69novels Page 77
Page 77
“Victor, no one will blame you. At most, someone might say you stepped on his foot, but the boxing association will cover for you. Anyone who wants to attack you will first have to go through the boxing association's referee’s decision.”
Max shrugged: "Nobody said you did it on purpose. That's boxing. Some people win and some people lose, some people stand and some people fall."
She paused, "However, the matter isn't over yet. Flag's coach held a press conference at seven o'clock, and Flag, the New York regional champion, announced his withdrawal."
Viktor looked up abruptly: "What?"
"Yes, our opponent said he was 'unwell' and withdrew from the final."
Max smirked. "So, lucky Victor Lee, you're now the heavyweight champion of the U.S. Gold Glove Championship. The awards ceremony is tomorrow at 11 a.m.."
Viktor felt a wave of dizziness.
All of this happened too fast—about half a year ago he was just a toilet warrior, but now he has become a champion, while his two opponents are either seriously injured and retired or mysteriously forfeited.
"This isn't right,"
Victor shook his head. "Why did Flag forfeit? He clearly..."
"Obviously what?"
Max interrupted him, “He’s clearly better than you? Or he clearly deserves to win? Listen, Victor, boxing is never just about the ring. His coach went to the association.”
Viktor immediately understood: "The association has selected the national team members!"
"Yes, Viktor, you are very smart."
Max licked his tongue, took a sip of water, and suppressed the thirst brought on by the sexy allure of his wet pants:
"In the round of 15 to 8, you broke the jaw of a seeded fighter; in the quarterfinals to 4, that person was still in the hospital; in the semifinals to 2, this time it was even worse, he withdrew from the ring, they had no one left, they dared not let you break another one."
Viktor stroked his chin, which was covered in a thick beard: "Looks like my knockout rate is pretty high."
"These are minor matters. Anyone with eyes can see that you weren't chosen."
Max took another sip of water, feeling very thirsty and a little wet: "So we need to be prepared."
Victor looked at Max: "Your suggestion?"
"Now, we need to prepare for tomorrow's press conference, otherwise those vulture-like reporters will tear you to pieces."
Max stood up: "We need to be one step ahead of the Association!"
······
Max's prophecy came true the next day.
In March, sunlight filters through thin clouds onto the red carpet of the Olympia Training Center in Princeton.
Viktor stood in front of the mirror adjusting his bow tie; bruises from last night's match still clung to his knuckles—hitting someone hurts too.
The young man in the mirror has a typical Chinese face, with short black hair neatly swept back, trying to create a slicked-back hairstyle, but instead the hairs stick straight up.
Below his eyes were slight indentations left by long-term training, perhaps deformed from being beaten. His round face was framed by a pair of tiger-like eyes, which made him look somewhat fierce.
"Don't be nervous, you're the star today."
Max walked up from behind, patted Victor on the shoulder, and exuded a light and lingering fragrance. He had a professional smile on his face, and his sharp suit, short skirt, black stockings, and high ponytail made him look like a true elite.
Viktor forced a smile, which, against his fierce eyes, resembled a sneer: "I was just wondering why the vice president was the one presenting the award."
Max's smile froze for a moment—she hadn't expected that—before her mind raced and her expression returned to normal:
"Politics gets mixed up in boxing, and it loses its appeal. But remember, no matter how they treat you, that gold glove is on your hand today."
The media area in front of the building was already packed with reporters.
Champions from all weight classes are here, and a featherweight boxer named Floyd Mayweather is here to talk to Victor.
When Victor and Max saw the vice president appear, the flashbulbs went off like a storm.
Richard Stone, vice president of the USA Boxing Association, stood behind a makeshift podium with a smile that looked glued to his face. He began presenting awards starting with the featherweight division, and champion Floyd Mayweather took to the stage.
Mayweather happily accepted the trophy, which resembled a gold glove.
This went on for half an hour, and finally, they reached the heavyweight division—the heavyweight champion, who has always been the absolute star of the tournament, and this was the first time the vice president had done so.
"In recognition of Mr. Victor Lee's outstanding performance in the ring, the United States Boxing Association is honored to award him this year's Gold Glove Award..."
Stone's voice carried across the square through the microphone, but Victor noticed that his gaze never truly met his.
The gold gloves gleamed in the sunlight, and after Viktor went on stage, he disrespectfully accepted the trophy with one hand.
He thought this would attract media attention, such as minor issues like Victor being rude or disrespectful to the association.
But the media only cares about whether he was 'excessively violent' or 'racist'.
