aircannonsinc Page 188
Page 188
He pushed through the crowd, strode to the hotel reception, and asked to use a private phone.
Frankie finally breathed a sigh of relief when Victor's voice came through the receiver.
"It's settled, Victor. $1350 million appearance fee, winner gets 40%."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a deep laugh: "Frankie, you're a genius."
“It’s not just me, Victor. The Chicago tax authorities sent people too; they’re afraid those bastards in New York will steal their tax money. You’re the star of those legal thugs now.”
Frankie described it in detail: "They came with thirty-five men, ten vehicles, and heavy weapons. It felt like they were going to flatten New York. None of the men in New York dared to show their faces."
"Hahaha! The New York tax office has Wall Street and is making a fortune, so naturally it won't fight to the death with the Chicago tax office, which is so poor that it dares to hire gangsters to collect taxes."
Victor's laughter grew louder: "Then let them wait and count their money. By the way, any news from Tyson's side?"
"Don King is still playing his old tricks, letting Tyson beat the easy targets. They want to keep the world title for as long as possible."
"A coward's choice. Tyson will become weaker and weaker because of this!"
Viktor said dismissively, "A true champion fears no challenge."
“Focus on Holyfield, Victor. He’s not Riddick Bowe.”
“I know, Frankie. I know who he is, and I know who I am.”
Before hanging up, Victor added, "Be careful on your way home, Frankie. Those guys in New York might actually kidnap you for your taxes."
"I only wrote a few words!"
Frankie hung up the phone with a laugh, but as he stepped out of the hotel into the chilly New York evening air, he did notice two burly men in dark suits, commissioners from the Chicago tax office, flanking him.
Boxing is not just a battle in the ring, but a war for money, power, and taxes.
The next day, the front pages of major newspapers across the United States were all reporting on the impending war.
The Chicago Tribune's sports section headline read:
"The Windy City Tigers face the Holyfield test – Victor Lee pursues redemption and glory."
The article provides a detailed analysis of the two boxers' styles, suggesting that Victor's Chicago Typewriter-style offensive approach might counter Holyfield's technical style. It also points out that the intensity of Victor's three fights in six months could affect his performance.
The New York Times, on the other hand, focused more on the economic aspect: "A New Era for Boxing Economics: The Era of Multi-Million Dollar Appearance Fees Has Arrived."
The article mentions that just five years ago, the fact that a boxing championship match could fetch ten million US dollars in appearance fees shocked the world.
Now, Victor and Holyfield are each guaranteed 1350 million, and the winner will receive an additional tens of millions in bonuses.
The Las Vegas Sun featured enlarged photos of Victor and Holyfield on its front page, with a concise and powerful headline:
"July War: Mr. Perfect vs. Mad Tiger"
The article states: "Victor Lee, nicknamed The Tiger, is known for his tireless offense and devastating striking ability; Evander Holyfield, the technically perfect 'Mr. Perfect,' possesses one of the smartest minds in boxing history. This is a clash of styles, and a new generation challenging the old."
The controversy is even more intense among boxing fans.
In a boxing gym in Chicago's South Side, veteran coach Marcus and a group of young boxing fans gathered around a television to watch a recording of Holyfield's fight.
"Look here,"
Marcus paused the video, saying, "Hollyfield's defensive positioning was almost perfect. His counter-attack speed is like a cobra."
A young boxing fan retorted, "But Viktor's power is enough to destroy any defense! Look how he dealt with Riddick Bowe; he finished the fight in the fifth round!"
“Hollyfield is not Bao,”
Marcus shook his head. "He's smarter, more resilient. And Victor..."
The veteran coach hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but then stopped.
"What's wrong with Viktor?"
"Three title defenses in six months—this is an unprecedented intensity. The physical exertion is cumulative. I'm worried..."
"The mad tiger needs no rest!"
The young man interrupted excitedly, "He is the new generation of steel-willed warriors!!"
Chapter 158 The Two Kings of the Boxing Ring
Similar debates are taking place in bars, gyms, and offices across the United States.
The odds offered in Las Vegas slightly favored Holyfield, but more people were betting on Victor.
The public was drawn to the Chinese-American boxer's frenzied fighting pace and destructive style, and the nickname "Mad Tiger" quickly spread.
