In the 90s, you could acquire max-level skills every 14 days.

Zhang Yong put on his gloves and clenched his fist.

The gloves were heavier than I expected, weighing about half a pound, and the leather was stiff.

Coach Yang stood opposite him, with one foot in front of the other, his hands raised to either side of his chin, and his body leaning slightly forward.

"Come on, just hit me in the face."

Zhang Yong's gaze swept over Coach Yang.

[Driving Lv.6: Environmental Awareness - The target's center of gravity is slightly to the left front foot, the right hand is slightly below the standard defensive line, and the shoulder muscles are in a semi-relaxed state.]

This person didn't take it seriously.

That's true. Nobody would take a serious look at an eighteen-year-old kid who's never trained.

"Coach," Zhang Yong confirmed again. "Really?"

Coach Yang smiled, revealing a set of white teeth.

"I'm serious. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

A few young men sparring nearby stopped and, shirtless, came over to watch the spectacle. A short man with a buzz cut chuckled.

"Dude, just go for it! Our coach's a retired squad member, you little rascal, you'll be flying through the air soon—"

"Shh." A tall guy next to him nudged him. "The coach told us to be quiet in class."

Zhang Yong took a deep breath.

He can't fight.

To be precise, they won't have a "serious" fight.

The first two times I dealt with thugs in the alley, I relied entirely on swinging a wrench at them.

But there is one thing he is better at than any novice.

One of the core capabilities of Auto Repair Level 5 is precise torque output.

What's important when tightening bolts? Angle, force, and point of application.

The difference between punching a dead iron and tightening a bolt is simply that one punches a living person, while the other punches a dead metal.

The exertion is the same.

After thinking it through, Zhang Yong punched the ground with both fists and pushed off with his right foot.

With a twist of the waist and hips.

He thrust his right fist straight out.

A straight line, from the shoulder to the fist, taking the shortest distance.

Coach Yang's pupils contracted slightly.

That's fast.

His right hand was resting on the side of his chin. Normally, to block a novice's straight punch, raising his hand would be enough.

But Zhang Yong's punch wasn't aimed at the face.

It was the three-finger-width gap between his right-hand defensive line and his left shoulder.

Coach Yang only had two words left in his mind!

Holy crap.

It was too late to stop it.

"Bang."

The muffled thud echoed through the silent stadium.

The boxing glove struck Coach Yang in the left chest, right below his collarbone.

The blow made him stagger backward and slide half a step before regaining his balance.

The training ground was silent for two seconds.

The shirtless young men looked at each other in bewilderment. The short, buzz-cut man's mouth hung open for a long time.

"Did...were we hit?"

Coach Yang straightened up, ignored the comment, and gave a brief, indifferent remark.

"good."

"You have some basic skills, and your strength is concentrated. But your center of gravity needs to be shifted back a bit, and your posture is also incorrect."

He put away his boxing gloves and nodded to Zhang Yong.

"I can teach. It's twelve yuan a month, Monday to Saturday during the day, anytime is fine. I guarantee you'll learn."

"become."

"Then warm up first," Yang Cheng called out to the corner. "Dazhuang! Come here!"

A young man, about the same age as Zhang Yong, ran over from the crowd.

He has broad shoulders and bulging muscles on his forearms, which clearly indicate that he has been training for many years.

"Coach Yang!"

"Take this new student through the motions, teach him the basic footwork and basic punches. Go easy on him, don't go overboard."

"Alright!" Da Zhuang grinned at Zhang Yong, revealing a fang. "Hey buddy, my name is Wang Da Zhuang, what's yours?"

"Zhang Yong".

"Zhang Yong, right? Come on, let's have a spar." Da Zhuang patted his boxing gloves. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing, I won't hit your face."

Yang Chengchong and the other man waved their hands.

"I'll go get a registration form. You two practice first."

He turned and walked towards the door, his steps neither hurried nor slow.

After exiting the training field through the back door, turn into the equipment room at the end of the corridor.

The door closed.

"hiss--"

Yang Cheng lifted up his vest and glanced down at his chest.

A red mark, about the size of a palm, with the darkest color in the very center, spreading outwards.

He pressed it with his finger.

"Ouch—damn, that brat really went for it!"

pain.

It felt like being hit with a hammer through a quilt.

Yang Cheng rubbed it back and forth several times, grimacing in pain.

"That brat... he says he's never trained, I'm going to make him fall over eight times!"

He touched the bottle of medicated oil and pressed it for a while.

"Hiss... Holy crap..."

I rubbed it for about two minutes before the pain subsided.

