dmims Page 229
Page 229
He arrogantly raised his gold belt, made a KO gesture, and glanced defiantly at Wladimir Klitschko's team in the audience.
Vladimir Klitschko, who took the stage next, was a completely different style.
He is 199cm tall, has an even longer wingspan of 214cm, a slender and fit physique, and a more standard weight of 245 pounds.
His expression was calm, and his blue eyes revealed a scholarly focus and analysis, as if he were about to participate in a chess competition rather than a barbaric gladiatorial contest.
His muscles are clearly defined, like a Renaissance sculpture, showcasing a combination of efficiency and technology.
The two stood together, like the ultimate showdown between a powerful beast and a technological genius.
The moment they locked eyes, tensions instantly flared up.
Viktor shoved his forehead forward, almost hitting Klitschko's nose, and hurled insults at him in English: "Ready for an early sleep, Doctor? The beds in Denmark are very soft!"
Klitschko, standing high above with a cold gaze and unwavering resolve, simply replied in English with a slight Eastern European accent: "Your nonsense will disappear when you fall."
Team members from both sides quickly stepped forward to separate the two who were on the verge of exchanging blows, and the sound of camera shutters clicking filled the air.
The weighing result is correct.
War is imminent.
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The Danish Sports Centre, a circular stadium that can hold 40,000 people, was packed to capacity.
The sound waves were almost tangible, assaulting everyone's eardrums. The air was thick with the mingled smells of sweat, beer, and popcorn, and a pure, primal craving for gladiatorial combat.
The spotlight swept across the audience, revealing socialites, Hollywood stars, and sports celebrities, but mostly ordinary, enthusiastic boxing fans.
They waved banknotes, placed bets on the boxers they supported, and shouted themselves hoarse.
The majority of the audience consisted of European supporters of Wladimir Klitschko, who sang adapted versions of Ukrainian folk songs and waved blue and yellow flags.
Meanwhile, Viktor's supporters, who had traveled all the way from the United States, responded with a more direct and rude chant of "KO! KO!"
In the VIP section, Vitali Klitschko sat upright, his expression already grave.
He knew his brother better than anyone else, and he was more aware than anyone of the danger Victor Lee's devastating punches.
Beside him were Wladimir Klitschko's coaching staff, all with serious expressions, flipping through the tactics board and making final arrangements.
On the other side, in Victor's corner, the presence of a figure is eye-catching—Max Black.
This stunningly beautiful woman appeared beside Victor for the first time.
This changed Victor Lee's gaze from maniacal to one filled with a calm, all-knowing killing intent.
Old Jack repeatedly emphasized, "Mid lane, don't give him any space!"
Victor was in high spirits. Thanks to Max's help in New York these past few days, he had even managed to invite Max to travel to Denmark—a pretty good breakthrough.
In the commentary booth, two veteran European commentators were warming up the audience.
"Welcome to Copenhagen! Tonight is destined to be a night to remember in heavyweight boxing history!"
The main commentator's voice was loud and clear.
The partner chimed in, “Two kings with completely different styles! Victor Lee, a human tank, can change the game with a single punch! But his technique, especially his defense, has always been controversial.”
Vladimir Klitschko, a technical master, possesses textbook-level jabs and distance control. I predict Klitschko can utilize his reach advantage to win on points, or even finish the fight by accumulating enough damage in the later stages.
“I agree. Viktor’s gamble is too risky. Klitschko’s jaw is not fragile, and his tactical execution is extremely strong. If Viktor cannot quickly close the gap and apply pressure, he will be in a very passive position.”
Their analysis represented the views of the vast majority of experts before the match:
Technological restraint of power.
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But that's not the case.
"clang--!"
The tolling of the bell, like a sharp blade cutting through shackles, echoed crisply yet heavily throughout the packed stadium.
Before the sound of the crowd had completely subsided, it was swallowed up by the thunderous cheers of the audience.
Under the spotlight, the boxing ring resembled a sacred yet brutal gladiatorial arena, where two giants stood tall, the air thick with intense anticipation.
As everyone expected, Vladimir Klitschko, the technical master, was the first to start it up.
His movements were calm to the point of being cold, like a precision machine that had been fully warmed up.
The forward slide is swift and efficient, with each step precisely measuring the distance.
His famous 214-centimeter-long arms, like the lances of a medieval knight, suddenly thrust out!
The sound of something cutting through the air was sharp.
The purpose of this punch is extremely clear: to control, probe, and establish one's own territory, using an invisible fence of jabs to keep the opponent at a safe distance, and gradually lead them into a familiar rhythm trap.
This is the cornerstone of the Klitschko dynasty, where countless powerful figures struggled in vain against this seemingly simple and repetitive jab, ultimately collapsing.
However, today, the iron law seems to have met its nemesis.
Victor Lee, the "beast" known for his savage charges and devastating punches, did not recklessly charge headlong into the fray as almost all the experts predicted before the fight, attempting to tear a gap with brute force.
