"Oh baby, oh, look at that neck!"
"Kid's built like a brick shithouse!"
Hearing the spectators' chatter, I involuntarily took another look at Toraman, who was walking to the front of the machine with slow but firm steps.
Indeed, the man wasn't denying he grew up in the countryside. Whether it was the effect of a purely organic diet or if it was in his genetics, who knows, but his frame looked seriously solid.
"Even though it's embarrassing to come up here before you two, I'll forget about it while spending your money."
As soon as Toraman finished his sentence, he drew a half-moon where he stood and brought his fist down on the bag hanging over the machine.
This time the sound didn't come from the crowd but directly from the device itself; the oversized teen put the fear of God into that punch and let it rip.
2050!
The beast of a man didn't know his own strength; without even taking a proper stance, he hit 300 more than the boxer who was busting a gut just a moment ago.
