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Extra (Final)

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“So back then… the kid standing outside Silver Emperor’s training facility—that was you?” Yang Sa traced the faint marks on his lover’s wrist, realizing that their very first meeting dated back much farther than he had imagined.

Back then, he wasn’t an orphan yet—he still had his older brother to rely on.

“What are you thinking about?” Shao Zhan tapped the tip of his nose. He really liked mornings like this, where the first thing he saw upon waking was Yang Sa.

Not wanting to bring up anything sad, Yang Sa played it off with a teasing smile. “Watch yourself—I’m your lifesaver, you know.”

Even though it was really his brother who had saved him from that vicious dog, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to claim the credit. His brother wouldn’t mind… probably.

“Yes, yes, my noble lifesaver,” Shao Zhan said, pulling him into his arms and nuzzling against him. “So how should I repay this debt, hmm, my dear lifesaver?”

He crawled up close, his meaning unmistakable. “How about… I give you my body in return?”

“Again?!” Yang Sa shrieked, trying to bolt—but Shao Zhan caught him around the waist and dragged him back.

Holding down the squirming, red-faced Yang Sa, Shao Zhan coaxed him gently, “Just one more time, baby… Just once more, okay?”

…

Breakfast plans—and the whole day’s itinerary—were completely scrapped.

But the one who suffered most from Shao Zhan’s antics… wasn’t the new captain of Team Xinghai.

The night before, the Xinghai players had been staking out a hot spring resort, planning a surprise celebration—only to receive Shao Zhan’s third delay notice.

“That bast*rd, seriously—he has no shame left,” Fat Tangyuan cursed into the phone. “You think our little captain is made of steel? That tiny frame of his—how is he supposed to survive this kind of punishment?!”

Meanwhile, his fingers typed furiously: [Got it, Captain~ You take care too~ Don’t overexert yourself~]

Qin Chuan read Fat Tangyuan’s sugary message in the team group chat, muttered, “Bootlicker,” and then typed three words in response: [I second that.]

“Can you guys have a little bit of dignity?” Jiang Ranan couldn’t stand it anymore and jumped out to speak. Then, he repeated the manager’s words, adding a little yellowish face at the end.

“So what are we doing next?” Fat Tangyuan asked, scratching his belly and glancing around at the others.

The other foreign team members, wearing black, white, and blue, were still puzzled, trying to figure out what the deep meaning of Chinese words in the group chat was. Fat Tangyuan hugged his blue brother. “Come on, bro, I’ll take you to the hot springs.”

It could have been a quiet evening, until Shao Zhan received a call from the staff: “Your friend… has polluted the hot spring…”

And then he received the bill for draining the hot spring.

Fat Tangyuan, who had gotten himself drunk, tried to explain to Shao Zhan: “Boss, boss, listen to me, this is really not my brother’s fault.” He patted the shy, chubby foreigner beside him. “Who knew there were minerals in that pool…”

Shao Zhan wasn’t in the mood to argue with a drunk, so he just nodded at the unfamiliar friend next to him. “Blue?”

The person responded with a thick Northeastern accent: “Finally spotted you.”

“Eat well, have fun,” Shao Zhan said politely, then turned to slap Fat Tangyuan lightly. “Teach him some manners.”

Fat Tangyuan, squinting his eyes like a little chicken, walked in a straight line along the sky-blue ceramic tiles on the floor. “Alright… all the good stuff, I’ll keep it… in the house for you.”

Shao Zhan had a bad feeling and grabbed the little chubby guy. “Is everything ready? In ten minutes, the people will be here.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” Fat Tangyuan said impatiently, shooing Shao Zhan away. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this…”

Then, as if he were about to puke, he crouched in a shadowy corner, muttering to himself, “If you don’t believe me, I’ll… I’ll show you… show you…”

“What about the others?” Shao Zhan turned to look for the others. In the meantime, Fat Tangyuan lit the fireworks. Suddenly, six corners of the hot spring resort exploded with brilliant fireworks.

After the grand fireworks show, the electronic system triggered the ejector sequence.

A large box disguised as a giant pumpkin was opened, and balloons, streamers, and peace doves flew out. At the same time, the wedding march began to play.

Staff members with violins rolled in a cake cart, and the lights focused on two wedding figurines on the top tier of the cake, dressed in white suits.

In the middle of the peaceful chaos, a fully grown Labrador suddenly appeared from who knows where, knocked over the cake, and smeared cream all over the perfectly manicured lawn.

“Boss, let me introduce you to my new friend…” Fat Tangyuan tried to get up but failed, so he crawled over to the Labrador, hugging it and calling it “brother” as he tried to form a blood bond with the dog.

The faded white foreigner, Blue, standing to the side, wore a look of regret on his face. He silently took a large step away from his brothers.

When Qin Chuan and the others rushed back, Shao Zhan was standing in the middle of the chaos. “What took you guys so long?”

“We were paying the fine,” Qin Chuan said. “Your fat brother’s brother ruined the pool. The color came off, and even the tiles can’t be cleaned. We thought we’d lend a hand to save you some money.”

“Chuan’er, do you think I’m short of money?” Shao Zhan asked, bewildered, as he looked up to the sky. Just then, an oblivious Yang Sa walked into the yard.

It wasn’t that the secrecy was kept so well, but judging by the scene, no one could tell whether this was a proposal or if they were planning to break up.

Bang… Bang bang…

Fat Tangyuan, who was wrestling with the dog, and his canine brother crushed several heart-shaped balloons in the process.

Shao Zhan blinked, knelt on one knee, and took out a ring from his pocket. “Don’t look at them. Look at me. Just look at me…”

Since they met, Yang Sa had never seen the Xinghai captain in such a pathetic state. He tried to keep a serious face, but his lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile.

“What are you laughing at?” Shao Zhan asked tearfully under the lights. Yang Sa responded with a passionate kiss, returning the gesture of the one who planned this grand yet chaotic proposal.

The myth of the battlefield, the Xinghai captain who dominated the league, completed his once-in-a-lifetime proposal amidst applause, dog barks, and the noise of drunken chatter.

-End-

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ry’s note: Let Go of That Captain, Let Me Handle This is finished~ (人´∀`)

Thank you to all the readers who have patiently waited for updates and supported it. (*/ω＼)

I hope you enjoy reading it. ♡

See you in the next translation~ (〜^∇^)〜

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Chapter 96 – Boiling Point (Final Chapter)

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Even though he knew that going two against three and acting as bait put him at a complete disadvantage, he still charged out without hesitation.

Even running with all his might, Shao Zhan only managed to take out two of the opposing players.

Jiang Ranan, who had volunteered to fight for the airdrop, engaged in a shootout with the last enemy player and was knocked down before his teammates could reach him. But even as he fell, he bought his team precious time. After Shao Zhan dealt with the final enemy, he jumped in a vehicle and broke out of the encirclement in the opposite direction.

To gather gear, he had endured the damage from the toxic zone while constantly healing. Now, he had to seize every second he could to regroup with his teammates.

Yang Sa received word from Shao Zhan and, along with Fat Tangyuan, each drove a vehicle to rendezvous with him.

Unfortunately, they were ambushed while crossing a bridge. The two quickly abandoned conventional tactics. Fat Tangyuan floored the accelerator, rammed his car forward, and blocked the road, using his own body as a shield to build a fast passage for his teammate.

Yang Sa didn’t hesitate for even a second. He stepped on the gas and blasted through, even when his car tires were shot out. He didn’t stop—instead, he let the car drop and rushed to the nearest vehicle spawn point at top speed, ignoring the hail of bullets behind him and forging ahead.

Finally, at the outer edge of the toxic zone on the NS side, a red Dacia appeared on the horizon. At that moment, both of them ran toward each other with everything they had. But close behind the red Dacia, enemy pursuers were hot on their heels.

The moment they met at the edge of the toxic zone, Shao Zhan and Yang Sa jumped out of their vehicles simultaneously, handing each other a med kit and their most powerful weapon.

While Shao Zhan healed, Yang Sa parked the metal jeep sideways and used the airdrop weapon to warmly “greet” their international friends at the intersection of the vehicles.

Despite being well-equipped, two fists couldn’t fend off a dozen hands. With so many enemies closing in, even Yang Sa was struggling to hold on.

Once Shao Zhan was fully healed, he covered his teammate and took out the enemies flanking them. Though they had earned a brief moment to breathe, the two didn’t linger. They jumped in the car and drove off in the direction Yang Sa had come from.

They would take down the final enemy—but not here. Before the toxic zone shrank to its final point, they had to find a way to seize the upper hand.

In a high-stakes toxic-zone escape, Shao Zhan and Yang Sa worked in perfect sync. With overwhelming strength, they gunned down the enemies flanking them from both sides.

Along the way, they constantly encountered formidable foes, pushing both themselves and their teammates to the limit.

They came across Weiguang. They passed Weiguang.

And finally—

Xinghai fought to the very end!

When the new World Cup champions were announced, the stadium erupted into thunderous applause.

Yang Sa and Shao Zhan clasped each other’s hands and raised them high. In that moment, the whole world boiled over—for Xinghai, and for Chinese esports.

…

After the match, both Xinghai and Weiguang were interviewed. During a break, the Xinghai captain turned to Shao Zhan and said, “That last round—beautifully played.”

Shao Zhan clutched his chest and pretended to be startled. “Don’t say that, you’re scaring me.” Then he addressed the Weiguang players behind him. “Quick, take your captain to the hospital. All that gaming has scrambled his brains. What’s with this ‘friendship first, competition second’ nonsense? Gross.”

“You’re the gross one—faking illness to skip the match, then showing up in the second half to show off. You think that’s cool?”

“It is cool. Super cool,” Shao Zhan replied in a deliberately nasal voice. “We beat our so-called ‘brother team’ and snatched first place right out of their hands. It was so cool.”

“Who the hell said we were your brother team?!”

“That’s me being generous. In the early rounds, I was just trying to train the rookies and give the kids a chance to shine. You should be grateful.”

“And who exactly doesn’t know how to be grateful here…”

Beneath a banner touting the ideals of competitive sportsmanship, the two team captains engaged in a warm, friendly, and—technically—respectful exchange. Meanwhile, their teammates, embarrassed beyond belief, quietly slipped away in perfect silence.

That night, Black , White, and Fat Tangyuan’s good buddy Little Blue all gathered in Paris to celebrate with Team Xinghai.

Max, who had inherited Du Changcheng’s will, unfortunately had to miss the event due to undergoing surgery on a certain body part in Kuala Lumpur.

Still, the friends sent him a flood of food photos, hoping he could feel their sincere concern—and deep, profound love.

While Fat Tangyuan was switching between apps to rant to Max about how their friends were liking posts on Facebook but ignoring his, he noticed something odd: Star Sea’s old friend and esports streamer, Old Pineapple, had posted three consecutive Weibo updates all tagged in Kuala Lumpur.

He couldn’t help but marvel, “Old Pineapple, that sly old fox, really pulled something off.”

As it turned out, Max was unexpectedly naive in certain matters. After Yang Sa said a few teasing words, Max confessed everything and even pulled his friend aside, saying, “Why don’t we make it official together?”

“We?”

“Yeah,” Max said earnestly. “Me and Brother Pineapple, you and Captain Shao.”

“You’re crazy. I’m still an active pro,” Yang Sa scolded him. “Focus on recovering and stop daydreaming about nonsense. Watch out or you’ll burst a vein.”

Max’s Chinese wasn’t great, so he assumed Yang Sa was showing genuine concern. He happily hung up and even bragged about it to his boyfriend, who was staying with him at the hospital.

“Babe,” said Old Pineapple, giving him a kiss, half laughing and half crying, “that wasn’t exactly a loving message.”

“What do you mean?” Max asked.

And so began a Chinese lesson… punctuated by passionate kisses.

…

The post-tournament euphoria washed away much of the lingering exhaustion.

After landing, Shao Zhan had Qin Chuan lead the team back to the base to rest, while he personally drove Yang Sa to visit his grandfather and pay respects to the elders.

By the time they arrived, it was already very late—Grandpa was fast asleep.

Shao Zhan told the housekeeper who answered the door, “Well, can’t help that. Let’s just count it as a visit, then.” With zero guilt, he detoured and kidnapped Yang Sa straight into their shared little world of two.

“You planned this all along, didn’t you?” Yang Sa asked, sitting stubbornly in the passenger seat, refusing to get out.

Shao Zhan leaned over, trying to kiss him, but Yang Sa pushed him away. “Are you insane? We’re on the street.”

“Then come home with me,” Shao Zhan said shamelessly, dragging him out. Yang Sa, half resisting and half yielding, followed along.

Seeing the person beside him blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, Shao Zhan suddenly asked, “So, do you want to shower first, or should I go first?”

“What—what are you even talking about?” Yang Sa glanced around nervously, like a student sneaking out from evening study to play online games. He looked like he wanted to stuff a sock in Shao Zhan’s mouth.

“How about… we shower together?” Shao Zhan said with a cheeky grin, tugging Yang Sa toward their home.

