Domination in America, Starting from being a Boxing Champion

Bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, bang!

In the Muscle Beach Boxing Gym, Link, revealing his sturdy back, waved his thick, powerful arms, clenching his fists and striking the punching bag repeatedly.

Despite the bag being filled with sand, iron filings, grains, and other materials, making it look very solid and resistant to hits,

his iron fists were even harder, and under his continuous and intense attack, the punching bag seemed to soften, resembling Ivanka's supple and full body.

He didn't know why, but in the past, when practicing boxing, he would easily get into the zone, with no distractions. Even if someone ran past him naked, he wouldn't spare a glance.

But today, while practicing boxing, he found his thoughts drifting to Ivanka from time to time.

He missed her red lips, her peach-like body, her creamy, smooth, and delicate skin, her cool and dignified beauty, and the fiery, scalding passion hidden beneath her icy exterior.

He missed every second of tumbling in bed with her.

She truly was a woman made for love, while he was a man made for boxing.

When the two of them met and came together, it was like the primitive society suddenly connected to electricity and the internet, and the whole world burst into a riot of colors, dazzling and brilliant.

Sometimes he felt that having just Ivanka in the world would be enough.

She could satisfy all his fantasies and needs for a woman.

Ivanka was too perfect.

So much so that he was a bit afraid of her, worried that she would completely control him, and he wouldn't be able to leave her even at the last moment, turning into a hopeless puppy with nothing but her on his mind. That was too terrifying.

So, he had to try harder, to maintain a dominant position in their relationship.

"Stop! Stop now!"

Link, lost in his thoughts while forcefully punching the bag, suddenly heard shouts nearby.

He held back his fists, looking puzzledly at De La Hoya approaching him, not understanding why he was shouting here.

"Didn't you see the bag is broken?

This is the eighth one you've demolished this year."

Hoyle pointed at the punching bag in front of him, looking distressed.

Link glanced at the punching bag, having been too engrossed in hitting it; he hadn't noticed when a tear opened up at the bottom, and grains and sand started to trickle out.

"It's just a punching bag. It can be fixed if it's broken, no need to be so tense."

Link wiped the sweat from his face, only then noticing his body was covered in shiny sweat.

His muscles bulged in every part of his body, like soft steel, with clear lines between each muscle group.

More pliant, refined, and full of a beauty that combined strength and art than even the sculptures of Greek art.

"We replaced this bag last week, and in just four or five days you've smashed it again. You have more destructive power than a grizzly bear."

Hoyle glanced at him, seeing his body's muscles so solid and strong, appearing very explosive, he felt both envy and jealousy in his heart.

If he had a physique as strong as Link's, he wouldn't have needed to teach others how to box in the gym, he could go back to the ring and beat Pacquiao, Mayweather, and even Link to the point of wetting themselves.

But that was no longer possible.

Boxing is a sport that tests a person's perseverance and resilience. Once you slack off, relax your training, or lose focus, it's very hard to return to the peak.

He was 37 years old this year, and if he had not slacked off or relaxed his training, he could have fought until 47 or 48 years old, like Bernard Hopkins or Evander Holyfield.

But he hadn't persisted.

"Could it be a quality issue? Maybe the club bought some counterfeits."

Link picked up his water bottle, took a drink, and spat it out on the floor along with some sweat.

"These bags are custom-made, each one tested with instruments, able to withstand a ton of force, and they usually last more than three years. Yet, you've destroyed it in a week. You're really a freak."

Hoyle shook his head, signaling the staff to switch in a new punching bag.

"Maybe you should consider ordering a few bags that can withstand a two-ton beating. That way, I could train for a few more days."

"Hmph! Don't be so proud, it might just be a fluke that this bag broke. I don't believe you could break the next one within a week."

"Well, I probably won't be able to; I'm going to Huaxia for a match on Wednesday," Link said, shrugging his shoulders.

"I heard you're being paid 35 million US dollars for this match?"

"About that. In Huaxia, there are fewer pay-per-view viewers for boxing matches, so the fee is a bit lower this time, but it doesn't matter. The main goal in going to Huaxia is to expand the market and cultivate boxing fans; in the future, more people should come to love boxing."

"35 million US dollars is low for you? Including the other peripheral income, you'll get at least 40 million. That's hardly little for one match!"

Hoyle clenched his fist, grinding his molars, his face distorted with envy.

In less than four years since his debut, at the young age of 22, Link earned three to four million dollars per fight and encountering famous opponents could rake in seventy to eighty million. Participating in four matches a year, his income easily exceeded 200 million US dollars.

Hoyle had battled in professional boxing for twelve years and only at the age of thirty-five did he earn over 40 million from a single match.

And here was Link, earning that much at twenty-two in almost every fight.

Comparing oneself with others is truly infuriating.

What's more, Link wasn't a boxer under the promotion of Gold Boy; not a dollar of what he earned was shared with the company.

The feeling was like having a mountain of gold at your doorstep but no matter how much you dig, you can't get a single piece of gold.

All that Gold Boy Promotions could do was use the glistening mountain for light, borrowing some of his shine to motivate their boxers.