Meanwhile, at a training camp outside Chicago, Victor Lee had just finished his morning training session.
Sweat soaked through his vest, outlining his rock-hard muscles.
He let out a low growl and continued his fierce attack on the sandbag.
Left straight punch, right hook, left swing punch – a combination of punches rained down on the sandbag, producing a dull thud.
The sandbags were shaking so violently that they seemed about to fall off the chains at any moment.
The training hall was filled with the scents of sweat, leather, and hard work.
The walls were covered with photos and technical analysis charts of Holyfield's matches.
The television in the corner kept replaying recordings of Holyfield's matches.
Franchi watched from the doorway, his face a mixture of pride and worry.
He witnessed firsthand how this young man transformed from a street fighter in Chicago's slums into a world champion.
Viktor's success was not accidental, but stemmed from his almost self-destructive training attitude and his hunger for victory.
"Take a break, Viktor!"
Frankie finally shouted, "You've been training since five in the morning!"
Victor didn't stop attacking; instead, he quickened his pace: "Holyfield won't rest, so why should I?"
"Because Holyfield doesn't play three world championship matches in six months!"
Frankie walked into the training field, picked up a towel and a water bottle, and said, "You need to train scientifically, not torture yourself."
Viktor finally stopped, took the water bottle, and took small sips of water.
His breathing was heavy but steady, demonstrating his amazing physical condition.
"Scientific training?"
Victor raised an eyebrow. "Like Tyson? Picking easy targets and playing an exhibition match once a month?"
Frankie sighed, "Tyson has that old fox Don King controlling everything. They want to extend his championship career as much as possible and make more money."
"And I want to prove that I am the greatest boxer of all time."
Victor's eyes burned. "Money matters, Frankie, you know where I come from. But legends last longer than money."
Frankie fell silent at these words.
He knew about Victor's past—a Chinese-American boy who grew up in a poor neighborhood in Chicago and experienced discrimination, poverty, and violence.
Boxing was not only his way of escaping that kind of life, but also his way of proving himself to the world—something his team needed him to do.
The afternoon training was more professional.
The defensive coach focused on training Victor to counter Holyfield's famous "clinching tactic"—a strategy of wearing down an opponent's stamina in close-quarters clinching.
"Hollyfield will try to get close to you and limit your space to exert force."
The coach instructed, "You need to maintain distance and control the pace with jabs."
Viktor nodded, agreeing to apply these strategies in live-fire training.
His movement is far more agile than most people realize—despite being known for his strength, his footwork and dodging abilities are underestimated.
As evening fell, Viktor underwent his most unusual training exercise—smashing stones.
This is a training method he borrowed from traditional Chinese martial arts: striking stones of different hardness with a hammer to get used to the shockwave, thereby strengthening the hardness of his fists and his mental resilience.
As the sun sets, the training camp is bathed in gold.
Viktor, shirtless, faced a granite block and struck its surface.
"Enough, Viktor!"
Frankie couldn't stand it anymore, "Your hands will be ruined!"
Victor didn't stop; instead, he pounded the stone even harder, each blow carrying astonishing power and control.
Is this rock harder than Holyfield's chin?
"Of course not, but..."
"That's no problem."
Viktor continued training, his sweat splattering in the sunset, creating a brutal yet magnificent scene: "My power delivery isn't simple and straightforward enough."
That evening, Victor was alone in the film room studying Holyfield's game footage.
He paid particular attention to Holyfield's performance in the fight against Dwight Mohammed Kavi—how Holyfield recovered after being hit hard and how he adjusted his strategy to ultimately win.
"You are very strong,"
Victor murmured to himself as he looked at Holyfield on the screen, "But I'm stronger."
The phone rang; it was Tyson.
The two boxing champions have a strange friendship—they are rivals, yet they respect each other.
"I heard you're going to fight Holyfield?"
Tyson's voice was as high-pitched as ever.
"Haven't I congratulated you on defeating the Soviet war machine to become the WBO champion yet?"
Viktor retorted.
Tyson laughed: "Ivan Drago? That guy has a punching power of 1800 pounds, all muscle and zero brains. Dodge his attacks and then knock him out with one punch."
"Congratulations. But be careful of Don King, he doesn't seem like a good guy."
"Tang Jin is very good."