This chapter is brought to you by Fatima, thanks for the ko-fi! ♡ ～(‘▽^人)
Chapter 36 – You Look Like You’re About to Cry
On the way to the bathroom, Sang Ye was stopped by the conversation coming from the hall ahead.
“If you don’t cooperate with the captain, I’ll have to consider temporarily benching you,” the coach’s voice said.
“I didn’t make any mistakes. I secured all the kills that should’ve been mine,” Elan responded. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his deep voice was cold and sharp. “Everyone competes fairly. The matches promised to me, I won’t give up a single one.”
Sang Ye stood by the wall for a moment, not stepping forward.
“Elan,” the coach sighed, “you’re too eager to prove yourself. But don’t forget, we’re playing a team game. Every kill you get is thanks to your teammates’ support.”
“You’re in the top eight this week partly because of me.”
“Do you know what makes Song better than you?”
“I don’t want to know, and I don’t think he’s better.”
Sang Ye pulled a long face and glanced into the hall.
Is he blind?
The coach fell silent for a while before saying, “Stop butting heads with Miao Sen. This game isn’t about who has the best aim being the leader. There’s a reason he’s the one calling the shots. Work together and finish the next two weeks’ matches properly. Can you do that?”
Elan didn’t respond.
The coach, sounding weary, said, “Go back.”
Elan turned and started walking back. From a distance, he saw Sang Ye standing there, but he didn’t slow down.
The two exchanged glances, and in that brief moment, they both saw the same youthful arrogance and defiance in each other.
As Sang Ye passed through the hall, he noticed the coach massaging his head in frustration—an image of a man worn down by middle age.
Hearing footsteps, the coach looked up. “When did you sneak out, brat?”
Sang Ye ignored the question and asked, “Is he your son or something?”
The coach frowned. “What?”
“Why didn’t you scold him? Doesn’t he deserve it as much as I do? You always yell at me with so much confidence.”
“You little brat…” The coach gritted his teeth and stood up, acting like he was about to hit him.
Sang Ye sped up, breaking into a light run to put some distance between them.
The coach couldn’t hold back his laughter after Sang Ye’s antics.
Sang Ye flicked the water droplets from his hands and returned to the practice room. He smelled an intense odor in the air, as strong as a gas leak, and frowned. “What the hell, who’s poisoning us…”
Before he could finish speaking, he noticed the spiky object on his desk.
Sang Ye paused for a moment. “Talk was here?”
Before he left, the two had been talking about durian over WeChat, because Talk had passed by a fruit stand.
Xiao Pai shot him a sarcastic look and let out a heavy “Mm-hmm.”
Sang Ye bent down, bringing his nose close to the opened durian, and despite his face scrunching up, he still exclaimed, “Smells amazing…”
Xiao Pai: “…Don’t force yourself.”
That face didn’t exactly scream “delicious.”
The viewers in the livestream could hear Sang Ye, and they burst into laughter.
[“One second he’s complaining about someone poisoning them, and the next it’s “smells amazing.” Anything hubby brings is fragrant! Song is just too adorable!”]
[“Looks like Song has never had durian before, and Talk brought it over just so he could try it. So thoughtful! These two are so sweet.”]
After sitting down, Sang Ye didn’t quite know how to deal with the spiky fruit.
“I’ll help you,” Xiao Pai couldn’t bear to watch anymore and rolled up his sleeves, mostly because he’d been waiting so long that he was craving it too.
Hu Fu also came over and grabbed a piece. “Whoa! This durian flesh looks amazing, though it’s a bit high in calories. I’ll swim a few extra laps tomorrow… tomorrow.”
Sang Ye picked up a soft, golden piece of fruit, but his handling was a little awkward.
He had only mentioned once that he’d never tried durian, not expecting Talk to actually bring it over. More than getting to try the fruit, it was Talk’s thoughtfulness that made him happy.
Sang Ye looked around at the durian, found a good spot, and cautiously took a bite.
The fruit quickly melted in his mouth, soft and creamy, with a sweet taste. The smell was still… hard to describe, but after a few more bites, a rich, milky sweetness emerged.
It was more tolerable than he had expected.
As Sang Ye ate, he used his ring finger to tap on his phone screen.
S.: [Tasty ^_^.]
Xiao Pai, stuffing durian into his mouth, glanced sideways and saw Sang Ye eating it with such a blissful expression. Bitterness welled up inside him, his face full of a sour and resentful look, as if saying, “My good buddy is secretly flirting with my brother. The two people closest to me have betrayed me.”
…
The second week of the summer tournament began.
On the first day, WLG suffered two disastrous roll points in a row, and combined with bad luck on the zone, they ranked 12th.
