blogombal Page 130
Page 130
After a brief period of deathly silence, chaos erupted.
Blair practically burst in, his long blond hair disheveled, and his usually shrewd smile replaced by panic.
Old Joe followed closely behind. This usually cheerful middle-aged man was now ashen-faced and walking with heavy steps.
The martial arts school's bigwigs also rushed in, crowding the narrow corridor, asking questions all at once, their faces filled with disbelief and anger.
Franky arrived last, wearing a sharp suit but with his tie undone. His eyes were sharp as an eagle's, and he was followed by two subordinates with cold expressions.
In an instant, everyone rushed over, crowding the area outside the ICU.
"Michael! What the hell is going on?!"
Blair was the first to speak, her voice shrill, "How could Victor...?"
Old Joe grabbed Blair, who was about to rush forward, and asked Michael in a deep voice, each word like a stone hitting the ground:
"Michael, tell me. I want to hear the truth."
The martial arts masters' gazes were practically burning holes through Michael.
Michael finally moved. He slowly raised his head, his eyes filled with a kind of numb weariness and a strange, incomprehensible stubbornness.
"We are training."
His voice was low and hoarse.
"Enhancement? Enhancement that can break twelve ribs with a fist?!"
One of the museum owners roared.
Master Chen of the Tai Chi School pushed the senior disciple backward.
Just then, Franky pushed through the crowd and walked over.
Without even glancing at Michael, he went straight to Old Joe and asked, "Dad, how bad is it?"
Old Joe shook his head heavily and pointed to the ICU.
Franky's face instantly darkened.
He turned sharply to Michael, his eyes, usually so adept at reading lies, now icy cold: "Explain. Immediately."
His voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable authority and a dangerous calm.
Michael attempted to reiterate his theory: "Victor's regenerative abilities are extraordinary. We've calculated that through supercompensation after a comminuted fracture, his chest wall's defensive capabilities and strength can..."
Franky interrupted him, a cold smile playing on his lips. "My stupid, high school-educated brother! Whose life are you calculating with? Yours? Or his?"
He stepped forward, almost touching Michael, exuding an overwhelming sense of pressure. "I don't care what kind of bullshit plans you have. The person lying inside is my important partner and the core of TWC! If anything happens to him, Michael, this will no longer be a training accident."
His gaze swept over the lawyer next to him, who was trying to remain calm and was dressed impeccably—the senior member of the Tai Chi School.
Seeing this, the senior apprentice immediately pulled a document from his briefcase, cleared his throat, and attempted to demonstrate professionalism: "Gentlemen, please calm down. Viktor and I signed a full waiver of liability, which was done voluntarily and under the circumstances of both parties being of sound mind..."
"Screw your liability waiver!"
Lanqi suddenly roared like thunder, startling the senior disciple: "I don't care about any laws or regulations, if anything happens, I'll kill you!"
Before the other party could even cite any legal provisions, Franky swiftly drew a pistol from its holster under his arm, cocked it with a "click," and pressed the cold muzzle directly against his senior brother's temple!
The movement was so fast that no one had time to react.
The corridor fell silent instantly; even breathing almost stopped.
The eldest brother's face turned as white as a wall in an instant. He raised his hands, and his briefcase fell to the ground with a "thud," scattering documents all over the floor.
His teeth chattered, and he couldn't utter a single word.
"Seal off this area. All communications."
Franky gave orders to his men, his eyes fixed on Michael, "Until he's out of danger, anyone who leaks even a single word about what's going on here will face the consequences."
His men acted immediately, silently removing unrelated medical personnel and taking control of both ends of the corridor.
Old Joe watched this scene and sighed heavily.
He knew Frankie's style well and understood that the most important thing at this moment was to stabilize the situation.
He walked up to the agitated museum owners and the panicked Blair, and said in as calm a voice as possible, "Quiet down! Victor is lucky, he's not in mortal danger, he just needs time to recover. Don't crowd around here and cause trouble! Go downstairs and wait for news!"
His words temporarily calmed everyone down.
The museum owners exchanged bewildered glances, and finally, under Old Joe's stern gaze, reluctantly and slowly dispersed. Blair kept turning back to look at the ICU door, his eyes filled with gloom.
After dispersing the crowd, the corridor became much emptier, leaving only the core group and the gun still pressed against the senior brother's head.
Frankie slapped Michael across the face.
Old Joe then turned around and walked up to Michael. His face was no longer as gentle as usual, but instead showed deep disappointment and sternness: "Now, there are no outsiders. Michael, tell me, whose idea was this?"
His gaze seemed to penetrate Michael's body.
Michael paused for a moment, avoiding Old Joe's gaze, and said in a low voice, "I agree."
"You agreed? If he wanted you to die, would you have agreed too?!"
