svetikya Page 140
Page 140
He unfolded it, facing the densely packed media cameras below the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please look carefully."
Victor's deep, penetrating voice drowned out the noise of the room:
"This is a $250,000 betting ticket from Las Vegas!"
The audience fell silent for a second, then erupted into an even louder buzz.
The flashes doubled in frequency, almost blinding people.
Viktor paused, glancing with amusement at the shocked faces below the stage, then abruptly fixed his gaze on Tyson Fury beside him, whose expression had slightly changed, and announced, word by word, with absolute clarity:
"I bet myself I'll knock out Tyson Fury in four rounds!"
"Wow——!"
The atmosphere at the scene was instantly ignited, like an ice cube being thrown into hot oil!
Reporters nearly broke through security's blockade, frantically pressing the shutter button, bombarding the reporters with questions like a machine gun.
Two hundred and fifty thousand US dollars!
KO in four rounds!
Bet on yourself to win!
This is simply the most arrogant, most confident, and most expensive—the second most expensive—bet in the history of professional boxing weigh-ins!
Tyson Fury, standing to the side, completely lost his smile.
All the banter and psychological tactics he had prepared were shattered at this moment by this seemingly light yet incredibly heavy bet.
He felt as if he had been slapped hard in public and then forced to swallow a live fly; he felt nauseous and uncomfortable, but couldn't immediately react.
His cheek muscles twitched slightly, and for the first time, his eyes revealed surprise at being caught off guard and anger at being provoked.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something to save face, but found his throat was dry—any words were fragile under a $250,000 bet!
He didn't even understand why Viktor had the right to do this!
In the end, he just glared at Viktor and, urged by the staff, practically fled the stage.
Viktor calmly put away the betting tickets, as if he had accomplished a trivial task, and left amidst the chaotic questioning.
······
The commotion following the weigh-in ceremony continued to grow, with Victor Lee's name and his $250,000 bet spreading like wildfire throughout Las Vegas, greatly stimulating the curiosity of bettors and spectators.
Back in his locker room, Victor took off his coat and began a systematic warm-up.
His coaching team surrounded him, and the atmosphere was serious and focused.
After the warm-up, there was still some time before the match started, and the TV in the room was broadcasting the preliminary match.
After a middleweight bout, the next figure to appear caught Viktor's attention.
That was Floyd Mayweather, a "pretty boy" who was only 19 years old, far from reaching his peak, but already showing promise.
His opponent was quite strong, but the match was one-sided.
Mayweather's performance in the boxing ring was less of a match and more of an artistic performance.
His footsteps were as nimble as a butterfly, and his dodging skills were truly breathtaking.
His opponent's heavy punches repeatedly grazed his scalp and cheeks, but always missed by a hair's breadth.
Mayweather would even occasionally deliberately lower his hands, using very small head movements and upper body swaying to dodge attacks, his composure and precision suggesting he could predict every punch his opponent would throw.
He toyed with his opponent, exhausting his strength and will, and in the instant when his opponent made a full-force attack that left a huge opening, he delivered a precise counterattack that seemed to be not particularly forceful, but was timed and angled with extreme cunning, directly hitting his opponent's chin.
The opponent fell to the ground, and the referee quickly counted down the seconds before waving to stop the match.
Victor Lee sat on the sofa, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the scene of Mayweather receiving cheers on the screen, his brows slightly furrowed.
The room was quiet, with only the sound of the television.
After a long while, he slowly leaned back on the sofa, lost in thought.
Old Jack walked over: "Impressive dodging, isn't it? That kid has unlimited potential."
Victor nodded and said in a deep voice, "Top-notch boxers practice dodging and weaving."
He seemed to be speaking to his coach, but also to himself, "They make the opponent's attack futile, always in the safest position, looking for the most lethal opportunity."
Frankie raised an eyebrow: "So what do you think of second-rate and third-rate?"
Victor's gaze remained fixed on Mayweather's ghostly evasive maneuvers in the television replay, and he slowly said, "Second-rate boxers practice taking hits. They prepare to withstand heavy blows and wait for their opponents to tire out."
Third-rate boxers rely solely on their striking power, hoping for a decisive blow, but they often make numerous mistakes.
He paused, then added, "But the most skilled are those who perfectly combine top-notch evasion, sufficient resilience, and the power to kill with a single blow. Like... Mike Tyson."
Frankie laughed: "Victor, are you thinking about how you missed eighteen punches and got knocked down by Tyson with one punch again?"
Victor nodded, thinking of Tyson's overwhelming dominance, his terrifying power that combined strength, speed, and agility: "It's a pity the referee stole my victory!"
