"Whoa!"
A huge wave of gasps and chatter erupted at the venue, the noise spilling through the television and echoing around the precinct cafeteria.
"Whelan???"
Wilson's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Why does that name sound so familiar?" He looked at Li Jie. "Is that the Whelan we know?"
As if answering his question, the broadcast immediately cut to the green room. A mountain of a man rose to his feet, his dark face brimming with joy and excitement.
"Hey! Hey, man, isn't that... isn't that... that..."
Wilson gesticulated wildly at the television. "The little black punk you... you gave money to?"
"Black kid."
"I never thought he'd actually go to Metropolis... wait!" Wilson paused for a few seconds. "You sent him there?"
Li Jie smiled without answering, watching Whelan put on a Metropolis Suns cap and walk onto the stage to shake hands firmly with Paul Tagliabue. Relentless camera flashes lit the entire stage as brightly as daylight. The audience applauded wildly, but even more people were asking questions:
"Who's this ugly kid?" asked a spectator sitting beside a camera.
"Ugly?"
His friend scoffed. "Forget the win bonuses. With a signing bonus of over ten million dollars and a forty-eight-million-dollar contract, I'd let him sleep with me."
"In your fucking dreams. If he's sleeping with anyone, I'm first!"
"Pfft! You bitch!"
Of course, Waylon Jones never saw these little disturbances in the audience. He raised a hand to acknowledge the cheering crowd. At that moment, he was the sole focus of Madison Square Garden.
Then, guided by the staff, he entered the media interview area off to the side. Reporters who had been waiting for ages immediately thrust cameras and recording devices in front of him, firing questions in rapid succession.
"Whelan, how does it feel to