Wandering America: My kill threshold is far ahead

Under the astonished gazes of the crowd, Ma Jie stepped off the boxing ring and did ten push-ups in one go.

Once the stamina bar dropped to the warning line, it began to climb at a visible rate.

At the same time, the sore muscles regained their vitality, and the fatigue from the high-intensity battle was swept away, as if nothing had just happened.

The meter reverses, the Holy Body is fully formed!

"Jack, what are you doing?!" Jimmy was dumbfounded. After finishing a match, everyone else takes the time to rest, but you're doing this. Nobody's cheering you on, and you're having an encore?

Max, however, had a different opinion: "From a professional point of view, combat causes a lot of lactic acid to accumulate in the muscles, and appropriate cool-down exercises can help metabolize this lactic acid more quickly, thereby reducing muscle soreness."

"Um... okay, I don't quite understand what you're saying, but I have to take responsibility for his body."

While examining Ma Jieke, Jimmy took out a homemade ice pack from the medical kit, professionally covered it with a layer of non-woven fabric, and then used an elastic bandage to secure it to his arm.

There were obvious bruises on it, from when Juan launched "Mars Collides with Earth".

In addition, there was a small cut at the corner of his eye, probably from being accidentally grazed by a fist during the fight.

After wiping with an alcohol swab, just apply a band-aid.

The whole process was handled very efficiently, and it was clear that the person had received training.

"Jack, you've really opened my eyes today."

Witnessing the boxer complete the comeback, Sava excitedly hugged him and said with great enthusiasm, "I told you from the beginning that you were born to do this, but you've done enough today. I suggest you just collect your prize money and leave to prepare for the next stage of the competition."

"That's it?" Ma Jie looked at him in confusion. "Wasn't it supposed to be the endless challenge mode?"

Good grief, I just triggered the pity system and you're telling me it's someone else's turn to play?

Sava's smile faded, and he patted the man's broad shoulder, speaking in a tone like an elder: "Listen, brother, I've been in this industry for so many years and have seen plenty of promising talents like you, so I completely understand how you feel right now. It's understandable for anyone to get a little cocky after just starting out and achieving some small success."

"But as your agent, I must protect your long-term interests, not act like a slave owner and squeeze every last drop of your remaining value."

"That's enough, buddy. You look exhausted. Go take a shower, have a nice meal, grab a drink at a bar, and enjoy the Los Angeles night."

"But I really haven't had enough fun yet." With the mindset that he was already there, Ma Jieke chose to refute point by point: "First, my physical abilities are very special; my stamina is at least 1.5 times that of an average person, according to my doctor. Second, you said you wanted to make a strong debut; if I give up now, how many viewers do you think will remember me?"

"Oh bro, why are you so persistent? You can question me, but you can't question my professional standards."

Faced with Majek's inexplicable fighting spirit, Sava looked worried: "Max, you are his coach, please help me persuade this future world boxing champion. Anyone who doesn't know better would think he's going to challenge for the gold belt."

"Are you sure you can still fight?" Squatting in front of MaJack, Max rhythmically pressed on his pectoral muscles with his hands, as if conducting some kind of professional test.

"I'm sure." Ma Jieke nodded. "Besides, I've just found my form. If you don't let me play, it will be a loss for the whole team."

Max didn't speak, but kept repeating the movements of her hands by changing different parts of her body.

Then, like a dog, it sniffed hard against his sweat glands.

"That's strange, why aren't your muscles responding?"

"Normally, your flesh should be firm by now, but I haven't detected any lactic acid buildup."

Max was completely baffled. Could it really be as he said, that he had a very rare and special constitution?

"Sawa, can I talk to you? Just the two of us."

After calling Sava away, the two began to talk about it. Although they couldn't hear what the other was saying, they both seemed very excited, accompanied by a lot of body language.

In the end, Sava shook his head helplessly, as if he had been persuaded by Max, and went to find the club's competition manager with his head hanging low.

The fierce battle on stage was in full swing, with the audience cheering wildly. Compared to the competition between the rookies, the ongoing Street Fighter Challenge was the real main course.

Ma Jieke sat firmly in the preparation seat, not moving an inch. This viewing position was much better than the VIP view; every punch felt real and was a feast for the eyes.

"Phew, got it sorted out for you." Max returned and sat down next to him. "As long as the tournament manager agrees, you can go back on the field after the main event."

"If I win again, the prize money will double, right?"

"That's right." Max curled his lip. "But I'm worried about whether you can handle it. I know you're short on money, but don't risk it. If you find yourself outmatched, learn to protect yourself. Use what I taught you. Remember, losing a match isn't shameful. Getting injured is what's truly a loss."

"OK, thank you for your kind offer. I think it's quite worthwhile to have you as my coach."

"Go for it, boy, you're the best!"

The two bumped fists and patiently waited for the match to end.

During this process, Max also helped to break down some technical points through the battles between the fighters on stage, giving him a deeper understanding of combat sports.

About ten minutes later, the fierce battle finally ended, with neither side managing to defeat the other. The three-person referee team then made a decision based on their differences.

In a duel between masters, whether it's a knockout, a TKO, or a submission, it's very difficult to achieve.

This is similar to the World Cup, where at least one-fifth of the matches go all the way to penalty shootouts. All the teams are strong, so it's not so easy for you to eliminate them.

After announcing the results, commentator Kevin drank some mineral water, and then the voices of the staff came through his headset.

He quickly composed himself and turned the microphone back on: "Wow, I just received some breaking news. Abao, who just won two consecutive matches, has decided to continue participating in the rookie challenge."

"What?" Heavy Gunner Quillin looked completely bewildered. "Kevin, are you sure that wasn't just your imagination?"

"Of course not." Kevin shrugged. "Our tournament manager and Abao's agent have repeatedly confirmed that the match will begin in five minutes."

"He's insane, this guy is absolutely insane." Quilin crossed his arms: "Okay, I admit I just got slapped in the face, but I really want to make another prediction: given A Bao's current form, even if he's lucky enough to be matched with the weakest opponent, he'll still be KO'd within three minutes. I said that, and I stand by it."

"Okay, buddy, since you're so confident, how about we increase the bet?"

"What's the stake?"

"If you make a wrong judgment, you can crawl into the octagon and do a backflip, imitating Brother Hyperthyroidism's signature move."