Chapter 182: Invitations from Major Clubs, Unspoken Rules

With the enemy understood, the rest was simple.

Defeat him!

Momonosuke Koizumi stood up, took a deep breath, and looked at Cheng Yao with eyes that were no longer frivolous, but instead filled with shame and anger.

He had actually been humiliated by a fighter making his debut! Unforgivable!

He grew serious, setting up his offensive stance.

The referee glanced at Cheng Yao, who nodded in response, and the match resumed.

Cheng Yao possessed incredible explosive power in his legs. Without waiting for Momonosuke Koizumi to strike, he launched the first attack, driving a crushing one-inch punch straight forward.

So powerful!

Momonosuke Koizumi focused solely on defense, yet the sheer force of that punch left the back of his hand completely numb.

In the split second of his distraction, Momonosuke Koizumi felt a roaring in his brain.

A fist landed squarely on his face, nearly caving his nose inward. For an instant, he lost all sensation of pain, but that very pain immediately forced him backward, his body arching in retreat.

At the venue, cheers erupted like a tidal wave!

Cheng Yao felt a surge of excitement, unleashing all the fierce tenacity ingrained in his bones, delivering punch after punch directly to Momonosuke Koizumi's face.

Blood gushed forth. Blood streamed uncontrollably from Momonosuke Koizumi's nostrils, and his swollen eyes were completely forced shut. Even when he tried to defend, those fists fell down upon him time and time again.

The referee was momentarily stunned, purely because Cheng Yao's punching speed was simply too fast.

Pulled apart by the referee, Cheng Yao looked at Momonosuke Koizumi lying near the ring ropes. He desperately wanted to hurl an insult calling him trash, but managed to hold it back, smiling as he took a few steps back.

"Contestant Koizumi, are you alright? Can you continue?"

The referee looked at Momonosuke Koizumi, who was still bleeding profusely. For reasons unknown, he felt a wave of satisfaction inside, yet he maintained his professional composure and offered words of concern.

Momonosuke Koizumi's head was still ringing, and the glaring stadium lights made him feel somewhat dazed. He shook his head in a daze.

He understood that if he continued fighting, he would only end up getting beaten to a pulp. Therefore, he slapped the canvas with one hand to concede defeat.

Yet once he stood up, he looked at the referee and then at Cheng Yao, chattering away angrily as if thoroughly unconvinced.

The referee said sternly, "This match was fair and just. There is absolutely no possibility of any performance-enhancing drugs being involved. Please refrain from making unreasonable disturbances."

"…Impossible! He definitely doped! The look in his eyes back then made it seem like he wanted to kill me!" Momonosuke Koizumi clamored.

In the end, Momonosuke Koizumi was led away by his head coach.

The referee raised Cheng Yao's arm and declared, "Great job!"

This scene formed a sharp, comical, and utterly ridiculous contrast with Momonosuke Koizumi's arrogant entrance before the match.

The arena exploded. Especially those in the domestic crowd who knew their stuff could easily tell just how formidable Cheng Yao truly was inside the ring.

"Holy shit, an upset dark horse! Is he a fighter from the Jinling Association?"

"That technique—he's definitely a pro. Buddy's explosive power is insane! He just kept him pinned down with zero chance to counterattack!"

"Did he dope? I demand a urine test!"

"Don't tell me the Japanese champion was bought off! Is this a fixed match?"

Gamblers had already begun to clamor, voicing their skepticism, finding it hard to believe that a newcomer could completely suppress a champion. Some even suspected that the Japanese champion had taken money to throw the match.

However, the organizers paid no heed to their complaints, and the tournament proceeded.

Though Cheng Yao's brilliance in the ring was fleeting, it left a deep impression on many, largely because his striking good looks made him instantly recognizable.

Especially in professional competitions, such a youthful face possessed an extremely high level of recognition.

Inside the lounge, Chen Ruiyong patted Cheng Yao on the shoulder upon his return and said with admiration, "Awesome! You really won some glory for us!"

This was the first time an amateur challenging a professional had completely dominated the match from start to finish.

An upset.

A dark horse.

Such scenarios weren't entirely unheard of in the arena, but never to this absurd degree.

"He's just too weak."

Cheng Yao genuinely felt the opponent was weak, primarily due to a severe lack of physical strength. Under the same weight class, his own strength was triple that of his opponent's. When exploding with full force, he had even feared that a single punch to the temple might accidentally kill the guy on the spot.

"In this tournament, the strongest one left is probably that American champion, right?"

"Right. His style relies on combination punches. He won't have any technical advantage over you, and his strength isn't in the same league as yours either. You'll be fine."

Hearing this, Cheng Yao asked, "Is he considered strong in America?"

"Among all professional fighters, he's lower-middle tier. But in the seventy-kilogram division, he's quite formidable."

Just then, a knock sounded at the lounge door.

Immediately afterward, a man wearing glasses and a suit walked in, extended a hand, and said, "Hello, Mr. Cheng. I am Cao Zhang, a consultant for the Beijing Fist Universe Fighting Club."

"Hello." Cheng Yao reached out and shook the man's hand.

"That was a brilliant match just now. I came by to ask if Mr. Cheng has already signed with any other clubs?"

"No, but I've joined the association."

Cheng Yao shook his head. His participation had been purely on a whim; he had never considered signing any contracts or becoming some kind of fighting star. This circle was too niche—although combat sports had global reach, the free-fighting scene itself remained a niche domain.

Cao Zhang said politely, "This is different, completely separate matters. The match just now was wonderful. Would you be interested in developing your career at our club? We offer the absolute best resources here…"

Cao Zhang went on to introduce Beijing's Fist Universe Club and outlined several attractive terms and benefits.

