chsdbacks Page 74
Page 74
Victor stood up, interrupting old Jack's lecture.
The hot water in the shower washed over Victor's taut muscles.
He closed his eyes, replaying every detail of the match: the disbelief in the California champion's eyes as he fell, the audience's shift from boos to cheers, and the pure thrill of his punch hitting its mark.
Viktor knew that today's victory was more than just advancing to the semifinals.
This was a declaration—to himself, to old Jack, and to the entire boxing world—Victor Lee would not follow anyone’s script.
He turned off the tap and dried himself off.
In the mirror, the wound on his brow bone had begun to turn purple, but his eyes were clearer than ever.
His semi-final match against Alexander Garcia, the seeded fighter known as the 'Cuban Nightmare,' will be the biggest challenge of his boxing career to date.
But at this moment, Viktor felt only anticipation.
Because he knew that no matter what Old Jack said, he would fight in his own way—violent, direct, and ruthless.
As the saying goes, "Driving a nail doesn't require any fancy tricks, you just need to hammer it in, one stroke at a time!"
A light rain began to fall at night, and the raindrops, illuminated by the neon lights, resembled countless tiny diamonds falling.
Victor stood outside Max Black's room, rang the doorbell, and held a bottle of 1982 Lafite in his right hand—Max's favorite vintage.
After the doorbell rang three times, Millie, Max's roommate, opened the door.
Her long hair was casually tied into a ponytail, and she was wearing an oversized Yale Law School T-shirt and athletic shorts—she was from Tennessee.
"Victor?"
Millie's eyes widened in surprise, then she smiled knowingly—she knew, of course, that Victor wasn't there to hold her accountable for her mistake.
"Max is in the study. I think I need to go buy some milk. It will take about half an hour."
She stepped aside to let Victor in, and casually took a light jacket from the hook by the door.
"Thank you, Millie."
Victor handed her a fifty-dollar bill. "The deli around the corner downstairs is still open. Their smoked beef sandwiches are good, but you'll have to wait another half hour."
Millie smiled and shook her head, but still took the money. "I'll be in the cafe for an hour. Note that the soundproofing here is terrible."
Victor shook his head, watched Millie leave, and went straight to the room, knocking on Max's door again—it was a two-bedroom apartment in the hotel.
But after just one knock, the door opened, and warm yellow light leaked out from the crack.
"Miri? I told you not to worry about me—I need to catch up on my sophomore year material right now!"
Max's voice came from inside.
Victor did not push the door open; the wine bottle reflected a soft luster in his hand.
In his study, Max Black was engrossed in a pile of legal documents, his eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses showing signs of fatigue from reading for so long.
Turning around, she saw Victor through the crack in the door and was clearly taken aback. She then took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"My God, Victor. Do you know what time it is?"
Max glanced at the time in the lower right corner of the computer screen—23:47.
Victor swirled the red wine in his hand. "But there are some things that can't be said over the phone. Get dressed first."
Max sighed, got up, buttoned up his pajamas, and took two wine glasses from the mini bar next to the bookshelf.
"Are you going to try to persuade me to stay a third time, Viktor? My answer won't change. And you should be resting now."
Victor skillfully opened the wine glass, the deep red liquid swirling in the glass like a giant white rabbit that even Max's pajamas couldn't stop jumping around.
Chapter 61 Nighttime Secret Talk
"Listen to me, Max. Just this once, the last time before you and I go our separate ways."
Max took the glass and leaned against the edge of the desk.
Slightly messy brown curly hair, and a tense feeling that suggests he's always in a state of deep thought.
Viktor said bluntly, taking a sip of red wine, "I still believe you will be a good agent for me, and I need you."
Max frowned, then downed the wine in one gulp with her sexy red lips—quite a drinker, and her lips were even redder now.
"My studies are the most important thing right now."
"Yes, I did not stop it."
Victor put down his glass and pulled a manila envelope from his pocket. "Just now, an agent tried to persuade me to sign this contract."
Max took the envelope and quickly scanned the documents inside.
As she read on, her brow furrowed more and more deeply.