The door with slightly stiff blinds creaked open. In the darkness, two fevered bodies held each other tightly.

Their breaths tangled, warm air burning across their skin, sending high-frequency tremors through their nerves.

“Wait—wait a second,” Yang Sa pushed Shao Zhan away in the dark. “Do you remember what I told you the first time?”

Shao Zhan caught his finger between his teeth, nibbling it gently. “The one I wanted… has always been you,” he whispered beside Yang Sa’s ear, kisses falling in between each word. “Only you…”

Overwhelmed by that deep, intense love, Yang Sa flipped him over and pressed his lover beneath him—

…

For a couple so deeply in love, even the longest holidays never feel long enough.

Woken up by a phone call from Qin Chuan, the young master was clearly annoyed. As he was thinking up excuses to fire him, Qin Chuan practically burst through the phone: “Brother! Where’s my captain?! What did you do with my captain?!”

There had been a promotional event scheduled at the airport after the tournament. Everything was in place, but when the time came, the new captain was completely unreachable.

“The media’s here, everything’s set—we’re in crisis mode here! I’m begging you, have mercy, let him go!”

Shao Zhan switched ears and said lazily, “Let me make it official—he’s mine now. From now on, don’t schedule anything without my approval.”

Qin Chuan howled from the other end of the line, “Is that really okay? Do you think that’s okay?!”

“What’s not okay…” Shao Zhan murmured, leaning his forehead against his lover’s. His next words were lost in the warmth of their kiss.

Meanwhile, Qin Chuan was still yelling his lungs out on the other end—

“Brother, the manager has a life too! Supporting characters have lives too, okay?!”

-The End-

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Chapter 95 – Tied to the Waistband

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During the solo and duo matches the day before, Shao Zhan had absolutely nothing to do. Fearing he might stir up some trouble, Qin Chuan basically treated him like a kid tied to his waistband—wherever he went, someone had to keep an eye on him.

Yang Sa placed eighth in the solo match. As for the duo match, it ended in a classic “brothers go down together, hand in hand” kind of disaster.

Qin Chuan, long accustomed to such scenes, couldn’t even be bothered to open the forum. Instead, he prepared himself emotionally to comfort his “kids” the moment they came off stage.

“Don’t say anything, bro gets it,” Fat Tangyuan said, dramatically flicking his pudgy little hand as if throwing down a losing hand of cards.

Qin Chuan propped his face on his hand and managed a smile, but couldn’t hold it in. He jumped up in the break room and unleashed a full round of scolding on the team.

Once he was done, he felt much better—and so did the Xinghai team, oddly enough.

“There we go! That’s the true ace manager of Xinghai,” Fat Tangyuan said, throwing an arm around little Qin Chuan. “That fake smile you were forcing just now was so gross I nearly barfed up yesterday’s dinner.”

“I was just trying to keep your spirits up!”

“Yeah, well, did you have to smile like a ghost girl from a horror movie?!”

The Xinghai players gradually filed out, leaving behind Tangyuan and Qin Chuan bickering like a couple of squabbling siblings.

Just then, Captain Mu Chen of Team Glimmer happened to walk by. Giving a thumbs-up to the brother team, he said with admiration, “To be this cheerful after a game like that—Xinghai really has the best mindset.”

Shao Zhan let out a couple of dry chuckles. “You flatter us. Let’s hope Weiguang’s mindset is just as good once tomorrow’s results are out.”

“Hey now, watch it, punk,” Captain Mu Chen warned. “Weiguang is the number one team in Asia, you know.”

“Tsk, tsk, getting defensive already?” Shao Zhan teased, calming his old friend’s rising temper. “Come on, you’re the top team—at least keep that composure until the match starts tomorrow.”

The captains’ banter kept escalating all the way into the second day of the competition.

Surprisingly, Weiguang’s captain couldn’t find Shao Zhan in Xinghai’s starting lineup—even though just the day before, the guy had been trading trash talk with him nonstop.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered instinctively. “All that big talk and he’s not even playing?”

“Is Xinghai’s captain really that injured?” their younger teammate Jiang Te asked, sounding doubtful. “Or maybe… they’ve gotten so strong in squad matches they don’t even need him anymore?”

The answers could only be found on the battlefield.

…

Round One

In the first match, Weiguang and Xinghai landed in adjacent residential zones. When rotating into the safe zone, Weiguang deliberately avoided any early conflict with Xinghai.

Captain Mu Chen of Weiguang didn’t believe Xinghai’s squad was so strong that they didn’t need Shao Zhan. The newcomer promoted from Xinghai’s second team was clearly the weakest link in their lineup.

If they rushed in recklessly and engaged Xinghai head-on—especially when Xinghai held a terrain advantage—it would be difficult to wipe them out in one go. Taking out the rookie would be the least cost-effective approach. With him dragging the team down, it would actually restrict the other players’ performance.

What did make Captain Mu Chen take notice, however, was how quickly the rookie was improving. Probably because his initial shortcomings had been so obvious, even modest gains stood out. Xinghai placed eighth in the first round.

Zhao Yan let go of his mouse, his palm slightly sweaty—a clear sign of nerves.

Shao Zhan was recovering well, but still couldn’t play an entire match. As Xinghai’s ace, they couldn’t risk his long-term future just for the outcome of one game. Team captain Yang Sa couldn’t agree to that, and neither could Du Changcheng or Qin Chuan.

Originally, Du Changcheng had planned to let Shao Zhan play the first five matches, where the pressure would be lighter regardless of performance. But Shao Zhan wasn’t the type to let his teammates take the fall for him. He insisted on playing the final five rounds. So now, the current squad’s goal was to maintain form and keep their ranking steady in the upper-mid tier—to avoid putting Shao Zhan in too difficult a position when he finally took the stage.

Zhao Yan was fully aware of his own skill ceiling. His unstable mindset had given the enemy team several opportunities. The third and fourth rounds had terrible zone luck, and only a clutch performance in the fifth match managed to stop their rankings from plummeting further. Even so, by the time they reached halftime, Xinghai was only sitting in ninth place.

Back in the break room, Zhao Yan didn’t say a word. He’d already apologized too many times and truly didn’t have the face to look his teammates in the eye.

Shao Zhan, however, patted him on the back and comforted him: “Don’t worry—Daddy Shao is about to go teach them some manners.”

Sure enough, the moment Shao Zhan entered the match, players from other teams visibly straightened in their seats.

Sitting in the lounge, Zhao Yan felt a mix of emotions. This might be the last time he’d ever play at a top-tier international tournament. But to have been teammates with a player like that—to be given the chance to learn from a first-team star—left him with both a deep sense of honor and profound regret.

“Captain Mu, what’s the strategy?” asked Jiang Te, the youngest member of Team Weiguang.

“Stay calm and observe,” Mu Chen replied. Weiguang’s points had been hovering steadily in the third- to fourth-place range, and there was no need to change tactics just because of a personnel shift in Xinghai.

“Hold steady, that’s enough.”

For Weiguang, which was already near the top of the leaderboard, maintaining their advantage and progressing steadily was the best strategy. But for Xinghai, which was at a disadvantage, they had no choice but to take risks—fight hard, kill harder.

Shao Zhan’s return didn’t just shake the mental game for the other teams—it also dramatically boosted Xinghai’s morale. The familiar playstyle, the seamless coordination—the unstoppable Xinghai that once dominated the battlegrounds of the PUBG arena was back.

Thanks to Xinghai’s excellent secrecy, the other teams had built their strategies around Yang Sa, assuming he was the team’s central figure. After all, for months—no matter the event—there had been no sign of Captain Shao making a return.

But in this round, Xinghai practically wiped out every team they encountered. Their points skyrocketed, and by Round Six, they had surged up to fourth place on the leaderboard.

“Yay!” Fat Tangyuan beamed into the camera, striking a cute pose. Ever since Shao Zhan’s injury, he hadn’t played a match that felt this satisfying. In that moment, all the hardship of the past six months felt worth it.

“Stay focused,” Shao Zhan warned. “The real challenge is just beginning.”

Sure enough, Xinghai’s explosive performance in the second half forced the other teams to adjust their strategies. No one wanted to give this veteran powerhouse even the slightest chance at a comeback. On the battlefield, the best offense is to crush your enemy while they’re still growing.

No one wanted to give Xinghai time to develop—and more importantly, no one dared to. Wherever they went, teams instinctively turned their firepower toward Xinghai.

And yet, with Shao Zhan commanding the field, Team Xinghai showed no fear. Far from shrinking under pressure, they thrived in it. The more intense the fight, the more fired-up the players became, their will to win fully ignited.

Unfortunately, the battlefield had become too tightly contested, and Xinghai’s ranking slipped, falling to fifth place.

There were only two rounds left. To secure a comeback, they would have to win both matches decisively and earn enough points to surpass the competition.

As Round Nine began, Yang Sa carefully counted the remaining players—at this point, the fight for rankings had reached a boiling point. The good news: there were no longer any coordinated efforts targeting Xinghai.

The bad news: every team was unleashing their full strength and going all-out on the battlefield.

But with Shao Zhan and Yang Sa holding down the fort, Xinghai was far from an easy target. At that moment, they were more than just a strong team—they were like a two-headed monster, tearing through every area they passed. They devoured team after team, taking down several top contenders in a row. At last, their score broke into the top three.

After the round ended, Fat Tangyuan collapsed onto his keyboard, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. The broadcast cameras across the venue all panned to the team that had been pulling off miracles throughout the second half—Xinghai.

Fat Tangyuan’s wide frame swayed slightly as he slowly lifted his head. But contrary to everyone’s expectations, there were no tears on his face—only sheer exhilaration.

“We’re holding steady.” This time, it was Yang Sa who reminded the team not to get carried away.

In the final round, Yang Sa was already mentally tallying player counts the moment the game started.

Midway through the match, Fat Tangyuan didn’t even dare to glance at the scoreboard. “How many more points? How much more do we need?”

Just as Yang Sa was about to respond, Shao Zhan answered with the exact number—precisely what Yang Sa had just calculated in his head.

Moments later, Shao Zhan reported a second number. Yang Sa paused for a beat, then understood: that was the minimum score they needed from this round to secure the championship.

Watching the in-game player count drop too slowly, Yang Sa muttered, “It’s not fast enough.”

Just then, a supply plane roared overhead, flying directly above the housing area.

“Captain,” Fat Tangyuan called out. Years of playing together had given them a near-telepathic bond.

Shao Zhan quickly assessed the drop line, predicted the airdrop location, and jumped into a vehicle, taking Jiang Ranan with him to intercept. Yang Sa and Fat Tangyuan stayed behind to run along the edge of the zone, trying to pick off as many players as possible.

Yang Sa and Fat Tangyuan didn’t disappoint. But because of their edge-zone strategy and being only a duo, they inevitably found themselves surrounded and caught in multi-directional crossfire.

Fortunately, both had the skill and agility to navigate around the chaos, avoiding direct firefights. It was risky, but the reward was worth it.

Another reason Shao Zhan had chosen to split the team was that, in a match filled with top-tier players, breaking through the chaos required not just technical excellence and team synergy—but also superior gear. In a game like this, high-quality equipment could be the unexpected key to victory.

The battle over the final airdrop was bound to become a white-hot contest.

While on the move, Shao Zhan asked Jiang Ranan if he was afraid. The latter instinctively shifted his gaze to the distant horizon, feeling an oddly calming sense of ease.

“Not only am I not afraid,” he said, “I’m actually looking forward to it.”

Shao Zhan suddenly swerved the vehicle, and Jiang Ranan, already prepared, quickly took out an enemy lying in ambush in the bushes—all while keeping his teammate safe.

That moment brought Shao Zhan a deep sense of satisfaction. Once just a rookie in Xinghai, Jiang Ranan had grown—quietly, out of sight—into someone dependable, a towering presence he could now rely on.

Shao Zhan parked the car on the leeward side of a slope and used the terrain to scout the area. On the other side of the hill, a player was looting the airdrop, but the Xinghai duo didn’t act recklessly.

When it came to airdrops, speed was everything. Greed and hesitation could easily cost you the opportunity.

A top-tier player shouldn’t be making that kind of mistake. After observing for a moment, Shao Zhan called out two positions to Jiang Ranan. The two of them flanked from opposite sides of the hill and quickly eliminated two ambushers lying in wait.

One enemy remained—left to Jiang Ranan to handle. At the same time, Shao Zhan swiftly took out the Japanese player being used as bait.

Just as they prepared to drive toward the airdrop, another squad of three approached from the side. From the engine sounds, it was clear that more teams were rapidly converging on the location.

They had to act fast—beat speed with even more speed—and wipe out this squad as quickly as possible.

Jiang Ranan, having just finished off the last Japanese player, had his armor nearly destroyed. But without hesitation, he jumped into the vehicle.

“Leave it to me,” he said, then calmly turned his back, placing his full trust in Shao Zhan.

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Chapter 94 – The Cool Guy Runs Away

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Of course, Shao Zhan is Shao Zhan no matter where he goes. To think he would change his ways just because of one surgery—that’s pure fantasy.

