manynovel Page 69
Page 69
He squinted and saw an interview clip of Max Wilson playing on the big screen. The reporter was talking smugly about the scandal that was "confirmed by reliable sources"—it was from the day before yesterday, and these people were actually using this to humiliate him!
"Viktor, get out of the ring!"
"We want to see a real match, not male prostitution!"
"Nelson will teach you a lesson!"
Curses poured in from all directions. How could these foolish viewers believe such bullshit lies?
Viktor clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking – if self-hypnosis only generated 60 rage points, then the rage caused by the MAOA gene mutation now definitely exceeded 600.
Dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine accumulate rapidly in the body.
Viktor didn't roar at his surroundings, nor did he keep yelling "Fakfak." His impulsiveness and irritability disappeared, and his mind became calmer, like a volcano in a storm—Viktor needed to release his anger.
But this silence only fueled the audience's anger!
They seemed to mistake Viktor's suppression for weakness.
Stepping into the ring, Victor's gaze was fixed on the black fighter in the opposite corner.
Steve Nelson, 189cm tall and 245 pounds, with sculpted muscles, is effortlessly bouncing and blowing kisses to the audience.
When their eyes met, Nelson flashed a lewd gesture, revealing his pearly white teeth—he clenched his right fist and inserted his left index finger into the knuckles.
"I heard you're very attentive to service, Fat Tiger? Let me touch your butt!"
Nelson's voice cut through the noise, "I wonder if your fists are as soft as your 'other techniques'?"
Victor's blood boiled instantly.
He calmly took a step forward, and as expected, he was stopped by the referee.
"Keep your distance before the match begins!"
the referee warned.
Victor roared at the referee: "He's blatantly provoking us, why didn't you stop him!"
The referee glared at Viktor as well: "One more time and I'll declare you the loser!"
Nelson persisted: "Does your mother know you're selling your body outside? Or did she teach you?"
This statement is like a match thrown into a gasoline can.
Even his composure couldn't contain his rage. Victor suddenly broke free from the referee and charged at Nelson: "I'm going to kill you! I'm going to break your teeth and make sure you can only eat liquid food for the rest of your life!"
Security guards and both teams rushed over and finally managed to separate the two.
The audience erupted in even louder boos and laughter.
Viktor's temples throbbed, his ears were clear, but his mind was incredibly calm. He vaguely heard Old Jack shouting something about tactics and calmness, but those words had lost their meaning—he was back where he started.
The referee spoke with righteous indignation, but could not show too much bias, so he quickly started the match.
"Round One!"
The referee's shout and the bell rang at the same time.
Victor charged toward the center of the stage like a wild beast unleashed, while Nelson deftly slid back, delivering a jab like a viper's tongue.
Victor tilted his head to dodge, but his left arm was still hit and he didn't react at all.
"Didn't you eat? Is that all the strength you have?"
Viktor roared as he approached.
Nelson nimbly stepped back and landed two more jabs on Victor's blocking arm: "Save your energy, baby. You still have 'work' to do after the fight."
Victor only had eyes for Nelson.
Suddenly, Victor abandoned all defense of his chest and abdomen and charged at Nelson like a raging bull.
A powerful right hook whistled past, which Nelson narrowly avoided; the force of the punch even whipped his hair.
"Oh my god, that's scary!"
Nelson scoffed, while simultaneously delivering a straight punch to Victor's face.
Victor blocked with his fist while simultaneously throwing a straight punch.
The pain in his arm only made him more alert—alertly angry.
I said I was going to break your teeth!
Viktor whispered, his voice like a wild beast's roar squeezed from deep within its chest.
His jaw muscles were tense, and sweat trickled down his temples, gleaming dangerously under the spotlight.
Nelson raised an eyebrow, a disdainful smile playing on his lips.
The boxer took a half-step back with the lightness of a ballerina, and then struck out with his left fist as fast as a snake's tongue.
The first jab landed precisely on Viktor's brow bone.
With the added protection from the armor and Viktor's ability to control the distance, although no damage was inflicted, the audience erupted in deafening cheers, indicating that it was an effective strike.
Nelson's fans waved flags with his signature butterfly design and chanted, "Get him to the hospital, Nelson!"
