boyutpedia Page 127
Page 127
Drago let out a muffled groan, his body trembling slightly.
This was the first real, substantial counterattack he had received tonight.
The audience gasped in surprise.
The Soviet coaching staff was in an uproar.
"Ivan! What are you doing! Take him down!"
Head coach Nicolai roared, his composure vanishing, replaced by anxiety and anger.
Rocky leaned close to Drago and growled in English in his ear, his voice like sandpaper scraping: "How does it feel to have your punching bag fight back?"
Drago didn't understand English, but he could sense the provocation in the words.
He angrily shoved Rocky away, trying to reorganize the attack, but his rhythm was clearly disrupted.
Rocky's counterattacks became more frequent.
His left and right hooks began to hit Drago's body and head more often.
Drago's defense showed weaknesses.
"Your computer didn't calculate this, did it?"
Rocky roared as he closed in again, "It didn't tell you how tough a person can be, did it?"
On the sidelines, Nicolai screamed at Drago in Russian: "Ivan! You can't lose! Think about the consequences! You'll bring shame to the country! You'll lose everything! Your honor! Your status! Everything will be gone!"
These words pierced Drago's ears like poison needles.
He wasn't fighting for himself; he was fighting for the entire system.
Failure means falling from heaven to hell; it means he is no longer a national hero, but a sinner.
For the first time, fear truly enveloped him.
His movements began to stiffen; he was no longer the invincible boxing machine, but a young man who was afraid of failure and punishment.
Drago became very agitated.
But Drago was clearly exhausted; his punches had lost most of their power, and his defense was riddled with holes.
Rocky, though battered and bruised, seemed to draw strength from the depths of his pain, growing ever stronger with each battle.
He regained his rhythm and dragged the match into his favorite kind of close-quarters combat, devoid of any fancy moves.
"Now! Rocky! Now!"
Viktor jumped up and shouted at the top of his lungs, all his fear turning into boiling passion.
A final glimmer of light flashed in Rocky's eyes.
He dodged a weak hook from Drago and landed a vicious right uppercut squarely on Drago's chin!
Drago's eyes glazed over for a moment, and his massive body swayed.
Rocky gave him no chance to catch his breath!
A long-awaited combination of punches—a left hook, a right straight, and then a left horizontal hook—was unleashed on Drago's head and body like an angry flood!
Drago fell to the ground with a crash, like a giant tree that had been felled!
The massive body slammed onto the boxing ring with a dull thud.
The stadium fell into a deathly silence, with only Rocky's heavy breathing remaining.
The referee rushed up and started counting down.
"...six...seven...eight..."
Incredibly, Drago's fingers twitched. He struggled, using the last of his willpower, to prop himself up on his arms and stubbornly stand up!
His eyes were unfocused, but a glimmer of unyielding spirit still lingered within them.
This is a victory of his personal will, which cannot be taken away even in defeat.
The referee checked his condition and confirmed that he was able to continue.
Rocky looked at his swaying opponent, a hint of respect flashing in his eyes, but the fight had to end.
He took a deep breath, gathered the last of his strength, and unleashed a right straight punch, infused with all his will, all his pain, and all his perseverance, like a cannonball, which struck Drago's defenseless jaw precisely!
This time, Drago made no further struggle.
He fell straight backward and completely lost consciousness.
The referee waved his arm, announcing the end of the match!
After a brief silence, the stadium erupted in applause that was complex but ultimately respectful.
Many Soviet spectators stood up to pay tribute to what they considered the most tenacious and incredible comeback they had ever witnessed.
The outcome is decided, but the brilliance of the human spirit transcends victory or defeat.
Rocky was almost exhausted and leaned against the ropes.
The coach rushed onto the ring, hugged him tightly, and shouted incoherently, "You did it! Rocky! You did it! God! You're a madman! And a genius!"
The medical team quickly went on stage to take care of the two soldiers.
As Drago was being carried onto the stretcher, his coach Nicolai, his face ashen, didn't even glance at his player, muttering curses under his breath before turning and leaving.
The cold machine was utterly defeated by the burning passion of humanity—and so was his wife.
After a short rest, Rocky, with a bruised and swollen face but a tired smile, and Victor, who was extremely excited, quickly left the stadium.
They didn't linger; the cold Moscow night was not for them.
"We need to get out of here right away,"
As Victor helped Rocky with his simple luggage, he said excitedly and eagerly, "I've already booked the fastest flight back to America! Private jet and train!"
They took a car to the airport and boarded a departing flight overnight.
