manynovel Page 215
Page 215
His right straight punch pierced through Jose's defense like a bullet.
The punch was delivered flawlessly—starting from the ground with the feet, the power was transmitted through the rotation of the waist and hips to the shoulder, and finally condensed on the fist.
Jose's jaw slammed shut with a sickening thud, and he staggered backward as if struck by a hammer.
Viktor gave his opponent no chance to breathe.
He quickly followed up, delivering a powerful left hook that slammed into Jose's liver with a dull, forceful sound, like a baseball bat hitting a sandbag.
Jose's body instinctively bent over, and this momentary pause left him completely exposed to the next blow.
Victor landed another right uppercut from below, hitting his already injured jaw again.
The sound of the combination punches echoed in the stadium. Jose crashed to the ground like a felled oak tree, his massive body slamming heavily onto the boxing ring.
The counterattack lasted less than three seconds before José went into a daze.
"Knocked down again!"
Commentator Katon's voice cracked with excitement, "Can Ribalta get back up? This could be the end of the game!"
"The punch was too heavy!"
Rocky joked, "I think no one but me can stand up!"
Jose knelt on the boxing ring, sweat pouring down his face like raindrops, his chin visibly deformed.
The referee started the countdown, but incredibly, by the time he reached five, José had already propped himself up with his hands.
At seven o'clock, he stood up unsteadily, his eyes burning with an almost frantic determination.
When the referee approached him to ask if he could continue, he even pushed the referee's hand away, pressed his two boxing gloves against his chin, snapped them back into place with a click, and then signaled to continue the match immediately.
The referee was dumbfounded—he really didn't want to kill anyone, because that would definitely cost him his referee license.
In this current situation, without a job, even a referee can't gain the upper hand.
Repeatedly check the status.
Viktor frowned slightly, his mind filled with disbelief.
His combination of punches was powerful enough to knock most heavyweights unconscious, but Jose not only stood up, but his eyes gleamed with an even more dangerous light, as if each heavy blow was just adding fuel to his fire.
He had some doubts: Could there really be cheat codes in this world?
He just punched me twice in the chin. Even if his brains were splattered, they should have shaken to pieces by now. How is he still able to stand up?
Viktor glanced at Rocky on the commentary stage and strongly suspected that the guy had sold the 'invincibility cheat' after retiring.
But José did not fall, and the game restarted.
This time, Viktor completely controlled the rhythm.
His straight punches pounded into Jose's already reddened body like heavy hammers, while his right hooks occasionally and accurately penetrated Jose's defense.
Jose was already exhausted, his head was spinning, and he was completely powerless. His guard was broken, and Victor delivered a vicious right hook to Jose's temple.
The referee arrived late, and Victor followed up with a powerful left hook that slammed into his ribs—the sound of the blow could even be clearly heard in the stands; it was a thud that sent chills down your spine.
Viktor stepped aside.
But José was like a walking wall; he managed to stand up, and the referee couldn't stop him.
Viktor thought he saw something coming out of his nostrils.
He continued fighting, taking one heavy punch after another, staggering but never stopping his advance.
Although most of his counterattacks missed, a few heavy punches occasionally grazed Viktor's defense, the force of the blows reminding everyone that he was still dangerous.
A drop of blood splattered from José's brow bone, drawing a glaring red arc under the spotlight.
"Statistics show that Victor has landed twenty-three heavy punches in this round!"
Looking at the data that had just been sent, Carton exclaimed in amazement, "Ribalta took a full twenty-three heavy punches! That's incredible! What kind of resilience does he have!"
"No one has ever been able to withstand the onslaught of the Chicago Typewriter for so long! Never! Even the boxing champions only lasted one or two punches!"
Rocky shook his head in admiration, his voice filled with respect: "I have never seen such a powerful jaw and such a stubborn boxer. Jose reminds me of some of my own fights. He may not be as technically skilled as Viktor, but his willpower is awe-inspiring. This is a battle of soul and technique."
The audience began to cheer for the tenacious soldier.
Every time José took a heavy punch and continued to move forward, thunderous applause and shouts would erupt from the stands.
This is a tribute to pure courage and perseverance—people applaud technology, but are crazy about courage.
The shouts gradually turned into rhythmic clapping, and the entire stadium trembled for this indomitable warrior.
The bell rang to signal the end of the round, and José dragged his heavy steps back to the corner.
His right eye had begun to swell, and his breathing was so heavy that it could be heard by the audience in the first three rows.
His chest heaved violently, sweat and blood glistening on his bronze skin, like a bronze statue that had survived the ravages of war yet still stood tall.