"Mr. Stone!"
A female reporter suddenly asked loudly, "Why wasn't the president presenting the award himself? Is this related to Mr. Li's Chinese heritage?"
The room fell silent instantly.
Vice President Stone looked as if he'd been punched, but he was a professional, utterly professional: "The president is handling other matters and asked me to convey to the champions... the association will release an official statement this afternoon regarding the specifics..."
Viktor has quietly stepped down and is preparing to leave.
Does the association engage in racial discrimination in the selection process for the US national team?
Another reporter followed up, asking, "Would you consider including people of Chinese descent in the national team?"
"There is absolutely no such thing as 'racism'!"
Stone's voice suddenly rose, "The selection is based entirely on the contestants' abilities and..."
It is definitely related to skin color.
"Then why didn't Victor Lee receive any invitations to the national team selection trials?"
A bespectacled male reporter interrupted—this was a Taiwanese compatriot with yellow skin: "His knockout rate is the highest among all heavyweight fighters this year! He has overwhelming strength in heavyweight matches!"
Victor felt Max give him a gentle push from behind.
This is their signal—it's time to withdraw.
But it was too late; the reporters had already turned to Victor himself: "Mister Lee, there are rumors that you deliberately injured your opponent to clear obstacles in your path to the national team selection. What is your response to this?"
Viktor's throat tightened.
He recalled how Alexander's team had yelled "Yellow Peril," "despicable," and other such phrases at him yesterday, and how these sports journalists would do anything for sales.
“Victor never—”
Max stood in front of Victor—his height of 1.72 meters (①) did not seem particularly formidable in front of Victor, but problems soon arose.
Harper from The Denver Post is snapping a photo, and she—yes, Harper's gender is undefinable—has already come up with a title:
That is "Even Tough Guys Need Beautiful Women to Protect Them: The Rise of Women's Power"!
Just now, those reporters are besieging and intercepting us:
"Victor, is it true that the psychological evaluation shows you have violent tendencies?"
What is your opinion on the statement that "Chinese people do not belong in American boxing"?
Do you have a prejudice against white athletes?
Viktor's temples throbbed, the words pounding at him like fists.
Max suddenly raised his voice: "Thank you all for your attention! Victor has an important decision to announce."
The whole place fell silent.
Max glanced around and flashed a perfect public relations smile: "After careful consideration, Victor Lee has accepted the Boxing Association's advice to withdraw from the U.S. national team selection process and dedicate himself to preparing for his first professional fight."
An uproar arose.
Victor saw Vice President Stone's face turn ashen—their rumors had worked, and the vice president and his associates were in for a lot of trouble.
Max didn't give the reporters a chance to ask further questions, and quickly escorted Victor away from the scene.
On the way back to the hotel, Victor was finally able to catch his breath.
"They didn't even let me say a word."
Viktor stared at the gold glove in his hand, the trophy as cold as ice in his palm: "They just want me to carry this stuff away like a robot! And then get as far away from them as possible."
Max loosened his tie: "What did you say? 'Thank you for discriminating against me'? Victor, don't be naive. America is a country of Onsa people, Jews, and the military-industrial complex, not yours."
She sneered, "The national team never gives a spot to a person of Chinese descent, especially in the heavyweight division. They won't even choose you as a sparring partner. They'd rather send a second-rate white athlete to embarrass themselves."
The curtains in the hotel suite were drawn, blocking out the harsh Los Angeles sunlight.
Victor placed the gold glove on the coffee table, and the trophy lost its luster in the dim room.
"It was the right thing for us to announce our withdrawal first."
Max poured herself a glass of red wine—she really loved it. “The pressure is all on them now. After the roster is announced this afternoon, everyone will understand why you're turning professional. Not to mention we've framed them!”
Viktor walked to the window and slightly pulled back the curtains.
Several media vehicles had already gathered downstairs.
Who do you think they will send?
"I bet it's that white kid from New York."
Max sipped the deep red liquid. "Although you are clearly more dominant."
Victor sipped his red wine, gazing at Max with his breathtaking view.
So we're supposed to wait here?
“Victor, in America, even if you break ties, you still have to make peace. You can’t leave them with obvious leverage.”
Max pointed outside: "Most Americans have their heads filled with alcohol, marijuana, women, and Franklin; they don't think about the connections between things."
Victor nodded and picked up the bottle: "Max, are you coming?"
Max laughed: "Victor, you're not my choice."
I was talking about the alcohol!
"Fill it up quickly!"
Chapter 64 National Team Roster and Two Galas