Domination in America, Starting from being a Boxing Champion

"Link! Come on!"

"Link! You are the champion."

As Link walked onto the boxing stage, his fans cheered loudly to support him.

Link waved his fists and looked across at his finals opponent, John Stevens, who was a bit taller, with shiny dark muscles and seemingly hard bones. Link couldn't help but sigh, knowing it would be a tough fight.

"Hey, I know you, you're Link Baker, right?"

Above the boxing ring, the black boxer, John, said casually as he swung his arms.

"Hello, I know you too."

Link nodded politely.

"Haha, good to know. You fought fiercely last time, but I'm even fiercer. Today I'm going to beat you and make those fans mine."

Black John pointed at some girls holding Link's posters below the stage and grinned, showing his white teeth.

Link shook his head and laughed, "Mr. Stevens, that's impossible. Even if you beat me, they will never become your fans."

"What the hell, what are you saying? Are you implying they are white girls and wouldn't like a black guy like me?"

Black John said discontentedly, ready to accuse him of racism on the spot if he dared to admit it.

"No, no, of course not, it's not about skin color. They like me not just because I'm fierce in the ring, but also because I have a handsome face. I think not just they, but once I become a boxing champion, many gorgeous black women would fall for me too and become my fans, after all, I really am quite handsome, don't you think?" Link said with a smirk.

Ptui!

Black John spat onto the boxing ring floor in disgust, thinking this guy was shameless. He bared his white teeth and said coldly, "Kid, don't be so proud. Today I'm going to knock you down and show your fans that under my fists, you're just a crybaby wimp. Let's see if they still like you then."

Link shook his head disdainfully and gave him a glance that was more hurtful than words. Black John's anger surged, and he cursed before winding up his fists, ready to fight.

"Both fighters, please prepare."

The on-site referee separated the two and checked their gloves, announcing the rules of the match, which were far more numerous than the ones for bar fights, but due to time constraints, the referee only announced a few main rules, asking if the fighters understood English and if there were any problems with their ears, as they had to listen to the referee's commands during the match.

"Boxing!"

The ring referee signaled the start of the match with a hand cut.

Link raised his fists and began moving, eyes fixed on his opponent's shoulders. He moved forward two steps, closing the distance with Black John.

John also kept an eye on his position, maintaining a one-meter distance, not engaging him directly.

Link guessed that his opponent must have watched his previous matches and knew his fighting style. At the same time, he had not been provoked by the pre-match argument and appeared to be a calm and experienced opponent.

Tricky!

Hard to handle!

Link glanced at his opponent and simply lowered his hands, letting his arms hang naturally at his sides while swaying and jumping forward, pressing towards his adversary.

By putting down his arms, he was abandoning defense, a move that showed serious provocation and disdain on the boxing stage.

Although John had been cautioned by his coach before the match not to attack rashly and to focus on defense in the first three rounds, he was also angered by Link's actions. He took a step back and, as Link pressed forward, suddenly leaped forward, throwing a punch towards Link's face.

The headgear in amateur matches provided perfect protection around the forehead and cheeks, but the middle front of the face was uncovered, making it a key target area for boxers.

Being close, John's punch came quickly. As Link turned his head, John's fist came swiftly and landed on the guard of his side face. Link's face was nearly hit, and his rear hook punch also followed at that moment, viciously slamming into the black man's forehead.

The two were too close. Black John noticed his punch and tried to lean back strategically, but Link's arm span was 192 centimeters.

Bang!!

A vicious swing punch, like a chain hammer, smashed into the black man's face.

Upon impact, Black John's head jerked backward uncontrollably, and with a thud, he fell to the ground.

"Wow! Awesome!"

"Well done!"

The punch was sudden, risky, swift, and forceful, a thrilling spectacle that instantly ignited the passion of the over five thousand spectators, who began to shout loudly.

"Link! The champion!"

The fans below chanted his name excitedly.

The media and thousands of spectators also turned their attention to this boxing stage.

"This boxer is quite interesting."

In the spectator seats, an elegant-looking man with brown hair nodded slightly while stroking his chin.

"Franco, are you interested in him?"

The woman beside him asked, cradling a child in her arms.

The brown-haired man shook his head and took out his phone to call his assistant, requesting an investigation into a boxer named Link Baker.

