The American TV series "Four-Round Boxing Champion Starts with Shameless"

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Jose stared at his coach with his only remaining open left eye, blood and sweat dripping from his face.

He pushed away the ice pack, his voice hoarse from his injury but unusually firm: "It won't end! Unless he kills me!"

Albert looked at the inextinguishable flame in his disciple's eyes, finally nodded heavily, and began to prepare for the next round.

On the other side, Victor wiped the sweat from his forehead: "My God, what is he made of?"

Old Jack looked at him seriously: "Victor, take him down once! Dragging this out won't do anyone any good, and if we keep going, he might die!"

Viktor glanced at the opposite corner, a hint of respect for José appearing in his eyes for the first time: "I will."

Chapter 182 The King of Four Rounds!

As soon as the bell rang to start the fourth round, Victor dashed out of the corner like an arrow.

The echo of the metal bell still reverberated in the air as his gauntlets tore through the oppressive atmosphere.

At this moment, he was not only the defending champion, but also a warrior forced to become an executioner.

He knew he had to end the match as soon as possible, both for his own championship honor and for the brave warrior on the other side who refused to admit defeat—José Ribalta, a man who was already battered and bruised but still stood tall.

"It's started! Defending champion Victor Lee has launched an attack without hesitation!"

Commentator Carton's voice echoed throughout the stadium through the microphone, "He understands that every extra second is torture for Ribalta's body! Finishing quickly is the only mercy!"

Victor's offensive was like a storm, each punch carrying precise destructive power.

The left hooks struck Jose's already injured ribs repeatedly, producing dull thuds.

The right straight punches continued to strike around the swollen right eye, causing the already bruised wound to burst open, and blood and sweat splattered in the air.

"Left hook lands! Right straight! Another left hook! Ribalta is just absorbing the damage! He's like a punching bag, taking all the champion's wrath!"

Carton spoke so fast it was almost suffocating, “But this is an opponent whose punches are heavier than Tyson’s and whose defense is at its peak. He can fight Tyson for ten rounds, but he’s no match for Viktor!”

José's steps were faltering, and his movements became slow and clumsy.

Each beating caused his body to shake violently, but he stubbornly continued to move forward.

His vision may have blurred, but his will remained clear—to continue fighting until he could no longer fight.

“Heartbreaking images,”

Another commentator, Rocky, had a noticeable sob in his voice, saying, "This goes beyond the realm of sports; it's a display of willpower! Ribalta could have fallen, but he chose to stay standing!"

Viktor was torn by an internal struggle.

As a professional boxer, he craves victory;

As a human being, he was awestruck by his opponent's tenacity.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jose's coach gripping the railing tightly in the corner, his knuckles white from the force.

The shouts from the audience seemed distant and unreal, as if they were blocked out by an invisible barrier.

"I must end this battle,"

Viktor silently said to himself, "It's for his own good."

A heavy right hook struck Jose squarely in the liver, the sound like a baseball bat hitting a bag of wet sand.

José bent over in pain, kneeling on one knee, sweat dripping from his blood-covered face onto the advertising-covered boxing ring.

"Knockdown! Fourth knockdown!"

Kardon shouted, "Referee, start the countdown!"

“Viktor made rapid progress after his fight with Tyson, and from the championship fight onwards, he has always finished the match within four rounds.”

Rocky was building momentum: "If we win today, Victor will have finished eight consecutive fights in four rounds!"

"welcome····"

Kardon continued shouting, "King of Four Rounds!"

Various sounds erupted inside the stadium—screams, shouts, and heartbroken sobs.

The referee knelt on one knee in front of José and loudly counted, "One! Two! Three!"

Vic retreated to a neutral corner, his breathing heavy and rhythmic.

He saw that José's eyes were so swollen that he could barely open them, but an inextinguishable flame still burned within them.

"Four! Five!"

When he counted to five, José began to struggle to get up again.

His arms trembled violently, as if they could not support his own weight.

"Don't get up, José! Please!"

His coach yelled from the corner, his voice hoarse and desperate, "Let it end like this! You've proven yourself!"

But José still stood up, his face showing a stubbornness that almost transcended pain.

He shook his head, as if trying to clear his head, and then signaled to the referee that he could continue.

As soon as the bell rang to resume the match, Victor immediately stepped forward to end the fight.