As soon as he landed and found a gun, the first thing he did was take out one of his own teammates.

Fat Tangyuan, who was still huffing and puffing while repositioning, watched his screen turn grey. “What just happened?”

“Aren’t you injured?” Shao Zhan leaned lazily against the back of his chair, not even bothering to lift his eyelids. “Giving you a sick day.”

Fat Tangyuan chuckled and, sneaking under the table, pulled out a bag of tiger-skin chicken feet to munch on. “Still the same old captain—knows how to take care of your old pal Fatty.”

Offstage, Du Changcheng was fuming, practically breathing fire. “Did you have to be such a troll?” But since the brat had only just returned from injury, he couldn’t exactly beat him up in front of everyone.

But in the very next second, Shao Zhan led the team to score the first kill.

After that, Shao Zhan played like a man possessed—leading the team like an unstoppable armored tank. His movement, aim, and mechanics were flawless, and naturally, he assumed the role of in-game leader.

For this practice, they were all using alternate accounts. On the one hand, it was to account for Shao Zhan’s potentially unstable condition after returning. On the other, it was to protect their intel—this way, opponents would target Yang Sa during scrims, and if everything went well, Shao Zhan’s return would be Xinghai’s trump card.

On the battlefield, Shao Zhan drove around like a madman, actively hunting for enemies. In just half an hour, he forced them to play three full matches.

But right as the fourth match began and they opened their parachutes—his internet was cut off.

“Come on,” Shao Zhan pleaded with the new captain, “we’re professionals—seeing a game through to the end is the mark of a pro.”

Unexpectedly, Yang Sa replied, “I have no class. I just want you to go back and rest.”

After waiting so long, Qin Chuan finally got his moment. He cracked his knuckles and shouted the familiar battle cry—

“Non-combat personnel, please vacate the premises. Non-combat—”

And so, Xinghai’s former captain—the league-dominating God Hand—was politely escorted out of the training room. On his way out, he even tried to sneak off with his beloved keyboard, only for Qin Chuan to snatch it away just in time.

In truth, after getting knocked around these past few days, Zhao Yan’s mental resilience had improved a lot. But after witnessing Shao Zhan’s gameplay today, he finally understood how massive the gap was. The difference between a man and a god—no amount of practice could bridge it. Even if he reincarnated right now, he still wouldn’t catch up.

He’d always known he was dragging the team down, but he never realized just how badly.

Even if he gave it his all, Zhao Yan couldn’t reach even a tenth of Shao Zhan’s level. The encouragement from his teammates and coach filled him with both gratitude and shame. That night, he added extra training for himself.

At the same time, someone else was also in a bad mood.

Even though he knew it was doctor’s orders, his little boyfriend was being way too heartless. Shao Zhan hadn’t touched the PUBG interface in forever, and now that he was back in his room, he hugged his pillow and sulked.

During a break in training, Yang Sa snuck into the former captain’s room.

“How can you just barge into my room like that?” Shao Zhan protested, glaring at the uninvited guest.

“Captain Yang, doesn’t this count as abusing your authority for personal gain?”

Yang Sa tackled him onto the bed and kissed him. “I am abusing it. What about it?”

Shao Zhan responded with a soft smile, held his waist, and deepened the kiss willingly.

The very next second, a knock came at the door.

Yang Sa got up and asked, “Who is it?”

Shao Zhan’s expression darkened instantly, murderous thoughts flashing through his mind.

…

All the business matters had been handed over to his aunt. When something required Shao Zhan’s final decision, the secretary would bring the documents to him.

During this time, Shao Zhan lived the most relaxed days he’d ever had at the base. If he wasn’t pulling pranks on his teammates, he was picking fights with the mynah bird, turning the entire base into chaos.

However, on the day the doctor finally approved increasing his training time to two hours, the base was so quiet it was almost unnerving.

Fat Tangyuan nervously patted his keyboard, then poked at his seat cushion to make sure there were no water balloons or farting toys hidden underneath. His beady eyes glowed with disbelief. “The old bast*rd turned over a new leaf?”

“He’s not here,” Jiang Ranan replied, pointing it out with logical precision. “Even the mynahs in the yard have gone quiet.”

“Where did Captain Shao go?” Zhao Yan asked. In the training room, only Yang Sa stayed silent.

Meanwhile, in an unremarkable little shop on a quiet street, Shao Zhan handed over a piece of soft, white tofu.

Uncle Shao Ruigang narrowed his eyes, grabbed the tofu, and smashed it to the ground.

Because the offense was relatively minor and he voluntarily confessed afterward, Shao Ruigang was granted bail. But that didn’t mean he had any intention of getting along peacefully with his nephew.

Shao Zhan declined the store clerk’s help and used a napkin to gather the smashed tofu into the trash himself.

After returning to his seat, he took a sip of egg drop soup and began talking about what happened to Qu Jin after he left the team due to injury.

The boy had only been adopted because he could earn money through esports, and after he got hurt, his adoptive parents dumped him in their rural hometown.

He couldn’t speak the local dialect, and no one knew whether he ever received proper medical treatment. In the end, the boy died alone in a foreign land: “A teenager—didn’t even leave behind a single note or a word.”

“So what?” Shao Ruigang replied. “It’s not like I was the one who hurt him, or the one who left him in the mountains.”

“But you enabled them,” Shao Zhan said. “Not only did you enable them—you even used them. Indirectly, you helped cause that boy’s tragedy.”

“You said it yourself—indirectly…”

“Oh, come on.” Shao Zhan cut him off, his fists tightening unconsciously. “Don’t talk about a human life like it’s nothing.”

Growing up, Shao Zhan had always liked this uncle. He also knew that, as the youngest son of their grandfather, his uncle had always wanted to compete with his father, to stand out in front of the family. But who would’ve thought he’d turn into this?

“I feel like…” Shao Zhan gave a bitter smile. “I hardly recognize you anymore.”

That night, Shao Zhan came back very late. Outside the base wall, Yang Sa found him chain-smoking.

“Captain Shao, are you trying to set the base on fire?” he joked.

Shao Zhan dropped the cigarette and crushed it underfoot. For once, the usually sharp-tongued man didn’t have a comeback. He just hugged Yang Sa tightly and kept repeating, over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Yang Sa gently stroked his lover’s back. “It’s okay now.”

…

At the next family dinner, Shao Zhan—as always—brought Yang Sa along, treating him like family, completely ignoring the dark look on Shao Ruigang’s face.

Unfortunately, they were short on time. Both of them were busy preparing for the upcoming tournament and didn’t have the luxury of staying to annoy him longer.

This year’s World Championship was being held in Paris. Just before boarding, Zhao Yan clutched his passport and ticket, confirming with Shao Zhan one last time:

“Captain Shao, you’re starting, right? I’m just the backup, yeah?!”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.” Shao Zhan, thoroughly annoyed after being pestered all the way there, replied impatiently.

Zhao Yan finally let himself relax, a weak smile spreading across his face.

After arriving at the designated hotel and completing the pre-game video shoot, Yang Sa, as usual, led the team in practice matches to maintain their form.

But it wasn’t long before he got a call from Shao Zhan urging him to come back: “With me here, you can just relax.”

“Thanks for the unnecessary reassurance,” Yang Sa replied. “My heart was already in my chest.”

“Hey, kid. Getting disobedient now, are you?” Shao Zhan tried to pull some ex-captain authority, but Yang Sa hung up on him mid-sentence. Staring at the now-black screen, he muttered, “Getting less and less cute.”

“Heh.” Team manager Qin Chuan, who had just checked in to the fan forum to collect reward points, sneered without smiling. “If you’re so tough, why don’t you say it to his face?”

“Oh, now I’m not tough enough? What’s it to you?” Shao Zhan snapped.

Since the team had deliberately left him out of their group training sessions to stick to the plan, he had nowhere to vent his frustration—so he took it out on whoever was nearby. “Scram. If someone sees you in my room, they’ll think we’ve got something shady going on.”

“Hehehehehehe,” Qin Chuan laughed coldly. “You old bast*rd—like I’d be into someone like you. The only people you can fool are pure-hearted teenage boys…”

Thinking of their adorably innocent young captain, Qin Chuan felt a twinge in his chest.

At that moment, Team Weiguang also arrived. Following the unspoken rule that teams abroad should look out for one another, Shao Zhan dragged Qin Chuan along to greet them. He’d prepared a whole basket of trash talk to throw the other team off—but just as they stepped into the hotel lobby, a group of foreigners came walking toward them. Standing among them was Clemens, who fixed Shao Zhan with a deliberately provocative stare.

At the front of the group was a middle-aged man with a broad forehead and fierce eyes—a commanding presence even without speaking. This was Eric, a standout from the new generation of the Campbell family.

Shao Zhan had been about to stop them, planning to cite a “no family visitors during tournament” rule—when he spotted Xinghai team members walking by, happily munching on jianbing guozi they’d somehow managed to buy nearby.

Every time he took the boys on a trip, he could count on them to never neglect their Chinese appetites. As for when jianbing guozi officially broke into the international market—that remained a mystery.

Still, it was the first time Shao Zhan found their obedience this inconvenient. Their timing couldn’t have been worse.

Team Weiguang, arriving shortly afterward, noticed the odd tension. Two players stayed back to handle check-in, while the rest came over to stand beside Team Xinghai.

Unexpectedly, Yang Sa remained calm. He exchanged a few words with Eric and, just before leaving, shot a warning-filled glance at Clemens.

Back in the room, Shao Zhan contentedly munched on snacks the new captain had brought back—but it was Yang Sa who broke the silence first.

“I’m not going back.”

“I know,” Shao Zhan said, lying on the bed with his legs crossed, pointing his chin toward the jianbing guozi. “The crispy layer here’s not right. Next time, remember to add shredded squid.”

Yang Sa leaned against the chair opposite him. “A lot happened after I was adopted. It wasn’t the picture-perfect relationship people imagine. I’ll tell you about it slowly, over time.”

Shao Zhan set down his half-eaten pancake and smiled at the crescent-shaped bite mark he’d left:
“Little Captain, right now I’m only curious about one thing.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you love me?”

Just four simple words left the guy—who normally strutted around like a tough guy—utterly flustered. He bolted out the door without even looking back.

“Don’t go, Little Captain,” Shao Zhan called after the fleeing figure. “At least tell me about the tactical plans for the next couple of days…”

---

---

Chapter 93 – How Many Steps Does It Take to Stuff a Pig into the Back Seat

---

It wasn’t just Shao Zhan—Xinghai’s veteran players were also dumbfounded. The usually reckless, foul-mouthed Old Pineapple, who cursed like a sailor when gaming, actually had a refined and gentlemanly side?

His demeanor was completely different from that time he fought with Yang Sa.

Max couldn’t handle spicy food. When a few drops of chili oil accidentally got into the clear broth side of the hot pot, he immediately called the waiter to change the base. Throughout the meal, Old Pineapple was humorous and charming. Listening to him talk, you’d think he was Xinghai’s absolute best friend in the entire streaming community.

“Have some shame.” Fat Tangyuan, who couldn’t bear to watch anymore, @-ed him on Weibo.

But Old Pineapple didn’t get mad. He sweet-talked him with one “brother” after another, and while he was at it, he boasted about Fat Tangyuan and the Xinghai team on Weibo.

This flattery was music to the ever-petty Fat Tangyuan’s ears, and in high spirits, he downed two more bottles of alcohol.

And then… well, the familiar scene played out once again.

Drunk beyond recognition, Fat Tangyuan and Little Blue hugged each other tightly, calling out each other’s names with deep affection, as if they were long-lost brothers no one could separate.

The Xinghai team and their foreign friends had already seen this once before, so they weren’t surprised at all. Old Pineapple, on the other hand, was quite shocked: “Th-th-they’re just gonna sleep on the street like this? Won’t they get sick?”

Shao Zhan offered a solution: “If you’re that worried about them, you can take them home.”

A few words shut Old Pineapple right up. What would he even do with these two? What could he do?

Qin Chuan checked the time: “It’s late. Let’s head back to the base.”

The Xinghai crew and the foreign guests all turned and left in perfect sync. Only Old Pineapple stayed behind, pointing at the two sprawled out on the ground: “W-w-wait, are you guys really just leaving them here?”

At that, Shao Zhan turned around, looking a bit troubled. “Since you insist, I guess we’ll have to borrow your car.”

That night, Old Pineapple truly had his eyes opened. Come to think of it, stuffing pigs into the back seat probably just followed this exact process.

With two “pig heads” snoring in his back seat, the flowers were temporarily entrusted to Max for safekeeping. Considerately, he even suggested Max ride in another car so the two drunkards wouldn’t stink him and the flowers up.

When they got back to the Xinghai base, they unloaded the passengers like usual—but thanks to previous experience, this time things went more smoothly.

The only hiccup was that the myna bird, who had been playing at the entrance, took one look at the scene and panicked, diving straight into the landscaping to hide, trembling with fear that someone might drag it into a brotherhood oath ceremony again.

