บท 3: Chapter 3: She's Terrifying
Chapter 3: She's Terrifying
As the sun rose, people began to appear on the beach for their morning walks.
Chubby James rode his scooter down the beach road and almost fell off when he saw the two of them having breakfast together.
Link didn't explain much. He cleared the dishes and hung the cleaned diving equipment back in the cabinet. The torn wetsuit needed to be sent back to the manufacturer for repair, another expense.
After breakfast, Taylor sat under the beach umbrella, staring out at the sea, occasionally coming back to her senses and strumming a melody on her guitar, which she then wrote down on the music sheet.
"Link!" James nudged his shoulder and whispered, looking towards Taylor Swift at the door, "Did you know she's a singer, and quite famous? I saw her poster yesterday on Bar Street. It said she's going to be at the Beach Music Festival at the Hard Rock Stadium this month. The poster also had Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, all big stars."
"I saw it too." Link shrugged. The Miami Beach Music Festival was a big event with a lot of publicity. Recently, posters could be seen all over Palm Beach.
"Link, I looked her up online. She's released albums and almost won a Grammy for Best New Artist this year. The news says she's a very talented singer-songwriter with great potential and will become a big star like Faith Hill in the future."
"She probably will." Link nodded. Taylor would not only become a big star but also the brightest star in the world music scene, a billionaire, a model of a rich and beautiful woman, a very successful woman.
James looked at him with sympathy and patted his shoulder. "Link, she's a big star, and we're just ordinary people. Your encounter is destined to be a tragedy. You have to be mentally prepared. Don't be too sad when she dumps you in the future."
"No, I'm not an ordinary person." Link tossed the rag into James's arms and walked under the beach umbrella with two bottles of water.
"Here's some water!"
"Thank you!" Taylor put down her guitar and looked at him. "Can you play the guitar?"
"No, I haven't learned any instruments." Link looked at his palms. These hands, apart from mining and pushing carts, getting beaten and beating others, had no other skills. Looking at Taylor's fair and slender fingers, he couldn't help but feel a little ashamed.
"How about I teach you? The guitar is very simple." Taylor didn't wait for him to refuse. She excitedly sat next to him, put the guitar in his lap, and held his fingers, explaining the tone of each string, the high and low ranges, and how to coordinate the fingers.
But soon she was disappointed. Not only did Link have a poor sense of music and no understanding of music theory, but his fingers were like steel bars, unable to bend even with force.
After teaching for half an hour, Link couldn't even distinguish the simplest high and low notes, and Taylor was almost furious.
"How can your fingers be so stiff? Can't you relax them a bit?"
"Be serious, can you stop shaking your leg?"
"Wrong, press the second string, that's the bass range, you're so dumb."
Taylor covered her forehead and lay back in the beach chair, looking utterly hopeless.
James stood behind the counter, laughing heartily.
"Forget it, my fingers are too stiff, not suitable for playing the guitar," Link said, waving his hand and smiling.
He didn't have a high level of education or aesthetic appreciation. He used to listen to some upbeat songs when he was boxing, but he didn't understand music theory and had never touched a musical instrument. Asking him to play the guitar was more difficult than asking him to compete for the boxing championship.
Seeing his embarrassed expression, Taylor found it amusing and said with a suppressed laugh, "How can you give up when you encounter a little difficulty? If you can't learn it, you can learn it slowly. If you give up, you'll never learn. Come on, let's continue. Don't worry, I'll control my emotions this time and won't lose my temper at you."
Link had no choice but to continue practicing. Although Taylor had promised not to lose her temper, after only three or four minutes of teaching, she lost it again, waving her fist in front of him, almost hitting him in the face several times.
Link was sweating profusely from practicing, and James was laughing so hard he was doubled over.
Fortunately, a customer came in, needing a diver as a guide to tour the underwater coral reefs.
Link was relieved and took the opportunity to put down the hot guitar, letting Taylor continue composing. He would take the customer diving first and come back to practice later.
"Haha, Link, I told you, she's a difficult girl, very difficult. I learned my lesson yesterday," James gloated.
Link put on his diving gear, started the speedboat at the dock, and took the customers for a swim in the sea, visiting the nearby coral reefs and shipwreck sites.
The two customers had a great time and gave him an extra hundred dollars as a tip.
When Link returned, Taylor had already left. James said that Taylor's mother had come to pick her up, but Taylor said she would come back tomorrow because she felt it was great to create music by the sea.
In the afternoon, there weren't many customers in the shop. Link had a grilled meat meal at the Mexican restaurant next door, took a nap, and then started practicing boxing.
In his past life, he had poor innate physical conditions, suffered from malnutrition, was only 171 centimeters tall, and had a small frame, leading to insufficient strength and explosive power.
