"Make way, make way, everybody!" the short man with slicked-back black hair yelled as he pushed everyone aside. He adjusted his golden necklace and the jewelry on his fingers, then laid a red carpet on the floor and opened the door for the current number one snooker player in the world, Julian 'The Sphinx' Jackson.

Julian slowly walked in, not blinking, scanning the building like a bird of prey. He then turned to the bartenders and said, "Clean the table, peasants." The table upstairs is his table, and only he is permitted to play there. The short man, his manager Mickey 'The Mouth' Davies, started cleaning Julian's boots as Julian drank a glass of milk.

Julian always wears his golden waistcoat and keeps his ginger hair nicely kept. He is always serious, and it shows when he plays. They say beating him is like trying to solve an impossible riddle.

Julian has won the world championships seven times, currently six in a row, and of the last 20 tournaments, he has won 18 of them. When he walks in, everyone looks away. The whole pub gets cleaned, and sometimes it must even be redecorated, and his snooker table gets brushed for exactly 30 minutes. Rex sits staring at him across the room, seething. Mickey orders five pints of beer for himself and pays half the price.

Rex dashes towards them. "I'm sick and tired of you two plonkers acting so high and mighty. Who the fuck do you think you are to invade my place?! In here, I am a king!"

"And I'm God," replied Julian coldly and seriously as he stood up, towering over Rex.

"Oi, I'll handle this. You go upstairs and practice," said Mickey as he went in between them. Rex and Julian exchanged looks before Julian headed upstairs.

"Now, Rex, why don't I buy you a drink?"

"Piss off, Mouth."

"Alright, more for me," he sipped his beer. "So, how's the missus?"

Rex started to sweat.

"Oh, right, sorry mate. You got divorced after you beat her drunk. Now I feel bad for asking you for a drink, but you do still drink considering that there's your cue over there where that bloke Lester is, and beer right next to him, and that wanker only ever drinks tea."

Rex pointed his finger at Mickey and leaned in. "Listen here, you little sausage, I'm going to be a world champion this year."

Mickey laughed, "You said that last year and you lost to The Sphinx 13-1. You broke down, mate. You've been serving a 12-month ban; you must be rusty, eh? I doubt you'll even qualify this year."

Rex grabbed him by his tie.

"Careful now, I could sue you for this."

Rex's eyes twitched, but he had no choice but to let go.

"Good boy. Don't get all tough. You're balding at 39 and you wear a pink shirt. It's not intimidating; frankly, it's embarrassing." Mickey laughed as Rex stormed back to his table, cursing under his breath.

His eyes always turned red when he saw Julian. Rex kept drinking to calm his nerves and kept a watchful eye on The Sphinx. The more he looked, the more horrified he got, as Julian hadn't missed a single ball for three hours straight.