Jack poured all his strength into his arm. A construction worker like him didn't have much technique, just a violent instinct to go hard.
His shoulder sank, and the muscles on his arm bulged instantly, looking as if he wanted to snap Shane's wrist like a cement board.
Seeing this, the surrounding patrons exploded.
"Jack, crush him! Show him what the construction site is made of!"
"Shane, hold on! Don't go soft on the first push!"
"Push! Push! Jack, what the hell are you waiting for? Pin him down!"
Shane did feel some pressure, but not much.
Jack's strength was indeed solid. If it were Shane's physical condition when he first transmigrated, he might really have been pinned down by this first push.
But the current Shane was not the same as when he first arrived. During this time, he hadn't just been filming videos and training Kevin; he hadn't slacked off on his own training either.
Moreover, he found that during his extreme strength training, his body was adapting and strengthening at an astonishing speed.
He was now bench pressing 160kg for reps, squatting 240kg, and deadlifting 300kg—weights that could send an ordinary person straight to the hospital.
So although Jack's push looked fierce, to Shane, it felt like someone was earnestly tapping his wrist with a small wooden hammer.
He felt something, but it didn't have much impact.
"That's it?"
But Shane didn't plan to win immediately. He saw the bets placed on Jack's side. Even mosquito meat is meat, and there was still the beer holding contest later.
If he won too quickly now, the surrounding audience would lose interest. No emotion meant no betting, and no betting meant no money to earn.
For these people in the South Side, their thinking was simple: "If you don't put on enough of a show, they won't even invest much in mocking you."
So Shane started to let his wrist be pressed down slowly. The angle began to tilt bit by bit, and the scales of victory seemed to have tipped towards Jack.
Seeing this, a smug smile appeared on Jack's face. It was as if he could already see himself slamming Shane's hand onto the table and laughing at him wantonly.
Before long, the back of Shane's hand was only three fingers away from the table!
Watching this scene, Jack held his breath, preparing to press down with all his remaining strength to complete the kill.
"Jack's got it! Quick!"
"Push! Push! Shane can't hold on anymore!"
In the surrounding crowd, those who bet on Jack began to scream excitedly.
But when he exerted force, he found that no matter how hard he pushed, Shane's hand wouldn't move.
Shane looked like he was struggling immensely, but before long, he let out a grunt and then began to exert force.
The arm that looked like it had been pressed to the limit actually started to stabilize against the downward trend and began to push back a little.
"Huh?"
The smugness on Jack's face began to solidify into astonishment. He kept pushing, but he couldn't press Shane's palm down even a millimeter further.
Shane looked like he was about to collapse, his face flushed red, his whole body trembling.
His performance made this counterattack look full of seesaw tension, extremely dramatic, whetting the appetites of everyone around.
"It's coming up! Shane is pushing back!"
"My God! Where did he get the strength?!"
"Jack! What are you doing! Push!"
The instant reversal of the situation made the bar boil over. Gasps, screams, and urging shouts mixed together.
Jack's eyes were bloodshot. He was using every ounce of strength he had, the muscles on his arm trembling rapidly.
But no matter how he struggled, the hand held by Shane was still being pushed back to the midline bit by bit, then tilting in a direction unfavorable to him.
"No, impossible..." Jack's mind went a bit blank, surrounded by a huge sense of absurdity.
At the final moment, Shane seemed to have finally gathered enough strength. He let out a short roar, his arm muscles tensing suddenly.
Bang!
With a solid thud, Jack's thick arm, along with the back of his hand, was cleanly pinned to the table by Shane.
Dead silence.
But then—
"Whoa—!!!"
"Shane! Won!!!"
"Holy crap! He actually beat Jack!"
V and Kevin jumped up in excitement, hugging and cheering.
Fiona reached out even faster, sweeping all the bills belonging to Jack's side from under the tray on the betting table into her arms.
"Fck! Jack! Did you go soft?!"
"Did you spend all your energy on a stripper last night?! My five bucks!"
"Bullshit! You pay me back for my drink!"
The patrons who felt let down vented their anger about losing money on Jack.
Jack stared blankly at his hand pinned to the table, then looked at Shane opposite him, who looked like he had exhausted all his strength.
"Dumb luck, right, it must be dumb luck! Also, the table was too slippery, making my exertion unsmooth."
Jack frantically made excuses for himself in his mind.
"I wasn't ready just now, exerted force too early... right, that's it. And holding the beer glass, that's the real test of strength. Looking like that, he must have used up all his strength!"
Tommy and Kermit high-fived on the side, chuckling. Obviously, their small bet was placed on the right person.
At this time, a patron acting as a temporary referee announced loudly:
"Round one, arm wrestling, Shane Gallagher wins! Prepare for round two, beer holding!"
The bar immediately became lively again.
"Next round, next round!"
"Open betting again, open betting again!"
In this round of betting, there were obviously a few more bills on Shane's side.
V poked Kevin. "Who did you bet on just now?"
Kevin swallowed. "I bet on Shane, but I also bet a little bit on Jack... although I don't like him, I thought his chances of winning were bigger..."
V rolled her eyes at Kevin. "That's typical South Side fat guy logic, always wanting to eat from both sides."
Kevin acted very aggrieved. "This is the South Side rule of making money."
A few minutes later, the two, having rested, stood in front of the table with two large mugs of ice-cold beer.
Jack: "Kid, you got lucky just now. You just wait this time."
Shane: "Save some strength. You'll be crying while buying everyone drinks later."
The two beer mugs on the table each held a liter, and the beer was poured generously, the foam looking like it was about to spill over the rim.
The patron who volunteered signaled for silence, then raised his hand high.
"Round two, beer mug hold. Whoever puts it down, spills it, or drops their arm below the horizontal line first loses! Ready!"
Shane and Jack each reached out and grabbed the handle of their mugs.
"Three—"
Both lifted the mugs steadily.
"Two—"
Their arms straightened, parallel to the ground.
"One—"
"Start!"
The strange cries around them exploded again, pushing the entire bar towards the next, even livelier round of gambling.