socalfunplaces Page 18
Page 18
Reggie put on his boxing gloves, grinned at Victor, revealing his gold teeth, and said with a smile full of malice, "I'll go easy on you."
A few bursts of laughter erupted in the boxing gym.
Coach Foucault's warning about 'Reggie' seemed like a routine matter.
Viktor could feel the gazes from the other boxers around him—curious, mocking, and contemptuous.
He didn't respond to Reggie's provocation, but silently took the mouthguard that old Jack handed him and put it in his mouth.
“Remember what I taught you,”
Old Jack lowered his voice and said that the former boxer in his sixties had a face that had been reshaped by countless blows, “Move, observe, don’t be intimidated by him.”
Victor nodded, the canvas floor creaking slightly beneath his sneakers.
He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.
In the first round, Reggie pounced like a beast unleashed from its cage.
He completely disregarded the 'light contact' rule, and his first jab was aimed straight at Victor's face with full force.
Viktor barely managed to dodge the punch by tilting his head, feeling the wind graze his cheekbone.
Foucault roared from the sidelines, "I said light contact!"
Old Jack glanced at him—because he neither stopped the game nor stepped forward to tell him to leave, but rather tacitly approved of it.
Sure enough, Reggie ignored him. Using his height and reach advantage, he kept hitting Victor's head with jabs while moving his feet nimbly, as if he were toying with a clumsy novice.
Victor tried to retaliate, but all his powerful punches missed, hitting only air.
"Don't chase him! Conserve your energy!"
Old Jack yelled from the sidelines, his voice drowning out the jeering of the other spectators, "Keep your distance! Damn it, keep your distance!"
Sweat was beading on Viktor's forehead, and he could feel the discomfort of his T-shirt sticking to his back.
Reggie's punches weren't particularly heavy, but each one carried a humiliating undertone—as if he deliberately didn't use his full strength, just to prove that he could hit Victor at any time.
The bell that signaled the end of the round was like a redemption.
Victor returned to the corner, panting heavily.
Old Jack ripped off his mouthguard.
"What are you thinking?"
Old Jack growled in a low voice, "Chase after him? Do you think this is a street fight?"
Viktor wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. "I want to take him down!"
"Knock down my ass!"
Old Jack scoffed, "He's 120 pounds lighter than you, and his movement costs are half yours. Don't chase him in the second round; corner him."
Before the second round began, Victor saw Reggie make a throat-slitting gesture at him, and the gym erupted in laughter again.
The bell rang again, and Victor changed his strategy.
He stopped blindly pursuing Reggie and instead used tighter paces to gradually press him toward the ropes.
Reggie was clearly caught off guard by this turn of events, and a flicker of panic crossed his eyes.
Victor seized the opportunity, throwing a left hook that grazed Reggie's ear. Although it didn't land, it was his first effective attack of the day.
"That's it!"
Old Jack clapped his hands on the sidelines.
Reggie was clearly enraged by the fact that he had been cornered by a novice.
His eyes suddenly turned fierce, completely disregarding Coach Foucault's instruction of 'light contact'.
A vicious right hook came hurtling towards him, but Victor blocked it with both arms effortlessly.
Foucault roared from the sidelines, "Control the force!"
Reggie ignored him and charged at Victor like an enraged bull, raining down punches.
Viktor was also enraged, his adrenaline surging, and he began to exchange blows with Reggie.
This is not a technical exercise; this is a real battle.
During a close-quarters grappling match, Victor seized an opening in Reggie's punch and landed a powerful right hook precisely in Reggie's ribs.
Reggie cried out in pain, his face turning pale instantly, and he knelt on one knee.
The boxing gym fell silent instantly. Victor didn't pursue, but instead took a step back, awaiting the referee's instructions.
He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, not from exhaustion, but from shock—he had actually knocked Reggie down?
Coach Foucault frowned and rushed onto the ring. "Light contact, Lee! What are you doing?"
"It was my fault,"
Victor immediately said, his voice muffled by his mouthguard, "But I controlled the force; he won't break any bones."
Old Jack shouted from the sidelines, "Foucault, why didn't you stop Reggie's fierce attack just now?"
Reggie had already stood up. He was panting heavily, his eyes had become unusually fierce, and it was obvious that he was sweating profusely.