Old Joe finally couldn't hold back and raised his voice, "Those are twelve ribs! Even a slight misalignment could pierce the heart or lungs, and even a celestial being couldn't save you! Have you two turned your brains into muscles?! What is this if not madness?!"
Michael endured his father's accusations, his jaw clenched, but he did not refute them.
He looked at the ground as if the answer was written on it.
His heart was not without turmoil.
The image of Viktor's pale face when he was wheeled into the ICU lingered in his mind.
Franky watched coldly, the gun still pointed at the trembling lawyer.
He coldly uttered two words to his senior brother: "If anything happens to Viktor, your waiver of liability won't stop me from killing you!"
Just when the atmosphere reached its breaking point, Old Joe took a deep breath and made a decision.
He went outside and pulled the still-shaken Blair aside, whispering, "Son, you don't trust this old man, and you don't trust that madman. You have connections, so go and contact them immediately, find the best surgeon, and have them come over secretly for another full checkup! It has to be someone absolutely reliable!"
Blair, as if grasping at a straw, immediately stepped aside, took out his phone, and used all his connections.
A few hours later, a top surgical expert in the field was secretly invited.
Under Frankie's arrangement, Victor was thoroughly examined, avoiding all eyes and ears.
After the examination, the expert's words eased everyone's tension a little, but made Michael's situation even more awkward.
The expert adjusted his glasses. "The ribs are indeed fractured in multiple places; the situation is very serious. But... all vital organs have been avoided, and there are no serious bleeding points in the chest cavity. It's almost as if it was calculated precisely."
The biggest risks right now are breathing difficulties and pain, but the ICU's life support system can perfectly address that. All that's left is to wait for the bones to heal.
Old Joe and Franky exchanged a complicated look—they certainly knew the lawyer's skills; he had killed someone with his bare hands—but he was exempt from punishment because he was a lawyer, which they claimed was self-defense.
Blair breathed a sigh of relief, almost collapsing from exhaustion.
The experts' words confirmed the "feasibility" of Michael's plan, but also sharply highlighted its extreme madness and risks.
This did not exonerate Michael; instead, it was like a silent slap in the face.
Franky slowly holstered his gun, looked at Michael, his eyes still cold: "He's alright, that's your luck. It doesn't mean you're innocent."
After saying that, he turned and left to arrange the subsequent lockdown and security matters.
Old Joe looked at Michael, and finally all the accusations and words turned into a long, heavy sigh.
He patted Michael on the shoulder, said nothing, and then turned to arrange things at the martial arts school.
In the corridor, only Michael and his senior brother remained, standing under the red light of the ICU.
The expert's conclusion was a double-edged sword, tearing at his heart.
Michael fell into complete silence, like an isolated island abandoned in a storm, enduring the impact of the raging waves. He was outwardly silent, but inwardly his world was in turmoil.
He accepted all the accusations, unable to refute them, nor did he want to.
Time passed in repression.
The ICU door opened again.
Victor was pushed out.
His face was still pale and his body was weak, but his eyes were unusually bright, even carrying a hint of... ecstasy.
Shockingly, the examination revealed that his ribs not only healed at an astonishing rate, but their density and thickness had actually increased by nearly 30%!
That inhuman regenerative ability turned the crazy theory into reality.
Victor saw the haggard crowd at the door, and Michael, who remained as silent as a rock.
He smiled weakly, and then, to everyone's surprise, he raised his hand, gesturing for everyone to listen to him.
"Okay, okay..."
His voice was weak, yet carried an undeniable force, "Stop making that face. I proposed the plan, and I know the risks. Now, isn't the result excellent?"
He looked around, his gaze finally settling on Michael.
"I was right."
He spoke slowly, each word strained yet crystal clear, “I can afford the price. And the rewards will be immense.”
He tried to move his arm and immediately frowned in pain, but the excitement in his eyes was undeniable.
He paused, took a deep breath, which was still somewhat difficult, but carried the power of new life.
Chapter 109 Tempering Steel
While Viktor was in the ICU, the news spread like wildfire—it was claimed that Viktor had fallen.
A short news item appeared in a corner of the sports section of the Chicago Tribune: "Boxing beast Victor suffers misfortune in the new year, breaking his ribs in an accident at home, casting a shadow over his June fight."
Those in the know who saw the news mostly shook their heads and sighed, believing that Viktor was just unlucky and his career was likely to be severely damaged.
Only a very few people might have a fleeting doubt, but no one could imagine what kind of crazy plan was hidden behind it.
On his sickbed, Viktor endured the sharp pain that made breathing difficult, his face pale from blood loss and suffering, but his eyes, staring at the ceiling, were unusually bright, even carrying a hint of satisfaction.
Michael stood by the bed, his face even more grim than Victor's.
The initial "success" of the plan brought no joy. Witnessing his friend suffer such great pain, he was overwhelmed by a strong sense of guilt and fear.