Victor didn't blink, he just became even more ferocious.
The next two minutes became a flawed display of violent aesthetics.
Nelson fluttered like a butterfly, his jabs and straight punches landing relentlessly on Victor's chest and abdomen.
His movements were unpredictable, and every punch he threw was accompanied by gasps from the audience.
The third straight punch landed on Victor's liver, but made a splattering sound.
"hold onto!"
Old Jack shouted from the corner of the ring, slamming his fist on the ropes, "Wait for his rhythm!"
Viktor, covered in muscular armor, took all the attacks to his chest and abdomen, only defending his head and ribs, relentlessly pressing with heavy punches—but to no avail.
His defensive stance was like a moving city wall; every time Nelson's fist landed on his muscular abs, it only made his muscles tense up further.
His eyes were always fixed on Nelson's right hand. Whenever Nelson attacked, Victor would use his reach advantage to throw a punch, forcing Nelson to block with his right hand.
"Coward! Didn't your who-knows-who father stuff two testicles in your lap?"
After taking another left hook from Nelson, Victor roared, "Is that all you've got?"
Nelson's smile vanished.
He increased the frequency of his punches, repeatedly hitting the chest and abdomen, but it was difficult to create an effective attack. The linesman even thought that the strikes were just contact.
The boos from the audience gradually turned into whispers of surprise.
Those spectators who had been waiting to see Viktor fall now sat up straight. An old woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat covered her mouth, her eyes wide open.
"Ah, he's been dominating Nelson the whole time! And our seeded player has absolutely no way to deal with it!"
The commentator's voice boomed through the loudspeakers throughout the stadium, "Victor is like a tank without brakes!"
When the bell rang to signal the end of the first round, Viktor's eyes shone with an alarming light.
He stared at Nelson's retreating figure as he went back into the corner, noticing that the man's right forearm twitched unnaturally.
A sense of satisfaction welled up inside him—his tactics had worked.
Back in the corner, old Jack pressed an ice pack against the bruises on Victor's chest and abdomen.
"Good job, keep hitting his right forearm, it's already hurting a lot!"
Old Jack's voice was low, but his hands moved quickly as he secretly rubbed oil on Viktor's body. "But your points aren't as high as his, you have to take him down!"
Viktor gasped for breath, his lungs feeling like they were on fire.
Through the rope loop, he could see Nelson in the opposite corner receiving a massage from the team, with his right hand being given special care.
Ethan handed over the water bottle. "Get some water, boss."
Viktor took a sip of water: "I'm going to tear him to pieces."
This was the first time anyone had seen Viktor like this: hungry and angry.
The bell for the second round is about to ring.
Victor stood up and spat out the water in his mouth.
He moved his shoulders, feeling the pain in every part of his body.
These pains are no longer a burden, but fuel—the effects of the warrior genes have accumulated until now, ready to erupt!
Nelson had already stood in the center of the stage, and he even provocatively beckoned.
Viktor stepped forward, their boxing gloves clashing.
This time, he will not give Nelson another chance to dance.
At the start of the second round, Nelson still looked relaxed, but a hint of unease flashed in his eyes.
His jabs were no longer as precise, and his footwork was not as agile as before.
Victor noticed this, and a cruel smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
When Nelson made another provocative remark, Victor suddenly erupted.
He took two jabs, blood spurting from his nose, and at the same time, a right straight punch was thrown out like a cannonball.
Nelson managed to tilt his head slightly and block with his right hand, but a powerful punch deflected his right hand. The left fist seized the opening, grazing his cheekbone and knocking Nelson to the side through his protective gear.
The referee immediately intervened and separated Victor.
Viktor glared at the referee, regretting that he hadn't followed up with a punch.
"What's wrong with you, you idiot who should have been shot into a wall long ago?"
Viktor mimicked Nelson's tone, "Your dance steps have slowed down."
Nelson felt dizzy and lightheaded. He felt the fist that had just brushed past him, and a hint of fear flashed in his eyes. Without protective gear, he felt like his head would be smashed.
But experience quickly replaced it.
He spat out his mouthguard and gestured to the referee to get a new one—the referee agreed.
This brief pause should have been a chance to catch one's breath, but for Viktor, it only prolonged the prey's suffering.