novelhk Page 201
Page 201
"Because I have no choice. The IBF's mandatory challenge rule makes me very uncomfortable, and the IBF does not allow me to avoid the fight."
Traudl's inconsistent statements clearly stem from his deafness to the IBF's warning: "If you win, I need you to be fully focused on preparing for our match, not worrying about opportunities slipping away. If you lose... well, then the problem is solved."
Viktor understood.
Traudl wanted to ensure that he wouldn't underperform due to disappointment, thereby diminishing the value of future matches.
Everything is business.
“I appreciate your directness, Traudl. We’ll talk again after October 20th.”
After hanging up the phone, Victor felt a strange sense of calm.
Traudl's assurances eased his anxiety, allowing him to focus entirely on the challenges at hand rather than the uncertainties of the future.
In the third week, Viktor began working with Andriy Popov, a specially hired Ukrainian sparring partner.
Popov had played against the Klitschko brothers in amateur matches and knew their style.
“Vitali looks like a power boxer, but he’s actually very smart.”
Popov said in broken English, while moving around the ring with Viktor, "He likes to control the distance, probe with jabs, and then suddenly launch a combination punch."
Vic nodded, dodging Popov's jab: "I noticed his right fist was very powerful."
"But his real weapon is the left hook."
Popov demonstrated a move that Vitaly often used: "He would often pretend to use his right hand, but actually prepare a left hook. Many opponents fell for it."
After the training session, Solomon and Popov had a long discussion.
The old man kept taking notes and adjusting his strategy.
That night, the team held a meeting until late.
“We need to reassess Vitaly’s left-hand threat.”
Solomon drew a diagram on the whiteboard. "Popov pointed out that Vitaly's left hook was very tricky, coming from an unexpected direction."
Old Jack frowned: "Then how do we defend?"
"It's not defense, it's prevention."
Victor suddenly said, and everyone turned to look at him, “We can’t just sit back and wait for his left hook. We have to put pressure on him and force him to stay on the defensive, so he doesn’t have a chance to throw a left hook.”
Solomon's eyes lit up: "Continue, Victor."
“Vitali is tall and has a long reach, and prefers to fight at mid- to long-range.”
Victor stood up and demonstrated the move, "We need to penetrate the paint and attack close to the body. He's tall, so he'll be uncomfortable playing inside."
The meeting lasted until the early hours of the morning, during which a new tactic was devised – a pressing offensive, continuous physical attacks, and limiting Vitaly's space to move.
This is very consistent with Viktor's previous playing style.
In subsequent training sessions, Viktor focused on implementing the new strategy.
He continued to practice his quick-break techniques, how to close the distance to his opponent while blocking, and how to unleash powerful combinations of punches inside the paint.
Sometimes he would feel tired, but whenever that happened, he would remember Vitaly's "outdated" comment, and then he would be full of energy again.
Chapter 169 The Performance in Chicago
The salty sea breeze of Atlantic City, carrying the noise and extravagance of the casinos, caressed a heavily guarded private villa on the coast.
Victor stood in front of a huge floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the turbulent Atlantic Ocean.
Inside the gym, the dull thud of punching the heavy bag echoed regularly, a testament to his preparations for the crucial boxing match against the giant Vitali Klitschko that was just around the corner.
Sweat soaked through his training clothes, and every muscle was tense in anticipation of the violent collision to come.
However, a large part of his thoughts were on Chicago, a major city in the Midwest, thousands of kilometers away.
For him, the boxing ring was a stage to showcase his personal strength and wildness, while the economic battlefield of Chicago, and even the whole of America, was the real arena where he competed for wealth and power.
“Victor, Ubelman’s encrypted line.”
Michael appeared silently in the doorway, holding a satellite phone.
Viktor stopped hitting, wiped his sweat with a towel, and took the phone.
His voice was deep and imposing, carrying an impatience even through the airwaves:
On the other end of the phone, Chicago politician Congressman Ubelman's voice carried a hint of obsequiousness and excitement: "Victor, the bill passed! Over 2000 pages, just as we expected, aimed directly at the Japanese. 'Reciprocity,' 'fairness,' such sweet words, but it's crammed full of protectionism and restrictive clauses."
Viktor's lips curled into a cold smile, his gaze still fixed on the surging waves outside the window.
“Very good. Laws on paper need to be transformed into anger on the streets to truly take effect. Do those people in Tokyo think they can buy the whole of America with cheap radios and cars? They need a profound ‘education’.”
"what do you mean?"
Ubelman asked the question knowing the answer already; he needed precise instructions.
"Imitate? No, surpass. No wonder you were able to break free from your wife's control!"
Victor's voice was as cold as steel, "Like that farce of those nine idiots smashing Toshiba radios on Capitol Hill in July? A piece of cake."
