The American TV series "Four-Round Boxing Champion Starts with Shameless"

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Viktor took the towel and wiped his face: "He's incredibly resilient. I thought he'd be knocked out after just two punches in the first round!"

Medical staff busied themselves around Johnson, who had been knocked unconscious and was foaming at the mouth.

There was a buzz of discussion in the stands—no one had expected the match to end this way.

Johnson, a star player for the security company and a former champion in military competitions, was utterly crushed by Victor like an amateur.

"Just who is this guy?"

"I've never seen such a terrifying boxer..."

"This boxer looks a lot like Foreman... except he's too short..."

Whispers spread through the audience.

"Far East Tiger! Far East Tiger! Victor! Victor!"

Viktor raised his arms and spun around to greet his supporters.

His gaze swept across the audience and spotted several members of the Azure Dragon Society dressed in green Tang suits in the northwest corner. They were writing something down with grim faces.

In the VIP area, several white men in suits—clearly representatives of some company or government department—whispered among themselves and occasionally pointed to the ring.

"Good job!"

Jason excitedly climbed onto the ring and handed Victor a towel. "Odds 1:1.11, we bet and won 1,100!"

Viktor wiped the sweat from his face and grinned: "Who's our opponent next?"

Jason frowned. "He's a 340-pound lumberjack, on the same route as you, but he's taller and stronger!"

Medical staff are lifting the unconscious Johnson onto a stretcher.

As he left the ring, Victor noticed an Asian man wearing gold-rimmed glasses watching him.

The man was dressed in a smart gray suit, with two bodyguards in police uniforms standing beside him. When Victor looked over, the man raised his champagne glass in a gesture of respect.

"Who is that?"

"Victor asked Michael in a low voice."

"Mr. Chen, Special Advisor to the Southern District Police Department,"

Michael's expression was complicated. "He's also one of the main organizers of this competition. It seems he's interested in you."

Victor scoffed, "It's ironic that the police and gangsters are running a boxing match together."

"This is a free country, to hell with freedom! Here, police, gangs, corporations... it's all the same,"

Jason interjected, "As long as you can make money, someone will help you make money."

When is the next round?

Back in the locker room, Victor asked his cousins, who were counting money.

Two days later,

Michael replied without looking up, "The opponent might be 'Siberian Bear' from the Russian gang. Quick-Knife Chen probably can't beat him. We just checked, and Siberian Bear is even more muscular than you! The odds haven't come out yet."

Victor nodded: "Then maybe we can take this opportunity to make a quick buck!"

"good idea!"

Chapter 22 Dark Methods and Abnormal Appetite

After the first round of the South District Thug Boxing Tournament, Victor continued training in his dilapidated apartment, pressing ice packs on his bruises.

The water heater emitted a dying groan, spraying intermittent warm water to wash away the sweat and grime on his body.

"Top 80".

Viktor grinned at his reflection in the mirror, even though the action aggravated the wound on his lip.

He recalled the cheers and boos that erupted from the stands the moment the referee raised his arm.

This is truly captivating!

The pager blared sharply in the living room, interrupting Viktor's thoughts.

He wrapped a towel around himself, and water droplets slid down his chest, leaving dark marks on the floor.

The number displayed on the pager made his stomach tighten suddenly—it was Kevin.

Viktor's finger hovered over the reset button, but he hesitated to press it.

Kevin is one of his current helpers; he can provide a lot of meat, and I don't know how he manages to do it, but it's always been very cheap.

But Kevin is also Veronica's husband.

Every rendezvous with Veronica in a cheap motel, at Kevin's house, or next to Kevin's children felt like a gun pressed against his temple.

If Kevin knew... Victor shook his head, dismissing the thought, and dialed the number.

"Victor."

Kevin's voice came through the receiver, deep and calm, "Come to my house. Now."

Without beginning or end, the phone call ended.

Victor was left standing in the middle of the room. Suddenly, his legs, which were under the towel, regained strength. Kevin's voice was cold, as if he knew.

Now that you know, you know—Veronica seduced me first.

Victor put on jeans and a black vest, then slipped on the faded hoodie. The man in the mirror had a bronze complexion, and his eyes flashed with murderous intent as he placed the 'Six-Shot Miss' under his arm.

