harleyscars Page 168
Page 168
"I'm going to accuse you of rape!"
“Caroline, I just recorded a video.”
"asshole!!"
Caroline slammed the door and left.
Viktor's gaze fell on the newspapers scattered around, where he saw himself celebrating in a victory pose in the front-page photos.
However, the reality is that he has never felt so constrained.
The gold belt brings not only honor and wealth, but also expectations, demands, and countless hands that try to control his life.
The phone rings again.
Viktor hesitated whether to answer, but thinking it might be about the hearing with his lawyer, he picked up the phone anyway.
"Victor?"
It was the aged yet calm voice of Master Zhao.
Zhao, a boxing master, was one of Viktor's mentors. It was from him that Viktor learned how to generate power and basic boxing routines.
Viktor answered in Chinese.
“I saw the newspaper,”
Zhao the boxer's voice carried a faint smile, "Well done, but you seem to have run into a problem."
Victor gave a wry smile: "How did you know?"
"You killed five!"
The old man said, "The gold belt is very heavy, isn't it?"
Viktor paused for a moment, then admitted softly, "It's much heavier than I expected."
“Remember, Viktor, boxing is an art, not a business. Championship titles are honors, not shackles, so don’t be afraid to lose them.”
Master Zhao paused for a moment, then continued, “It is difficult for us to change the whole society, but we are constantly changing it. It is not possible for one or two people to stand up and make them truly accept us. After all, we are not the same kind of people. We can choose other ways to assimilate them.”
Even after the call ended, Zhao's words still echoed in Viktor's ears.
At 1:50 p.m., Viktor stood in front of the mirror tying his tie.
The young man in the mirror had black hair and black eyes, with a leopard-like head and piercing eyes. His beard was trimmed into a square mustache, making him look very dignified.
He recalled the narrow streets of the South Side, the sweat and rusty smell of the gym at Foucault Boxing Gym, the tension before his first amateur match…
Now he is a world champion with tens of millions of dollars in his pocket, his company is booming in Chicago with tens of thousands of employees, and his name is known all over the world.
So what else is there to be afraid of?
Are you worried about losing these things?
Chapter 142 Trial
In November 1986, London was shrouded in a cold, damp fog. Pedestrians hurried along the streets, all focused on the upcoming trial to be held at the Central Criminal Court on Old Bailey Street.
This trial will uncover the bloody incident that occurred a month ago in an alley in the East District:
American heavyweight boxer, WBA champion, and Chinese-American Victor Lee killed five armed robbers with his bare hands in an encounter.
To outsiders, Viktor was a typical boxer—arrogant, emotionally charged, and repeatedly provoked others in the ring, as well as the audience.
Sir Simon Leicester, 42, is one of Britain's most renowned criminal defense lawyers. His silver hair is meticulously combed, and his sharp blue eyes can instantly detect flaws in the opponent's words.
Known for his elegant demeanor and dramatic courtroom performances, he secured the acquittal of over thirty defendants accused of murder. Despite his illustrious career, Simon always adhered to one principle:
Before the trial, Victor had difficulty sleeping in his temporary accommodation.
He stood by the window, gazing at the London night view, his mind flashing back to that bloody night.
He could clearly remember the faces of each attacker—the blond young man's trembling hand holding the knife, the scars on the tall man's face, their heavy breathing, and their threatening words.
After the initial excitement comes the mundane troubles—that's because the system isn't up to par, it didn't give me a body of steel, otherwise I could just sit in the sun and turn the earth into a pig farm.
Meanwhile, Simon Lester was carefully studying the case files at his club.
Seeing the knife cuts on Victor's jacket in the photos from the scene, the old lawyer frowned even more deeply.
November 28, Courtroom 11, Central Criminal Court, Old Bailey Street.
The courtroom was packed, with reporters crowding the media area and attendees from all sides in the public gallery—including police representatives, U.S. embassy staff, boxing figures, and the deceased's family.
As Victor entered the courtroom, camera flashes went off everywhere.
He was wearing a dark blue suit, his tense face expressionless—having paid money, one had to trust him completely.
Sir Edmonton, the judge, entered the courtroom, and everyone stood up, officially commencing the trial.
"This case is not about questioning the right to self-defense, but about the limits of the reasonable use of force."
Attorney General Oliver Horsley began by stating, "Mister Lee was a world-class professional boxer whose fists were registered as lethal weapons. We acknowledge that he was robbed, but the question is: when a professional can precisely control the force and the target area, is it necessary to kill all five attackers?"
Sir Simon slowly rose to his feet and walked toward the jury, his gaze sweeping over each member.
"Reasonable force?"
His voice was calm yet powerful: "When a deadly blade is pointed at you simultaneously, what is reasonable? Mr. Horsley, have you ever experienced such a moment? Your life hangs by a thread, there is no way out, every second could be your last?"
Simon paused for a moment, leaving the question hanging in the air, before continuing, “This isn’t a boxing match. There are no rules, no rounds, no referee to protect you. This is survival, pure and simple. My client wasn’t facing a single attacker, but five—five men with knives determined to hurt him. His reaction wasn’t out of sportsmanship, but out of the instinct to survive.”
