They are condescending. It was not only the two fighters who were already standing in the ring that were already standing, but also the well-dressed gamblers around them.

These enthusiastic guests came to see the boxing matches, dressed as if they were watching a wonderful opera, lovers snuggled together, couples with children, occasionally whispered a word or two, and some brought their own wine, the gym does not serve alcohol, but if someone wants to make their blood boil, they will not stop it, after all, dizzy gamblers tend to get out of control, and they will bet more again and again until their pockets are empty.

Before the start of the fight, the two fighters shook hands with each other perfunctorily, they stood face to face, the two of them were a little similar, or rather, most of the fighters were like this, as if they were using their looks and figures to give boxing a chance to anthropomorphize - only a thin layer of hair stubble was left on the head, hidden under the drooping fat eyelids, squinted eyes, lips and nose that had to be out of shape after being hit too many times, and even after healing, you could still see the severity of its shattered jaw, The bull has a stubby neck, a thick chest, muscular limbs, bandaged hands and boxing gloves - one red and one black.

They are all first-line fighters, experienced, but their muscles and bone marrow have not been squeezed out of that fight after fight, but the red gloves look older than the black gloves. Less than fifteen seconds into the opening stanza, the black gloves unleashed a lightning blow that hit the red gloves on the cheek and knocked him to the ground, and when the loser tried to get to his feet, his assistant screamed to stop him, and it was only after the referee counted a full nine seconds that he stood up straight. At this time, people saw that the punch just now even harmed his eyes.

This is quite bad for the red gloves, and the next two minutes or so are simply the time for the black gloves to perform. His feet are brisk, his movements are agile, and his fists are so heavy that they can smash their opponents directly into the concrete floor, while the red gloves can only dodge. Blocking, is to delay time with the help of a twist when there is no way to avoid it.

When the first round is over, the gamblers begin to prepare to place a second bet, and the people who had just watched quietly begin to whisper to each other, and while the fighters rest in their own corners against the soft leather pillars, the bettors get up and walk under the ring to observe their condition, as if they were looking at a horse or a dog.

"What do you think?"

Abby asked, putting the fingertips of both hands together. With a sincere smile, he looks like a pimp who helps a seventy-year-old woman do business.

"Those are two good fighters." Beelzebub said politely.

"Absolutely." Judas said.

"I thought you'd be a little disappointed—Tom is a good boy," Abby shrugged her shoulders in a smirk, "but the old guy is a little disappointed." ”

"You've got a quiet group of guests."

Constantine. Directing everyone's attention in the other direction, Cloven said he had little northern accent and a humble attitude. The expression is gentle, but if he is the Clovin of the Four Thorn Rings, Anthony. Hopkins's old acquaintance - that would definitely not be a good gentleman.

Indeed, those men neither stood up nor waved their fists, bounced on the spot, never shouted or screamed, and watched with a cold and distant attitude as two strong men fought in the ring. Make the whole arena quiet like a funeral.

"Lafayette is a new city, but it belongs to the thirteen districts after all, and the people who can settle here are highly educated," Abby bent humbly, "including me, I have two bachelor's certificates." Everyone has a decent job. Stable income, regular tax payment, law-abiding, reasonable and generous," Abby gushes, "They don't bother to bother for a little money." Tangled. Look, you can see, what is given out, what is recovered, it is all cash, there is no check, there is no signature, everything is so clean and clear. ”

He walked to the front of the box and pointed out to his guests the gray-green bills.

***

The black gloves had the upper hand, and he used the red gloves' affected eyes to knock him to the ground with uppercuts from that direction, and after he struggled to get up, he forced his opponent to the rope with nimble feet and feints, and if the red gloves tried to break free by falling to the ground, he forced him to stand upright with a blow in the opposite direction, and then broke his opponent's attempts with a more vicious punch - whether it was to fight back, delay, or escape.

The red boxers can only use their own skills, constantly touching the opponent's biceps and shaking their heads so that they don't get beaten too hard.