After Cheng Yao saw the man out, not even five minutes passed before consultants from other clubs arrived one after another, all inquiring whether he had any interest in developing his career with their respective organizations.

To all of them, he offered polite refusals.

Closing the door, Cheng Yao remarked, "I guess this is what they mean by 'men fear fame just as pigs fear fat.'"

"You—are you the ancestor of humble-bragging?" Chen Ruiyong, a thirty-year-old man, couldn't help but be amused.

He had participated in numerous matches himself, yet had never achieved such results. Cheng Yao had defeated a champion on his very first try; one had to admit that raw talent could genuinely drive others to despair.

Soon, the tournament entered the semi-finals.

When Cheng Yao stepped into the ring for the second time, the surrounding cheers grew even louder. After trading blows for a few rounds, the fighter from the Qinghai Association directly chose to concede.

"Bro, keep it up. I'm rooting for you."

"Thanks."

After a handshake, Cheng Yao wasn't quite as merciless toward his own countrymen, but when dealing with foreigners, his strikes were both ruthless and precise.

In the lounge, the American champion's head coach warned, "Kyle, you need to pay special attention to this Chinese fighter. His strength is terrifyingly high, easily top-tier in the seventy-kilogram class. Momonosuke Koizumi's loss was partly due to complacency."

"Don't worry, coach. I'll let him experience my combination punches firsthand."

"It's good that you're confident!"

Following a brief rest, the matches resumed.

Cheng Yao persevered through five consecutive matches, ultimately advancing straight to the finals and establishing himself as the ultimate dark horse and massive upset of this fighting tournament.

Both the spectators and fighters within the inner circle found it utterly unbelievable.

In the audience, although Ouyang Aili and Ouyang Zhenli didn't understand fighting, they still thought it was exceptionally, incredibly impressive.

"Bro is awesome! Winning glory for China, go kick their asses!"

Lin Sujiao glanced at the middle-aged man beside her and teased, "Didn't you say earlier that he couldn't possibly win?"

"Hey, who could have foreseen this? I admit I was hasty. I apologize to you both. Go get 'em, bro!"

Ahead of the grand finale of the Qingdao tournament, the head coach felt somewhat uneasy and thus came to Cheng Yao's lounge.

"Hello, I am Kyle's head coach."

"An American coach. What can I do for you?" Cheng Yao glanced at the man. Surely he wasn't here to recruit him to work abroad again, was he?

The head coach pulled out a check and cut straight to the point. "There are twenty thousand US dollars here. As long as you throw the fight slightly and let Kyle win the championship, this twenty thousand dollars is yours."

Chen Ruiyong glanced at the check and said, "Get lost."

The American coach seemed to understand, casting a brief glance at Chen Ruiyong.

Cheng Yao took the check, then tore it into tiny pieces right in front of the man, offering a good-natured smile.

The American coach's expression turned quite unsightly; he nodded in bitter frustration and turned to leave.

Closing the door, Cheng Yao asked with curiosity, "Are Americans really that wealthy, tossing out over a million in local currency just like that?"

"A million is quite a lot. Many professional fighters only make that much for a single appearance. Most people in the professional circuit are chasing money; only a tiny fraction can resist the temptation. That's why people say domestic combat sports have been blinded by money."

Cheng Yao fell into deep thought. Perhaps this was precisely why domestic martial arts lagged behind other countries?

Wasn't this the exact same concept as Tsinghua and Peking University?

Cheng Yao took a sip of water, checked the time, and said, "This is the final match. Once this match is over, I'll be the champion of this tournament, right?"

"Right!"

Chen Ruiyong raised his head and asked, "Would you mind having a manager in the future?"

"I refuse. I don't want there to be a second Song Zhe in this world."

"Tsk tsk, ask Chen Xinyan if she'd mind."

Cheng Yao shook his head. He had only come here to relieve some stress.

Besides, winning meant he'd get to kiss Chen Xinyan, something he had been anticipating for a long time.

After a brief rest, the spectators in the stands could hardly wait any longer.

This tournament had truly exceeded all expectations. No one had imagined a domestic fighter could shine so brightly, and many grew intensely curious about Cheng Yao's identity.

Yet, in a niche competition like this, very few could recognize Cheng Yao; after all, he wasn't exactly a public figure.

Finally, the challenge tournament welcomed its ultimate showdown.

The host enthusiastically hyped the event to its absolute peak as two stunning beauty models carried out the golden championship belt…

Immediately afterward, the four large screens displayed the figures of Cheng Yao and the American champion, Stephen Kyle.

The two men walked out to face each other, their gazes already filled with hostility.

Arriving in the ring, Cheng Yao looked at the champion and asked, "Your specialty is combination punches, yet rumor has it your technique isn't particularly refined?"

"What did he say?"

Stephen clearly didn't understand. The host smiled and translated, "Contestant Cheng Yao says he wants to experience your combination punches firsthand."

"Don't worry, I'll oblige."

Cheng Yao looked toward the referee, already rubbing his hands in eagerness.

The referee stepped into the ring, and the match finally welcomed its most climactic moment. Everyone in the stands yearned for the figure wearing shorts adorned with the red flag to achieve victory.

The anticipation was stronger than ever before.

It could be said that only at this very moment were the people in the arena truly united.

The match began. Stephen's height of one hundred and seventy centimeters posed no oppressive threat to Cheng Yao whatsoever, and his leg strikes lacked formidable power.

Cheng Yao executed a slight dodge and defense.

Seizing the exact opportunity and opening, his eyes narrowed slightly, he charged forward to finish it.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Before his unreasonable, immense power, Stephen was driven back step by step, finally experiencing the exact feeling the Japanese champion had endured earlier.

Two words: Helpless!