Mayweather demonstrated the ultimate in dodging, while Victor himself possessed superhuman strength and resilience. Tonight, he needed more than just strength.
Finally, it was the main event players' turn to enter, shattering the speculation in the locker room.
Frankie patted Victor on the shoulder: "Keep winning, and then you can fight whoever you want!"
First up was challenger Victor Lee.
When the host called out his name in a drawn-out tone, and deliberately added the prefix "the one who bet $250,000 on a four-round knockout victory—", the curtain at the entrance of the passage was suddenly pulled open.
Victor Lee, dressed in a simple white battle robe, walked out with a cold expression.
To his surprise, he was greeted with thunderous cheers and applause!
Many audience members even stood up spontaneously!
"Viktor! Viktor! Viktor!"
Shouts rose and fell.
Clearly, his groundbreaking betting behavior has spread rapidly through the media and successfully won the hearts of a large number of gamblers and thrill-seeking viewers.
In the eyes of these people, a boxer who dares to bet such a huge sum of money on a quick victory is either crazy or has absolute confidence and strength!
Judging from his calm and steady demeanor, he seems more like the latter.
"It seems your 'investment' has paid off."
Ethan whispered in his ear.
Viktor's lips curled up slightly, but his eyes remained cold.
He enjoyed the unexpectedly warm welcome and strode confidently toward the boxing ring.
The spotlight shone on him, and his massive 400-pound frame appeared incredibly imposing and imposing.
However, a few minutes later, when Tyson Fury made his grand entrance, the "Gypsy King" truly demonstrated his popularity as the reigning champion.
The entrance music was even more magnificent and exciting, with colorful ribbons flying everywhere, and a one-sided frenzy of cheers and shouts that almost lifted the roof off.
Fury reverted to his carefree demeanor, dancing nimbly and high-fiving fans on both sides of the aisle, as if he had completely shaken off the unpleasantness of the weigh-in.
His cheers certainly drowned out Victor's earlier shouts.
But subtle changes have already occurred.
When Fury swaggered into the ring and faced Victor Lee once again in the center, there were still a large number of spectators cheering for Victor.
Even when Fury tried to intimidate Viktor with his eyes, screams of "Viktor! Take him down in four rounds!" would erupt from the audience.
A barely perceptible shadow crossed the depths of Fury's eyes.
The audience's cheers remained, but they were no longer genuine.
Some voices, because of that 250,000 yuan bet, have already sided with the other side.
He felt as if he had been labeled as "about to be knocked out in four rounds," a feeling that made him extremely unhappy and even somewhat irritable.
All his pre-match composure and psychological advantage have been quietly weakened, or even reversed, in the face of Viktor's high-stakes gamble with real money.
Victor Lee keenly caught Fury’s fleeting unease.
He said nothing, but stared intently at Fury with his unfathomable eyes, as if looking at a loser who would be carried off after four rounds.
As usual, the referee stepped forward to explain the rules, and the two men's foreheads almost touched.
Fury, as usual, began his incessant rant: 'You'll pay for your stupid words and stupid money, you yellow-skinned pig...'
Viktor interrupted him abruptly, his voice so low only the three of them could hear: "The timer has started counting down, Fury. Cherish every second you have on stage, because I'll make sure you can't utter a single word after this!"
Fury's trash talk came to an abrupt halt. A nameless anger surged within him, but he forcefully suppressed it.
The two separated and returned to their respective corners, waiting for the starting bell.
Victor Lee took off his battle suit, revealing his terrifying 400-pound muscles that gleamed under the lights, like a prehistoric beast poised to pounce.
The cheers for him from the audience rose again.
Before the bell rings, it's the final battle of psychological warfare.
Victor Lee successfully shifted the pressure and doubts onto the defending champion with a bet.
He now aims not only to physically defeat Fury, but also to completely destroy his arrogance as the "Gypsy King" psychologically.
The bell is about to ring, and a storm is already gathering above the boxing ring.
Victor Lee's eyes told everyone that what he said was far more than just empty boasting.
Chapter 118 Battle with Fuli
On June 17, 1986, the boxing ring at the Hilton Hotel in Las Vegas was filled with smoke and bustling with noise.
Viktor stood in a corner of the boxing ring, staring expressionlessly at the Englishman opposite him who was twenty centimeters taller than him.
Under the spotlight, Tyson Fury's blond hair gleamed, and his 286-pound physique looked imposing in his boxing shorts.
The stands were filled with shouts in English, Spanish, and Chinese as gamblers clutched their ticket stubs, awaiting this seemingly mismatched contest.
Viktor took a deep breath. His height of 186 cm was not outstanding in the heavyweight boxing world, but his weight of 400 pounds made him unique in this weight class.