Yang Cheng put down his vest and took out a registration form and a ballpoint pen from the cabinet.

He was still muttering to himself.

"Sigh, I'm not feeling well today. I haven't been sleeping well lately. I'll go to sleep as soon as I get home."

"This young man has a good foundation; how about letting him study for a few more months?"

Yang Cheng walked back with the registration form in his hand, wondering how to bring it up with the kid—at worst, he could offer a discount.

The district team kept asking him to recommend promising young players. Although this particular player was older, he was incredibly strong...

He pushed open the door to the training ground.

Then he froze.

In the middle of the field, Zhang Yong and Da Zhuang started fighting.

Da Zhuang threw a left hook, and Zhang Yong hurriedly dodged to the right, managing to avoid it.

Da Zhuang followed up with a right roundhouse kick. Zhang Yong raised his arm to block, but was kicked half a step to the side. He didn't cry out in pain.

"Hey! Not bad, buddy!" Da Zhuang got happier and happier as he played. "You really haven't trained?"

Zhang Yong didn't answer, his eyes fixed on Da Zhuang's movements.

Da Zhuang threw another jab.

This time, Zhang Yong didn't dodge. He imitated Da Zhuang's earlier move, lowering his left shoulder and pushing off the ground with his right foot, throwing a jab.

The two fists crossed in mid-air.

Da Zhuang's fist grazed Zhang Yong's ear, while Zhang Yong's fist struck Da Zhuang's arm guard, dissipating most of its force.

The movements are not right; the shoulders are too low, the waist doesn't rotate enough, and the wrists aren't locked when punching.

but--

The rhythm of the exertion, the sequence of pushing off the ground and twisting the waist, was clearly the same one that Dazhuang had just used.

Yang Cheng stood at the door, clutching the registration form tightly.

"This is fucking..."

He rubbed his eyes.

How can someone who has never practiced Sanda (Chinese kickboxing) start imitating their opponent's techniques after less than three minutes of sparring?

Yang Cheng spent eight years in the district team, where he saw geniuses, hard-working players, and those who just coasted along.

But this kind of intuitive feeling was something he had never encountered before.

"stop!"

Da Zhuang and Zhang Yong stopped at the same time.

Yang Cheng walked over and slapped the registration form on Zhang Yong's chest.

"Fill it out."

Zhang Yong took it and wrote his name, age, and address on it.

Yang Cheng stood to the side, arms crossed, squinting as he sized him up.

"You've really never trained before? Did your school teachers give you any intensive training?"

"No." Zhang Yong filled out the form and handed it back. "It's just that I do a lot of physical labor, so I have strong hands."

Yang Cheng snorted, not quite believing it, but didn't press the matter.

These days, all sorts of people come to learn Sanda (Chinese kickboxing). Some want to be bodyguards, some want to compete, and some simply want to learn a few self-defense techniques. If you ask too many questions, people will leave.

"Okay." Yang Cheng took the watch. "Classes officially start tomorrow. Today is a trial day, so it's free."

He paused for a moment, then added another sentence.

"If you think it's okay, renew your contract with me for a few more months, and I'll give you a discount."

"Thanks, Coach. I'll be on time tomorrow."

"Wait a minute," Yang Cheng called out to him. "What do you do for a living now?"

"Car repair."

Yang Cheng paused for a moment, then looked at Zhang Yong's hands again—there were indeed black machine oil stains under his fingernails that couldn't be washed off.

"No wonder you have so much strength in your hands." He nodded. "Alright, let's go."

Zhang Yong left the stadium and mounted the Jialing 125.

The engine roared to life. He didn't rush off; instead, he glanced at the system panel in his mind.

[Valid combat simulation interaction detected...]

[Fighting Lv.0: Unlocked - Beginner Progress: 15%]

[Tip: Continue effective practice or real combat to accelerate the unlocking of the basics. Once you have completed the basics, you can bind an AFK (away from keyboard) character.]

Fifteen percent.

I only played for a short while today, fifteen points.

At this rate, three or four more serious practice sessions and I'll unlock the beginner level. Once unlocked, I can just put it in the AFK spot, 30x speed, fourteen days—

If I work a little harder and do it a few more times, I'll definitely be able to hang it all up.

Zhang Yong twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle merged into the traffic on Chaoyang Road.

A gust of wind blew into his collar, chilly. He touched his right shoulder—Da Zhuang's kick had been quite forceful, and it still ached.

But the most important thing now is to go home and explain the aftermath of my uncle's actions to my parents—raising children, building houses, swindling money...

The sooner we say it, the sooner we can settle things.

......