Seconds before the end of the round, Red Glove's injured eye was hit with a solid sturge, blood pouring down half of his face.

At the end, the referee stepped forward and asked if the red gloves were losing and exiting, and he got a negative answer.

During a short one-minute break, the Red Gauntlet's assistants rinsed his eyes with ice water. He gritted his teeth and sheathed, his hands straight out, leaning against the pillars and ropes, shivering incessantly, bloody ice water running down his neck and chest, wetting his shorts.

In the first half of the third round, the red gloves still seemed to be cautious or powerless, and the black gloves were still cold, but anyone with a discerning eye could see the problem - he had spent so much energy in the first two rounds that he needed to rest now, probably only two minutes, one minute was enough, but this is what his opponent has been waiting for.

In a subtle, fleeting gap, the red fist twisted almost half of his body, his arm formed a solid bow in the air, and the huge fist hit the black fist in the jaw through the gap, this time it was really powerful, the black fist flew up with both feet off the ground, and his head hit the pillar as he fell.

The black fist also held for nine seconds before standing up, and the moment he straightened up with the rope, he shook and vomited, and there was not much to spit out, and it was bloody.

The Red then didn't give his opponent a chance, barely defending and dodging, but aggressively approaching his opponent again and again, his solid and accurate punches fearlessly reminiscent of the loose hammer smashed on a steak - the punches he had received in the first two rounds were returned, with 50 percent interest.

The black gloves tried to hit the opponent again, and once he knocked the red gloves to the ground, and then the red gloves knocked him to the ground again.

Hit, fight, fight. Their feet made a screeching sound on the floor of the platform.

The two fighters were drenched in blood and exhausted. They beat each other in a haphazard and unscrupulous manner, and the referee would only pull them away if they had been struggling too long or if they were too noisy.

The red gloves landed several punches (one might even say weak) on his opponent's jaw, and suddenly, the black gloves stopped defending and attacking, and he staggered back, blood, teeth, and broken bones rushing out of his mouth.

"Oh," Abby said, "and it seems he remembers that Tom had surgery on his jaw only last week." ”

He leaned against the low wall of the box that surrounded the velvet curtain.

The Red Glove was looking up, Beelzebub couldn't be sure if their eyes were making contact, but the latter immediately turned around as if he had seen death, and before the Black Glove could completely collapse, he moved, using the last bit of strength, and struck his opponent in the face, even without Sasha and Beelzebub's eyesight beyond the ordinary people, the people in the box could clearly see each tuft of flesh on the beaten face shaking violently like jelly concentrated by bullets.

This may have been the last time the black gloves fell, and the referee began to count the seconds, and at the end of the ten seconds, the assistant of the black gloves immediately rushed forward and removed the black gloves from under the rope ring and moved them to the stretcher that had been prepared long ago.

The referee raised his red fist hand, and the victor seemed to want to smile a little, then he lowered his head slightly and vomited violently - like a high-pressure faucet, black blood mixed with mess, one mouthful, then another. It was originally a theater, the venue was empty, the reflection and conduction performance was still good, even in the box, the sound of vomiting was still clear as if it were in the ears, and there were muffled moans and painful cries from the shattered face on the stretcher.

A thick stench of blood and stomach secretions swirled around the table.

"Can this game exceed 50,000?" Judas asked.

"Yes," Abby said.

"So how many games can there be in a day?" Clovin asked.

"At least five, at most seven, generally every two hours, one at 6 p.m. so guests can get back to dinner, and another at 4 a.m., and some guests who don't finish their energy at the nightclub will rush here to watch a boxing fight." Abby licked her lips contentedly as she spoke, "You can bet on every round, and you can bet on winning or losing at the end of the game." ”

"That's all?"

"That's all." "I don't recommend making things too complicated, things that are pleasant are simple, like alcohol, like sex," Abby said. He clapped his hands again, "Alright, let's go, here's what I want you to see." ”

(To be continued)