The final round of the elimination tournament had arrived.
Once the sixteen matches concluded, the Top 16 would be set. Eight days later, when all divisions had produced their sixteen finalists, the Golden Gloves Tournament finals would officially begin.
This was the most nerve-wracking moment. For most competitors, reaching this stage required three or four years of buildup. Yet Jason Luo had gotten here in just over four months—something rarely seen.
His match was scheduled as the seventh bout of the day. His feelings were impossible to describe—nervousness, excitement, anticipation, and determination all mixed together. He had already made four trips to the restroom...
Raul hadn't returned yet, but Brown kept working to ease Jason Luo's nerves.
"Don't be so tense. Forget about the outcome—treat it as just another fight. Getting too hyped will only drag down your performance."
But Jason Luo couldn't suppress the complex and intense emotions surging inside him. Finally, Brown gave him a trick: recall every match he'd fought so far.
Jason Luo replayed them in his mind—Jonathan, Hebrey, Morudok, Silvaliev, Sasaki Ichiro, Joseph, Gossagen... He hadn't realized until now how many opponents he had battled through to reach this point. It really hadn't been easy.
Slowly, his emotions began to settle. Brown guided him softly.
"Feels incredible, doesn't it? Jason, you're already very strong. The only reason you don't feel it is because your opponents are also getting stronger. In less than half a year, you've covered ground others take three or four years—sometimes even longer—to travel. That proves just how much talent you have."
"But I'll tell you this—the road ahead is even harder, and it's waiting for you to take it on. I know you want the Gold Belt to repay the Old Devil, but you don't realize how tough that's going to be... Anyway, back to now. This next fight is like the single plank bridge from hell to heaven. Jason, I order you to cross it today. No one can stop your rise. Can you do it?"
Jason Luo straightened up.
"I can! I'll make the Top 16!"
His ringing response startled Raul, who had just run back.
"Quick! It's Wuriqiu, that Mongolian!"
Jason Luo and Brown exchanged a look, both silent. They had prepared themselves, but still felt a twinge of unease. The intel showed that Wuriqiu had once been a wrestler before switching to boxing in the U.S. Since then, relying on his insane toughness and raw Strength, he had bulldozed nearly everyone in his way.
Currently ranked 41st overall in the tournament, he wasn't known for any particular skill—just sheer physical dominance.
But as Brown always said, when you push a single attribute to its absolute limit, the power it produces can be terrifying.
Wuriqiu, 27 years old, originally from Mongolia, now a U.S. citizen.
Height: 182 cm, Reach: 177 cm, Weight: 78.9 kg.
Brown frowned at the numbers.
"This guy definitely dehydrated before weigh-in. No way he landed that weight so precisely otherwise."
Jason Luo blinked. "Dehydrated? How?"
"In the seven or eight days before weigh-in, they drink massive amounts of water the first day to flush the system. Second day, they cut the intake in half, but the body keeps flushing. Third day, they cut more... until eventually they stop drinking entirely. It forces the body into dehydration so they can hit the weight. Once you enter the pro circuit, you'll see this all the time."
Jason Luo's eyes widened.
"These guys are brutal on themselves... that process must be torture."
Brown chuckled.
"Jason, once you really start pushing yourself, you'll realize there are always people out there working harder. Anyway, let's talk about how to deal with him. His biggest threat is his physicality—that's what makes guys like him so tough to fight."
Jason Luo thought hard, then shook his head.
"This info isn't enough. If he's not agile, I could try to use tactics, circling and scoring points to win. But if his Reaction keeps up, that's real trouble."
Brown gave a wry smile.
"With his ranking, odds are it's not looking good. I haven't figured out a specific counter yet, but listen to me, Jason: whoever he is, we have to win. Must! Hold steady in the first round—there will be a way. We'll figure it out together."
"Yeah!"
And so, without a clear tactical plan, Jason Luo headed for the ring. Not every match allows for a perfect strategy—often, a boxer has to rely on his ability to adapt.
In the tunnel, Jason Luo saw Wuriqiu. He was the picture of a Mongolian strongman. The weight limit kept him from looking massive, but his thick bones alone were enough to intimidate.
Jason Luo planned to open with a technical approach, focusing on the opponent's Footwork. It looked steady and grounded, but whether it was also quick would soon be revealed.
As the fight drew near, Jason Luo found himself calm. If it came down to it, he'd play every card he had—this was a fight he had to win.
The commentary team had changed again, and Jason Luo didn't recognize the voice. He felt a little disappointed—he preferred fighting to the sound of Wollers' distinctive commentary—but there was nothing he could do.
After the referee went through the formalities, the match began.
From the opening bell, Wuriqiu pressed forward with brute force. Jason Luo avoided trading, retreating while countering. But Wuriqiu barely registered the punches. Even Jason Luo's rear-hand power shots didn't faze him—he only swatted them aside occasionally, and kept marching forward.
When he got close, his punches weren't fast, but they were crushingly heavy. These heavy punches were unusual—without speed, they delivered pure, blunt force. Jason Luo blocked one, but the force still shoved him back two steps before he steadied himself.
Jason Luo felt a pang of alarm. If Wuriqiu landed a full hook, even blocking it might send him flying. Just how strong was this guy?
He quickly backed off. Seeing Jason Luo withstand the punch, Wuriqiu smiled and lunged forward again.
Jason Luo realized he couldn't keep going like this. Straight exchanges were too easy to predict, and if Wuriqiu landed clean, he might not get up.
So he started using side steps, circling the Mongolian with a stalling style. But then, to his shock, Wuriqiu grinned, bent low, spread his arms wide—and assumed a wrestling stance.
Jason Luo froze.
What the hell?
Wrestling—in a boxing ring?
That was one game he couldn't play...
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser