Domination in America, Starting from being a Boxing Champion

Having seen Simmons off and washed the teacups, Link returned to the small living room, where Emma silently sat on the sofa, sitting up straight, eyes fixated on a nameless variety show.

She donned a blue sleeveless dress, revealing her fair and slender arms, her delicate and slight collarbones, the subtle swirling hollow at the base of her throat, and her slender neck—soft and fragrant like jade, triggering an impulsive desire to embrace her and steal a kiss.

On the low table opposite, there were two empty plates that had contained fruit salad and Cuban sandwiches, now gone—an indication of Emma's fondness for both dishes.

When Link sat down beside her, Emma's eyelashes fluttered, and a blush spread from her earlobes to her cheeks and delicate neck.

Her breathing began to quicken, knees pressed tightly together, her dress's hem trembling slightly, as a strange fragrance emanated from her.

"Don't move around too much!"

Just as Link reached out to wrap his arm around her shoulder, Emma gave him a glare and said.

She was like a little hedgehog!

Link chuckled softly and encircled the young woman in his arms, with Emma melting into his embrace like ice cream.

"How does it feel?"

"You are a beast."

"That's right, and you are a cute little deer that has aroused my appetite."

"So it's my fault?!"

"No, can we blame the wind for blowing the sails? Don't you like it?"

"Of course not, I nearly died last night."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you," said Link, pinching her pert nose.

Emma bit his finger in response, lifted her fair and slender legs, pointed to the handprints on them, and asked indignantly, "What should I do? I have to go to the set tomorrow; if my aunt sees this, she will definitely put you in jail—I guarantee it."

Link saw the clear fingerprints and couldn't help but feel a bit dreamy.

He remembered once in the mine, toppling over mine carts; pushing hundreds of pounds of carts filled with iron ore required his utmost strength, using his waist, arms, and legs, forcing them outward with vigor.

Having pushed mine carts for three years, his palms were covered with thick calluses, gifts left by blisters formed from friction, breaking and healing over and over again.

Due to the frequent mine cart pushing, his waist, arms, and legs held tremendous strength.

After practicing boxing, he had honed a few deadly moves using these advantages, like the "Rear Hook Punch" and the "Liver Blow Punch."

After traveling through time, he had exercised by doing inverted sit-ups, making his waist even stronger.

Even those with waists twice his size couldn't match him in resilience and explosive power.

And Emma was even less of a match at 165 centimeters and just under 50 kilograms, an easy knockout.

"Don't worry, just apply some ointment, and it won't be visible by tomorrow. I remember in 'Harry Potter,' Hermione doesn't need to show her legs."

"You haven't watched the movie. How do you know it's not necessary? Don't be too absolute," said Emma with a slight huff, swinging her legs.

Link smiled gently, took out a first aid kit, and placed her leg on his knee, evenly spreading ointment around the handprint.

Seeing many topical medications in the box, Emma questioned if he often applied medicine to girls.

Of course, Link denied it.

The dive shop, being close to the beach, often had guests who got scraped or bruised while playing in the water. As a conscientious shop owner, it was natural to keep first aid supplies on hand.

Besides, as a boxer, it would be strange not to have first aid at home.

After applying the ointment, he took out a bandage and wrapped it twice around her leg, suddenly recalling that he had treated another girl's leg injury in the same spot not too long ago.

"Link, you must be a playboy," said Emma, looking at his handsome face, gentle movements, and remembering the tempestuous night before. She couldn't believe that such a man was short of female companionship or that any woman who became his girlfriend would willingly leave him.

"Why would you say that?"

Emma glanced at the "Playboy" magazine on the table.

"That belongs to James," said Link, shaking his head, lifting her chin with a smile, "For now, you're the only woman I have; I have no need to lie to you about such matters."

Emma, looking intently into his blue eyes, found them clear and unflinching. She nodded in satisfaction and leaned in for a kiss.

"Link! Link!"

James's voice came from outside, calling loudly.

Link caressed Emma's cheek, kissed her forehead, and stepped out to the front of the shop.

James was climbing up the steps, wearing a red baseball cap with curly hair cascading from beneath like a small cape, his forehead and face covered in sweat.

Following him were more than a dozen men and women carrying cameras and workbags, who, judging by their demeanor and attire, seemed to be colleagues of Simmons.

"Link, they are reporters. I ran into them on the way here and they said they wanted to interview you,"

James called out.