His reaction silenced the fans on the sidelines who were holding up signs that read "KO in three rounds" and shouting wildly for a moment.
There was no significant swaying, no cautious parrying.
It was just a lightning-fast, minimally sized, millimeter-precise dive sideways movement!
His movements were clean and swift, carrying an unprecedented, calm yet explosive power.
That deadly jab, carrying a strong wind, narrowly grazed his sweaty forehead and hair!
At the same time, in the same microsecond of dodging, Victor's back foot slammed into the ground like an explosive, the tremendous force propelling his massive body forward. It was no longer the usual sweeping, wide-open lunge, but rather like a precision-guided heavy artillery shell flying close to the ground, decisively and fiercely seizing the center of the boxing ring—this strategically vital area!
"Oh my God! Viktor's acceleration is incredible! He's broken right in! He's inside Klitschko's inner circle!"
"What a beautiful dodge! Even Tyson couldn't hit him? Maybe he decided to practice dodging specifically after missing all eighteen of his punches!"
The commentator's voice suddenly rose, filled with disbelief and horror, almost cracking.
Outside the boxing ring, in the area where Wladimir Klitschko's coaching team was located, the previously calm and confident atmosphere cracked for the first time:
"Why so fast?"
"He doesn't want his ankle anymore?"
Head coach Jonathan Banks' facial muscles tensed sharply, and he leaned forward, almost bursting through the ropes: "He's going for the center line to knock out!"
A clear look of surprise flashed in Klitschko's blue eyes, hidden behind his boxing gloves.
Viktor's speed of advance far exceeded all the pre-match data analysis, and his angles were even more tricky and unpredictable. It was completely different from the kind of straight-line charge that relied on instinct and courage that they had repeatedly studied!
His extensive combat experience allowed him to react instinctively:
Step back to create this dangerous distance, while simultaneously raising your right arm to form a defensive stance, tightly sealing your chin—that's Victor Lee's famous "right hook kill zone."
One step at a time, one step at a time!
Viktor, having secured the mid lane, has gained the optimal angle and distance to unleash his power.
His cold gaze locked onto his target without any hesitation.
The set of punches, which had been honed countless times and refined by the coaches with almost cruel methods during the three-month training camp, was like a pre-programmed destruction program that was activated instantly!
This is not the rage of a beast, but the precise killing with the precision of a scalpel!
First strike: Right straight punch!
It's not about swinging at full power; it's about sacrificing some strength to achieve maximum speed and penetrating power.
The fist, like a heavy short spear, pierced through the gap in the frame that Klitschko hadn't fully tightened in his haste, and slammed heavily into his chest, just above his heart!
A muffled thud, terrifyingly heavy, even penetrated the enormous noise of the venue and reached clearly into the ears of the audience in the first few rows.
Klitschko's body jolted violently; all his rhythm and intention to retreat were completely interrupted by this heavy blow, and he gasped for breath.
Second strike: Left hook!
There are almost no gaps visible to the naked eye!
Using the force of his right straight punch retraction and a slight twist of his body, Viktor's left hook, like a lurking viper, whistled through the air, drawing a deadly arc, precisely bypassing Klitschko's right arm, which he instinctively raised to protect his head after being hit, and striking him hard on the left side of his liver!
A painful groan, forced out from deep within his chest, burst forth from Klitschko's throat.
His body convulsed violently and involuntarily, bending sharply to the side where he had been struck, and his face instantly lost all color.
The excruciating pain from a blow to the liver is enough to paralyze even the toughest warrior instantly!
Third strike: Uppercut!
A deadly pursuit!
The brief stiffness caused by the liver strike creates an excellent, undefendable opportunity for a head attack.
Viktor's right arm lashed out again, this time a powerful strike from below, erupting from the middle and carrying the force of his entire body twisting and turning, aimed at the opponent's chin, which was slightly lowered due to the immense pain in his body!
With her champion-level reflexes and survival instincts, Wladimir Klitschko desperately pulled her chin back at the last second, while her neck muscles tensed like iron.
Chapter 194 Defeating Little Klitschko
But the determined uppercut still landed squarely on the junction of his jaw and cheek!
The immense impact caused the Ukrainian's head to snap back violently, his cervical spine seemingly groaning under the strain.
His vision blurred instantly, his image went double, and all his sense of balance was completely taken away!
Little Klitschko staggered backward like a drunkard, only managing to stay upright like a log thanks to the elastic ropes around his back.
Like a vigilant cheetah, the referee quickly closed in, his sharp eyes fixed on Klitschko's unfocused gaze, keeping his distance with outstretched arms, closely monitoring his condition.
"boom--!"
Almost simultaneously, the entire audience jumped up from their seats!
The screams, shouts and roars blended into a deafening sound wave that almost lifted the roof off the stadium!
The game has only been going on for less than 30 seconds!
The referee confirmed that Klitschko was standing only because of the ropes, and immediately waved his hand to begin the forced count!