RNP Page 207
Page 207
The stadium lights shone on his sweaty skin, giving it a bronze-like sheen.
Viktor retreated to the neutral corner, looking at his opponent's body lying on the ground, and suddenly felt a strange emptiness—Valiant Klitschko definitely wouldn't be able to get up!
"ninety!"
"Victor wins!"
Cheers surged like a tidal wave, and old Jack jumped into the ring to embrace him, but it all seemed as if there was a pane of glass between them.
Medical staff stepped forward to check on Da Ke's condition.
A few minutes later, Big K slowly sat up, shook his head, and gave Viktor a thumbs-up—a sign of respect between boxers.
The stadium erupted in deafening cheers.
Victor stood in the center of the boxing ring, raising his arms, sweat and blood mingling and flowing down his body.
He looked at his fallen opponent, his eyes filled not with elation, but with respect.
Da Ke tried to stand up after a few seconds, but his body still wouldn't obey him.
His team has jumped into the ring to check on him.
Viktor walked over and extended his hand to his opponent.
"A great battle."
Da Ke barely managed to grasp his hand, nodded, and couldn't speak, but his eyes were full of defiance.
The referee raised Victor's hand and announced the winner.
The spotlight shone on him, and the audience cheered his name.
But at this moment of victory, Viktor felt unusually calm.
Ethan hugged him excitedly.
"You did it! You defeated Klinchenko! Your name will be in every newspaper tomorrow!"
Victor sat down and let the team doctor treat his wound.
I was physically exhausted, but mentally excited, with cortisol burning.
He recalled the crucial moments of the match, recalling that decisive uppercut.
······
The air above the boxing ring at the Atlantic City Plaza Hotel still seemed to be thick with the smell of sweat and blood from that epic battle.
Under the spotlight and in the audience, applause and cheers surged like a tide, and the reporters' flashes sliced Viktor's tall figure into countless shimmering fragments.
The atmosphere at the post-match press conference was so enthusiastic it almost set the air ablaze.
Viktor sat behind the long table, his voice slightly hoarse from the fatigue of the battle, yet carrying an undeniable authority.
He thanked his team, family, and all supporters.
Then, he paused, his gaze sweeping over all the reporters present, before dropping the bombshell he had prepared long ago.
He raised his voice, making it clear to everyone's ears, "I have one more battle to dedicate to you all. This will be my final battle in this year's title defense."
The audience fell silent instantly, with only the distinct click of camera shutters.
My opponent is—
Victor deliberately drew out his words, creating suspense, "José 'Iron Hammer' Libarta!"
A gasp and a buzz of discussion arose from the audience.
Libarta, a Cuban boxer, is known for his ferocious power and indomitable spirit, and is no easy opponent.
This is a tough battle.
Just then, Viktor's agent, Lowell, produced a thick copy of the contract.
Under the spotlight of countless cameras, Viktor smiled, picked up a gold pen, and signed his name in a flamboyant style at the contract signature area.
The staff quickly handed a copy of the contract to José Libarta's team representative, who was already waiting in the audience.
The representative accepted the contract and signed it. Then both parties held up the contract for the media to take photos.
"The date is set for December 8, 1987!"
Victor announced, "The location is right here, the Atlantic City Plaza Hotel! Let's witness history once again!"
The spotlight flashed wildly again, capturing this decisive moment.
Viktor wore the confident smile of a victor and strategist, as if he could already foresee the victory at the end of the year.
However, the atmosphere of the press conference suddenly changed the next moment, interrupting Victor's eagerness to deplete his cortisol levels on Nisha and Lisa.
A commotion arose at the back of the crowd, and a tall figure parted the reporters and strode towards the front.
He was almost as tall and robust as his brother, who had just been defeated, and his face was filled with youthful rage and an undeniable fighting spirit.
It was Vladimir Klitschko—Vitali's younger brother, known as "Dr. Steel Hammer" Klitschko Jr.
"Victor!"
Little Klitschko's voice boomed, thick with an Eastern European accent, instantly drawing everyone's attention: "You defeated my brother, but this is far from over! The honor of the Klitschko family must be restored!"
I, Vladimir Klitschko, hereby formally challenge you! Do you dare accept? Add real weight to your victory instead of rushing off to find the next easy opponent!
These words were like ice water poured onto boiling oil.
There was an uproar at the scene.
The reporters were so excited they were almost trembling, their cameras flashing back and forth between Viktor and Klitschko.
This is absolutely headline news!
