Reborn in America: I Have an Equipment Slot

"Alright, enough chit-chat, let's welcome our two players for tonight's match."

Host Green pointed to the octagon with one hand and brought the microphone to his mouth with the other: "First up is 'The Grim Reaper' from Brooklyn—Watson!"

At Green's booming voice, blazing flames erupted from beside the octagonal cage.

Immediately afterwards, a black man who was only 1.7 meters tall but had bulging muscles and looked extremely agile walked into the octagon with his hands raised.

As "Death" Watson appeared, the previously quiet audience immediately became lively, with many people raising their hands, whistling, and looking excited.

It was clear that a significant proportion of the audience were fans of this "Grim Reaper".

"Next up is 'Iron Fist'—Wolowitz!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the audience in the stands booed loudly.

The reason is simple: this "Iron Fist" not only has a wild and unrestrained appearance with a rooster-like hairstyle and a strong punk vibe, but also arrogantly gave the middle finger to the audience when he entered the ring.

Seeing that many audience members had started swearing, host Green quickly tried to calm things down: "Alright everyone, the match is about to begin! Save your enthusiasm and anger, and shout it out!"

"Now, let's see who the real champion is..."

There were no placard girls, and no referee standing in the middle making the start gesture.

Under Irving's slightly surprised gaze, the game began abruptly with the ringing of several bells.

Clearly, underground boxing matches don't have many fancy rules; once the bell rings, it's game over.

Sure enough, as soon as the match started, "Iron Fist," sporting a rooster-like hairstyle, took the initiative and launched an attack with his signature compass kick.

However, it is clear that Watson, a seasoned boxer with only one loss in his last 20 fights, is very experienced and avoided the risk with a simple step back.

After missing his target with a kick, "Iron Fist" Wolowitz immediately looked embarrassed.

Although his nickname is "Iron Fist," he is actually skilled in leg techniques.

Seeing that his opponent was already prepared, Wolowitz simply stopped hiding and gritted his teeth, unleashing a series of spinning kicks at "Death".

"Oh shit, what is the 'Iron Fist' fighter doing? Is he demonstrating Taekwondo?"

The host, Green, covered his forehead, his face full of surprise, his expression quite exaggerated.

In stark contrast to Green, commentator Quill, sitting to the side, appeared remarkably calm, explaining in a deep voice:

"Green, you don't understand. This 'Iron Fist' fighter is clearly extremely skilled in leg techniques. He's currently using a series of attacks to find an opening in his opponent's defenses..."

"Oh no! The 'Grim Reaper' player's ankle injury has indeed been affected; he couldn't dodge in time and got kicked in the head!"

Green stood up, grabbed the microphone, and shouted, "Oh, get up, baby... wait, 'Death' was just faking it when he fell!"

"A beautiful uppercut!"

Before the words were even finished, a loud "bang" rang out!

"Iron Fist" Wolowitz was punched directly in the face, his body stiffened, and he fell heavily backward onto the stands.

The situation in the game can change in an instant.

Seeing Wolowitz fall to the ground, "Death" Watson did not hesitate at all, and stepped forward to kick him twice on the head!

Noticing that Wolowitz had stopped moving, the referee, who had been standing in a corner, immediately blew his whistle to stop "Death" Watson from continuing his attack.

After separating the two players, the referee lay down on his side and slammed his hand heavily on the elastic floor of the octagon, beginning the classic countdown.

"Ten! Nine! Eight..."

As the referee began the countdown, the spectators in the stands stood up and unconsciously counted down along with each other, their hearts pounding.

Some viewers who had bet heavily on "Iron Fist" had bloodshot eyes, waving their fists and angrily shouting for "Iron Fist" to stand up.

"KO!!" Upon hearing the countdown end, the host immediately stood up and stepped onto the table.

"Oh my god! Who would have thought that 'Death' Watson would knock out his opponent with an exaggerated hook punch! Ending his winning streak!"

"This is truly unexpected. As expected, 'Iron Fist' has paid the price for his arrogance!"

As the game ended, Irving let out a long sigh of relief.

Good news! Not only did I keep my $50 bet, but I also made an extra $25.

The bad news was that the brutality of underground boxing matches far exceeded his expectations.

Irving originally thought that the referee would intervene once the "Iron Fist" went down.

Unexpectedly, in the octagon, when a referee intervenes depends entirely on their mood at the time.

Sure enough, making money in these underground boxing matches isn't easy.

After the game ended, Irving lost interest in watching any more. He picked up his betting slip, redeemed it, and left immediately.

As Irving walked out of the Kings Club, he was about to call Hudson.

Suddenly, a commotion came from ahead.

Filled with curiosity and doubt, Irving and a few bystanders gathered around.

There were dozens of black people standing in front of a bar on the side of the road.

Two white men were blocked in the middle of the crowd.

The two white men were wearing white hoodies, their hair was messy, and their dark eyes were so bright they looked like they were being illuminated by candlelight, almost frighteningly so.

Upon seeing the faces of the two white men, Irving paused slightly, feeling a sudden sense of familiarity.

Upon closer reflection, weren't these the two white men who inexplicably caused trouble at the bar last night and whom I beat up?

Even more outrageous, Irving discovered that the black men standing at the very front had also been beaten up by him.

"Give me the money!"

A Black man stepped forward and yelled at the two white men, "We five got beaten so badly, you're not leaving here today without $1000!"

"F**K, we agreed on $50 each, this is robbery!"

Surrounded by the crowd, Edward raised his hands and shouted loudly, showing no fear whatsoever.

"What robbery? You two white pigs are definitely trying to scam us on purpose!"

"That's right!"

"You only said we should teach that Asian a lesson, but you didn't say that Asian knows kung fu!"

"He kicked me, and my stomach still hurts. You have to pay for my medical expenses!"

The black men stood their ground, their faces contorted with anger.

"Come on! Guys! It's not my fault you got beaten up. Who told you not to run away?"

Edward shouted, shrugged, and said impatiently, "I'm only giving you $250 anyway. If you don't want it, get out of here now, or I'll call the police!"

Upon hearing the words "call the police," the Black men immediately hesitated.

But seeing that there were quite a few companions around them, the group exchanged glances and immediately became more confident.

"Don't listen to those white people. Haven't they lied to us enough times?"

"Let's beat him up first!"

"Yeah, beat him up! Beat him until he poops, he'll definitely pay!"

Edward felt a chill run down his spine when he heard a sudden burst of angry curses erupting from the crowd.

"Wait a minute!"