Thankfully, the fat one had retained some sense of shame this time—no vomiting, and no running around the yard chasing chickens.

After dropping them off, Old Pineapple drove off. Max, who was seeing all of this for the first time, simply found it fascinating. When he turned to share the moment with his new friend, he found the guy had already disappeared, leaving him alone with the flowers, unsure what to do.

Room assignments were the same as before. The Xinghai team and the foreign guests made their way to their rooms with practiced ease, leaving only Max behind—he’d been deliberately kept by Yang Sa.

Before leaving, Shao Zhan specifically reminded Yang Sa to be subtle and first ask Max what he thought of Old Pineapple and the like.

But the new team captain, who had grown up overseas, didn’t think there was any need to beat around the bush. He told his old friend the truth outright.

He believed in Max—the friend he had known since childhood was fully capable of facing the bloody, brutal truth.

Who could’ve guessed that Max, the person in question, would let out a blood-curdling scream: “It’s him!!!” Then he bolted back to his room faster than a startled ostrich—and no matter who tried to talk to him, he wouldn’t open the door.

And he didn’t just hide for a day—he stayed an ostrich for several. Apart from mealtimes, he was basically invisible.

Everyone kept up a steady stream of teasing toward this guy who had the courage to fall in love online but didn’t dare meet his internet crush in real life.

Just like that, Max played ostrich for two days straight. On the third day, though, he finally came out.

It was New Year’s Day, and the Xinghai team had plans to have dinner at Shao Zhan’s house.

After hiding for two days, Max had spent a long time psyching himself up. He could skip the meal, but he had to meet Shao Zhan’s family—after all, they were going to be Xiao Sa’s in-laws one day.

And so, looking haggard and worn out, Max quietly joined the traveling party.

The foreign friends, who liked to think of themselves as Xiao Sa’s “family from the bride’s side,” had originally planned to show some support and help him save face. But one by one, they fell head over heels for Chinese food.

It wasn’t just the cuisine—the traditional Chinese pastries were equally elegant. Every dish had a story, every dessert a heritage. Their limited Mandarin skills were quickly overwhelmed, and they found themselves lost in a sea of knowledge and deliciousness.

By evening, snowflakes had begun to drift gently from the sky. While the Xinghai players and their international friends savored the feast, Shao Zhan and Yang Sa accompanied the old patriarch for a quiet chat under the covered walkway.

Grandfather brought up some recent developments in the family business and asked Yang Sa, “If it were someone else, would Shao Zhan have done the same?”

He had asked his grandson this question before. This time, he wanted to hear how the young man would respond.

Yang Sa believed that Shao Zhan was not someone easily swayed by emotion. He loved the team—so much that he’d be willing to step back in order to do what was necessary to keep it running. For Xinghai, for the future of esports, he would make the right decisions.

Grandfather’s eyes lingered on the boy’s youthful yet resolute face for a long moment. Then he pointed to the persimmon tree in the courtyard and said to Shao Zhan, “The fruit is ripe—go pick some for the kids.”

As night fell, Aunt helped the elderly man back to his room. “Now, we can finally hand the business over to Xiao Zhan.”

The old man gave a silent nod. In the end, it was out of love: “That team—if he likes it, let him keep at it for a few more years.”

Aunt feigned exasperation as she helped him into bed. “You just can’t help doting on your grandson. Aren’t you worried you’ll be wearing me out?”

The old man closed his eyes as if resting, as though he had drifted off to sleep. Just as Aunt was about to leave, his voice came faintly, like talking in his sleep:

“In this world, girls must be independent, worthy of respect… and must always give more than others…”

There are persimmons overseas too, but it’s rare to eat them freshly picked.

The Xinghai players, who were lucky enough to benefit from their new captain’s connections, were completely satisfied.

Fat Tangyuan ate three in one go before Shao Zhan stopped him: “If you keep eating, your stomach’s going to hurt.”

Fat Tangyuan knew he meant well, and he also knew he should start watching his blood sugar. But he still couldn’t resist firing back: “Look at you, acting like it’s a big deal. So I ate a few of your family’s lousy persimmons? I, Fatty, today—” he thumped his chest dramatically, “—charged the battlefield all by myself for the happiness of both the old and new captains. That’s no small feat!”

“Cut the fancy words. You’ve barely got enough education to use those phrases right,” Shao Zhan replied, well aware of this guy’s usual antics. “Just say it straight.”

“Fine, here it is.” Fat Tangyuan downed two cups of tea and struck a storyteller’s pose. “Right after I overate, I went to the bathroom—” Seeing everyone starting to disperse, he quickly called them back, “Wait, don’t go! On my way back, I ran into the old master. So I asked him what he thought about the young captain…”

Fat Tangyuan was still trying to build suspense when his not-brother-but-might-as-well-be brother, Blue Bro, smacked him across the face: “Spit it out already!”

“You hit me too?” Fat Tangyuan covered his face, sniffling dramatically. “So I asked the old chairman what he thought of those two. And the old man said—‘As long as my grandson’s happy, I’ve long since come to terms with it. This is your generation’s time.’” He even pulled out some candy from his pocket. “He gave me these.”

Shao Zhan took the candy from Fat Tangyuan and handed it to Yang Sa.

“Hey, hey! That’s mine! The chairman gave it to me—” But before he could finish, everyone teamed up to cover his mouth and carry the little chubster away.

…

Originally, Shao Zhan was supposed to stay home and rest. But since a friend had come from afar, he decided to return to the base with the group.

He’d hoped to use the chance to head back to the room with Yang Sa—but was met with a locked door.

“What’s going on?” Shao Zhan asked through the door. He had already gotten the family’s approval, so why the sudden modesty?

Yang Sa sent him a message telling him to leave. He didn’t want their visiting friend to notice anything, and on top of that, he had issued a strict rule: while in the base, Shao Zhan was forbidden from barging into his room—not even to think about it.

“Hey, I’m not even allowed to think about it now?” Shao Zhan gave the door a light but deliberate knock. “You’re really strict, huh?” Still, they’d talked about this before—he had agreed to respect Yang Sa’s decision. But wasn’t this complete ban a little too heartless?

What kind of person had he fallen for anyway? The young master felt increasingly sorry for himself. He thought maybe he should just hand the club over to Yang Sa—then, if he ever made a move on him again, it wouldn’t count as using power to take advantage. And if he turned him down then, he’d be the one throwing his weight around!

…

They waited and waited, and finally—the Xinghai team, who had been longing like stargazers for a full moon—welcomed the day of their former captain Shao Zhan’s official return.

The doctor had finally given the green light: From today onward, he could join training—but only for 30 minutes. If he experienced any discomfort during practice, he had to stop immediately, and daily check-ups were mandatory to prevent his injury from worsening.

After suffering through these past few weeks, the young master’s temper had mellowed significantly. He listened to the doctor’s instructions with exaggerated politeness—so much so it seemed fake. It went in one ear and out the other; not a single word made it to his heart. All he could think about was: I can play again. I can play again. I can finally play again!

Receiving the doctor’s approval felt like receiving a royal decree. Shao Zhan dashed into his dorm, yanked out the keyboard he’d hidden in his gear bag, and planted a firm kiss on it: “Baby, I’ve missed you so much!”

Ever since returning from the qualifiers, he had stashed his keyboard away, terrified that the new captain might confiscate it.

Unable to sleep at night, he would lie there cradling it, tapping the keys like he was battling invisible enemies.

But today—today—he could finally take it into the training room like a true warrior heading to the front lines.

…

By the time Shao Zhan stormed into the training room with his beloved “old flame” (his keyboard), Zhao Yan had already packed up, ready to return to Team Two. But Fat Tangyuan blocked him, refusing to let him leave.

“I am from Team Two! I was only loaned to this team temporarily!” Zhao Yan whispered, clearly desperate to escape before they roped him in again.

Fat Tangyuan wasn’t having it. “Nope. You’re not going anywhere,” he declared. “I broke my foot and still went to war. I haven’t even taken my sick leave yet. It’s my turn now!” Without further discussion, he used his size to shove Zhao Yan into his own seat.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Yang Sa told Fatty to sit down and explained, “Shao Zhan can only play for half an hour. Zhao Yan will take over afterward.”

That one sentence doused the burning enthusiasm between the two like a bucket of cold water.

Fat Tangyuan grumbled as he reluctantly returned to his seat, rocking the ergonomic chair until it creaked under his weight.

Zhao Yan, nervous and cautious, shuffled to the spot behind Shao Zhan. He held his breath, trying to minimize his presence while observing the former captain’s gameplay. After all, in just half an hour, he’d have to take over from the living legend of the battleground.

Strategy and drop-point selection were still handled by Yang Sa, while Shao Zhan temporarily took Zhuang Bai’s position.

“No problem,” Shao Zhan agreed easily, selecting a high-altitude jump point. “Wherever Daddy Shao goes, Daddy rules.”

---

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Chapter 92 – No Conservative Tactics

---

On the other end, Zhao Yan was licking a box to replenish his supplies. “Sorry, sorry, that was my fault…”

“You did great—luring the enemy in,” Yang Sa interrupted his self-blame. “That’s exactly the kind of tactic we need right now.”

“Captain, that’s really not necessary…” halfway through his sentence, Fat Tangyuan realized Yang Sa’s intention and immediately did a 180-degree turn. “Yan Yan, nicely done! This is exactly the kind of surprise play Xinghai needs right now.”

Falling behind in ranking points, Xinghai had no choice but to take the initiative. The more enemies they encountered—so long as they didn’t get wiped—the more kills they could secure.

In the second half of the match, there was no room for conservative tactics.

Of course, other teams were thinking the same way. Suddenly, the whole map erupted in action, and the fighting was more intense than ever.

Yang Sa led the team in a hard push toward the airport. Jiang Ranan got knocked out, and both Yang Sa and Fat Tangyuan were left with only slivers of health. While they healed to recover, Zhao Yan took up the duty of guarding his teammates.

[Starcraft -Rock used MP5K to defeat Light-Moon]

“Oooh, an old acquaintance is here,” Fat Tangyuan gave a thumbs up. “Nice job, little Yanyan.”

Unfortunately, the downed captain of Team Weiguang was rescued by his teammates in a coordinated effort, leaving Zhao Yan feeling a bit regretful.

“That last shot,” Yang Sa rarely spoke, “just think of it as revenge for Brother Ba.”

In truth, Zhao Yan had been restricted to protect his teammates. Otherwise, that last shot might very well have secured the kill.

“This is what esports is about. We’ll cover for your weaknesses—and you’ll protect our health bars.”

As Yang Sa rejoined the fight, he said this while passing Zhao Yan, giving the not-so-new newcomer an infinite boost of encouragement.

Kill reports on the battlefield kept flooding in, and Jiang Ranan couldn’t help but marvel, “Weiguang is really something.”

They were now leading the rankings by a landslide. Even though they had every right to play it safe, they jumped straight into the chaos without hesitation.

“Always stirring things up—so annoying,” Fat Tangyuan followed along. “Captain, let’s take him down.”

Yang Sa was analyzing the kill reports to locate them. At the suggestion, he replied, “Sure.”

Weiguang was currently ranked number one. If they could take them out, their team morale would definitely soar. And if they couldn’t? Then they’d just keep fighting. If you’re afraid of taking risks, then you don’t belong on a battlefield like this.

“Let’s wipe out this squad first—send a message to Weiguang’s bowlegs,” Fat Tangyuan said as he took down the incoming enemies. “Let them know that Xinghai Daddy is here.”

The road ahead was long and treacherous. Before they could catch up to Weiguang, the players of Xinghai would have to overcome countless obstacles. But it was precisely these obstacles that would become their stepping stones, guiding and protecting them as they ascended to a higher, stronger stage.

While crossing a bridge, Fat Tangyuan was “taxed” by another player. When they finally encountered Weiguang, Xinghai fought a 2v4 match-up. With a brutal, sacrificial playstyle, they managed to take out three of Weiguang’s players but ultimately lost. Still, along the way, the team fought with relentless courage, claiming every point they could.

When Xinghai’s match ended, no one spoke, and no one left. They sat quietly in their seats, eyes locked on the scoreboard.

The final match was still ongoing, but Xinghai’s placement had already been sealed.

First place: Weiguang.

Second place: Team Japan.

Xinghai was locked in third.

The fourth and fifth place teams were still in a tug-of-war, their scores rising and colliding.

On the surface, Yang Sa remained calm, but his palms were drenched in sweat.

Sixty points… forty… twenty… ten…

In the lounge, everyone held their breath, eyes glued to the display screen. Even Shao Zhan put down his water glass.

The competition was over.

In the end, the gap between third and fourth place was just ten points.

Xinghai advanced.

…

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Fat Tangyuan jumped up, pounding the keyboard in excitement, then spun around while hugging Yang Sa. “Captain! We did it! We really did it!”

Newcomer Zhao Yan hid in the corner, wiping away tears. Based on Xinghai’s strength, this qualifying spot should have been as easy as reaching into a bag. But with his addition, the road had become so difficult that they almost missed their chance to advance.