His combination punches were as precise and brutal as a machine—a left hook to the jaw, a right straight to the face, and an uppercut aimed at the abdomen.

Forty-five heavy punches landed in quick succession, with almost none missing their mark.

"Too cruel!"

"This is a massacre!" Karton exclaimed.

Jose fell to the ground again. This time he couldn’t even try to get up immediately. He just lay on the boxing ring, breathing heavily. Blood flowed from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, forming a dark stain that kept expanding on the canvas.

"A second knockdown! Will the referee stop the match?"

Carton asked the question that was on everyone's mind.

The referee started counting down again, his eyes never leaving José's face.

When he counted to "eight," José began to struggle to his feet once more. His movements were painfully slow, as if every muscle fiber was rebelling against the decision, but his mind forced his body to obey.

Just as the referee was about to wave to end the game, José stood up again!

The audience erupted in thunderous applause, many with tears in their eyes, standing up to pay tribute to this indomitable warrior.

But the referee knew that this was no longer a game, but a one-sided massacre.

He hugged José protectively, carefully examining his eyes—eyes that could no longer focus.

Then, he made the decisive gesture, waving his hand to end the game!

"Match over! Victor Lee wins by TKO!"

Carton announced, but his voice lacked its usual excitement, carrying only a heavy sense of relief: "The King of Four Rounds has won!"

Jose struggled and protested, “No! I can still fight! I can still fight!” But his coach had already jumped into the ring and grabbed him, preventing him from making any more futile efforts.

Instead of celebrating, Victor immediately went to Jose.

He took off his boxing gloves and gently patted José on the shoulder: "You are the strongest warrior I have ever met."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was loud enough for José to hear: "I have never seen anyone like you. It is the greatest honor for me to defeat you!"

Jose looked at Victor with his only open eyes, his swollen lips trembling slightly.

Finally, he nodded, a gesture of recognition from one warrior to another.

No words were spoken, but this simple gesture spoke volumes.

Medical personnel quickly boarded the boxing ring and began treating Jose's wounds.

Viktor stepped aside, watching all of this, his heart filled with complex emotions.

He won the fight and defended his title, but the real hero tonight was the one who would rather be carried off the ring than admit defeat.

The audience continued to applaud, the applause relentless, like an unending tide.

This is not applause for the victor, but for the warrior who proved that human will can transcend the limits of the physical body.

In the locker room, despite having eighteen stitches in his face, José told the media, "I will be back. This is not the end. A true warrior is not someone who never falls, but someone who can get back up every time he falls."

After the match, Viktor stood in front of reporters, but his mind was clearly still on the game.

“Victor, why did you decide to cover Ribalta’s medical expenses and send him back to Chicago?”

A reporter asked.

Viktor wiped the sweat from his brow, his expression serious: "Boxing is a brutal sport, but we are all brothers warriors. Jose's courage and willpower deserve everyone's respect. His fighting spirit is as strong as the indomitable will of the Cuban people."

“Tonight I witnessed a true champion. The gold belt can belong to anyone, but José Ribalta proved what the spirit of boxing is—never give up and always fight to the end.”

Meanwhile, José, who was receiving initial treatment at the hospital, was also surrounded by reporters.

"Mr. Ribalta, why do you refuse to admit defeat even when you are clearly at a disadvantage?"

José's lips were cracked and swollen, making it difficult for him to speak, but he spoke clearly: "I'm from Cuba, and we never give up easily. Victor is the better boxer, but Ribalta never backs down."

That evening, Victor personally accompanied Jose to the airport and arranged for him to return to Chicago's best hospital on a medical plane.

The two soldiers shook hands and said goodbye at the airport, their pre-match animosity transformed into deep mutual respect.

"Next time, I'll be prepared."

José mumbled, trying to force a smile on his swollen face.

Victor nodded: "I have no doubt about it."

Back at the hotel, Victor found Rocky Balboa waiting for him in the lobby.

"An impressive match,"

The former champion said, "You two showed the heart of a champion tonight."

Victor smiled wearily. "Thank you, Rocky. It means a lot, especially from you."

Rocky handed him a business card: "Perhaps I can work for you."

Victor took the business card and realized that despite losing his fortune, Rocky still maintained the demeanor of a champion.

This reminded him of José—sometimes, boxing is not just about winning or losing, but also about how you deal with winning and losing.