Chapter 1064: Too Crude a Fighting Style

"Ethan's fighting style is becoming mature, but I previously suggested he try another style, and he refused."

The coach, seated next to Lance, watched the match while explaining Ethan's situation in the ring to Lance.

Ethan was like a combat fortress, never evading the opponent's attacks, but merely using his arms to block and defend, waiting for the chance to deliver a deadly punch.

Lance, seemingly smoking and absorbing the wave after wave of passionate excitement sweeping the venue, appeared slightly detached from the overall atmosphere.

Listening to the coach, Lance turned to him. "What style did you want him to try?"

"Evasion!" the coach said seriously. "Mr. Lance, boxing matches may seem like they only last a few minutes and end quickly, with fighters suffering no serious long-term effects."

"But in reality, boxing, especially heavyweight boxing, is damaging to the human body, particularly the brain!"

"Imagine a car constantly colliding with your head at thirty-five to forty kilometers per hour. It's impossible to escape without injury!"

"Even if your head is tough enough, and your neck is strong enough, we cannot be certain that the tissues inside are safe."

"I've heard the brain isn't stone or rubbish; it's a very soft thing that can be damaged easily."

The coach's expression grew somewhat somber. "I know several heavyweight boxers, the 'blue-collar' guys, whose health deteriorated significantly after retirement. Many of them died quite young."

Boxing matches can't all feature stars; there must always be "blue-collar" boxers. Their value lies in being stepping stones for the victors, or just becoming one of the statistics in the background.

A boxing superstar might have only fought the top two-ranked fighters, with a record of one win and one loss.

But if they only told people their record was one win and one loss, they wouldn't be a superstar!

What superstar has a one-win, one-loss record?

This is where the blue-collar fighter becomes important. They are the ones used by these natural talents or dominant forces to pad their statistics. When a star fighter shows a record of twenty fights, seventeen knockouts, and three times knocked out himself—

The three times he was knocked out were the result of matches with other stars, while at least twelve of those seventeen knockouts came from fighting those blue-collar boxers.

They would decide how long they fought in the ring based on the size of their appearance fee.

If the appearance fee was significantly higher than their average rate, it meant the opposing coach wanted a flashy result—a quick knockout victory.

If the opponent's fee only met their standard, the blue-collar boxer would drag the fight out past five rounds, and might even try to knock out the star fighter.

Such people are abundant, because becoming a top performer in any sport is never achieved through effort alone.

Sports are never about effort; they are about talent, innate talent, which makes them unfair from the beginning.

You can use all your strength, train every day, and your punch will only hit six hundred pounds.

But some people are too naturally gifted. Without even training, their punch hits seven hundred pounds or more, and after training, they can deliver a super-punch of a thousand pounds. Where is the fairness in that?

The boxers who enter the sport with full enthusiasm, climb to the heavyweight ranks, and gain a bit of notoriety, don't have many options left.

To climb higher, they are limited by talent; they will never become boxing stars.

So, they either retire immediately and become a boxing coach, searching for talented youths they never were and training them to achieve what they couldn't.

Or, they join a gang and become a gangster, or fight in underground bare-knuckle, death matches, trading their lives for money.

Of course, there is another option: remaining in the ring as a blue-collar fighter, being constantly knocked down, and becoming a joke to fans.

While living as a joke, at least their lives won't be too miserable, and they won't live in constant fear. But there is one problem: their heads.

Being constantly hit by punches weighing around a thousand pounds is certainly going to cause brain damage, and brain issues are never minor.

The coach himself lacked talent and worked as a blue-collar boxer for a while, but he couldn't stand being a joke in the ring.

He had worked so hard, acquired so much knowledge, and had extensive experience, yet he still couldn't succeed.

So, he found a boxing gym and started searching for talented fighters, helping them fulfill their dreams while fulfilling his own.

Ethan was the most naturally gifted person the coach had ever met. He had the kind of powerful physique the coach envied and hated, and his punches were devastatingly heavy.

One punch could dent a steel plate, and his bones were exceptionally hard, allowing him to absorb heavy blows without injuring himself.

Therefore, the coach wanted Ethan to go further, using the knowledge and experience he taught him. This would indirectly prove that the coach himself wasn't lacking in effort or experience; he simply lacked world-class physical talent.

Over the years, he had also grown very fond of Ethan. Ethan was disciplined and hardworking, lacked the bad habits of other boxers, never stayed out overnight, and trained whenever he had time.

