Chapter 23 – Don’t sit next to me
When Sang Ye returned to the training room again, his bangs were damp, and one hand was rubbing the left side of his cheek, covering the red mark and refusing to let go.
He kept his eyes down, trying his best to minimize his presence, praying that Talk wouldn’t look at him. He felt so ugly today…
“Why are you always covering your face?” Xiao Pai suddenly blurted out loudly. “Does it hurt?”
“……”
Sang Ye’s face flushed with embarrassment. He nearly wanted to dig a hole and hide in it, cursing Xiao Pai for always saying the wrong thing at the worst time!
Luckily, the coach clapped his hands at that moment: “Since everyone is here, let’s start with the first matter. The starting lineup for the summer tournament has been finalized. It will be Hu Fu, Pai, Miao Sen, and Elan.”
This was a bombshell right from the start. Sang Ye couldn’t think of anything else as he stared in shock at the man in the corner.
What about Talk?
“This year, we will apply for two substitute spots,” the coach continued. “One of them will be Talk, and the other is yet to be determined.”
Xiao Pai frowned and blurted out, “So Talk Shen isn’t playing again this summer?”
Yu Haotian slapped the back of his head, instantly shutting him up.
Sang Ye was still lost in thought when he suddenly locked eyes with someone.
Tan Mo’s lips curled ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he silently mouthed the words: “What—are—you—looking—at?”
Sang Ye’s head instantly heated up, and he quickly looked down.
“The second thing,” the coach continued, “is that the public online chicken dinner tournament is about to start. Since Darkstream has taken leave, the second team is short one player for the competition. Now… Song.”
Hearing his name, Sang Ye had no choice but to look up.
The coach said, “You can pick someone from the first team to replace Darkstream.”
Sang Ye instinctively cast his gaze toward Tan Mo, but in the next second, he quickly moved it away, pretending nothing had happened.
Talk was a god on the PCL stage. Someone like Sang Ye couldn’t dare to even think about him, let alone assign him to some small tournament.
Scanning the rest of the team, Sang Ye pointed his chin at Elan decisively, “He…”
But before he could finish, a deep, magnetic voice from the corner interrupted him:
“I’ll go. The others need to focus on preparing for the summer tournament.”
Sang Ye’s heart skipped a beat.
The coach frowned at Tan Mo, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then held back.
After the meeting ended, the coach called Tan Mo aside.
Sang Ye was so lost in thought that Yu Haotian had to call his name twice before he snapped out of it.
“Come on, I’ll take you to see your station.”
As Sang Ye was about to leave, his gaze fell on a particular desk.
He had watched WLG’s documentaries many times and knew that was Shine’s desk—the very spot he aspired to.
Though it was now within reach, it still didn’t belong to him—at least, not yet.
At that thought, Sang Ye’s eyes dimmed slightly.
But as he raised his eyes again, a steady stream of motivation surged from within.
Since he was already standing here, it wouldn’t be long before he sat in this position, right next to Talk.
…
Sang Ye had lunch at the base’s cafeteria and arranged for a HuoLaLa moving service that afternoon.
His belongings were quite easy to pack: four pairs of headphones, six keyboards, and eight boxes of clothes.
When Sang Ye got home and opened the door, he immediately bumped into Liu Mingxuan, who was hurriedly stuffing charging cables into his bag.
The moment Liu Mingxuan looked up and saw who it was, his face went pale, and he looked even more haggard. After a brief hesitation, he gritted his teeth and called out, “Song!”
Sang Ye was about to enter his room but turned around and gave him a cold glance.
Liu Mingxuan took a step forward, his expression a mix of fear and flattery. “I was wrong about what happened before. Please don’t hold it against me. I’ve deeply reflected on my mistakes. Now that it’s all in the past, can you… help me? All you need to do is post a statement on the platform. I’ve even drafted the template for you.”
A cold sneer suddenly appeared on Sang Ye’s face as he glanced at the bag in Liu Mingxuan’s hand. “Get out of here. Don’t get in my way.”
Liu Mingxuan, having finally swallowed his pride, was immediately rebuffed. His face twisted in humiliation, and his eyes quickly filled with bloodshot anger. Seeing that Sang Ye was about to enter his room, he lost control and shouted:
“Sang Ye! I don’t deserve this!!!”
Sang Ye paused.
“I have nothing left!”
Liu Mingxuan, after days of torment, finally couldn’t hold back and broke down in tears.