The loser's brother's revenge challenge on the spot made this event far more dramatic than a regular signing press conference.
The one who felt most humiliated and angry was naturally José Libarta, who had just been "designated" as his next opponent.
Although he was not present in person, his team representatives and many supporters were there.
Klitschko's words were tantamount to a slap in the face—"easy target"?
This is blatant disregard for his abilities as the legal challenger!
Libarta's agent jumped to his feet, his face ashen.
“Vladimir! Watch your words! Jose is a true warrior, not someone a greenhorn like you can question! Victor’s next opponent is Jose, that’s a fact already signed!”
Chapter 174 Challenges and Debates
"Hmph! Contracts? That's just a business gimmick! A true warrior should face the strongest opponent, the one most eager to defeat him!"
Little Klitschko didn't back down, and scoffed contemptuously: "I'm eager to fight him right now! Viktor, are you afraid? Afraid of losing the gold belt you just got and haven't even had time to warm up yet?"
All eyes were on Viktor.
He sat there, a hint of surprise flashing across his face at first, but it was quickly replaced by an unfathomable calm.
He glanced at the furious Klitschko, then at the grim-faced Libarta team below the stage, and at the journalists eager for bigger news.
The air seemed to freeze.
The agent nervously tried to interject and smooth things over, but Victor raised his hand to stop him.
Surprisingly, a hint of interest even appeared on Viktor's lips.
“Vladimir,”
Viktor spoke, his voice steady, "You are brave, just like your brother. You yearn to fight for the family honor, and I respect that desire."
He paused for a moment, as if weighing his options, but in reality, he made his decision almost instantly.
Greater challenges mean greater attention and richer rewards, and deep down, he may also believe that Libarta is not the ultimate test.
"But you've forgotten! I got the WBA gold belt from Valuyev in London, and it wasn't given to me by Valuyev! I got it by breaking Valuyev's bones!"
Look at my title defense fights: Mitch Green, Andrei Golota, Riddick Bowe, Evander Holyfield, Lennox Lewis, Vitaly Klitschko…aren’t they all formidable tough guys in the boxing world?
Viktor's voice echoed throughout the press conference, then became resolute, "You say I'm afraid? Klitschko, first of all, you need to be qualified as an intercontinental boxing champion before I will accept your challenge! I am the champion, what are you?"
"what?!"
As soon as the words were spoken, Libarta's agent exclaimed in shock—this basically meant that Libarta definitely couldn't win.
The audience erupted in cheers.
Ignoring the commotion, Victor continued, "But not now. I've already signed a contract with José Libarta, and I'll settle things with him on December 8th. After that..."
He looked at Wladimir Klitschko, his eyes sharp. "Next year, 1988, you and I will fight. The specific time will be discussed in detail between my team and your team after you become the intercontinental champion. How about it?"
This sudden challenge, which even provided a clear timeframe (albeit "next year"), once again shocked everyone.
Wladimir Klitschko seemed taken aback by the other party's decisiveness. He paused for a moment, then nodded emphatically: "Alright! 1988! I'll be waiting for you! Don't even think about running away!"
The main characters of this press conference should have been José Libarta and Victor Lee.
However, the verbal duel between Viktor and Klitschko completely stole the show.
It's as if Libarta is merely an insignificant stepping stone, an obstacle that must be cleared away as soon as possible in order to meet the "real" challenge.
The news reached José Libarta, who was training in the gym, almost immediately.
On the television screen, footage of Viktor accepting Klitschko's challenge was played on a loop. Reporters spoke in exaggerated tones about "the Klitschko family's revenge" and "a showdown of the new era," while his name, "José Libarta," was merely treated as a transitional footnote.
A heavy sandbag was nearly burst open by Libarta's punch, its filling falling out in a flurry.
His chest flared violently, his bronze skin turning red with rage, and his famous large eyes glared like copper bells, burning with the flames of humiliation and fury.
"Victor Lee!"
He practically roared at his team and the reporters who had rushed to the scene, “How dare he do this! He’s insulting me! In front of the whole world, he’s telling me, and everyone else, that he doesn’t respect me at all!”
He thinks defeating me is a piece of cake, so he can't wait to move on to the next one?! What makes that brat think he can?!
His voice made the gym buzz.
"Who does he think I am? His ticket guarantor for bigger events?! December 8th?"
Libarta pointed sharply at the camera, as if Viktor were right across from him, “Listen! Viktor! You’d better be fully prepared for my match! Because if you dare to be even slightly distracted, thinking about that damn Russian kid next year…”