LRAB Page 57
Page 57
Viktor took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil in his chest—damn spy!
Millie and Howard.
Ethan and Millie.
Howard could be his opponent in the second round.
These thoughts swirled in his mind, a mixture of tension about the game and anger towards Ethan.
Worst of all, he knew he shouldn't be distracted by this—this game was too important to him; it might be his only chance to escape life in the South Side slums.
He punched a nearby telephone pole, and blood immediately seeped from his knuckles.
The pain calmed him down a little.
There were footsteps behind me.
Victor didn't turn around, but he knew it was old Jack.
The old coach stood silently beside him and handed him a handkerchief.
"Wipe your hands. I hope this is the last time you'll get angry at me!"
Old Jack said, his voice surprisingly calm, "and then told me what happened."
Victor stared at his bloodstained knuckles: "Millie and Howard were together. Ethan was with Millie last night. Howard might be my second-round opponent. Life really does play tricks on you."
When it came to his adopted daughter, old Jack was silent for a moment, then lit a cigarette: "Women come and go, friends sometimes go astray, but boxing is always there waiting for you. How long have you been training for this fight? Six months?"
"Seven months and two weeks."
"Viktor said in a low voice."
“You have talent. You surpassed others in five years in just seven months, so don’t let anything ruin it.”
Old Jack exhaled a smoke ring. "Anger can be your weapon, Victor, but you must control it, not let it control you."
"You've chosen the wrong person!"
Victor gazed at the Chicago skyline in the distance, the glittering skyscrapers seeming like two different worlds from the dilapidated neighborhood where he grew up.
Boxing was his bridge to that world, and now, someone is trying to set that bridge on fire.
“I will handle it,”
He finally said, "It's for the sake of the competition, but I hope you can handle it well too!"
“That’s more like it. Now go back and finish the review process, and then we’ll devise a plan to deal with Guerrero. One step at a time, kid. The road to the championship is never smooth.”
Old Jack nodded and stubbed out his cigarette: "Miri won't be our temporary agent anymore. Even if she's my daughter, I can't take any risks. I'll contact someone new as soon as possible."
Victor took one last look at the sky, then turned and followed Jack back to the Alliance Center.
No matter what challenges life throws your way, the boxing ring will always be there waiting.
This time, he decided to let his fists do the talking—to hell with those long-legged double agents!
······
"So you want to bring Max Howard into our Foucault Boxing Gym as well?"
Old Jack didn't believe his adopted daughter's words: "But you have other times, places, and opportunities; you don't need to do it in a place that could cause misunderstandings, and..."
"Moreover, Howard will be Victor's opponent. Contacting Howard at this time carries the risk of leaks and collusion. Victor did nothing wrong, because this could even attract inquiries from the boxing league, which is not something that can be resolved with just five hundred dollars."
Foucault chimed in, trying to avoid making the father and daughter too embarrassed—work should not interfere with life; if it does, then work is unimportant, because work is first and foremost a part of life.
Millie sat to the side, feeling extremely uncomfortable, but being a professional, she wouldn't make excuses for her mistake: "So how can we fix this now?"
Foucault lit a cigar, pleased with Millie's wisdom: "This matter isn't complicated. There are really only two things: one is to keep Viktor calm, and the other is to avoid inquiries from the boxing league. Millie, do you have any good ideas?"
Millie thought for a moment: "Is Max Howard no longer going to try?"
“Max is not on our list of candidates. He’s nineteen and a rich kid. He has no reason to win and can’t achieve results. We never associate with people like that. Maybe he’s just trying to attract girls.”
Old Jack gave his reasoning: "And the best way to keep Victor in check is to let Victor smash his guts in the ring, so that Max can go back and inherit the family business smoothly."
Millie frowned: "But Foucault Gym needs sponsorship to train Viktor, and from what I've observed of Viktor, he's open to this kind of thing."
No, he would never accept it.
Foucault aptly pointed out: "We also cannot accept a sponsorship that I cannot control coming in and affecting my most valuable boxer!"
Millie nodded: "What will you do with me?"
"Miri, we are so glad you're back."
Foucault gave Millie a piece of advice: "But now, Victor can no longer be in your care. He needs a new agent, and you need to know that."
Can I make a recommendation?
Millie wouldn't give up.
Old Jack delivered the final blow: "Ray is a decent young man too."
Millie stood up: "I understand. I will be in charge of Ray's activities."
Old Jack stood up: "Millie, you can tell me who you want to recommend to me, but there can be no monetary transactions between you!"
Millie: "I never thought about that."
"Then who would you recommend?"
“He was my former college classmate, but due to family circumstances, he had to drop out of school. Later, he became self-reliant and learned about brokerage.”