In less than two minutes, his assistant had sent Link's information to his email. The brown-haired man looked it over and, with a look of surprise on his face, made a call to his assistant and asked, "Simon, are you sure his first seven matches all ended in KO victories? These are amateur fights, with headgear for protection, and he still managed to win by KO?"

"Yes, boss, all KOs. In the Miami elimination matches, he ended all three bouts in one round, and yesterday he knocked down his opponents an average of four times per match. He's a heavy hitter," the assistant Simon evaluated.

"No, no, it's not just that he's a heavy hitter. His speed, his technique, his boxing sense, they're all extremely good, not at all inferior to professional boxers. Interesting, very interesting."

The brown-haired man put down his phone, his eyes sparkling as he watched Link, a handsome, well-built boxer with light skin who could fight and whose business value was quite considerable.

"Franco, do you want to sign him? He seems very promising."

The lady in the dress asked.

Staring at Link, the brown-haired man saw him knock down the black boxer once again and couldn't help but clench his fist, tapping his knee as he said, "Wait a little longer, just a little longer. Let's see how he performs next. I hope he can bring me more surprises."

----

Bang!

On the boxing stage, in the second round, both sides traded over thirty punches, with both sides taking turns at having the upper hand.

With just five seconds left in the second round, Link spotted an opening in his opponent and quickly closed in, breaking the opponent's defense with a set of combination punches and knocking down the black boxer, John, at the corner.

The second KO!

"Hey! Good morning, Mr. Cohen, this is Carl."

In the spectator stands, a black-haired middle-aged man with a camera couldn't help but take out his phone and call Greg Cohen, a promoter at the top promotion company, earnestly recommending a boxer from Miami named Link Baker, after seeing Link knock down the black boxer once again.

"Carl? Where are you? Orlando? A boxer with 8 matches and 8 KOs? Tell me about it again in detail."

Hearing Cohen's response, the black-haired middle-aged man's lips curled into a slight smile. He knew his words had piqued Greg Cohen's interest, so he went on to elaborate on Link's participation in the Golden Gloves amateur competition.

"Sounds good, Carl. Keep an eye on this boxer named Link. If he makes it to the national Golden Gloves finals, I'll go see him myself."

"Understood, Mr. Cohen. I will continue to follow his matches."

The black-haired man hung up the phone with a smile. He was a scout, specifically looking for young, talented, commercially valuable boxers or athletes for boxing promotion companies.

He had heard there was a boxing match at the Amway Center today and decided to stop by, hoping to discover some talent.

The boxers in the first few matches were mediocre at best; none seemed like noteworthy prospects—that is, until Link stepped into the ring. When Carl saw Link initially forego defense to lure his opponent in, then effortlessly dodge the opponent's punches and counter with a Swing Punch, he was immediately stunned.

The punch was quite unorthodox, absolutely stunning, truly shocking.

Carl was taken aback.

Such technique was only seen in professional boxing matches; a rookie boxer daring to do this and doing it so beautifully at that.

It made Carl very curious about this boxer named Link.

He called his friend to inquire about Link's information, and after receiving the data from Link's previous fights, he further confirmed the investment value of the boxer named Link, so he called the promoter of a top promotion company.

If the top promotion company were willing to sign Link, he could also earn a substantial commission in the future.

"Link Baker, keep it up. Continue winning, and you'll stir the entire American boxing scene."

Carl, clutching an e-cigarette, watched with a smile as Link knocked down his opponent again.

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Bang!

On the boxing stage, Link once again broke through black boxer John's defense with a heavy punch, landing a Straight Punch straight to his face, sending John to the ground for the third KO, unable to rise for more than ten seconds.

Boom!

The audience cheered loudly, shouting Link's name, calling him the boxing champion.

"I declare the winner of this match to be Mr. Link Baker!"

As the referee raised his arm and declared his victory, cameras and flashes from the crowd were all pointed at him.

After the final round, several sports figures seated among the audience picked up their phones and called promoters from major American boxing promotion companies: top Rank, Matchroom Boxing, Queensbury Boxing Promotion, Golden Boy, and Premier Boxing Champions.

And on that day, the names of many promoters across America came to know of a newcomer—Link Baker.

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