Inside the cabin, Rocky gazed out the window at the gradually receding, dimly lit Moscow below, and fell asleep. His body was covered in wounds, but a trace of peace graced his lips.
Victor, however, was wide awake, still immersed in extreme excitement and disbelief—2000 pounds? 1200 at most!!!
Chapter 106 A Fine Man
“Loki, this is my company, a boxing training center. If you have any suitable people, you can recommend them to me.”
"I will, but I probably won't be able to box anymore. I feel like my brain is a mess."
“Loki, only you know whether the hook hurts or not. I think you’ve made a deal with that old man God.”
"What do you mean?"
You will get better.
"Thank you for your blessings."
······
The wind in Chicago's South Side always carries a rusty smell of industrial decay and a vague sense of anxiety.
Viktor drove alone on the familiar streets. He had just parted ways with Rocky in a Jeep that he had just bought—it must have been bought by the company. The automatic transmission was very high-end and suitable for a novice like Viktor.
Rocky's stubbornness played a significant role in defeating Drago, but that old-fashioned glory is incompatible with the current world of commercial boxing, especially Rocky's fighting style—which is self-destructive.
Back here, Viktor felt somewhat at ease only after privately checking on the company's ongoing affairs.
He spent half a day, like a king inspecting his territory that he had not yet fully conquered.
The noise from the renovation team in the west district was deafening but full of hope. The workers recognized him and greeted him warmly. He nodded in response and checked the details.
The basic water and electricity have been connected to the locations in the South District where catering RVs are to be installed. They are just waiting for those modern 'mobile kitchens' to be in place. The Residual Shadow RV is already big enough, and because of its relationship with the Jeep manufacturer, the RV no longer needs to be illegally modified. As a result, the catering RV, which can be filled with ten dishes at once, has made many Americans give up eating white food.
As for whether the workload of making ten dishes is large?
Americans don't eat as well as people back home. Most people here prefer sweet flavors, and white sugar is their largest monthly consumption—this is his business, the ark he built with his fists and brains to escape the mire of the streets.
Just as he stood in front of a newly painted, gleaming catering van, imagining its future bustling with smoke and throngs of customers, a familiar voice, tinged with undisguised annoyance, rang out behind him.
"Victor! You're back? Good heavens, I've been looking for you for days!"
Viktor turned around and saw Fiona Gallagher.
She was wearing simple cargo pants and a T-shirt, her brown hair was casually tied up, and a few strands of hair were blown by the wind and stuck to her cheeks. Her face showed the fatigue left by her travels and a trace of anxiety that was not easily detected.
Pretty, beautiful, intelligent, with a charming smile—but she just couldn't make Victor angry.
Fiona.
Viktor nodded, his tone flat. "I just got back. Let's see how it goes."
"Progress? Are you worried about us? Yes, all 62 cars in the South District are from your Chinese-American group. There are only two white people, Ian and Ian, who can't keep track of all the 'progress'!"
Fiona's words came out like a machine gun, "Victor, this is a huge mess. Procurement, coordinating people, overseeing the renovations, dealing with the health bureau's inspections... I'm not Superman, I need a helper, someone who can actually get things done, right now! I've been applying for a long time, but that white-skinned, yellow-hearted Jimmy hasn't done anything about it!"
“Jimmy works in the legal department. You should contact human resources. Besides, all our young men really like to marry white women. Almost half of the sixty-two men are white.”
Victor gestured for Fiona to get in the car: "Come inside and we'll talk. Have you had lunch?"
Fiona glanced at the brand-new interior of the SUV, still smelling of paint and plastic: "Let's go eat something in the RV."
Viktor took two lunchboxes out of the insulated container, tossed one to Fiona, and leaned against the counter, tearing open the wrapper.
The two ate in silence, the only sounds in the air being the chewing and the faint noise of the city outside the car.
Fiona ate quickly, as if to replenish her energy for the next battle.
She emphasized again, "Victor, I'm serious, I'm overwhelmed."
Viktor slowly swallowed his food, his mind racing—he figured that since he couldn't make cream puffs with Fiona, squeezing them out was a good alternative.
He needs Fiona to be fully committed, ideally to the point of exhaustion from trivial matters—that's workplace bullying.
However, she also needs someone who can keep things under control and has enough survival wisdom to assist her. At the same time, this person should ideally be under her control.
A name came to mind—Svetlana, that woman as cold and hard as the Siberian wind.
"I have someone in mind."
Viktor finally spoke, but his voice was devoid of emotion.