You need to stage something bigger in Chicago, the industrial heart of America! Don't just smash a few small appliances; aim for symbolic targets and deliver a speech that ignites public sentiment.
The theme is simple—the Japanese have stolen our jobs, emptied our factories, and now they want to humiliate us with their rules! We must boycott them and take back everything that belongs to us!
Upelman's breathing quickened with excitement on the other end of the phone: "Understood. I'll organize a grand... patriotic display. The target will be that biggest Japanese electronics store on Michigan Avenue? Live broadcast, guaranteed to be seen throughout Chicago, no, throughout the entire United States!"
"Patriotism? Yes, that's a good reason. Once you've seized control of those Japanese industries, big shots will naturally come looking for you."
Victor sneered, "Remember, Ubelman, what Chicagoans, and indeed all Americans, want is not a polite protest. They want anger, a wave that can burn through the front pages of newspapers."
They diverted public discontent with the economic recession and fear of the future from the government and directed all the blame onto the Japanese people.
Black-white conflict? The mutual animosity between lower-class Black people and poor redneck white people is wasting too much energy; it's time to give them a common enemy.
“Excellent, sir! This will definitely divert attention! But once the anger is ignited, it will be difficult to control its scale…”
Ubelman hesitated for a moment.
"Control? That's not what Congress is asking of you! The police are the ones who maintain order. If they can't control things, they'll be the ones letting the government down!"
Viktor interrupted him, his tone tinged with sarcasm, "Why do you want complete control? Chaos is a ladder, Congressman Ubelman. Moderate, beneficial chaos can give us more leverage. As long as our core interests are not compromised."
Skycity Corporation will ensure that the safe areas are absolutely safe. As for the rest... let Chicago burn for a while. Let Washington and Tokyo see just how strong the American people's demand for 'fairness' is.”
Victor put his gloves back on and began punching the sandbag even harder.
The loud bangs seemed to foreshadow an impending storm in Chicago.
Shortly after, Victor made a new phone call:
"Blair, are our electronics factories ready to start production?"
"Those underground factories that plagiarize other products."
"Alright! Let's go all out on production! Change the name, and then we can start production."
······
One afternoon in September 1987, on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, the autumn air was crisp and clear, but an unusual restlessness permeated the atmosphere.
Several local television stations' broadcast vans were already in place, reporters whispered among themselves, and curious crowds gathered.
Congressman Ubelman stood on a makeshift platform in front of a large Japanese electronics store. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his hair was neatly combed, and his face was filled with a mixture of excitement at being the focus of the camera and a deliberately feigned sadness.
Behind him stood several supporters with equally serious expressions, and a mountain of Japanese goods—Toshiba radios, Sony Walkmans, Panasonic televisions, Nintendo game consoles, and even a few Canon cameras.
The loudspeaker carried Ubelman's impassioned voice throughout the entire street:
"Fellow citizens! Citizens of Chicago! Look around you!"
He waved his arm, pointing to the shops and goods behind him, "What are these shiny products? Are they 'gifts' from Japan? No!"
They are bullets fired into the heart of our industry! They are the culprits that have stolen the jobs of our fathers, brothers, and sons!
The crowd began to stir, and the whispers turned into shouts of approval.
"The gentlemen in Washington have finally acted! They're supporting us!"
He waved a thick copy of a document—a summary of the lengthy trade bill—"They gave us legal weapons! But the law needs power! It needs the actions of every American to uphold it!"
The Japanese talk to us about 'reciprocity'? Why didn't they talk about reciprocity when they closed their markets to us? Why didn't they talk about fairness when they used dumping to bankrupt our factories?
His voice grew louder and louder: "In July, in Washington, patriots smashed Toshiba radios with hammers! Today, in Chicago, we will tell the Japanese with an even louder voice:"
We've had enough! We want fair trade! We want to protect our jobs! We want to take back everything that belongs to America!
As he spoke, he suddenly took a huge long-handled hammer from his assistant.
The camera followed him closely.
Boycott Japanese goods! Buy domestic products! Get Americans back to working for Americans!
He shouted slogans and smashed the hammer down on a brand new Sony television!
The screen shattered, making a piercing sound.
That sound was like a starting gun!
The people behind him swarmed forward, using hammers, baseball bats, and even their feet to frantically destroy the mountain of Japanese electronics.
The sounds of shattering and exploding were incessant, with plastic and glass shards flying everywhere.
The crowd's emotions were instantly ignited!
Long-suppressed feelings of economic disillusionment, resentment towards foreign competitors, and a surge of narrow-minded patriotism found an outlet at this moment.
"Smash them!"
"Get out, Japanese!"
"America for Americans!"
Roars, whistles, and cheers filled the air.
Reporters' flashbulbs went off wild, capturing this incredible scene.
Ubelman stood on the stage, looking at the excited crowd below, a satisfied smile on his face.
He knew that the performance was a great success and that he would be the focus of national news the next day.