harleyscars Page 139
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He fell asleep at night with excruciating pain burning all over his body.
Sleep became the only time his body could repair itself, and pain became the most potent anesthetic, dragging him into a deep, bottomless slumber.
However, this almost insane tempering has an outstanding effect, especially in that the potential of the three talents is stimulated and released under the torment.
······
June 15, 1986, the final comprehensive physical examination before the competition.
The doctor stared at the X-ray in his hand, his face filled with disbelief.
He pushed up his glasses, leaned closer and looked at him carefully for a long time, then looked up at Viktor's towering figure with the eyes of someone looking at a non-human being.
"Mr. Lee."
The doctor organized his thoughts, “The way your ribs…healed and their density…it’s amazing. The previous minor fractures and marks of injury have completely disappeared; they look…they look almost like they’ve fused together into one, an incredibly strong piece of armor for your ribcage. And your entire skeleton, the bone density and thickness are far beyond what is normal.”
Viktor listened in silence, his face expressionless, as if the doctor were talking about someone else's body.
The hellish training he'd undergone in recent months, with countless injuries and repairs, had caused his body to evolve in an extreme way.
The scale reading remained steadily at 400 pounds.
Despite enduring such immense exertion and unimaginable pain, his weight did not decrease at all, and his muscle mass even increased.
This body is already a perfect machine born for boxing, tough, powerful, and quick-reacting.
Frankie held the medical report, grinning from ear to ear; he could already see the box office and betting numbers smiling down on him.
Old Jack patted Victor's arm and said with emotion:
“Victor, you already had the world’s strongest shield, and now you’ve reinforced it with steel!”
European coaches quietly recorded the data in their notebooks, adding the note: "A physiological miracle."
Viktor simply clenched his fist, feeling the surging power within him and the solidity deeply embedded in his bones.
The pain was not in vain; it transformed into a real defense.
But he knew the real test wasn't in the medical examination room.
······
On June 16, with business progressing steadily and Blair putting everyone at ease, Victor set off for Las Vegas after receiving the audit data.
The hustle and bustle of the airport contrasted sharply with the tranquility in his heart.
Reporters swarmed around like sharks smelling blood, flashes going off and questions raining down on them.
"Victor! What's your strategy for facing Tyson Fury?"
"Can you really withstand Fury's combination punches?"
"Could your powerful punch end the match early?"
"It's said that your physical strength is incredible. Is that the source of your confidence in defeating Fury?"
Viktor walked along surrounded by his team and Skyline Security, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, revealing only his rounded chin and tightly pursed lips.
He remained almost completely silent, like a moving boulder, ignoring the surrounding noise.
Until a voice, exceptionally sharp, pierced through the noise:
"Hey! Viktor! A lot of people say you went to the training camp because you were scared, that you were hiding! Is your self-torture training a way to cover up your fear of Fury? How many of Fury's punches do you think your bones can withstand?"
The question was asked by a journalist known for his harshness.
Viktor stopped in his tracks.
He slowly turned around, facing the reporter.
The scene quieted down considerably immediately.
He took off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of cold and calm eyes. There was no anger or emotion in those eyes, only unfathomable focus.
"I lost the fight against Tyson! There's no doubt about it!"
Viktor's voice wasn't loud, but it had a metallic quality that clearly reached everyone's ears: "But I won't lose a second time!"
After saying that, he ignored all reactions, put his sunglasses back on, and turned to blend into the flow of people boarding the plane. He left behind a commotion and the reporter whose face flushed red and then turned pale.
······
Las Vegas, the city that never sleeps, where neon lights try to mask all the darkness and tension.
The air was thick with the scent of money, desire, and adventure.
The atmosphere surrounding the WB0 heavyweight boxing bout has ignited the city, with everyone talking about tomorrow's match.
Tyson Fury, at the time, was the undisputed king of the boxing world. He was flamboyant, highly skilled, and known for his devastating punches and agile movements.
His pre-match interviews were full of his signature arrogance and psychological warfare.
"Victor Lee?"
At the pre-match press conference, Fury laughed loudly into the numerous microphones, "He's a good punching bag, I admit he's tough. But what's the purpose of a punching bag? To get hit!"
I'll have him on the floor in one round! He'll find that the rubber batons at training camp are like a mother's caress compared to my fists! 400 pounds? Perfect, the fall will be even louder!