"This...this is outrageous! A 20% commission? That's practically the limit! And these hidden terms...it's even a bet? Che Guevara should have been sent on a landing operation!"
Max slammed his hand on the table, the impact creating a powerful, turbulent wave.
"This is where I am now that you're gone, Max."
Victor's voice lowered. "I need you back. Not as a friend, but as my agent—my career needs someone of good character."
The study fell into a brief silence, broken only by the sound of raindrops tapping on the window.
Max walked to the window and looked at the blurry city lights outside.
“Victor, I’ve already told you twice.”
Her voice was gentle but firm: "The outcome this time will not change."
"Yes I know."
Victor tried to persuade him, “But this is your life, Max. Boxing is just a job for me, and it’s the same for you as a manager. You have to find a job after graduating from college, and student loans are worse than loan sharks.”
Max turned around and looked at Victor in surprise: "You actually want me to skip college?"
Viktor shrugged and gave a bitter smile:
"Pride makes people foolish, you're absolutely right. I thought I could handle everything—new agent, new sponsors, new training team. But I couldn't, even though I backed down at the very first step of thinking about it."
Viktor pointed to his head: "I don't have that ability. When it comes to being an agent, I'm probably as mentally challenged as those American soldiers who went to Vietnam."
"I'm so sorry, Victor."
Max was somewhat moved, but remained firm: "But even if I wanted to, it's impossible for me to be your agent full-time right now. My courses and internships—I can't give them up."
"Then be my advisor."
Viktor suddenly said—he didn't know about the broken windows theory, but he would pay me back: "Informal. You continue your studies normally, and I'll only appear when I need advice. No contract, no constraints, paid by the hour."
Max hesitated: "This..."
"For God's sake, Max, you are my, my third friend."
Viktor's voice held an unusual plea, "You know how dark the boxing world is. Without you, I'm like a blind man walking through a minefield."
The rain grew louder, and the winding streaks of water on the window distorted the outside lights into strange shapes.
Max stared at Victor—the unruly boxer now had genuine worry in his eyes.
"Being your friend is not a good thing."
Max finally said, "But for Franklin's sake, well, advisor. Informally. But I have a few conditions."
Viktor's eyes lit up, and he raised his glass: "This bottle of wine is my way of thanking you for helping me find the roots of the tree. What are your conditions?"
"First, I need to fully understand all your current contracts and financial situation. Second, if I discover that anyone else is trying to deceive you, I have the right to intervene directly. Finally..."
Max paused for a moment. “If I tell you that something is a bad idea, you have to think about it carefully, instead of stubbornly going along with it as you have done before.”
Victor laughed and raised his glass: "Deal! Cheers to our new partnership."
Max clinked glasses, took a sip of red wine, and suddenly remembered something:
Where did Ethan go on March 17th?
Victor did not hide anything: "On the night of March 22, the night the Golden Gloves are over, Mr. Wilson will die unexpectedly."
Max froze instantly.
He realized what was happening in a few seconds and was about to scold her, but then he suddenly stopped.
"That's risky!"
"Yes I know."
Victor made no secret of his intentions: "But Wilson is a bigger threat. He could have ruined my career because of my indifference, and I almost ended his career this time. He certainly won't let a meal make up for it."
Max remained silent.
Victor continued: "To solve a problem, you either focus on the problem itself or deal with the person who caused it, but Wilson cannot be bought, persuaded, or threatened. This is the only way I can do it."
Max was furious, but very restrained. "You don't need to find a reasonable excuse for your atrocities. You dare to say this here because no one would believe it even if I told them."
Viktor offered no explanation.
Max sat down, his belly quite noticeable, but his thighs even more prominent and rounded.
“Victor, I’m not from an ivory tower. I came from the slums too, so I won’t get upset about these things.”
"I know."
Victor: "You don't want me to use these methods more often."
"Good, you understand. A boxer cannot become a murderer."
Max spread his hands: "I have nothing to do with this. I know nothing about it. I'm just an advisor for now and I won't take any responsibility for it."
Viktor smiled and raised his glass.
······
"So you two talked like that for an hour."
"Nothing happened?"
"For example?"
"For example, 23? Just thinking about it is exciting."