When Viktor returned to his corner, his expression was unusually grave.
He knew the fight was far from over—he wasn't facing an ordinary boxer, but a warrior who refused to fall.
The gaze from the other side of the rope loop remained intense, as if to say:
Come on, let's see who runs out of their last bit of strength first.
"He was hit too many times!"
While applying an ice pack to Jose's eyes, Albert said, "You must protect your body and lower your defensive stance!"
Jose just gulped down the water, then sprayed it on the ground.
"I can beat him! I can!"
On the other hand, Victor was in much better condition, but he also showed signs of fatigue.
"His head is as hard as a rock!"
Victor said to old Jack, "If he takes a few more punches, he'll probably die! I think his brains will spill out!"
"Cuba is a tough country!"
Old Jack massaged his shoulders: "Keep attacking his body, wear him down. He'll collapse sooner or later."
·······
As soon as the bell rang for the third round, Victor pounced on his prey like a cheetah.
His movements were precise and rhythmic, each step calculated perfectly, forcing José into a corner of the ropes.
"Viktor's footwork! No more probing! He's going to take him down in one fell swoop!"
Commentator Catton exclaimed, "He's shrinking the ring space, leaving Ribalta nowhere to escape!"
Viktor's first wave of attacks came quickly and fiercely.
After a feint with a right straight punch to draw Jose's defense, a left hook slithered into Jose's ribs like a venomous snake.
That was the spot that had been severely damaged in the second round, and Jose couldn't help but let out a muffled groan.
“Hit the target!”
Rocky leaned forward in the commentary booth, saying, "Victor's tactics were executed so perfectly; he attacked the injured area with the precision of a surgeon."
Jose tried to control the distance with jabs, but Victor's head movement caused most of the punches to glide past his ears.
Suddenly, Viktor dove down and charged forward, unleashing a barrage of punches like a storm:
A left hook strikes the body, a right straight punch is aimed at the head, and then another left hook lands on the same rib area.
Gasps of surprise erupted from the audience.
Jose's defense was already in disarray, but he still stubbornly pressed forward, each step carrying the pride of a Cuban boxer.
In the gap between Victor's combination punches, Jose suddenly threw a tricky right uppercut, the fist passing through the gap in Victor's defense and hitting him squarely in the chin!
"Good punch! Ribalta has finally found his target!"
Rocky slammed his fist on the table excitedly. "That was a clean and decisive punch! Victor stepped back! He clearly didn't expect Jose to be able to launch such a high-quality counterattack under these circumstances!"
Viktor shook his head—the fist was weak and powerless, but the accuracy was remarkable. A hint of surprise flashed in Viktor's eyes, but he quickly reorganized his attack.
His technical advantages began to become more apparent.
After luring Jose into throwing a punch with a feint, Victor dodged the counterattack with a smooth dodge, and then delivered a sharp right cross punch that pierced through Jose's defense and hit him squarely in the face!
The boxing gloves struck the cheekbone with a dull, thud that sent shivers down your spine.
Jose crashed to the ground like a felled tree, his mouthguard flying out of his mouth.
The referee immediately began the countdown, and the entire audience stood up.
Many people thought the game was about to end and began to applaud this exciting match.
But just as he counted to "seven," José's finger twitched.
He propped himself up with trembling arms, swaying as he stood up, his eyes already glazed over yet still burning with an indomitable flame.
"Unbelievable! It's like a superhuman performance!"
Carton's voice was hoarse with excitement, "Loki, have you ever seen such stamina in all your matches?"
Rocky's expression turned serious, a look of reminiscence flashing in his eyes: "Some people possess a willpower that is beyond the comprehension of ordinary people. José Ribalta is proving that he is one of those people."
With forty seconds left in the round, Viktor launched a furious finishing attack.
Left and right hooks rained down on Jose, each punch carrying the power to end the match.
Jose was forced to the edge of the ropes and could only instinctively use his boxing gloves to protect his head, his body trembling under the heavy blows.
But what is most shocking is that despite enduring such a fierce attack, the Cubans never fell to the ground again.
When the bell rang to signal the end of the round, he was still moving forward, as if his body contained an engine that never stopped.
Back in the corner, José's condition was appalling.
His right eye was completely swollen and closed, and his left eye was also bleeding.
Each breath caused severe pain in his ribs, clearly indicating that the previous blow had caused serious damage.
"Enough, Jose!"
Coach Albert was practically pleading as he urgently applied an ice pack to his student's injured eye. "Your eye needs immediate attention, and your ribs may be broken! As your coach, I can't let you continue like this!"