Fury's team joined in the laughter, creating a relaxed yet provocative atmosphere.
In contrast, Victor's pre-match press conference was unusually dull.
He remained concise and to the point.
"He spoke very well, which shows that his parents gave him a good tongue."
When asked about his opinion on Fury's comments, Victor said, "Tomorrow night, in the ring, I'll give him a reason he can't refuse to shut him up!"
A reporter pressed further, "How do you plan to deal with his speed and power?"
Viktor looked sharply at the reporter who had asked the question: "He has his plans, and I have mine. My plan is to take whatever comes his way, and then give him something he can't afford."
His words were calm, yet they contained a chilling determination.
This wasn't the kind of outward arrogance that Fury displayed, but rather a restrained confidence, as suppressed as the deep sea yet containing terrifying energy.
······
At night, Victor stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of his hotel room, overlooking the dazzling yet artificial prosperity of Las Vegas.
On a huge neon billboard, promotional videos for his match against Fury were playing.
The outside world was a crazy place, but his heart was as still as a deep well.
He recalled those nights in the training camp when he fell asleep in pain, the excruciating pain of each rubber baton hitting his body, and the struggle on the verge of exhaustion.
The pain didn't disappear; it became memories, settling into his bones and muscles, becoming a part of him.
After facing Tyson, Viktor, even when facing opponents like Tyson Fury, though terrifying, could no longer feel fear – how could someone who has fought a tiger be afraid of a jackal?
His mental preparation was completed during those painful nights.
With each blow, he silently repeated in his heart:
Is this comparable to Tyson's powerful punch?
Can it be stronger?
Can my body handle it?
Can willpower collapse?
The answer became clear through repeated self-examination:
It can hold on; it won't collapse.
His body was ready: steel-like bones, lightning-fast reflexes, and devastating power.
Viktor's will was also tempered in the painful furnace, becoming harder than steel.
What he craves now is not cheers, not honors, not even a gold belt.
What he longed for was a test, a test of the value of those months of suffering, a test of the significance of his self-tempering, a test of what kind of brilliance this body, which had endured countless blows, could unleash.
He clenched his fist, his knuckles making a slight cracking sound.
The glitz and glamour outside the window held no appeal for him; his gaze seemed to have pierced through time and space, reaching the boxing ring bathed in spotlights the following night.
That place will be the final resting place for all his pain, endurance, and faith.
Therefore, Victor rejected Alice and Caroline's advances.
Chapter 117 I'll Buy Myself!
On June 17, 1986, the afternoon heat in Las Vegas was scorching, but it couldn't compare to the boiling excitement generated by the heavyweight boxing match that was about to take place inside the MGM Grand Garden Arena.
At the weigh-in ceremony, spotlights flashed incessantly as reporters aimed their cameras and microphones at the two giants on the ring.
There is no weight limit in heavyweight competitions, so the weigh-in ceremony is more for those below the heavyweight class—the two heavyweights don't even need to be weighed in; visual estimation is enough.
First up is the challenger, Victor Lee.
As he stepped onto the stage, a murmur of surprise and whispers rose from the audience.
Standing at 186cm tall and weighing a hefty 400 pounds, he doesn't look like an agile boxer, but rather like a moving iron tower.
However, his exaggerated muscle lines and cold, calm eyes revealed the terrifying power contained within this massive body.
His wingspan reaches an astonishing 204 centimeters, enough to pose a threat from mid-to-long range.
Immediately following, former WBO world champion Tyson Fury, known as the "Gypsy King," took the stage.
Standing at 206cm tall with a 216cm wingspan, this technically gifted genius, as always, blew kisses to the audience with a nonchalant smile.
His weight is 286 pounds, an increase of six pounds from the last publicly released data, which is clearly preparation for increasing his weight and strengthening his resistance to blows in response to Victor Lee's strength.
But his steps were light, a stark contrast to Viktor's heavy ones.
The two faced off on stage, their physiques clearly different and their styles quite distinct.
Fury attempted his usual psychological tactics, speaking condescendingly to Viktor with a mocking smile.
Viktor simply stared at him expressionlessly, his eyes sharp as ice picks, which made Fury's smile stiffen slightly.
Just as the weigh-in ceremony was about to end, Victor Lee suddenly stepped forward and pulled a neatly folded paper ticket from his sweatpants pocket.