Jiang Ranan, now like Zhuang Bai once was, gently comforted the crying rookie. That’s just how it is between teammates—they fight battles together, and go through the highs and lows as one.

However, back in the lounge, Fat Tangyuan still got scolded by Du Changcheng.

“Next time you celebrate, smash your own keyboard!”

Fat Tangyuan winced. “How did you even see that?”

Indeed, during the celebration, he had sneakily pounded Jiang Ranan’s keyboard instead of his own.

And yet that split-second moment on the broadcast… had been noticed.

Still, since the team had qualified, Fat Tangyuan was in a good mood—so he quietly forgave that grumpy old man for picking on him.

Of course, whether the old man forgave him was no longer within the scope of Fat Tangyuan’s concerns.

During the post-match interview segment, although the cameras still instinctively followed Shao Zhan, Xinghai’s new captain was gradually beginning to take up more of the spotlight.

With Shao Zhan—who fancied himself a “secret weapon”—joking and bantering in front of the media, many aggressive questions were effortlessly defused.

Naturally, after the match, the other team captains didn’t bother trying to strike up a friendship with Xinghai’s new captain. After all, with that shameless pest Shao Zhan hovering protectively at his side, they could barely squeeze in a word.

“I mean seriously, sticking that close—is he mentally ill?” Team Jie Ao’s captain Zhou Heng couldn’t help but complain.

“He is mentally ill,” said Weiguang’s captain, passing by and pointing toward Shao Zhan—who was flitting around the cameras like a butterfly. “You’re just now realizing that?”

Captain Zhou stood a little further back. “I don’t recall our relationship being close enough for gossiping.”

“We’re not?” Weiguang’s captain covered his mouth in mock surprise. Then, like a spy exchanging intel, he leaned in and whispered, “Wanna know a secret? Weiguang made it through—we’re first place in the region…”

Weiguang’s younger player, Jiang Te, quickly dragged his captain away. There was no need to become sworn brothers with other teams, but it wasn’t worth turning them into enemies either.

Veins popped on Zhou Heng’s forehead. In that moment, he genuinely couldn’t tell which annoyed him more—Shao Zhan, who flitted around like a butterfly, or Weiguang’s captain, bouncing around like Bugs Bunny bragging about his win.

…

Third place in the qualifiers—barely made it through. For the old Xinghai, this wouldn’t have been anything to celebrate.

But now, with two core players missing, achieving this result was more than commendable.

They hadn’t even arrived back at the Xinghai base when they saw several layers of people crowded around the entrance—players from the second team and the youth trainees had shown up to offer their congratulations.

“These little monkeys, so eager,” said Manager Qin Chuan with a wide grin, handing out the red envelopes he had prepared in advance. He gave Fat Tangyuan a pointed reminder, “No pocketing any—these are all for the junior players.”

Fat Tangyuan snatched a stack of envelopes, eyes gleaming. “Oh, Manager, what are you thinking? Am I that kind of person?”

The words sounded sincere, but his hand was already sneaking toward his own pocket—until Du Changcheng, unable to stand it, gave him two firm smacks and made him stop.

Of course, the youth trainees and second team players were unaware of this little side drama. All they saw were waves of red envelopes flying toward them.

To Yang Sa’s surprise, among the crowd of youth trainees, there were a few foreign faces—one Black, one Blue, and two White teammates. “When did you guys get here?”

Little Black, speaking fluent Mandarin, explained that they’d come to spend China’s traditional New Year (Yuan Dan) with him. Meanwhile, Little Blue was already hugging Fat Tangyuan. For a moment, it was hard to tell which of the two round-bodied figures had the bigger belly.

Little Blue tearfully recounted how his mother had scolded him after he returned home, while Fat Tangyuan animatedly described how he had fallen off a horse, broken his foot, yet still heroically stayed on the front lines despite his injuries, leading the team to conquer the Asia Cup and win their World Cup qualification ticket.

As usual, Du Changcheng didn’t say much. He simply handed each of the foreign friends a big red envelope, which sent the unfamiliar guests into a frenzy of excitement.

It was as if, having received red envelopes, they felt obligated to return the favor with auspicious sayings.

So out came phrases like “May flowers bloom with wealth,” “Abundant harvests,” “Thriving livestock,” “Many children and many blessings,” and even “May you give birth to a noble son soon.” Du Changcheng didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Waving them off, he told the youngsters to go have fun while he made his escape to find some peace and quiet with Uncle Zhou.

Of course, amid all the harmony, it was inevitable that a few discordant notes would sneak in.

One such note was Old Pineapple, an esports streamer and friend of the Xinghai team, who got out of a car carrying a bouquet of flowers. His every exaggerated facial expression perfectly captured the phrase “a dagger hidden behind a smile.”

Manager Qin Chuan was the first to sense danger and rushed over. “What are you doing here? It’s so late—your family will worry,” he said while making urgent hand signals behind his back to the new captain, trying to get him to remove the man and avoid a scene.

“I came to bask in the team’s good luck,” Old Pineapple replied, still wearing the same insincere smile. “You wouldn’t stop me, would you, Manager Qin?”

Before Qin Chuan could respond, Old Pineapple, taking advantage of his long legs, strode over to Xinghai’s captain and said with a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Congratulations.”

Shao Zhan wasn’t the type to humor him. He took the bouquet with a perfunctory “Same to you,” and followed it up with, “Now get lost.”

But Old Pineapple was no rookie—he was a wily old fox and completely unfazed. He turned to the new captain. “You promised you’d introduce me to a friend.”

Yang Sa kept up a polite smile. At this point, pretending not to understand would only make things worse. Hands behind his back, he asked plainly, “Which one are you interested in meeting?”

Old Pineapple’s eyes scanned the group of foreign players, picking carefully, before finally landing on Max.

Yang Sa silently said sorry in his head—but this whole mess was something Max had brought upon himself. What could he do now?

By this point, the second team’s coach had already taken the younger players back to the base, leaving only the main team and a few foreign friends.

Fat Tangyuan, completely unaware of the storm that was about to come, cheerfully greeted the long-lost friends: “Let’s go eat hotpot!”

Shao Zhan and Yang Sa smoothly coordinated the car arrangements, both conveniently leaving Max behind.

Old Pineapple sauntered over to the now-alone foreigner, scratching his head as he suggested, “Why don’t… you ride with me?”

Totally oblivious, Max climbed right into the passenger seat without hesitation. The only thing that struck him as familiar was the bouquet in the backseat—he couldn’t quite recall that it was the same one Old Pineapple had just tried (and failed) to gift to Xinghai’s captain.

Old Pineapple followed his gaze, using it as an excuse to strike up a conversation…

---

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Chapter 91 – The Team’s Favorite

---

“Aiya, move aside, move aside, big brother! Didn’t you see I spilled water on my pants? You’re in my way!” Fat Tangyuan was hopping on one foot back to the dorm to change pants, holding up his waistband.

Causing trouble and making a scene had always come naturally to the little chubby one. What started as just a small water spill turned into a disaster when he jumped and knocked over the whole kettle.

Jiang Ranan, used to cleaning up after his reckless teammates, resignedly mopped the floor while saying to the guy frozen at the doorway in a greeting pose, “Move aside, move aside, lift your foot—no, the other one, the other one…”

Shao Zhan, tall and lanky, made his first public appearance in the training room after surgery—hopping on one foot like a gorilla. A closer look revealed a subtle awkwardness in his movements.

Yang Sa, busy running special training for the new recruits, had no time to pay him any attention. Zhao Yan wanted to ask about his injury but was firmly held back by the new team captain.

Shao Zhan had expected a warm welcome, given his rank, but was shocked to find himself in such a sorry state. So when he saw Qin Chuan arrive, apparently after hearing the news, he was so happy he nearly cried. Just as he opened his arms for a long-overdue reunion hug, the team manager, Qin Chuan, raised a hand to stop him—

“Non-combat personnel, please leave immediately.”

“Non-combat personnel, please leave immediately.”

“Non-combat personnel, please leave immediately…”

Shao Zhan was speechless. These kids were really pushing their luck. He was just about to ask Qin Chuan if they still wanted their salaries this month when he was nearly knocked over by Fat Tangyuan returning in a wheelchair.

And so, the former team captain and team owner, Shao Zhan, found his first task upon returning to the base was to get his sprained lower back treated in the infirmary.

As a bonus, the doctor also checked his arm. “It’s healing well.”

“Spare me the empty talk,” Shao Zhan snapped without courtesy and pulled his arm back. “I just have one question…”

The team doctor turned and briskly cut him off. Shao Zhan didn’t even need to ask.

A seasoned veteran with years on the battlefield, he was all too aware of his own condition.

There was only one match left in the Asian regional qualifiers for the World Championship. Xinghai had to seize this final opportunity if they wanted a shot at the stage they dreamed of.

But even this stepping stone was crumbling, made all the more precarious by their weakest link.

Shao Zhan was anxious. Everyone who cared about Xinghai was anxious. And yet, the doctor still issued a diagnosis ruling him out of competition.

Just as Shao Zhan was trying to wear the doctor down, Zhuang Bai’s call came in.

“Old Zhuang, how are things on your end? Still going smoothly?” Shao Zhan had promised to organize a farewell event for him with Xinghai before he enlisted—something like a send-off.

“I passed the physical. Still waiting on the political review,” Zhuang Bai replied, then asked tentatively, “But enough about me—how are you doing?”

Even though he had left Xinghai, as a veteran of the team, Zhuang Bai’s heart was still tied to his former teammates and the squad.

He hadn’t missed a single Xinghai match. At first, Yang Sa and the second team’s captain had filled in for him. But judging by the timeline, Shao Zhan’s hand should’ve recovered by now. Could the injury really be so serious that he still couldn’t play?

“Is the company stuff keeping you that busy?” After some hesitation, he still couldn’t bring himself to ask directly, so he tried a roundabout approach.

After being teammates for so many years, how could Shao Zhan not know exactly what he was thinking?

Zhuang Bai had always been the nice guy—thoughtful to a fault, always willing to play support for the sake of the team. If it had been Fat Tangyuan on the other end of the call, the first thing out of his mouth would’ve been, “What’s wrong with you? Are you washed up?”—followed by a healthy dose of mockery.

Precisely because it was the considerate Zhuang Bai, Shao Zhan had chosen to hide his condition when Zhuang left the team. And now, he stuck to that decision.

“The company stuff is just a bit messy. It’ll be sorted out soon,” Shao Zhan said.

He wasn’t lying—his uncle’s situation had already been fully investigated.

Back then, he’d failed to report what he knew about Qu Jin’s actions and continued to employ the people involved. But since he had a cooperative attitude and voluntarily confessed the details, the authorities were processing bail pending trial.

“That’s good to hear,” said Zhuang Bai, then slowly tried to fish for information about the upcoming qualifier.

“Just take care of yourself and your dad,” Shao Zhan said. “As for the matches—just sit back and watch Xinghai put on a show.”

“We’re doing fine. My dad’s doing well too,” Zhuang Bai said. “Thanks for finding him a caregiver. I really don’t have any worries now.”

“We’re all on the same team—no need to thank me,” said Shao Zhan. He had never distanced himself from his teammates after Zhuang left. The years they’d fought side by side—those were unforgettable.

“Alright,” said Zhuang Bai. “I’ll be looking forward to Xinghai’s performance. At the very least, you’d better be stronger than when I was still there.”

“We’re so strong it’s ridiculous.”

Shao Zhan ended the call with his usual teasing tone. As he left the infirmary, he spotted Yang Sa waiting at the door—who knew how much of the conversation he’d overheard.

Holding up his phone like a peace offering, Shao Zhan explained of his own accord, “It was Lao Zhuang, checking in on the team. I wasn’t chatting nonsense with anyone else.”

“Did I ask?”

“Then what are you doing here?” Shao Zhan leaned against the wall, grinning at the person clearly there to check on him.

Xinghai’s new captain, the team’s busiest man—surely he hadn’t come to see the team doctor?

Although, now that he thought about it, the doctor was pretty good-looking. Still single too, wasn’t he? Shao Zhan had been away for a while… who knows what kind of weird feelings might’ve developed.

Maybe firing the doctor now could nip this in the bud. But… would that backfire?

“What are you daydreaming about?” Yang Sa called him back to reality. “How’s Lao Zhuang?”

Shao Zhan shoved his hands in his pockets and struck a casual pose. “Seriously? Asking about another guy right in front of your boyfriend?”

Yang Sa turned and walked off immediately, not giving him the slightest chance to keep joking or act like a clown. Alarmed, Shao Zhan rushed after him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? I really am. Don’t go, talk to me!”

In the end, it was Yang Sa’s soft heart that got the better of him. He stopped in his tracks. “I came to tell you not to worry about the qualifier. Just focus on recovering at the base.”

Shao Zhan reflexively protested, “What… I haven’t done anything, though! I really haven’t!”

Then it hit him—he immediately turned toward the infirmary and cursed, “Traitor!”