Link gave him a glance. The small shop was his home, his private territory. How could he let reporters in?

When Simmons showed up earlier, he first cozied up to Link under the guise of a tourist before engaging him in conversation for an hour.

These reporters should be going after news at the West Boxing Gym, not the dive shop.

Completely oblivious to the reason behind the glare, James didn't care as he walked in, bumped into him, grabbed a bottle of Coke from the fridge, and guzzled it down before suddenly spraying it out with a "pfft," eyes wide as he stared into the small living room, "Emm-Emma..."

"Shut up!"

Link went to the beach at the entrance to hold a small press briefing.

The reporters first congratulated him on winning the Golden Gloves Championship in the super middleweight division and also becoming the number one ranked amateur super middleweight boxer.

Link thanked the reporters.

Then, the reporters asked a few questions that Simmons had already asked.

Link wasn't irritated and answered each question.

Only his responses were slightly different here; with the presence of many reporters, he didn't mind being brash to gain attention.

"Mr. Link Baker, yesterday before the match, you publicly stated that if Bernard Hopkins, Chris Byrd, Valuev, and other boxing kings dared to challenge you, you would defeat them within three rounds, or else it would count as your loss. If any of them accept your challenge, would you dare to fight?"

the reporter from American Express asked.

"Of course, that statement is always valid. I very much welcome them to challenge me."

"Mr. Link Baker, there are many people online now calling you 'Mr. Big Mouth,' suggesting that you like to talk big. Do you accept this nickname?"

the reporter from the Baltimore Sun asked.

Mr. Big Mouth?

Link's face darkened slightly. That was the nickname of the British fighting star Conor, and he had no interest in it.

Link said with a darkened expression, "I don't understand the precise meaning of the slang 'big mouth,' but I don't like the explanation that follows. What do you mean I like to talk big? Please tell me, when have I ever made such boastful statements? Sir Reporter, please give me an example."

The Sun reporter thought for a moment, raised his hand, and said, "Mr. Link Baker, you publicly challenged several boxing kings and legends, claiming you would defeat them in three rounds and even finish off little Roy Jones in one round. Isn't that talking big?"

"Is that so?"

Link said coldly with a slight smile, lifting his finger, "Seven days ago, I stood at the Florida regional competition, publicly declaring my intent to enter the finals by knocking all my opponents out. You thought I was talking big and laughed at me.

After that, I racked up a record of 14 wins, 14 victories by KO, advancing smoothly into the final stages.

Three days ago, I stood in the American Airlines Arena, told all the reporters that I would continue to claim the championship by knocking all my opponents out. You thought I was talking big and continued to mock me.

After that, I knocked out Morales and Andzeje, advancing to the grand finale.

Yesterday, I stood in the boxing ring, telling everyone that I would KO Andrea Berto within five rounds. You still thought I was boasting, still laughing at me.

What happened?

I took the championship title of the finals, with 17 fights, 17 wins, and 17 KOs.

Now I'm telling you, anyone who doubts my strength can come and challenge me, and I will deal with them within three rounds.

So far, not a single match has been fought, and once again, you think I'm boasting, ready to mock me again?

Ladies and gentlemen reporters, you've been taught a lesson by the facts three times already. Why can't you wait a bit longer, wait until I'm defeated by those people, and then laugh at me?

As for Mr. Big Mouth?

I'm sorry, but I don't accept it!"

Link said calmly.

The reporter from the Baltimore Sun lowered his head and quietly stepped back a few paces.

The other reporters, hearing his words, couldn't help but express their admiration, realizing that although he liked to make bold claims, he had never failed. He wasn't truly a "big mouth," and even if he were, he was an extremely formidable one.

"Mr. Link Baker, it's said that when you were negotiating with major event promoters, you asked for a signing fee of one hundred million US dollars and demanded a 70% share when negotiating with top promotion companies. Is the reason no promotion company agreed because your asking price was too high, leaving you unsigned?"

the reporter from the Baltimore Sun asked again.

"I don't know where you got your information. What I can tell you right now is that I have no immediate plans to sign with a promotion company. If I do sign with one, I will make an announcement.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for the interview. However, I have some personal matters to take care of, so this interview is over. If you have any questions, please go to the West Fight Club and schedule an appointment with Manager Robinson. I am always at your service."

Link waved his hand, closed the door to his house, and ended the pointless conversation with the reporters, preferring to stay home and watch soap operas while holding Emma.

——