boyutpedia Page 46
Page 46
"Add five kilograms today."
Old Jack said in his hoarse, sandpaper-like voice, adding a discus to each side of the barbell.
His body, over fifty years old, resembled an old oak tree, weathered by the wind yet still standing tall.
Viktor simply nodded and silently walked toward the squat rack.
Two months ago, the weight of 330 kilograms would make his legs tremble so badly that he couldn't stand up, but now, his thigh muscles are as stable as a hydraulic press.
He adjusted his breathing, pressed his shoulders against the barbell, and completed ten standard squats in one go. Only the bulging veins on his forehead showed the pressure he was under.
"another one!"
Victor, let's try again.
"the last one!"
Viktor's veins were bulging.
"Great, let's go swimming now."
Old Jack wiped his sweat-dampened bald head with a towel. "Two more sets today."
Victor walked toward the resistance pool in the corner.
Two months ago, he could only last five minutes before becoming breathless. Now he can swim at full speed for half an hour straight, battling the strongest currents and resistance ropes.
Amidst the splashing water, Viktor struggled like a trapped whale.
His body was still bulky, but beneath the layer of fat were thick muscle groups, and Victor could no longer float on the water.
We arrived in half an hour.
"That's enough, come up."
Old Jack, timing himself with a stopwatch, shouted, "Practice your boxing moves! Today, spar with Ray."
Victor climbed out of the pool, water droplets rolling off his bulging back muscles.
Ray is a burly man that Old Jack recently recruited for Victor. He's an unemployed college graduate who works here for $5 an hour—a fee paid by Victor.
He was almost a head taller than Victor, but weighed just over 200 pounds. He moved with a light step, like a slippery eel.
"Same as always, three minutes per round, five rounds in total."
Lei grinned, revealing a smile with a missing front tooth, "Don't let it be like last time when you couldn't even lift your hand."
Victor laughed heartily: "Don't put your hands behind your back and try to catch my fist with your head, it'll hurt my knuckles!"
Both had participated in the South District Thug Boxing Tournament, but had never met. Ray lost a tooth due to his clumsy movements, fully demonstrating his amateurishness. At the same time, Ray was also joking about how Victor had been unable to lift his arm for a while.
From the start of the first round, Viktor immediately sensed the difference.
Previously, Old Jack only had him practice basic punching techniques and sandbags, at most with fixed hand targets. Today was the first formal sparring session.
His fists rained down on Lei's arms and torso, each blow sending shivers through his muscles, even though he was wearing protective gear.
"Lei! Don't just stand there taking hits! Move!"
Old Jack yelled from the side, "If you want to fight in cruiserweight, then you need a sparring partner. Viktor has great punching power, but do you think a match is about standing still and seeing who can take more punches?"
Ray did indeed begin to move, and for a moment, Viktor couldn't keep up.
Viktor tried to move, but his steps were as clumsy as if he were wearing lead shoes—in fact, he had a sandbag on his foot.
Ray easily circled around to his side, and Viktor instinctively swung his fist as if by muscle memory. His long arm came into play, lightly sweeping across Ray's chin. Although he held back his strength, Ray's vision went black, and he fell directly to the ground.
"Shit! Round one is over!"
Old Jack immediately checked on Ray's condition. When Ray opened his eyes, Old Jack's voice seemed to come from a great distance, "You died three times, big guy. In a real match, the referee would have stopped it long ago."
Viktor, meanwhile, leaned against the ropes, panting heavily, sweat stinging his eyes.
He looked at the mirror on the wall—the fat man in the mirror, with his flushed face and heaving belly, seemed both strange and familiar to him.
Two months ago, his punching power was just over 400 pounds, but now it's 650 pounds. The power generation techniques he developed from swinging sledgehammers and axes allow Viktor to naturally unleash his full power.
But when facing a real boxer, he was still like a toddler learning to walk—unsteady on his feet, easily outmaneuvered.
"Lei, again?"
Victor spat and raised his fist again: "This time, I'll try to follow you!"
Lei stood up from the ground, spitting out bloody phlegm, and shouted, "Continue!"
He's a real hero!
Moreover, he is one of the few Black people who doesn't rely on shady dealings or guns for a living, but is willing to choose the arduous path of boxing.
After three rounds, Victor's arms felt like they were filled with lead, and he could no longer grip his mouthguard. He threw over a hundred punches, and his legs became weak from the intense onslaught of his fists.
Ray's breathing also became rapid, but he was still able to easily dodge Viktor's heavy punches, leaving Viktor speechless. He kept patting his stomach, trying to prevent it from hindering him when he charged forward.
