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Novel Catalog
Chapter 134
The crowd was deafening.
The host’s voice cracked from strain, and still, the cheers surged like a tidal wave through the Dragon Might Boxing Center.
Striding into the ring with a commanding presence came Black Widow—a statuesque woman with dark skin and a coiled intensity that made the atmosphere crackle. Her black windbreaker billowed behind her, and at 1.9 meters tall, she towered over most in the arena. Her legs were sleek, muscular, shimmering with sweat under the lights, and her six-pack abs framed a belly button exposed with intimidating confidence.
Compared to Bianca, Black Widow had the crowd in the palm of her hand. Her fan base was larger, louder, and their roars filled every corner of the venue.
Then came the officials: the referee and ten internationally acclaimed judges, all invited at great expense by the Watsons. These weren’t just figureheads—they were names usually reserved for the World Boxing Championship. Their presence alone was a guarantee of fairness, a symbol to the millions betting through the Watsons’ and Duersons’ poker networks that the match had legitimacy.
The host gave his final lines and, along with the tray-bearing blonde, exited the ring.
Now, it was just the fighters.
Bianca and Black Widow bumped gloves—a show of respect, though the tension in the air said otherwise.
Black Widow’s expression remained cold and unmoved. Her dark, narrowed eyes watched Bianca with a predator’s disdain.
The referee raised his whistle, arms extended.
The fighters retreated to their corners. Coaches inserted mouthguards with last-second instructions.
“Bianca, her heavy punches are no joke,” her coach warned sharply. “Guard your face. Be smart.”
Bianca nodded and strode to the center of the ring, eyes blazing with determination.
Across from her, Black Widow’s coach said nothing. He didn’t need to. His expression was dull, void of his usual spark—because he already knew the outcome.
This match was theater.
They had taken the Watsons’ fifty million. Black Widow, despite her prowess, was here to lose.
But until that moment came, she’d put on a show—for her fans, for her pride.
The referee raised three fingers.
Three… two… one…
Whistle.
The match began.
Bianca moved first, exploding forward with a flurry of punches aimed at Black Widow’s head. Each strike whooshed through the air with speed and power.
But Black Widow barely moved. She raised her arms, absorbing the hits with minimal effort, her defenses solid as iron.
Bianca kept going—left uppercuts again and again. But nothing landed cleanly.
Black Widow dodged, shifted, blocked—her every movement calm, fluid, almost taunting. A smirk curved at the edge of her lips as she beckoned Bianca in with a flick of her glove.
Enraged, Bianca clenched her jaw behind the mouthguard and launched a straight punch to Black Widow’s chest.
This time, Black Widow tilted her head, braced with crossed arms, and dodged a follow-up hook. Then—so fast it barely registered—her counterattack came.
Crack.
A sharp jab struck Bianca clean across the face. The crowd gasped.
The punch, though padded, hit with the velocity of a bullet. Bianca’s vision blurred, her nose stung, and the ring swayed under her feet.
And Black Widow didn’t hesitate. She followed with a ruthless barrage—left hook, right hook, straight punch, jab. A storm of punches to Bianca’s face and temple.
Bianca instinctively shielded her head, but Black Widow pivoted, slamming gloves into her abdomen and waist.
Each strike landed with punishing force.
The scoreboard above flickered with each successful hit.
0:12.
Bianca hadn’t even landed one.
The referee blew the whistle.
End of Round One.
Black Widow took her place at the corner of the ring, neck cracking as she twisted it side to side. Her chest heaved slightly, but her face remained cool, untouched.
A swarm of staff hurried to her—massaging her arms, dabbing sweat.
Her coach handed her a bottle of Titan Drinking Water—her personal endorsement deal. It cost nearly $300 a bottle.
She drank silently.
Normally, after a round like that, her coach would be ecstatic.
Today, he was stone-faced.
Because he knew the truth—the same truth that simmered beneath the surface of the entire match.
This wasn’t a fight.
This was business.
And no matter how dominant Black Widow appeared now, it would all end the same way:
Bianca would be crowned the winner.