He wanted Ethan to go further. Becoming the Federal heavyweight champion as a foreign immigrant—that would be a beautiful thing!

He had thought long and hard for Ethan, but Ethan hadn't accepted his suggestion for more agile evasion, sticking instead to his counter-punching defense style.

To this end, Ethan had strengthened both his left and right hands significantly. He would sometimes deliberately expose weaknesses, enticing his opponent to believe they had found a flaw and land what they thought was a decisive punch, only to be knocked down by Ethan's counter.

Everyone had studied this tactic, yet it remained highly effective.

Every heavyweight boxer had confidence in themselves, believing that even if Ethan hit them cleanly on the chin, they would, at worst, only stumble a few steps.

Ethan was essentially betting against them on two points:

That his chin and head were hard enough, and that his punch was heavier than theirs.

Thus, Ethan's matches were highly entertaining and exciting. People loved the sight of heavyweight boxers unleashing full power at each other.

The sight of a punch that seemed to send a man flying was what they craved, unlike the lighter, featherweight matches where victory was calculated by technical points.

Every time Ethan stepped into the ring, someone bled, someone was bruised and swollen, and someone was laid flat on the mat.

Regardless of who it was, the moment their body fell straight down like a tower—that was the hottest moment in the arena, and the moment the audience anticipated.

"You are his best friend. He always listens to you, so I think if anyone can persuade him, and he will listen, it's you."

The coach pleaded. "He is too good; he should enjoy a more perfect life, not spend his retirement years in a hospital bed."

"And... some of the heavyweights are starting to adopt technical fighting styles. If Ethan doesn't try to change, his future matches will be increasingly difficult."

"His opponents won't stand there and trade heavy punches with him. They will constantly circle him with more agile footwork and tricky punching angles, looking for opportunities."

"When that happens, he will become a target!"

Lance nodded, recalling an image of someone shaking his head so fast it was a blur. "I will talk to him after the match."

The coach looked relieved. "That would be best. Thank you very much!"

Lance shook his head. "He is my brother. As long as your advice is good for him."

While they were talking, the first round ended. The coach left Lance and hurried to the ringside to discuss the next round's strategy with Ethan.

In the first round, the fighters primarily tested each other, gauging the opponent's reach and the weight of their punches—information crucial to the fighters.

Over the next few rounds, they would use this intelligence to formulate a strategy and knock out their opponent.

It sounds complex, but it is simple.

If I can hit him, but he can't hit me, maintain mid-to-long distance, prevent the opponent from closing in.

If I can't hit him, but he can hit me, close the distance, ensure my punches retain power and reach the target.

If the opponent's punch is very heavy, avoid direct strikes to vital areas.

If the opponent's punch is light, trade punches as long as it's within tolerance.

These scattered clues would eventually be synthesized into the next tactical plan.

Some fighters can't synthesize this information themselves, as they are too focused on the fight. This is where the coach comes in; they can observe more clearly from the outside and implement reasonable tactics.

The second round began quickly. The coach didn't give Ethan any special instructions because Ethan currently had the advantage in every aspect.

Skull Crusher was also a relatively traditional boxer, meaning he wasn't fond of quick movement or technical maneuvers. The two basically stayed in a small area, slowly circling, punching, or defending.

While not flashy, the constant, powerful blows made for an intensely visceral viewing experience.

In the second round, they had more meaningful contact and gained a clearer sense of each other's strength.

The intensity of their exchanges picked up in the third round.

Boxers who are confident often manage their stamina differently; they don't overly restrict their movements.

Only those who lack the confidence to knock out their opponent in the early rounds focus heavily on stamina management to ensure they have enough energy to win in the later rounds.

Ethan was very proactive, sometimes deliberately exposing weaknesses to encourage his opponent to strike.

Skull Crusher was cautious. He had heard of Ethan's "Steel Fist" reputation. Beyond the nickname, Ethan's ability to absorb punches was also astounding.

He was extremely careful, not daring to swing wildly even when Ethan presented his chin where he could reach it.

His attention was fixed on Ethan's fists. Whenever Ethan moved to punch, he noticed Ethan's fist was already preparing to counter.

He wasn't confident that he could survive a clean punch from Ethan unscathed. Sometimes, the indirect influence of a nickname was huge.

He, too, had a terrifying nickname, "Skull Crusher," suggesting his punches could break a man's head, yet why wasn't Ethan afraid?

He didn't understand. He attributed it to the recklessness and blind confidence of youth. But he wouldn't fall for it; he would use his talent, experience, and technique to defeat his opponent, not a crude slugfest.

