Michael, please prepare lunch."
Victor suddenly said, "Ms. Black, may we invite you to lunch?"
Max gave his first genuine smile of the day. "It's an honor."
An hour later, the five of them squeezed around a large table in the corner of the restaurant, which was covered with food and drinks.
Max was spreading guacamole evenly on tortilla chips with a spoon while answering Michael's questions about promoting boxing.
"The key lies in the storytelling,"
As she spoke, she gestured, “Victor is not just another boxer from the slums; he is a self-taught genius and a rebel who breaks the mold.”
She turned to Victor, "What's the real reason you refused to join the Big Boxing Club?"
"They want to control my training methods and match choices, as if I were their property."
Viktor took a bite of his burrito. "I don't know why, but I've never liked this kind of constraint. I'm worried I'll become habitually cautious, like a dog eyeing its owner."
Max's eyes lit up. "That's your brand—independent, resilient, authentic. The boxing world is full of commercialized puppets right now, and audiences crave to see real fighters."
Jimmy put down his beer glass. "Are you sure you've never been a broker? You sound more knowledgeable than most professionals."
"The advantage of bankruptcy is having plenty of time to study online for free in the library. I read every book I could find on boxing management and sports marketing, and analyzed the career trajectories of every well-known boxer over the past five years."
Max made a face. "If I don't make much money, the debt I've accumulated over the past few months will leave me unable to pay my credit card bills and I'll have to wash dishes."
By the end of lunch, Victor had made his decision.
On the way back to the boxing gym, he slowed down and walked alongside Max.
"I can't promise you too much; I can only offer a six-month trial period."
Viktor said he didn't see her, "There's no fixed salary, just 5% of my prize money. If I perform well, we can talk about a long-term partnership."