Walking towards the exit, Jaquan soaked in the cheers. The love and adoration of the fans, even the fury of the haters fueled him. They knew; everyone knew that he was the champion. Their approval or disapproval was irrelevant. The championship of the entire world was not up to a vote. He wanted it. He took it. He kept it. It is his.
His crew waited for him at the arena exit; three people, his most trusted friends. Once he walked beyond the doorway, they followed him. He removed his helmet and handed it to, Liana, a female to his left. He was rather tall for a Crisho, almost five and eight tenths centimeters. Brown lizard-like skin covered most of his face, the left side being colored with a permanent patch of deep red. The look of determination glowed from his entire body as he walked with a victorious swagger. The pains of fight were forgotten with a little effort.
As he approached the locker room, a bottle filled with a clear liquid floated slowly into his path from the right. It distracted him from his thoughts of dominion. He looked to the right and saw Catlin smiling at him. He smiled back and grabbed the drink out of the air.
Walking into the locker room he took a seat on the bench to rest and prepare for the rest of the night. As the water touched his lips it suddenly became cool and soothing, much more soothing than it should have been. The coolness spread through his body. Every muscle the coolness touched was suddenly relieved of all stress. His pains were completely gone. Catlin enchanted the water to do just that. He breathed easy. By the time he finished the bottle he was ready for another championship fight.
Even so, he took his time as he prepared to leave the locker room. He could already hear the reporters crawling around outside the door. They were always there waiting to shove microphones in his face to ask questions that he didn’t care to answer. This was his victory. It shouldn’t matter what he was thinking at five minutes thirty two seconds into the match. They should already know what he was thinking when he was shot in the leg. The answers were obvious.
It didn’t really matter what he actually said during the interview. The reporters always spun his words to say what they wanted. They often ignored his answers and followed their line of questions. They seemed determined to build a media drama between him and a fighter that got lucky last time.
Orien had hit him with a cheap shot early in their last fight. Even though he lost, Orien bragged about it ever since. He took every opportunity to say Jaquan was scared of a rematch. No doubt the reporters would try to get a response from him.
Putting on the dress clothes Liana had chosen for him, he prepared to face the questions. Hopefully, this time it will be brief.
“Here we go again.” With a sigh, he opened the door.