Old Jack pondered for a moment: "Which pretty brown-haired girl are you talking about?"
"She's too pessimistic."
"But she is realistic enough and has no faith, which is similar to Viktor."
"Then send out an invitation."
······
When Victor hoisted the 300-kilogram barbell onto his shoulders, the metal bar left two red marks on his muscular trapezius muscles.
He took a deep breath, bent his knees, and sat back on his hips to begin his second set of squats for the day.
With each squat, the floorboards groaned under the strain, and Michael stood guard behind him—though his role was actually minimal.
"I simply can't believe she did that!"
Ethan paced back and forth in the equipment area, his sneakers screeching on the floor. "When she was registering for the boxing tournament! All the boxers and sponsors in town were there! And she just announced in front of everyone that she was dating Max Howard?"
Viktor did not answer.
He held his breath, his thigh muscles tensed like steel bars, and lifted the heavy barbell again.
Sweat rolled down his temples, leaving glistening trails on his dark skin.
The air conditioner in the house seemed to be completely ineffective, and the air was filled with a mixed smell of metal, sweat, and protein powder.
Do I need to say it a third time?
Ethan kicked the punching bag hard. "She's the manager of Foucault Gym! Max Howard is our opponent! What is this? Defection? Betrayal? Or some kind of disgusting flirting game?"
"shut your mouth."
After Viktor put down the barbell and stood still, he finally spoke, his voice so deep it sounded like a vibration from the ground, "She's your girl. You're the one who slept with her and flirted with her, not us. Now, either train or get out."
Michael sneered from behind, "Ethan, this isn't our problem. Maybe she's not too happy with your size."
Ethan was about to retort when the front door was suddenly pushed open.
Jimmy, who had just opened the door, stood in the doorway and awkwardly stepped aside to let him pass.
Millie walked in, her high heels catching the eye. Her black business dress accentuated her slender yet powerful figure, and the diamond earrings on her earlobes sparkled under the harsh white lights of the gym—she exuded an aura of authority.
The entire space fell silent instantly, with only Viktor's heavy breathing remaining.
Ethan's voice suddenly rose, "What are you doing here—"
A crisp slap echoed through the gym.
Ethan, who is 1.78 meters tall, had his head slapped to one side, and a bright red handprint quickly appeared on his left cheek.
Viktor didn't pause for a moment; he continued with the third set of squats, as if none of this concerned him.
"This slap is for your foolish doubts."
Millie's voice was as sharp as a knife, "The second slap was for disobeying me during the registration process, turning your back on me in front of everyone, and making Foucault Boxing Gym a laughing stock!"
She raised her hand again, but this time Ethan grabbed her wrist.
The two remained locked in a stalemate, the fury in Millie's eyes almost burning Ethan apart.
"Fuck! Calm down."
Ethan said, his voice a mix of anger and confusion, "Do you know how I felt when I saw you with Max? That guy was provoking Victor not long ago!"
Millie jerked her hand away. "What do you think I'm doing? Dating him? Sleeping with him? Use your brain! I'm a fucking agent! Shouldn't I be scouting for tournament entries?"
She sneered, "This is business. Ethan Max is the kind of guy who walks into the gym with money! He doesn't lack money! We do!"
Viktor finished his last set of squats and slammed the barbell back onto the rack with a metallic clang like a muffled thunderclap.
He picked up a towel, wiped his face, and walked towards the water dispenser without glancing at Millie and Ethan the entire time.
Millie continued, her voice slightly calmer, "Max brought in sponsorship. Howard Pharmaceuticals is willing to pay $150,000 for an endorsement deal, on the condition that Max trains at our gym. $150,000, Ethan. That's enough to pay the salaries of three new sparring partners for a year."
Ethan's expression began to waver. "But why didn't you tell us beforehand? Why announce it that way?"
"Why should I tell you! You're not from Foucault's gym! You're from Victor's team!"
Millie rolled her eyes. "Max is a conceited jerk. He needs to feel like a big shot. Announcing it publicly at the registration meeting makes him feel like it's his idea, not a three-month-long poaching operation I've been planning."
Next to the water dispenser, Victor drank the entire bottle of water in one gulp, then crushed the empty bottle and precisely tossed it into the trash can five meters away.
He turned and walked towards the pull-up bar, finally speaking his first words: "Are you done talking? I need to train."
Millie turned to Victor, "Don't you have anything to say?"
Viktor gripped the bar, his back muscles bulging like outstretched wings. "You have your reasons for doing things."
He did a pull-up. "We have our reasons for doing things."
Another pull-up. "Your failure to conduct a background check is your dereliction of duty! It's not our fault; that's just how we do things!"