N-A-A Page 56
Page 56
"No, I was just betrayed by my brother yesterday!"
Victor glared at him, but with old Jack present, he didn't say anything more.
He poured the oatmeal into a bowl, added hot water, stirred it haphazardly a few times, and then started stuffing it into his mouth.
"Stop eating, we'll buy some on the way."
Old Jack snatched the bowl away. "Go take a shower, five minutes. Ethan, get his ID bag ready."
Five minutes later, Victor, with wet hair, was pushed out of the apartment and shoved into old Jack's 1958 Chevrolet Blazer.
The car made a painful groan when it started, and a cloud of black smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe.
"Today is a turning point in your boxing career, kid."
As Jack drove, his eyes fixed on the congested morning rush hour traffic, he said, “The U.S. Boxing Championships—that’s your ticket to the pros.”
Viktor gazed out the window at the city skyline flashing by, gradually transforming from the dilapidated southern district into the towering skyscrapers of the city center.
His stomach churned, not just from hunger or fatigue, but from the damn smell of cooking oil in the car: "Old Jack, haven't you thought about getting a new car?"
Old Jack scoffed, "I was born in 1927, and I'm perfectly fine!"
Viktor was speechless.
What is required for the qualification review?
He asked, his voice hoarser than he had expected, and then coughed a few times.
Ethan turned around from the front row, holding a bulging folder: "USA Boxing membership card, age certificate, medical report, and your competition records from the past two years. Old Jack has it all ready."
He grinned. "Of course, there's also your impressive 20-1 record."
That loss was due to someone's foolish behavior!
Old Jack muttered, "Actually, if you just tell us, we'll take care of it for you!"
Yes, I can handle it.
But what kind of stringent conditions would be required?
Where do these kind-hearted people in Chicago come from?
The car stopped in front of the Chicago Boxing League Center.
This is a square, gray building, and a long queue has already formed at the entrance.
A diverse group of boxers and their teams gathered at the entrance; some were stretching, some were lingering in front of the weigh-in scales, and a few were stuffing the last bite of their breakfast sandwiches into their mouths.
“Look there,”
Ethan lowered his voice and pointed to a group of people wearing matching red tracksuits. "The Chicago Boxing Club, the largest boxing training institution in Illinois. They had three boxers reach the national semifinals last year: the women's youth, the men's youth, and the men's junior."
Victor nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd.
He can tell which players are from big clubs—they are well-equipped and surrounded by coaches, nutritionists, and sparring partners.
Those like him who came from small boxing gyms were often alone, at most accompanied by a coach or a friend.
"The people from the Iron Hearts Boxing Gym are here too,"
"See that tall black guy? That's their ace for this year, he could very well be your opponent. I heard he's already knocked out seven opponents in amateur tournaments, he's pretty brutal."
"He weighs 230 pounds and is 198 cm tall. He's a real big guy, and his jabs are very powerful."
Old Jack squinted, then said with annoyance, "Where's Millie? She should be here by now! What an unreliable young woman!"
Victor glanced at Ethan.
Ethan looked away.
Viktor couldn't understand how eleven fingers could keep someone from getting out of bed.
After queuing to enter the hall, the air immediately became stuffy and hot.
The smell of sweat, rubber mats, and some kind of pungent disinfectant odor mingled together.
The hall was divided into several areas: a document verification area, a weighing area, a medical examination station, and an area marked "For Previous Winners Only".
"I'm going to submit the documents,"
Old Jack said, "Ethan, take Victor to be weighed and then to get a medical check-up. Meet him in the rest area in the southeast corner in an hour."
The weighing process was quick.
Victor stripped down to his underwear and stepped on the scale—371 pounds. No doubt, he was well over the heavyweight weight limit.
The doctor who performed the medical examination was a tired middle-aged man, but the moment he saw Viktor, he quickly and professionally checked Viktor's vision, blood pressure, and reaction ability.
Then, with exaggerated surprise, he exclaimed, "My goodness, it's hard to believe that someone of your weight has normal blood pressure! Your blood vessels are as wide as those of a woman from the San Fernando Valley!"
He stamped it.
"Alright, Mr. LEE, you are now officially one of the participants in the Chicago area qualifiers."
The doctor didn't even have time to look up at him before moving on to the next checkup: "Good luck."
Ethan led Victor through the crowded hall, occasionally pointing to certain people or groups.