“No team dares to take me now. My livestream has been shut down, all because you went on your stream and played the victim. Now I’m being harassed online every day. The agency isn’t helping me—they’re even forcing me to pay a five-million-yuan penalty for breaching my contract. I’m really at the end of my rope. Can’t you help me? All I did was delete one email. Do you have to push me this far? In the end, you still made it into WLG. You have everything now, so it didn’t even affect you, right?”
Sang Ye didn’t turn around. After a long pause, he tilted his head slightly, his jawline revealing a sharp, cold curve.
“You don’t deserve this, but I do?”
Liu Mingxuan looked up at him, his face twisted in a pitiful, tear-streaked expression. “Wha… what?”
Sang Ye asked, “Would you only see me as the victim if I never made it into WLG? If I had lost my dream, fallen into despair, and ended up like you—wasting my youth in this agency? Is that the only way you’d think I’ve suffered?”
Liu Mingxuan’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. His face, however, flushed with color.
“No, you’d only smile as you watched me, because that’s exactly what you want me to become,” Sang Ye said, pushing open the door. His refined facial features melded with the light. “I’m not the one pushing you down this path. You brought this on yourself. You don’t honestly think doing wrong comes without consequences, do you? Idiot.”
Not long after, footsteps echoed in the hallway as the movers arrived upstairs.
Sang Ye walked in and out of the room, directing them as they packed up his belongings.
Liu Mingxuan wavered, then collapsed onto the couch, his face drained of all color.
Anyone who didn’t know better might’ve thought he was dead.
It was unclear how much time passed, but eventually, a figure appeared in front of him.
In a daze, Liu Mingxuan looked up.
The boy stood backlit by the afternoon sun, his milk-white hair haloed in a soft glow, exuding an air of elegance and untouchable superiority.
The room behind him was already empty.
—He was leaving.
Liu Mingxuan had sensed it from the first time he met Sang Ye: the boy was too pure, too bright, someone who could never be confined to a place like this.
Sang Ye took out his phone, scrolled for a moment, then said calmly, “You still have my WeChat, right? If not, add me now.”
Liu Mingxuan hesitated for two seconds, then his eyes lit up with sudden hope, and he nodded eagerly, “I do! I do! You—”
“Good. I update my Moments often. Make sure to like them.” Sang Ye slipped his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and smiled slightly. “You can hide in your dark little corner and watch me shine.”
Liu Mingxuan’s hopeful expression froze on his face, and he stayed motionless for a long time.
…
There was a scrimmage that night, and Sang Ye didn’t bother unpacking his luggage, leaving it piled up in the villa at the base.
After dinner, with a yogurt pouch between his teeth, he entered the second team’s training room, only for his expression to fall as soon as he approached his seat.
The second team’s training room had eight computers arranged in three rows. Sang Ye had specifically chosen a spot in the last row, tucked into a corner by the wall.
When he had checked earlier that morning, the spot next to his was empty. But in just a few hours, a new computer had appeared.
Sang Ye frowned. He had already told the team manager that if there were new players, they shouldn’t be placed next to him. He didn’t want a desk buddy!
Sang Ye had this stubborn streak: the only person who could sit next to him was Talk. Until he moved up to the first team, no one else should come near him!
Feeling a bit petulant, Sang Ye rolled up his sleeves, ready to move the equipment.
He crouched under the desk and, after some effort, unplugged the tangled mess of cables behind the computer. But when he stood up, he saw a tall, slender figure walk in, carrying a keyboard with one hand.
Sang Ye watched in stunned silence as the man came over, placed his things on the desk next to his, pulled over a swivel chair, and sat down. Finally, the man looked up and said, “Hi.”
—It felt unreal.
Sang Ye snapped out of his daze. “…Hi.”
Talk calmly powered on his computer. Noticing that Sang Ye was still standing there, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Sang Ye licked his lips, glanced around nervously, and his face flushed red at a visible speed. In a flash, he crouched back under the desk, muttering, “Nothing… just a loose cable.”
In the dim, cramped space under the desk, Sang Ye sat there hugging his knees, trying to process. He needed a moment of calm. When he finally realized that Talk was really sitting next to him, his hands flew to his overheated cheeks, and his dark eyes narrowed as he accidentally let out a soft, “Nngh~”
Talk’s fingers twitched, and he typed the wrong character in his password: “…”