By the fifth round, both fighters showed obvious signs of fatigue. Even defense required energy.

Furthermore, he couldn't just keep defending. Ethan's punches were heavy. Constant defense would leave him too passive. He needed to attack sometimes to neutralize Ethan's offense, but without trading damage. It was tiring to fight that way.

After absorbing five rounds of punishment, Skull Crusher's mentality shifted. During one exchange, Ethan showed a clear loss of balance, and Skull Crusher could feel his stamina dropping rapidly.

As a top heavyweight boxer, Skull Crusher instinctively forgot his coach's warnings and threw a heavy right hook aimed at Ethan's chin.

In that instant, everyone in the arena leaped up, screaming and cheering wildly.

The moment Skull Crusher's fist connected with Ethan's chin, he saw an even faster punch, thrown at the exact same angle, connect with his own chin!

In that flash, with screams ringing in his ears, he saw Ethan stagger two steps to the left. He tried to chase and follow up, but unexpectedly found himself staggering in the same direction.

Ethan quickly regained his footing after just two steps, but Skull Crusher was still listing. He saw Ethan chase him with a blank expression, and at that moment, he closed his eyes.

He felt nothing as the heavy punch landed; no pain, because the impact on his brain temporarily blocked those sensations. His mind couldn't process the sudden surge of chaotic signals.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the canvas.

In the distance, Ethan was high-fiving his coach and roaring loudly. Skull Crusher looked vaguely at his coach kneeling beside him. Seeing the concern on the coach's face, he felt a sense of relief.

"I don't even remember how I fell."

The coach joked, "That's actually your luck."

"If you saw it, you would have been terrified, and so was I!"

The moment Ethan lost his balance, he lunged forward with two massive punches. If the referee hadn't shoved Ethan away, a third punch might have followed.

The feeling of absorbing those eight or nine-hundred-pound punches without obstruction was certainly an intense burst of pain.

The surrounding crowd was insane, roaring their cheers. Without personally experiencing this savage yet beautiful sport, it was hard to grasp the audience's feverish emotion.

Gazing at Ethan's retreating back, Skull Crusher was lifted onto a stretcher. He needed to go to the hospital for a check-up.

All knocked-out boxers needed this check—examining their eyes, ears, and various organs to ensure their health.

Lying on the stretcher, Skull Crusher said to his coach, "That technical style you mentioned last time, maybe we should try it."

The coach was delighted. After all, the boxer's health and status in the Boxing Alliance directly represented the coach's interests. "What made you change your mind?"

Skull Crusher pouted. "Compared to boxers with superhuman talent, my ceiling is still too low."

He sensed he had hit the limit of his career. Furthermore, with more talented fighters likely climbing the ranks, his rank of seventh might soon become eleventh, twelfth, or even seventeenth or twentieth!

Because the competition wasn't just talented fighters, but talented technical fighters. He needed to prepare now.

The moment his full-power punch failed to knock out Ethan, he realized the truth: he, and his era, were coming to an end.

The arena was still filled with cheers, but it had nothing to do with him anymore.

He used to have that too, but he had never seen the view from the mountaintop. He wondered if this Ethan would get the chance to see it.

He probably would.

After all, his talent was exceptional.

After the match, Ethan quickly completed the required Boxing Alliance procedures and got into Lance's car; his coach and others returned directly.

The new team members and trainees were unaware of Ethan's relationship with Lance. This was the first time they had seen Ethan with such an important friend, and they were all curious.

Lance first had him undergo a medical check-up. Using privileged channels, the diagnoses and check-ups were instantly available.

He was perfectly healthy, healthy enough to take down a bull.

Lance then took him back to the estate, where a lavish dinner was prepared—mostly meat, various kinds of meat—which Ethan thoroughly enjoyed!

"Your coach spoke to me about your fighting style during the match. I actually don't think there's anything wrong with your approach."

"You have superhuman talent. Your ability allows you to defeat opponents without needing technique."

Ethan nodded repeatedly at this. He was no longer the ignorant youth he once was; he could sense his own ceiling, and so far, he hadn't met anyone who could force him to reveal it.

He had fought seven matches in the heavyweight division, including this one—eight matches, all wins by knockout. He never felt that the seventh rank was his limit; he was confident in challenging for the first rank!

"But what if you face a technical fighter? Can you adapt to his style?"

"He will employ a strict stamina management strategy, try to drag you into the final rounds, and beat you on points. Have you considered that?"