"It's okay, newbie,"
He said through gritted teeth, his gold teeth gleaming coldly under the light, "Let's continue."
Foucault did not stop him, because Victor had indeed held back; otherwise, it would be a miracle if Reggie had been able to get up after a full-force punch to his ribs.
The ringing of the bell in the third round sounded like a verdict.
Victor knew this round wouldn't be easy.
Sure enough, Reggie launched a fierce attack right from the start. His combination punches were fast and ruthless, and it didn't look like he was doing any 'technical practice' at all.
Viktor could only protect his head, struggling to defend himself in the center of the ring.
"Move! Move!"
Old Jack was shouting from the sidelines, but all Victor could hear was his own rapid breathing and the rush of blood to his head.
Reggie's left hook broke through Victor's defense and landed heavily on his right ribs.
Viktor was not seriously injured; he staggered backward and bumped into the ropes, thus luring his opponent into a trap.
Reggie pressed his advantage, throwing another right straight punch straight at Victor's face.
At this critical moment, Victor's body suddenly reacted automatically—he slightly turned his head to dodge, and at the same time instinctively threw a left hook.
The punch was fast and sudden, like a venomous snake striking, and landed squarely on Reggie's chin.
Time seemed to stand still in the boxing gym.
Reggie's eyes went out of focus for a moment, and his tall body crashed to the ground like a felled tree, slamming heavily onto the boxing ring with a thud.
Everyone stared wide-eyed, unable to believe what they were seeing. Reggie Fils-Aimé, the 29th ranked cruiserweight, had been defeated by a rookie heavyweight?
Reggie's fingers twitched a few times, and he regained a little of his senses, struggling to get up, but Foucault had already rushed into the ring and ended the match.
"Enough! Combat training is over!"
He gave Victor a stern look, then knelt down to check on Reggie's condition.
Viktor stood there, staring blankly at his fist.
He could feel the pain in his knuckles inside the boxing gloves, the real impact of the blows, but more than anything, he felt disbelief—had he really done it? Or was it just luck?
The silence in the boxing gym was broken by a sudden burst of discussion.
Victor heard someone whistling, someone exclaiming "Oh my God," and someone whispering "Damn it."
He removed his mouthguard, spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, and only then did he realize when his lip had been broken.
Old Jack climbed onto the boxing ring and grabbed Victor's shoulder.
"Well done, son! Foucault should now make a different choice!"
He said in a low voice, his eyes gleaming with a light that Victor couldn't understand, "But trouble is coming. You'll have to keep your Miss Six-Shot with you at all times these next few days."
Victor turned to look at the other side of the boxing ring.
Reggie had been helped up, but his eyes were fixed on Victor, burning with pure hatred.
Coach Foucault's expression was even more complex—surprise, doubt, and a hint of wariness.
Sure enough, after helping Reggie aside, Foucault stormed off to Victor.
"What the hell are you doing? This is light contact training!"
Victor faced his coach's anger calmly: "I'm sorry, Coach. It was an accident. I didn't mean to hurt Reggie, otherwise he would be in the hospital by now!"
Foucault sneered, "You used your full strength in that punch!"
“No, he didn’t. Victor can punch with 485 pounds of force.”
Old Jack interjected, "Foucault, although it's not the power of a boxing champion, do you know what kind of damage such force would do to the ribs and face! Reggie was careless and his defense was completely lax."
Foucault turned to old Jack, a history clearly running between them: "Jack, this isn't your fault. Reggie has an important match next week, and now this has happened..."
"He wasn't injured, and this is a good opportunity for him to learn a lesson,"
Old Jack calmly stated, "No one in the professional boxing ring would give him 'light contact'."
Reggie had recovered by then, pushed away the people supporting him, and staggered over.
"You're looking for fucking death!"
He roared and lunged at Victor.
Foucault grabbed him, "Enough! Calm down, both of you!"
He surveyed the gym. "Training is over for today. Everyone, dismissed!"
The trainees looked at each other, then slowly began to pack their things.
Reggie shook off Foucault's hand and glared fiercely at Viktor: "This isn't over, you yellow-skinned pig."
Viktor returned the gaze expressionlessly. "I'm always ready."
"Go to the locker room,"