He really couldn’t understand how the team doctor, who had been with him for years, could betray him so quickly.

“My injury’s fine. Really, I’m fine…”

The former captain was about to argue, but the current captain silenced him with a single glare. “Until the doctor gives the green light, you’re not touching a keyboard.”

“But—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.” The new captain of Xinghai wasn’t taking no for an answer.

What could someone who was clearly in the wrong and could never out-argue Yang Sa do?

Shao Zhan could only sneak a quick kiss when the captain wasn’t paying attention, then hop off to a spot that was just far enough—but not too far—waiting to be dragged back and scolded.

Meanwhile, a group of Xinghai’s first team members, who had initially come to check in on the injured player, had been pulled into the next room by the sharp-eyed Qin Chuan. Now they were all crowded at the door, eavesdropping with sour expressions plastered on their faces.

“Is he shameless or not? Tell me, is he shameless?” muttered Fat Tangyuan, leading the peanut gallery as he sneakily pulled out his phone to snap a photo of the hallway scene.

Then—click—the shutter sound and flash went off at the same time.

Frozen mid-motion, the pudgy boy retracted his arm like a startled turtle, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. “Game over. We’ve been caught.”

Footsteps came thudding toward the door right after.

…

In the days that followed, Shao Zhan truly had no chance to touch a keyboard. He had never imagined that the entire Xinghai organization could unite to such a degree.

Not only had they physically removed the keyboard from his desk, but after daily practice, these little brats would lock the training room. Even the second team and the youth trainees downstairs had joined in the effort. The whole base was on high alert, blocking him out from every angle.

And so, under this intense lockdown, the final match of the Asian World Cup qualifiers officially began.

Initially, Yang Sa had been firmly against allowing the former captain to participate. But after relentless pleading from a certain shameless someone—plus a bit of persuasion from Qin Chuan and Coach Du—he reluctantly agreed to place Shao Zhan on the event staff roster.

Though he had no actual gameplay duties, Shao Zhan still brought his peripherals bag, partly to intimidate other teams with Xinghai’s presence—and partly to reclaim his precious keyboard, which was a very minor but deeply satisfying win for the ex-captain.

During the pre-match interviews, reporters pointed their cameras at Shao Zhan and asked about his recovery and the team’s tactical strategies.

“I’m doing great, as you can see. As for tactics and strategy, that’s up to the current captain.” Having been away from the battlefield for a while, Shao Zhan still handled the media effortlessly, smoothly passing the mic to Yang Sa.

On the brink of a major match, Yang Sa wasn’t in the mood for interviews. He responded with a few standard lines—nothing special, but nothing to criticize either.

As the players warmed up and took the stage, Shao Zhan, clutching his thermos, stayed in the back with the logistics team, sipping the hot water he’d brought along.

The match began. In the first round, Zhao Yan made a misstep and got exposed instantly.

Shao Zhan sipped his water: “Slurp, slurp, slurp.”

In the second round, Yang Sa and Fat Tangyuan managed to stabilize the momentum through solid teamwork.

Shao Zhan sipped his water: “Slurp, slurp, slurp.”

In the third round, Zhao Yan—clearly rattled—fumbled again, giving the enemy team a chance to turn the tables when they should’ve been defeated.

Shao Zhan sipped his water: “Slurp, slurp, slurp.”

As the fourth round had just begun, Qin Chuan turned to the person beside him. “Are you seriously still going? It’s just a bit of hot water—can’t you finish it in one go?”

“It’s hot,” Shao Zhan replied shamelessly, and continued sipping. “Slurp, slurp, slurp.”

Even when the fifth round ended—with their performance taking a sharp nosedive—Shao Zhan was still leisurely drinking his water.

So much so that when the players returned from their mid-game break, they could already hear from outside the door: “Slurp, slurp, slurp.”

“Oh, so it was you, old captain,” said Fat Tangyuan, the first to enter, always quick with a cheeky remark. “Hearing that from outside, I thought some clueless construction crew was out there digging up the street.”

Despite Fatty’s best efforts to lighten the mood, the atmosphere among the team didn’t improve much—especially for Zhao Yan, who was playing his first major tournament with the first team and had made repeated mistakes.

He knew perfectly well he was dragging the team down, but he had no idea how to fix it.

“Yanyan,” Fat Tangyuan said, putting on his best big-brother act, “listen to your chubby brother—there’s winning and losing in every game. Be a man, don’t take it too hard.”

Throughout the break, Yang Sa hadn’t said a single word. But just before leaving the room, he gave Shao Zhan a pat on the shoulder, where tension had visibly gathered.

Back under the bright lights of the stadium, Yang Sa adjusted his headset and said to his teammates, “Five more rounds. Just enjoy every one of them.”

In the sixth round, nerves got the best of Zhao Yan again. He fumbled his landing, misfired, and gave away his position.

Yang Sa immediately called for backup, using the terrain and some crafty movement to eliminate two enemy players rushing in carelessly.

“Man, I’ve gotta say—these other teams are just so polite,” Fat Tangyuan grinned, happily looting boxes. He looked completely satisfied.

---

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Chapter 90 – No One Gets to Have It Easy

---

Fortunately, not long after, Shao Zhan decided to return to China to continue his rehabilitation.

The young secretary finally breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like he could finally hand off this crazy boss to someone else.

Honestly, with the job market being so tough these days, it had taken a lot to land a decent job—only for the boss to turn out like this. He secretly made up his mind to sharpen his skills while he still could, get a few high-value certifications, and lay the groundwork for a future job switch before the boss lost it completely.

Meanwhile, the “crazy” boss Shao Zhan, who was on the same flight back to China, was completely unaware of his secretary’s inner turmoil. He was busy checking the day’s schedule his secretary had sent him, shuffling things around to free up 45 minutes of spare time.

He used that time to dash over to the Xinghai base, though they barely had ten minutes together.

As luck would have it, the club was in the middle of a business promotion event. As Xinghai’s team captain, Yang Sa was in front of the camera, participating in a livestream with the host. No need to guess—this was clearly one of Qin Chuan’s flashy gimmicks, taking advantage of his absence.

Yang Sa had led the team to victory in the Asia Cup and was starting to show promise, but his qualifications and influence still had a long way to go. That’s exactly why Qin Chuan had arranged this event—to boost brand engagement.

In the end, the best thing Shao Zhan could do for the team was to recover quickly and return to the field.

Turning around, he bumped right into the manager, Qin Chuan, who had appeared behind him without him noticing. “What are you hiding here for?” Shao Zhan said with obvious disdain, while helping him straighten up from the bump.

“You’re asking me?” Qin Chuan widened his eyes and mouthed, “Why are you back?”

“To see you, of course,” Shao Zhan teased casually, and for a brief moment, it felt like they were back in the good old days, fighting side by side.

“Yeah, right,” Qin Chuan scoffed. “We’re both seasoned pros—don’t try to play innocent with me.” He gave Shao Zhan a light shove and, eyeing the standout figure in the crowd, tried to tempt him: “Since you’re already here, how about making a quick guest appearance in the livestream…”

But Shao Zhan shot him down cleanly: “See you.”

Someone that dazzling—just one glance was enough.

Before going to the hospital for his check-up and physical therapy, Shao Zhan slipped unnoticed into the training room. When he left, aside from being spotted by Bage, no one else at the base noticed the “intruder,” as everyone was busy with their own tasks.

The planned two-hour livestream dragged on for twice as long. With great viewer metrics, both the streamer and the brand reps were riding high on enthusiasm.

When the stream finally ended, it was nearly time for training. Yang Sa squeezed in a few quick bites of food his teammates had kept warm in the insulated container, then finally had a moment to check his phone.

Shao Zhan had sent only one message: [Keyboard.]

Yang Sa was confused and turned off his phone without thinking much of it. But just before training started, a sudden intuition struck him. No way… right? he thought to himself—and quietly lifted up his keyboard.

Beneath the keyboard, a sticky note was stuck with four handwritten characters: [Waiting for you to come home.] At the end, there was a solid heart symbol, clearly traced over and over as if it had been carefully drawn for a long time.

“Captain, what’s up?” Tangyuan, the chubby and sharp-eyed teammate, came over when he saw Yang Sa freeze up while lifting his keyboard.

“Nothing,” Yang Sa hastily pressed the keyboard back down and quietly slipped the sticky note into his pocket.

Though he was dying to know when that guy had come back, Xinghai’s current captain chose to focus all his attention on the team and their cooperation—for now. It was only during breaks in training that he would unconsciously pat the spot on his jacket where the note was tucked.

After regular training ended, Yang Sa—as usual—stayed behind to give extra coaching to the new teammate, Zhao Yan.

During the session, Zhao Yan noticed that the captain seemed particularly mindful of the time today. “Captain, if you’ve got something to do, go ahead. I can practice on my own.”

Yang Sa snapped out of his distraction. “It’s nothing. Let’s keep going.”

Zhao Yan was determined not to drag the team down, so he pushed himself with all he had. By the time they finished, the sky was already beginning to lighten.

Yang Sa told him to hurry back and rest, then lingered in the training room, pulling out the sticky note again to read it over and over, debating whether he should go back.

He figured the person was probably already asleep by now, and he couldn’t bring himself to disturb someone adjusting to a time difference. So, after a quick wash, he returned to his room to rest.

The team’s training schedule was consistent, which also meant the players’ rest schedules were fixed. Yang Sa had to maintain his condition and prepare for upcoming matches, and with Shao Zhan’s physical recovery in mind, he hadn’t found the time to visit.

What he didn’t know was that what he thought was a “considerate” act had actually hurt Shao Zhan deeply.

After finishing his work at the company each day, Shao Zhan had to rush to the hospital for rehab—to rebuild muscle strength and prevent fascial adhesions.

As an esports player, the sensitivity and precision of his arms post-recovery was crucial. At the same time, he had to undergo strength training to maintain his overall physical function. Every time he came home, he was utterly exhausted.

Even so, he would still sit at the door with a blanket, waiting for someone. Day after day, his shadow fell against the wall, like he’d turned to stone—just like the legendary wife waiting eternally for her husband to return.

Maybe it was the injury, but it made him prone to emotional spirals late at night. During those times, he would flood his foreign friends with messages, clinging to these people on the other side of the ocean just to survive the long, lonely nights.

And just like that, he managed to spread his emo energy to everyone around him.

“Brother, foreign friends are people too,” Max tried to rescue the emotionally spiraling youth, advising him kindly, “If you chat my friends to death, that’s basically a diplomatic incident—it could seriously harm international relations.”

“So what do I do then?” Shao Zhan said, picking at the frayed edges of his blanket. “My boyfriend is too considerate. It’s breaking my heart…”

Shao Zhan was just about to dive into a heartfelt discussion about his emotional journey over the past few days when, in the next moment, a call from Yang Sa came through.

“Can you stop harassing my friends?”

Over the past few days, his friends had been lining up to complain. Xiao Hei had just grumbled that Shao Zhan’s late-night chats had given him dark circles, and Max had sent a voice message saying he was ready to cut ties entirely.

“I can,” replied the ever-reasonable Shao Zhan, like a good boy. “Then can I harass you instead?”

A soft chuckle came through the phone. Yang Sa said, “Open the door.”

…

The slightly weary voice on the other end made Shao Zhan almost doubt his ears.

He pulled open the door—and the person he’d been longing for stood right there.

“Why are you frozen like that?” Yang Sa looked at him, dazed and unmoving in the doorway. Just as he was about to tease him, Shao Zhan stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“I haven’t even changed clothes yet.”

“Just one hug,” Shao Zhan murmured, shutting the door behind him. The next second, he silenced any protest with a kiss full of pent-up frustration.

After a conquering, breath-stealing kiss, Shao Zhan decided rest could wait. While the other was still catching his breath, he reached out to unzip Yang Sa’s team jacket.

“What are you doing?” Yang Sa grabbed his hand.

“Helping you change,” Shao Zhan replied shamelessly, taking the opportunity to cop a feel. “I’m helping.”

Yang Sa tried to push him away, mindful of his injuries. “Your hand—be careful.”

“It’s fine,” Shao Zhan whispered into his ear, then kissed him again.

“Don’t—” Yang Sa pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t… don’t…”

The man who had been all gloom and doom moments ago was now full of energy, grinning as he asked, “Don’t what?”

“…Don’t stop.”

…

Since returning from surgery abroad, Shao Zhan hadn’t slept this deeply in a long time.

At 9:15 a.m., he opened his eyes, ready to admire his lover’s sleeping face and begin a brand-new day—only to find the space beside him completely empty.

He reached out to check. The blanket on the other side was already cold.

Same routine, same scene—again.

Ever since that day, Yang Sa would occasionally come over—but only occasionally. And each time, without fail, he would leave before Shao Zhan woke up. Not once had he stayed until morning.

The young master was thoroughly displeased. This setup made him feel like some kind of lowly concubine or serving girl. Leaving that early—was he that unpresentable?

Still, annoyance aside, he didn’t dare confront Yang Sa directly. He was afraid that one wrong word would make even these rare nights disappear. All he could do was silently sigh and think: ah, youth. So much stamina.