In boxing matches, he could only rely on his strong will, agile speed, and super resilience to wear down his opponents.
When fighting in the middleweight and welterweight categories, he could achieve good results. But in the light heavyweight category, when facing taller and stronger opponents, it would be very difficult.
After transmigrating, his physical fitness was comparable to that of top athletes.
He was 186 centimeters tall, with a 192-centimeter arm span, weighed 78.7 kilograms, could clean and jerk 132 kilograms, snatch 141 kilograms, swim 100 meters in under 20 seconds, and 1,000 meters in 6 minutes and 34 seconds.
Moreover, in the past month of training, his strength, speed, and reaction time were still slowly improving, and his body was becoming stronger and stronger.
Link decided to continue training and see how much potential he had.
"Link, it's time to pay the management fees," James said, munching on a hot dog, while he was working out. "This month's water and electricity bills, sanitation fees, public service fees, dock usage fees, venue fees, etc., total $8,700. And our income this month is $14,540."
"Sounds pretty good." Link did sit-ups while hanging upside down on the iron frame, exercising his abdominal and waist muscles.
"Good? How do you figure that's good? I haven't even calculated the equipment repair and depreciation costs. With those included, our net income this month is less than three thousand. If we also pay ourselves a salary, we'll lose over ten thousand this month, you know?"
"Don't worry, it's not bad if we're not losing money," Link said, panting.
"But we can't go on like this. After October, fewer people will come diving, and business will be even worse. Link, what do you think about us selling hot dogs too?"
"Can you make hot dogs? I remember diving shops aren't allowed to sell food."
"How about selling bikinis? Hehe, bikinis are also part of diving equipment." James held his chin, fantasizing about the shop being packed with bikini-clad girls, and couldn't help but let out a strange laugh.
"Stop dreaming. Let's focus on running the diving shop first. We can earn money slowly." Link continued doing sit-ups while hanging upside down on the iron frame, preparing to regain his eight-pack abs from his past life.
New book, please follow.
(End of Chapter)
บท 4: Chapter 4: Back in the Boxing Ring
Chapter 4: Back in the Boxing Ring
In the afternoon, Mike from the neighboring surfboard shop came over to invite everyone to his bar to celebrate the second anniversary of his shop's opening. Link and James readily agreed.
Bar Street is one of the liveliest areas in Miami's Palm Bay district. It's surrounded by Miami's largest Latino community, with a permanent population of over 200,000, and two nearby resort villa areas with a population of around 50,000.
Bar Street is home to many dance halls, casinos, nightclubs, restaurants, and more, with dense buildings and high foot traffic.
Link used to hang out in the area and was familiar with it.
As they drove to the west end of Bar Street, he suddenly remembered a boxing bar nearby that featured boxing matches and occasionally invited boxers to compete, attracting hundreds or even thousands of spectators each time.
Link decided to take a detour to check it out.
James and Daniel from the hot dog shop next door, hearing his suggestion, also followed on their bikes to the boxing bar.
The sign outside the boxing bar was a giant red boxing glove that glowed red at night. The entrance hallway was plastered with photos of boxing champions.
There were photos of old-school champions like Jack Dempsey, Joe Louis, Muhammad Ali, George Foreman, Mike Tyson, Evander Holyfield, Mayweather, and Roy Jones Jr.
There were also photos of newer champions and famous boxers who had risen in recent years, such as Terence Crawford, Andre Ward, and Edison Miranda.
Compared to the golden age of boxing in the 70s and 80s, the current American boxing scene was lacking in promising new talent. Most of the active boxers were veterans in their thirties and forties.
The reasons for this were complex, related to the times, current entertainment consumption trends, promotional methods, and boxing rules. However, the main reason was the overall lack of strong talent and the absence of a dominant figure who could unify the four major boxing organizations.
Looking at the photos on the wall, Link said to James and Daniel, "Do you believe that one day my photo will also be hanging here?"
"Haha, stop dreaming. This isn't your living room," James said, pushing him inside.
"Link, secretly putting up your photo doesn't count. I could do that too," Daniel joked.
"Just wait and see," Link said, waving his fist and pushing open the glass door of the bar. A wave of sound, heat, and the smell of alcohol washed over them.
"Hit him! Don't let him hold you!"
"Mario, stop backing up, punch him! Fuck, you don't even know how to box!"
"Wimp Mario, stop fighting, go home and drink your milk!"
As Link and his friends entered the bar, a match was underway in the ring. Two burly boxers were locked in a clinch, bumping against the ropes before being separated by the referee.
The ring was surrounded by a crowd of about a thousand people, mostly adult men. After a few drinks, they became very irritable, and if a boxer was too passive, they would start cursing and venting their frustrations.