The first day of the trial ended with Simon showing Victor's slashed coat and shirt, the knife marks clearly visible.
"To cooperate with the robbery?"
Simon held up the clothes. “My client did cooperate the first two times, but greed knows no bounds, and violence only escalates. These knife marks tell us what happened after he backed down twice.”
Prosecutors summoned forensic expert Dr. Amelia Clarke, who attempted to demonstrate that professional boxers can precisely control the force of their attacks.
“Boxers train for years and are able to choose where to strike and how much force to use. Mister Lee chose to strike with lethal force, each blow was a kill, which shows his absolute control and deadly intent.”
Simon stood up and asked, "Dr. Clarke, have you ever received boxing training?"
"No, but I've researched it—"
Have you ever been attacked by five people wielding knives?
"of course not!"
"Then please allow me to ask a more professional question: In a dynamic and ever-changing multi-person attack environment, can even a well-trained boxer precisely control the power and position of every movement?"
Dr. Clarke hesitated for a moment: "Theoretically, under ideal conditions—"
"Ideal conditions?"
Simon interrupted her, raising his voice, "Shall we look at the photos of the scene? Wet ground, dim lighting, five men attacking from different directions. Is this what you call ideal conditions?"
Simon turned to the jury: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a laboratory experiment, this is a battlefield of life and death. My client did not have the right to choose the perfect attack; he only had the right to survive! Only the right to protect himself!"
In the afternoon, Simon testified based on Valuyev's injury results—Victor had spent £30,000.
The boxing giant recounted his experience fighting Viktor.
"In the first round, Victor's powerful punches broke three of my ribs and jawbone,"
Valuyev recalled, stroking his chin, "I was wearing 16-ounce boxing gloves, bandages, and the defensive instincts honed through years of training. Even so, his power still caused serious injury."
Simon pressed further, "What would have happened if that punch had landed directly on your face without the glove's cushioning?"
Valuyev said expressionlessly, "I will die."
"Then please tell the court, when you face a life-threatening situation, what should he do? Gently push away the person who initiated the attack?"
There was a slight commotion in the courtroom, and the judge banged his gavel to order silence.
On the third day of the trial, the atmosphere reached a fever pitch.
The prosecution attempted to question Victor's mental state: "Mister Lee could have chosen to stun the attacker rather than deliver a fatal blow, and his training enabled him to make that distinction."
Sir Simon abruptly stood up from the lawyer's seat, his usually calm face flushed with anger:
"This is the most absurd argument I've ever heard in my career! Mr. Horsley is asking my client to choose the method and force of attack with the precision of a surgeon in a life-or-death situation? Asking someone surrounded by five knife-wielding men to consider the precision of their attack?"
Simon walked toward the jury, his voice trembling with emotion: "The law has never required a defender to measure the precise force of their retaliation! The law recognizes the right of humans to react instinctively when their lives are threatened! My client is not putting on a boxing show; he is fighting for his life!"
The lawyer took a deep breath and continued, "Let's take a look at these so-called 'innocent victims'."
He held up the document: "Jack Morrison, 23, convicted of three robberies;
Michael Skiles, 25, has been convicted of two counts of aggravated assault.
William Tobert, 22 years old, armed robbery;
Thomas Reed, 24, drug trafficking and intentional assault;
Harry Finch, 21, committed two burglaries.
Are these people first-time offenders? Are they lost sheep who have strayed onto the wrong path by chance? No! They are professional criminals who choose to ambush others in the shadows!
Simon put down the file, his voice low and powerful: "The question shouldn't be why my client protected herself so effectively, but why the streets of London are so dangerous that international tourists are forced to face such life-or-death choices? And all she wanted to do was go to a pub!"
The courtroom was completely silent, then erupted in a roar.
Even the judge forgot to strike the gavel to maintain order.
Simon finally turned to the prosecutor's bench: "Mr. Horsley, you and your team are sitting safely in your office, drinking tea and discussing 'appropriate levels of force,' while my client is fighting for his life in a damp, cold alley. How dare you judge his actual fear based on theoretical possibilities?"
·······
After winning a unanimous not guilty verdict from the jury, Sir Simon Leicester unexpectedly filed a countersuit.
"Your Honor, members of the jury, justice requires not only the acquittal of the innocent, but also the correction of the consequences of wrongdoing."
Simon stood in the center of the courtroom, his tone firm, “First, I demand that a portion of the five attackers’ estates be allocated as compensation for Mister Lee’s medical expenses and psychological trauma treatment costs.”
While their primary victims are society, it must be acknowledged that their direct victim was Mister Lee.
Simon then turned to a bigger goal:
"More importantly, this case reveals a disturbing fact: the streets of London are no longer safe. If even an internationally renowned athlete cannot walk safely on the streets, how can ordinary citizens possibly do so?"
My client was not only acting in self-defense, but also standing up for all Londoners against this spreading wave of crime!
The lawyer's immediate goal was not fully achieved—the judge rejected the claim for a refund from the deceased's estate, finding no precedent for such a claim.