"Maybe he just wanted to discuss betting on the next game."

Victor muttered to himself, but even he didn't believe it: "I can't just kill him! My interest in Veronica has always been limited to the headlights!"

Kevin never calls him out of the blue, especially during a game.

Twenty minutes later, Victor stood in front of Kevin's house.

He took a deep breath and knocked three times on the door with his knuckles.

The door opened, but it wasn't Kevin.

Veronica stood there, her long black hair loosely draped over her shoulders, her bright red lipstick gleaming like a wound in the dim corridor light. She wore a tight black dress with a neckline so low it almost revealed her cleavage, and her breasts were prominently displayed.

"You came."

She smiled and said, her voice more hoarse than usual, "Come in."

Victor's gaze passed over her, his right hand resting on the handle of 'Six Shots' as he scanned the empty living room: "Where's Kevin?"

"he is not at home."

Veronica reached out and grabbed his wrist, her nails lightly scraping his skin. "We called you here."

Victor frowned.

Just then, another woman came out of the kitchen, carrying two glasses of amber liquid. She was taller than Veronica, with platinum blonde hair that almost reached her waist, and icy blue eyes like frozen lakes in Siberia.

Even in a simple white T-shirt and jeans, she exuded a dangerous allure—Victor frowned, because he recognized the bus.

“Victor Lee,”

She said in a thick Russian accent, "I am Svetlana, Veronica's friend."

Victor did not take the glass of wine she offered.

His gaze darted back and forth between the two women, his muscles taut beneath his vest: "You called me over using Kevin's pager? Why?"

Svetlana chuckled, placed a glass of wine in his hand, and gently clinked her own glass against his: "To celebrate your victory, of course. And to wish you good luck in your next match..."

She deliberately emphasized the last two words.

Viktor then noticed the details in the living room—the curtains were drawn, a nearly empty bottle of vodka sat on the coffee table, and deep jazz music was playing from the stereo.

This was no spontaneous party; it was a carefully laid trap.

"The second round of matches,"

Viktor spoke slowly, placing his glass on the shelf beside him, “I fight Drairovsky. 'The Siberian Bear'.”

Svetlana's eyes narrowed slightly: "Ah, Dmitri. The hero of our homeland."

She took a step forward, close enough to smell the strong perfume on her—a blend of cedar and some spicy floral scent. "Do you know how strong he is? Three hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle, he could kill a reindeer with one punch."

Victor did not back down, even though every nerve in his body was screaming for danger.

"So this is your goal? To wear me down before the match?"

He sneered, "Tell your 'fellow countryman' that I will defeat him fair and square in the ring, without needing such underhanded tactics."

Svetlana's expression instantly turned cold.

She put down her glass and placed her hands on Victor's shoulders: "You thought this was just about the game?"

Her fingers slid down his chest. "Veronica told me how...special you are. I want to experience it for myself."

Veronica pressed closer from behind, her breath brushing against Viktor's neck: "The three of us can have a lot of fun, Viktor. Just like last time with you..."

Her hand slipped under the hem of his hoodie.

Viktor suddenly took a step back, breaking free from the two women's encirclement.

His voice boomed through the room, “I know what you’re doing. Svetlana, you’re not part of the Russian mafia, are you? You’re just a pawn! Drailovsky sent you to ensure victory.”

The air in the room seemed to freeze.

A flicker of surprise crossed Svetlana's face, before she resumed her languid smile: "Clever boy."

She walked to the sofa, her movements as graceful as a cat's. "But you don't understand what you're refusing. I can keep you alive in the ring, Victor. Dmitri will break every single one of your ribs, unless..."

"Unless I cooperate with your performance tonight and hold back in the ring, so he can justifiably kill me?"

Victor finished her sentence for her, "The South doesn't believe that! Impossible."

Svetlana's smile vanished.

She stood up, her expression suddenly turning dangerous: "So, perhaps Kevin will be interested in your little secret with Veronica?"

She turned to Veronica, "Or should I say, your ongoing extramarital affair?"

Veronica's face turned pale: "You promised not to mention this!"