"This is lively. We should have come earlier. Wimp Mario, get out of there!" James shouted, even before he could figure out who Mario was.
"Don't shout," Link said, sitting on a stool at the bar and sizing up the two boxers in the ring.
Both were Latino, weighing around 90 kilograms, heavyweight fighters.
One had a fierce look, a stout build, and a big belly, like an inflatable punching bag. This was the "Wimp Mario" the crowd was yelling at. His opponent was a muscular bald man.
During the match, the bald man kept attacking, landing punches, while Mario kept dodging and moving, often resorting to clinching tactics, only occasionally attacking. He was fighting very conservatively.
This was why the audience didn't like him. In a place like a bar, people preferred to see excitement. The more intense the fight, the more they enjoyed it. Defensive tactics were not welcome here.
However, in Link's eyes, Mario was moving well, defending skillfully, and clearly had received professional boxing training. The bald man's fighting style was more amateurish, without structure or tactics, just constantly expending his energy.
If nothing unexpected happened, Mario would win this match.
And indeed, in the fifth round, Mario landed a sneak attack, a jab that knocked the bald man to the ground. The bald man struggled but couldn't get up.
Mario won the match.
"Second match, who wants to challenge Mario?" the referee shouted into the microphone to the crowd.
The rules of the boxing bar were quite interesting.
The bar owner placed a cash box in the ring with $200 in it.
If the patrons wanted to watch a boxing match, they would throw money into the cash box. Whenever the box accumulated $1,000, the bar would announce a boxing match.
The boxer who won three matches in a row that night had the chance to empty the prize pool, regardless of gender or weight class. The strongest one would take the money and leave.
"I'll do it!" A burly black man threw a hundred dollars into the cash box and, with the help of the bar staff, put on a mouthguard and boxing gloves and stepped into the ring.
The second match began. The black man was clearly prepared. After touching gloves with Mario, he started swinging, aiming for Mario's head.
In the first round, Mario was knocked down twice. In the second round, Mario managed to stay on his feet. In the third round, the black man's strength began to fade, and in the fourth round, he was knocked down by Mario. In the fifth round, Mario won the match.
The black man was carried out of the ring.
"Third match, who else wants to challenge Mario João?" the referee shouted.
After two matches, the patrons knew that Mario was no wimp, and those who were originally planning to step up were now hesitating.
"Hey, who wants to challenge me?" Mario, having won two matches in a row, was in high spirits. He stood on the corner post, waving his fists and shouting at the crowd.
"You call me a wimp, but you don't dare come up? Haha, you're the wimps, you're all wimps." Mario raised his fists and laughed.
Link glanced at him, then at the cash box full of bills, and took out a hundred dollars from his pocket.
"Link, what are you doing? That's not a donation box," James asked, puzzled.
"I'm going to box," Link said, pointing at the ring.
"Are you crazy?" James asked, wide-eyed. "You don't think doing sit-ups and jumping rope at home makes you a boxer, do you? Boxing isn't as simple as you think."
"Link, go ahead. I'm calling an ambulance for you," Daniel said, pretending to take out his phone.
Link glanced at the two of them. He had originally wanted to ask them to bet on him to win and earn some pocket money, but with their sarcastic attitude, he decided against it.
Link squeezed through the crowd to the ring, threw his hundred dollars into the cash box, took off his shirt, put on hand wraps and boxing gloves, and stepped into the ring.
"Whoa, it's a pretty boy."
"Is he here to give away money?"
"Hey, buddy, come down, don't embarrass yourself." The crowd started shouting.
Link waved his fist at the crowd, telling them to shut up.
"Hey, kid, are you sure you want to fight me?" Mario asked, crossing his arms and looking him up and down. "My fists can kill people."
"Mine can too," Link said, raising his fists.
"Hmph, tough-talking kid, I'll show you what happens when you brag," Mario said with a sneer.
"Place your bets! Place your bets! Bet on the handsome pretty boy to win, ten to one odds, ten to one odds! Don't miss this chance to get rich, folks," the bookie at the bar shouted.
"Ten to one odds? Bet a dollar, win ten. James, should we bet?" Daniel asked, tempted.
"Bet on who? Link? Are you crazy too? Do you think he can beat Mario with that physique?" James asked, gesturing at their bodies. Although Link was fit, with big chest muscles and a six-pack, he was clearly smaller than the stout, immovable Mario.
"Let's try it, just to cheer for Link," Daniel said, taking out two bills from his pocket.
"Alright, I'll bet two dollars too. I'll just eat one less hot dog tomorrow."
"You can eat one less sandwich."
Daniel went to the bookie to placetheir bets.
(End of Chapter)
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