Soon, Shao Zhan was halfway through his treatment course and recovering well. At the current pace, full recovery was just a matter of time.

But time—was exactly what troubled him the most.

Lately, Yang Sa had led Xinghai through several matches. To the public, it was said that Zhuang Bai was taking a break and that Zhao Yan was temporarily filling in.

But Tangyuan—the chubby teammate—was already walking again, his leg injury nearly healed. Shao Zhan, who’d been injured around the same time, seemed like he should be ready to return too. So why was his account showing up in scrims but not in official matches?

Gradually, rumors about the severity of Shao Zhan’s condition began to spread.

To help cover for him, Fat Tangyuan reluctantly got back in the wheelchair and wheeled himself around the base. He even posted a picture on Weibo of the team coach making him bone broth, captioned: [A hundred days to heal tendon and bone—an esports player’s body is their most valuable asset, gotta take good care of it.]

For a while, the internet buzzed with a storm of conflicting reports. Rival teams, unsure of the truth, all adopted a cautious, wait-and-see approach.

During this time, the only bit of good news was that Shao Zhan’s aunt had finally finalized her divorce and returned to take over operations at the family’s corporate headquarters.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the need to silence certain conspiracy theorists, Shao Zhan wouldn’t have even bothered attending the board meeting.

He went through the motions symbolically, then handed over all the prepared documents—along with his secretary—to his aunt in one fell swoop.

“Don’t you think this is a bit over the top?” his aunt asked. She wasn’t being picky—it was just that this kind of handover made it seem like he never intended to come back.

Shao Zhan loosened his tie—he still hadn’t gotten used to wearing the damn thing. “Well, they say Mulan joined the army in her father’s place. I grew up watching you run things. I know you’re just as capable—if not more so—than my dad ever was. From now on, the three men of the Shao family are all counting on you, Auntie.”

“Get lost, you little rascal! You watched me grow up, did you?” After Shao Zhan’s father passed away, it was his aunt who had pulled him out of the shadows. She adored this nephew of hers, spoiled him rotten, and now, seeing his eager expression, she waved him off.

With her permission, Shao Zhan turned and left without a hint of hesitation.

“Hey,” his aunt called out to the wild monkey she was setting free again, “don’t forget to come home for New Year’s dinner.”

“Got it!”

…

After being away for so long, pro esports player Shao Zhan finally had the chance to return to the sacred ground in his heart.

Just thinking about the familiar base, the familiar teammates—even the scraggly sunset tousled by the wind at the roadside—made everything feel especially endearing.

Of course, traveling through the city during rush hour meant the inevitable encounter with traffic jams.

At times like these, someone desperate to get home would wish for a divine hand to sweep away all the cars blocking the way on either side.

But the more he thought about it, the more childish the idea seemed. What kind of experience had made him so restrained that even his daydreams came with limits? If such a divine hand existed, why not have it just deliver him—or his lover—directly to the other’s side?

Daydreaming his way through the traffic, he finally arrived at Xinghai.

The team’s mascot, a lively little myna bird, was as enthusiastic as ever. It still had a bit of a crooked head from the time it got hit by a car driven by a blind bat from a rival team, but aside from that—and its steel neck brace—it was full of life and had a great appetite.

Shao Zhan played with the little guy for a while before heading back to the team—and to his surprise, the warmest welcome he received at Xinghai… was waiting for him right at the door.

---

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Chapter 89 – Hollowed Out

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“What happens after your leg’s healed?” Jiang Ranan asked casually as he pushed the wheelchair forward.

“When my brother’s leg gets better, who’s going to care about a thing like you?” Fat Tangyuan blurted out. Realizing what he’d said, he slapped a hand over his mouth in a panic. “Ah, d*mn—it just slipped out.”

Expressionless, Jiang Ranan left him and the wheelchair stranded in the hallway.

The fat boy spun his wheels frantically, following after him. “Hey, don’t go! I was just kidding…”

…

The results were no surprise.

Yang Sa hadn’t stayed long at Du Changcheng’s office. By the time he got back, both the training room and the dorm were empty—no sign of Zhao Yan anywhere.

He searched the whole building before finally finding him tucked away in the narrow space near the stairwell by the storage room, crouched down, clutching the team’s pet parrot and murmuring to it.

The poor parrot looked miserable, flapping its wings in an attempt to escape. But Zhao Yan held on too tightly. It considered biting him, thought better of it, and in its desperation, spotted Yang Sa—stretching out its neck toward him like a drowning man spotting a lifeboat.

It was the second time Yang Sa had seen that bird send a desperate SOS. The first time had been when Fat Tangyuan tried to force it into a sworn brotherhood ritual. Ever since then, the little parrot chased him around viciously, pecking him without an ounce of mercy.

“Tired?” Yang Sa sat down across from him, handing over a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

Zhao Yan shook his head, taking the cup with both hands. “Not tired.”

He really wasn’t tired—not physically, anyway. It was more like he felt completely hollowed out. Right now, his will to live and his fighting spirit were both hanging by a thread.

“Captain…” Zhao Yan hesitated, then asked, “Can I go back to the second team?”

Yang Sa didn’t respond. He simply gave him a look—one that said Do you really think that’s an option?

“Or…” Zhao Yan forced a smile, “maybe we could hold another open tryout? Like last time?”

He remembered clearly: that was how Yang Sa had joined them in the first place.

To be fair, Zhao Yan knew his own strengths—and his limits. He had made it to Second Team Captain by being steady, reliable, and by sticking around longer than most.

When Captain Shao had been injured and the team needed new blood, they had all been resentful. Until they watched Yang Sa’s matches—especially the miraculous counterattack he pulled off at the Asia Cup. After that, every single one of them had been convinced, fair and square.

They had thought that Zhuang Bai leaving meant it was finally time for the old guard to shine. But the first time they actually stepped onto the field with the First Team… they realized it wasn’t a chance to rise—it was a one-way ticket to seeing their dreams crushed.

It wasn’t that Zhao Yan didn’t love esports anymore. He just couldn’t keep up. The second he set foot on that stage, he had known: this gap between him and them wasn’t something he could ever cross, no matter how hard he tried.

Yang Sa sat in silence for a long moment. Then, slowly, he began to explain Shao Zhan’s injury—and the true state of the team.

“Captain Shao’s having surgery?” Zhao Yan was practically shaking with nerves. “Is it serious? Did the surgery go well?”

Yang Sa said calmly that right now, Shao’s surgery wasn’t what Xinghai’s players should be worrying about most.

Of course, Zhao Yan knew that too. What they needed to focus on was the team’s performance.

“So that means… you didn’t pull me up here just as a temporary substitute, you… you…” The more Zhao Yan thought about it, the more terrified he became, clutching the parrot in his arms tighter and tighter.

“For the foreseeable future,” Yang Sa finished for him, “you’ll be starting on the First Team and playing in the matches.”

Even though Zhao Yan had already half expected it, hearing it said out loud still hit him like a punch to the gut. He froze on the spot, as stiff and stunned as the parrot that had long since given up struggling in his arms.

Yang Sa understood all too well—this kind of pressure on Zhao Yan was no less than what he himself had felt leading the team into the Asia Cup. He was just about to say something to comfort him when, surprisingly, the rookie spoke first.

“Captain, I understand. I’ll do my best.”

At that moment, Zhao Yan finally grasped why the team had arranged things this way. He also understood that Shao Zhan’s injury was a tightly guarded secret—absolutely not something that could be leaked. That was why this time, Xinghai couldn’t hold a public tryout to recruit new players.

In times like these, the less attention they drew, the better. They couldn’t afford to show any cracks to the outside world.

As long as Shao Zhan was officially still sitting at the helm, Xinghai would continue to exert an invisible, overwhelming pressure on every opponent they faced.

Zhao Yan stood up and released the parrot from his arms. “Captain, I know my skills aren’t the best. I’m not the most talented player out there. But there’s one thing I can promise: I won’t back down anymore. I’ll hold on. I’ll hold on until Captain Shao comes back.”

He bowed deeply, then turned and walked away.

When the coach had first called him up to the First Team, they had said he was just a stand-in. Zhao Yan had really thought it would only be for a few days—he had never imagined it would be like this.

In such a critical moment for the team, letting him step into the breach was the greatest show of trust.

Zhao Yan had never been a confident person, especially after witnessing firsthand how the First Team played during matches.

Even now, he didn’t suddenly believe in himself. But if the coach and captain were willing to trust him, it meant there must be something in him—something even he hadn’t realized was there.

This was an opportunity. Maybe the only opportunity he would ever have.

And he was determined to seize it. Determined not to let down the people who believed in him.

Truth be told, Zhao Yan’s solid, steady style was exactly what Xinghai needed in a substitute right now. Watching the young man’s retreating figure, Yang Sa felt a quiet certainty growing inside him.

After this regrouping, the reborn Xinghai team would fear no opponent.

Actually, during a meeting with Qin Chuan, Du Changcheng, and the others, Yang Sa had already discussed Shao Zhan’s situation. The plan was to keep it secret from outsiders—but when it came to their own teammates, it could be revealed to a certain extent.

After that conversation with the new captain, Zhao Yan practically locked himself inside the training room. He didn’t come out, not even for meals—his Second Team teammates had to deliver his dinner, and he barely picked at it.

Fat Tangyuan, who had been taking advantage of his injury to laze around and boss others around, was pushed in by his teammates, cradling his head miserably.

“What’s going on? What’s going on? Why does it feel like I’m looking at a younger version of our new captain?”

When Yang Sa had first joined Xinghai, he’d worked himself to the bone preparing for the Asia Cup, training day and night. The memory still stressed Fat Tangyuan out.

He wanted to comfort Zhao Yan—to tell him to train when it was time to train and rest when it was time to rest. But before he could, Zhao Yan grabbed him, bombarding him with technical questions.

Before all this, the timid little substitute would never have dared—he used to cling to the walls and bail at the first sign of trouble.

Before training began that day, Qin Chuan briefly explained Shao Zhan’s condition to the team, shocking Fat Tangyuan, who had still been daydreaming about slacking off until their old captain returned.

“You guys…” Fat Tangyuan’s gaze darted between Yang Sa and Zhao Yan. “You all knew?”

Qin Chuan placed a steadying hand on the furious fat boy’s shoulder. “It was a decision made by the coaching staff and me.”

“But why?” Fat Tangyuan couldn’t wrap his head around it. They were brothers who had fought side by side. Why would they keep something like this from him? “Am I that untrustworthy?”

“That’s not it. You know it’s not.” Qin Chuan sighed. “We kept it quiet because of Zhuang Bai. We didn’t want to burden him too much before he left.”

“How is that a burden?” Fat Tangyuan argued, grabbing Jiang Ranan to back him up. “Lao Bai’s just going to enlist. It’s not like he had to leave right this second! He could’ve waited until next year. We’re a team—shouldn’t we be carrying this together?”

“That’s exactly the point,” Qin Chuan said, frowning. “If he knew about Shao Zhan’s surgery, Zhuang Bai would never have left. That’s why we kept it from him.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, voice low: “Zhuang Bai’s father is sick. He didn’t tell us because he didn’t want to distract anyone. He joined the team in the first place to ease the burden on his family. His father’s greatest wish was to see him in uniform—see him fulfill the dream he had as a kid. We couldn’t be the ones to hold him back.”

“Lao Bai, you…” Fat Tangyuan choked up, muttering brokenly without finishing a full sentence. He lowered his head, wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, and then, still sniffling, opened his game interface.

“What are we practicing today?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.

“The training schedule was posted in the group chat hours ago,” Du Changcheng said, happening to walk by. Hearing Fat Tangyuan’s question, he immediately snapped at him, “You little pig—you spend all day stuffing your face, and you can’t even keep one serious thing in your head?”

After being thoroughly scolded by Du Changcheng, Fat Tangyuan’s brief bout of sadness vanished without a trace. Instead, he felt like every pore in his body had opened up, refreshed and alive.

“Serious stuff?” His eyes spun mischievously. “I also know about spicy rabbit heads, spicy duck necks, spicy hot pot… Coach, want to try some?”

Du Changcheng, hit right where it hurt, immediately recalled the “delicious agony” he’d experienced after his surgery. A certain part of him ached instinctively, and he hobbled off, clutching his knee, muttering as he went to do his daily rehab exercises.

After opening up and getting everything off their chests, the team’s dedication to training completely exceeded the coaches’ expectations. In the end, Du Changcheng had to physically kick the First Team players out of the training room.

“One bite at a time, idi*ts! You can’t raise your results in a single day. Go sleep. All of you—get to bed!”

Even so, one player still snuck back in to practice after the coach had gone to rest.

The pressure on Zhao Yan was immense. No pep talk or lecture could erase the psychological weight he carried.

Yang Sa took the newcomers to small tournaments whenever he could—not just to win, but mainly to temper their mentality.

Over time, Zhao Yan’s skills gradually built up too, accumulating slowly through failure after failure.