“那是福柯拳馆的前任教练，据说曾经训练出两个金手套得主，但是后来他带走福柯拳馆的大部分人，所以福柯放了话，往死里揍他们！”
"Look over there in the blue shirt, that's Los Nando, last year's national runner-up, he went straight to the regional finals this year... Oh damn, that's Derek Stone, the Illinois Junior Champion, his left hook can break bricks..."
Victor tried to memorize the names and faces, but his attention was suddenly drawn to a commotion at the entrance.
Three well-dressed men entered the hall, the one in the middle being a tall, slender young boxer with blond hair tied in a small bun on his head.
"Max Howard,"
Ethan whistled, “The rich kid from the North District only started playing amateur games last year, but he already has a nine-game winning streak. His dad hired a former professional champion as his personal coach.”
Viktor stared at the blond youth, who exuded an innate sense of superiority in every gesture.
Just then, Howard turned his head and his eyes met Victor's.
For a fleeting moment, the two looked at each other across the distance, and then Howard slightly raised his chin, revealing a contemptuous smile.
"Ignore those rich kids,"
Ethan patted Victor on the shoulder. "Judging by his build, he's at most 210 pounds. With those eight-pack abs, he definitely can't take a punch from you. You'll know when he's lying down and watching you."
They continued to move through the crowd, and Victor noticed a group of boxers brought directly by their agents.
These people looked more professional, some even bringing their own camera crews.
"A person on the edge of their profession,"
Ethan explained, "Most of them are already signed with agencies and participate in amateur tournaments just to gain experience and exposure. Be careful of these people; they are much more cunning than pure amateurs. They are only after the prize pool."
As he turned a corner, Viktor suddenly froze.
Standing in front of the beverage vending machine was a figure he knew all too well—Millie, Ethan's 'date' from last night.
To make matters worse, she was standing next to a handsome man—who was none other than Max Howard.
Time seems to have frozen.
Millie saw Ethan first, a hint of embarrassment flashing across her face, then her gaze shifted to Victor, her eyes widening—she realized something.
Howard followed her gaze and recognized the South District boxer who had briefly made eye contact with him earlier.
"Ethan...Victor..."
Millie's voice was almost inaudible amidst the surrounding noise: "It's not what you think!"
Howard flashed a victorious smile and deliberately pulled Millie closer: "My dear Miss Millie, won't you introduce your friend?"
Viktor felt a rush of heat to his head, and his fists clenched involuntarily.
Ethan's anger intensified, but he restrained himself and quickly stepped in front of him: "We have to go, old Jack is waiting."
He grabbed Victor's arm and practically dragged him away from the awkward scene.
Millie looked at Max: "You've already signed up?"
Max shrugged. "What do you think I came here for? To visit them?"
······
In a corner of the rest area, old Jack was studying the match schedule.
He looked up and saw the expressions on the two young men's faces, and immediately frowned: "What happened?"
"Do you know that Millie is seeing Max Howard?"
Victor gritted his teeth and said, "This guy knows a lot of things from Ethan."
Chapter 46 A Small Matter
Jack's gaze swept back and forth between them, finally settling on Ethan's face: "Are you two on a date?"
Ethan nodded slightly, indicating that he would explain later.
"Okay, but the only thing I can tell you is that Millie is a professional."
Old Jack decided to put the topic aside for now. "I just got the preliminary pairings. Victor, your first-round opponent is Anthony Guerrero from Power Boxing Gym, with a record of 12 wins and 3 losses. He excels at close-quarters grappling. If you win, you might face..."
He paused for a moment, then said, "Max Howard."
Victor's eyes flashed with malice: "That's fucking excellent."
Old Jack looked at him shrewdly: "You knew Howard before?"
"We just met."
Victor said coldly, "That guy just called Millie 'darling,' and Ethan and Millie have been 'dating' each other for two days!"
Ethan chimed in, "Listen, Vic, don't let this affect you. The qualifiers don't start until next week; you need to stay focused."
"I am perfectly sober,"
Victor stood up. "I'm soberly aware that life is a pile of shit, old Jack. Forget about professional ethics, but Millie can't be my temporary agent. I need to get some fresh air. Jack, you need to make a decision!"
He strode toward the exit, leaving old Jack and Ethan calling after him.
The cold air outside felt like a slap in the face.