"Use this for the final round."
Old Jack tossed Viktor a pair of 5-pound dumbbells, "For weighted target practice."
"No!"
Victor's protest—his arm was too heavy to lift—provoked old Jack's roar: "Stop whining like a Japanese woman!"
Ray raised the hand target, and Victor shut his mouth and mechanically began to hit six positions on each side, up, down, left, and right, for a hundred consecutive sets. Each punch felt like a muscle being torn apart and then stitched back together.
"Put your strength into play! I'm not telling you to touch the target!"
Old Jack slammed his folding chair on the ground. "Imagine that's someone riding on your wife's back and slapping your child's face!"
Victor suddenly remembered that even dog poop paled in comparison to the meals Michael made for him every day!
A surge of anger rose in his stomach, and he let out a low growl as his right fist, heavy as a dumbbell, slammed into the bullseye.
With a muffled thud, Lei was jolted back two steps.
"This is so true!"
Old Jack rarely smiled, "Ten more sets, let's continue tomorrow."
······
That night, Victor lay on his bed in the apartment, every muscle in his body screaming.
He reached for the water glass on the bedside table, his arm trembling like a leaf in the wind.
The painkillers prescribed by the doctor were in the drawer, but he didn't touch them—Old Jack had said that pain was a sign that the body was getting stronger.
Moreover, painkillers and drugs in the United States are almost the same. The only difference is that painkillers are sold by real gangs, while drugs are sold by gangs that have not yet obtained a license.
Blair sent a message, and Victor called back:
“Victor, although we have had our arguments, I still have to remind you for the sake of your assets that Apple and Nike are not good stocks right now. Apple’s latest earnings report shows that their Lisa computer sales have dropped by 20%, and the stock price continues to decline.”
“Blair, I appreciate that you’ve always been my friend, but I’ve made up my mind. Trust my judgment.”
“Victor, you’ve even been expelled from high school.”
"This has nothing to do with academic qualifications."
“You’ve never left Chicago; the furthest you’ve ever gone is to work in the North Side.”
"I've already made up my mind, haven't I?"
"I think..."
“Blair, we’re friends, so I’m willing to listen. But I don’t want you to think that I’m stupid enough to believe that the people in these two companies are going to succeed someday. In this matter, I’m the BOSS. You just need to execute and take the commission you need.”
"Okay, your $50,000 will be gone."
"No, if it succeeds, I will still pay you five-thousandths of the profit."
"Thank you, but wasn't it 1% before?"
"The 1% expiration date has passed."
After hanging up the phone, Victor did twenty push-ups despite the soreness in his arms—ten more than Old Jack had asked for.
Sweat formed a small puddle on the floor, reflecting his contorted face.
"not enough."
he said to himself.
At five o'clock the next morning, Victor appeared at the gym entrance.
Old Jack raised an eyebrow as he opened the door: "The schedule is six o'clock, kid."
"I want to practice more."
Viktor's voice was firmer than he had expected: "Strength training."
"Strength training?"
Old Jack was furious: "So you came here to keep me awake at night just to sabotage my training plan?"
"No! I need more punching power; 600 pounds is not my limit."
Viktor persisted.
Old Jack stared at him for a few seconds, then stepped aside to let him in: "Put the squat rack over there, don't hurt yourself. I'm going back to take a nap."
For the next month, the Gallagher family didn't cause any trouble, Veronica became an enemy, and Victor's life became a monotonous routine:
I buy chicken breasts and protein powder at home, the gym, the lumberyard, and the supermarket.
His previous savings meant he didn't have to worry about making a living for the time being, so he devoted all his time to training.
When the three strength training sessions per week prescribed by old Jack were no longer enough for him, he increased it to four, and then to five.
"You're fucking ruining my training program."
Old Jack cursed when he found out, but Victor noticed that the wrinkles around the old man's eyes smoothed out a bit when the old man checked his bench press: "But you're a fucking genius!"
This transformation stemmed from the terrifying boost Viktor received after tearing his muscles with heavy weights. His limb strength increased almost daily, and with scientific training and rapid recovery, Viktor's strength skyrocketed.
Dodging training has gone from hell to a daily routine.
At first, Victor couldn't even last three minutes, but now he can hold his own against Ray for a full round (four rounds) without getting hit in the head.
Those 5-pound dumbbells went from being torture devices to close companions; he even started wearing them while eating and watching TV, until old Jack warned him that it could cause tendinitis.