…

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Shao Zhan’s surgery had gone relatively smoothly. After a series of follow-up tests, he soon entered the rehabilitation phase.

The secretary office had sent a new assistant all the way from China to help him—handling business matters based on Shao Zhan’s instructions, and looking after his day-to-day needs.

The newcomer’s first impression was: The boss must be in love.

Every little detail of Shao Zhan’s life had to be photographed and sent out: what he ate, what treatments he received, a stray cat he saw on the street—he even took close-up shots of his rain-soaked clothes after getting caught in a downpour. All the sappy, lovesick details—not even worth mentioning individually.

But after spending some time around him, the assistant started to wonder if the boss was… delusional.

He had noticed early on that while Shao Zhan sent a lot of messages, he almost never received any replies. At first, he thought maybe it was just a time zone issue and didn’t think much of it.

Until one night, during a late video conference where he was helping take meeting notes, he caught sight of Shao Zhan out of the corner of his eye.

When the meeting ended, Shao Zhan immediately pulled out his phone to continue his “love log,” mindlessly scrolling through it.

The secretary glimpsed the reflection on the glass wall behind him—page after page of green voice memos, not a single reply.

He couldn’t help feeling concerned about his boss’s mental state. Seizing a good opportunity, he gently brought up the topic in a roundabout way.

Normally stern and reserved, Shao Zhan immediately lit up with a brilliant smile and said proudly, “My partner is super sweet and caring.”

Then, just as quickly, he scowled and corrected himself, “No—no, I don’t have a lover. They don’t allow me to talk about them. It’s a secret.”

The way he said it—mysterious and defensive—was about as suspicious as it could possibly get.

The poor secretary ended up hiding in the restroom afterward, frantically Googling:[“Boss might be mentally unstable—how to keep my job…]

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Chapter 88 – Count It On Your Head

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At the entrance, Clemens caught sight of the guy who had dealt with him earlier. With his short legs wobbling, the man was leisurely making his way into the building. Clemens was in a foul mood but refused to show it.

In the huge base, the only one approaching was the adorable pet — a pug, waddling toward him.

It seemed Clemens was afraid of chickens, and he hurriedly jogged over to hide near the security booth.

Meanwhile, Uncle Zhou, sensing from the conversation between the manager and the visitor that the newcomer wasn’t here with good intentions, pretended to be old and near-sighted in the security office. Watching the pug without any worry, he deliberately ignored the foreign friend’s obvious and subtle hints.

Taking advantage of the break during Yang Sa and Du Changcheng’s meeting, Qin Chuan asked for their opinion, then swaggered toward the entrance.

The base’s beloved pug, excited, spread its paws wide, playing a game of hide-and-seek with the new “friend.” The arrival of Manager Qin Chuan was practically a lifesaver.

Just as Clemens was about to enter the base, Qin Chuan, holding the chicken, blocked his path: “Sorry, the team is in training. We’re not accepting visitors.”

“I’m—I’m Yang Sa’s brother,” Clemens repeated, as if afraid Qin Chuan hadn’t heard him clearly.

Qin Chuan nodded. “Family visits are scheduled for Saturdays, from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. Please register first,” he said, pulling out the registration book from the security booth and motioning for Clemens to fill it out.

“I’m Yang Sa’s brother. I want to see him.”

Seeing Clemens insist, Qin Chuan softened his tone. “Actually, it’s not completely impossible,” he said. “Yang Sa is now the captain of Xinghai, and he does have visitation privileges. I suggest you give him a call and have him come down personally.”

Clemens still wanted to argue, but suddenly the parrot in Qin Chuan’s arms launched an attack, stretching its neck out to peck at him.

The already disgruntled Clemens was so startled that he quickly raised his arms to shield his face and stumbled back several steps, shouting at Qin Chuan to keep that sharp beak in check.

“Sharp beak?” Qin Chuan stroked the parrot’s shimmering tail feathers and said, “This is a fighting rooster, you know. It’s officially registered. In your terms, it’s got a noble bloodline. If you damage even a single feather, Xinghai’s legal department will sue you.”

Straightening the wrinkles on his clothes to maintain his composure, Clemens forced himself to say, “I’ll be back.”

“Hold on,” Qin Chuan called after the still unwilling Clemens, holding a business card between his fingers. “You might not be able to meet Xinghai’s captain, but would you like to meet Xinghai’s boss?”

…

In a coffee shop next to the airport, office workers surrounded by laptops filled the space. Shao Zhan had deliberately postponed his flight just to meet the foreign visitor who had rushed over to the Xinghai Club earlier.

Unfortunately, this German visitor was less than straightforward, his words always skimming the surface.

Pressed for time, Shao Zhan had no patience for beating around the bush. He directly brought up the project Clemens was in the middle of acquiring.

Clemens froze for a moment but quickly masked the emotions that had flashed across his face.

“You investigated me?”

Shao Zhan neither confirmed nor denied it. “Didn’t you investigate Xinghai before you came to China?”

“So what?” Clemens folded his arms. “My business negotiations and visiting my brother are two separate matters.”

“And if…” Shao Zhan asked him, if the project Clemens was trying to acquire belonged to Baizhan Group, would he have the patience to sit down and talk?

He then pushed another business card across the table. Xinghai was a club under the Baizhan Group, and he was none other than the young heir of the group.

“You—you’re cheating!”

“In business, there’s no such thing as cheating.”

Shao Zhan pretended to get up to leave, which immediately threw Clemens into a panic.
“Please wait,” Clemens said urgently. “Let’s talk about my brother.”

Unfortunately, Shao Zhan had no intention of engaging in small talk.

Just moments ago, he had also secured the operating rights to the chain business Clemens had been targeting.

“You no longer have any bargaining chips to negotiate with me,” Shao Zhan said bluntly.

He warned Clemens not to attempt to contact Yang Sa again — otherwise, every one of Clemens’s business ventures in this country would meet the same fate as today’s.

After confirming the situation with his secretary, Clemens’s face darkened. “You’re far too arrogant.”

Shao Zhan didn’t bother responding. True strength needed no words to support it.

“One more thing,” Shao Zhan added as he was leaving. During his time abroad, he didn’t want anyone connected to the Campbell family reaching out to Yang Sa.

“Anyone,” he emphasized. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you’re the one who pays for it.”

Clemens didn’t attempt to argue — he knew that this man would absolutely follow through on his words.

Having handled everything he needed to, Shao Zhan rushed off to the airport without wasting a moment.

The Campbell family had always believed in Social Darwinism — survival of the fittest — even when it came to their own children.

It wasn’t hard to imagine how much Yang Sa must have endured growing up in such an environment, how much he had to sacrifice to earn the freedom he now had.

Shao Zhan made a silent vow: every wound, every hardship Yang Sa had suffered, he would reclaim, piece by piece.

He would make sure Yang Sa knew that he was no longer alone — that from now on, no matter what happened, no matter who or what it was, he would always have someone to rely on.

And even without words, Shao Zhan believed Yang Sa would be able to feel it.
Now, they stood in different places, each fighting their battles in their own way.

…

When traveling, the thing you fear most is having your communication devices fail.

Before his flight, Shao Zhan tried to call someone to say goodbye — but no one answered.

After landing, he tried again to call and let them know he’d arrived safely — still, no one picked up.

As a result, Shao Zhan firmly believed his phone must be broken.

He called his secretary and asked them to find a nearby phone repair shop — he said he had a very important call to make.

The secretary, being highly experienced, remained calm.

After all, when Shao Zhan’s father had fallen in love, he had shown almost exactly the same symptoms.

Thus, the secretary coolly suggested he first go to a hospital for a check-up so they could schedule surgery if necessary — and to put all other matters aside for now.

“Heartless,” Shao Zhan muttered as he complained about how unsympathetic his secretary was.

Meanwhile, Yang Sa, with a heart sealed like concrete, was fully focused on the intensive training of the new recruits.

“Isn’t this… isn’t this a little rushed?” Zhao Yan, the captain of Team Two — and a temporary substitute promoted to Team One — rubbed his palms nervously.

He had been selected less than a week ago. His skills and teamwork still weren’t polished — and now he was going to compete?

Even if it was just an online match, he still couldn’t fully grasp the reality of being called up to Team One.

This past week had felt like a living hell.

The gap in ability, the gap in strength, the gap in talent — he realized clearly that these weren’t things he could simply bridge by moving from the second team to the first.

To put it simply, for an ordinary player with average skills, working alongside true geniuses — especially those who were not only gifted but also relentlessly hardworking — was a brutal, almost torturous experience.

“Aiya, Xiaoyan-yan, don’t worry so much,” Fat Tangyuan said, huffing as he gnawed on a pineapple bun, patting his round belly.

“We’re playing online matches. We’re borrowing Team Two’s accounts. No video feed. Nothing to be scared of.”

“But…”

Zhao Yan glanced nervously at his screen — he was using his own account from Team Two.

Tangyuan simply waved it off with an easygoing smile: “Small problem. Don’t worry about it.”

Jiang Ranan, the newest official member of the team, understood exactly how the newcomers felt and quietly handed Zhao Yan a cup of fruit tea to encourage him.

Unfortunately, what Zhao Yan — already so nervous he was about to wet himself — feared most at that moment was being handed a drink.

Yang Sa didn’t say much. Even when the rookie kept making mistakes during the match, he only comforted him, telling him not to get discouraged.

While Zhao Yan observed him, Yang Sa patiently explained how to choose positions, how to move, and how to control his character — practically a personal one-on-one coaching session.

…

Even Fat Tangyuan couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. “I kinda want to die too,” he muttered.

“You shameless fat idi*t!” Manager Qin Chuan, who had been eavesdropping outside, cursed under his breath — then quickly covered his mouth.

Normally, Qin Chuan would personally lead the team through both major and minor tournaments, even online matches, always giving pep talks before games, though the players repeatedly told him it wasn’t necessary.

This time, he really didn’t dare go in — worried he might put extra pressure on the new recruits. Even the coaching staff stayed back with Team Two, just watching the live stream.

“Sweet is the best assault player in the league,” Yang Sa told Zhao Yan.

“Watch his gameplay. Let him explain the tactical awareness you need for the assault role.”

Suddenly crowned with such high praise, Tangyuan immediately felt the weight of responsibility.
Straightening his back, he said, “Come on, little brother, come here, come here — Big Brother Fatty will teach you—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, he was sniped out.

Both of the training room’s synced screens switched to black-and-white spectating mode at the same time.

“No worries, no worries, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Fat Tangyuan mumbled, unsure if he was comforting himself or everyone else.

He quickly pulled the rookie over to spectate Jiang Ranan instead.

“He’s our secondary sniper. Usually he partners up with Zhuang Bai, our flex player. Big Brother here will walk you through his gameplay, okay?”

“I can explain it myself,” Jiang Ranan said calmly — only to get immediately cut off by Fat Tangyuan.

“No, no, no, trust me, this is when you need your Big Brother Fatty.”

Throughout the whole match, Fat Tangyuan’s mouth never stopped running.

He rambled on with a bunch of flashy commentary. Whether there were any real useful takeaways was debatable — but Zhao Yan genuinely admired his attitude.

How could someone, after dragging down the team and blowing their advantage, still stay so cheerful, so positive?

Was it really possible for someone’s skin to be thicker than the ground itself?

As Zhao Yan marveled at the incredible variety of human resilience, he also couldn’t help but reflect miserably on how thoroughly terrible he was.

Five matches in — and every time, he was the first to get eliminated.

His performance was so bad, he didn’t even want to look at the stats — even worse than when he was in Team Two.

And during matches, there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

In the sixth game, he finally managed to survive to the end —

Though his stats were still absolutely tragic, at least he managed to stick it out till the final whistle.

Not only did his teammates not dislike him, but before the start of the seventh round, Tangyuan even took the lead in applauding to celebrate him.

Zhao Yan, who was trying hard to appear calm on the surface, was on the verge of tears inside.

Celebrating such a tiny achievement — he really must be that bad.

Still, he knew his teammates meant well — they just didn’t want him to feel too nervous.

The match wasn’t over yet.

He quickly adjusted his mindset, tossing all those messy emotions aside, and focused completely on the rest of the game.

Maybe because he had played so terribly at the start, by the second half he simply embraced a “whatever happens, happens” attitude — and surprisingly, things started going smoother.

Since they were using Team Two’s accounts for this match, mainly to give the rookies practice, they had avoided using certain techniques that could reveal their strategies.

As a result, their overall performance stayed pretty average — hovering around their usual day-to-day level.

Fat Tangyuan’s takeout arrived just as the match ended.

As usual, he dragged his fellow gluttonous friends from Team One off to go feast together.

Zhao Yan used the excuse of changing clothes to slip away from the group.

Yang Sa had to discuss the evening’s training program with Du Changcheng.

Only Jiang Ranan stayed behind to eat and drink with Fat Tangyuan.

Fat Tangyuan clung to Jiang Ranan’s arm dramatically.

“Ranan, brother, you’re all I have left! Until my leg heals, you’re not allowed to abandon me, okay?”

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