Back in the break room, Miao Sen’s hand trembled slightly as he zipped his backpack. Even when the coach tried to ask him something, for once, he didn’t respond.
After questioning Xiao Pai and Hu Fu, it was confirmed that there had been no conflict on the field. Miao Sen was likely just dissatisfied with the results, which had affected his mentality.
Following that day, a wave of posts flooded the forums, analyzing every game WLG played. The final conclusion was summed up in two words: disappointment.
Fans began demanding more loudly for Talk to be brought onto the field, growing increasingly unhappy with the team’s lineup.
[“I don’t understand what WLG is waiting for. Are they keeping the greatest player in e-sports benched? They’re almost out of the weekly finals, and they still haven’t replaced Miao Sen?”]
[“It’s obvious WLG is grooming Miao Sen and the two rookies. Is Talk planning to retire?”]
[“After winning the championship, Talk hasn’t been focused on training or matches. Is he planning to quit after getting both fame and fortune? He’s in great form, yet he’s just sitting out, watching WLG decline. Really irresponsible—unfollowing.”]
wlgSong replied: [If he weren’t responsible, he wouldn’t have come to the venue with the team this time. You don’t need to announce you’re unfollowing. No one cares. You’re really not as important as you think.]
Sang Ye was then knocked on by Yu Haotian, who warned him not to argue with netizens using his main account anymore.
After a day off without any matches, WLG went through another round of competition on the third night. They missed qualifying for the weekly finals by just 3 points, so they had to move on to the breakout tournament.
The breakout tournament was their last chance to make it to the weekly finals. They just needed to place in the top eight, which wasn’t too difficult for WLG.
The first two rounds went smoothly.
In the third round, Miao Sen was knocked down near the back door of a three-story building, and Elan followed up by taking out the enemy.
However, their position near the door was poor, making them easy targets. Elan carried Miao Sen into the building and dropped him in the stairwell on the second floor, crouching down to heal him.
But just four seconds away from reviving Miao Sen, a Molotov was thrown through the stairwell window, severely injuring both of them. Their teammates, stuck in another building, couldn’t reach them in time, and they were taken out.
The coach slapped his thigh in frustration: “You got him up, but couldn’t take two more steps into the room? The room inside doesn’t have windows—it’s the safest place to revive someone. Falling here, doesn’t that feel like such a waste?”
In this round, WLG only managed to get 2 points from kills.
Sang Ye was still sitting in the audience, and during the intermission, he returned to the backstage lounge, where the coach usually did a quick review of the game.
However, as soon as Sang Ye opened the door, he could sense the tension in the room.
Especially Miao Sen, who sat silently in his chair, looking visibly stressed and overwhelmed.
Once everyone was there, the coach began, “You guys made some pretty dumb mistakes this round…”
But before he could finish, Miao Sen suddenly interrupted and turned to Elan, saying, “If you don’t want to play properly, then maybe it’s time to switch.”
Everyone froze, not expecting Miao Sen, usually so calm, to say something like that.
Hu Fu’s first reaction was to try and lighten the mood: “No need for that, it’s just one game…”
“I want to play well more than anyone else,” Elan immediately shot back, veins bulging on his neck. “But sorry, with an incompetent commander like you, even if I had bullets, I wouldn’t know where to use them.”
Miao Sen jumped to his feet: “Is that your idea of playing well? Dropping someone halfway just to save time and rush for more kills? You can’t even be bothered to save a teammate properly, so why bother at all? If you like playing solo so much, go play by yourself!”
“I don’t need someone who’s weaker than me telling me what to do!”
“Fine, don’t listen to the commander then! But can you play like Song? Song doesn’t follow commands, but he still ensures the team wins. Can you do that? If not, shut up!”
Elan’s face flushed with anger as he took a step forward, but Yu Haotian quickly grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him back. “Are you two rebelling? Do you realize we’re still in the middle of a tournament?”
Elan didn’t care, pointing at Miao Sen and continuing to shout.
Miao Sen was also restrained by Xiao Pai and Hu Fu, one on each side.
The small lounge instantly descended into chaos.
Sang Ye glanced around, watching the commotion with disinterest.
The coach sat on the sofa, his face dark and brooding, suppressing his frustration without speaking.
——”What’s all this noise?”
The deep, magnetic voice cut through the heated argument, cold and indifferent. It wasn’t loud, but it immediately caught everyone’s attention, as if pressing a pause button in the room.
“Stop it and go back,” Talk said calmly, his gaze sweeping over the two red-faced fighters. “For the rest of the matches, we’ll replace you both with the substitutes.”
Sang Ye paused, licking his lips.
There were only two substitutes: him and Talk.
The coach finally broke his silence, glancing cautiously at Talk before signaling to Yu Haotian. Then, addressing Elan and Miao Sen, he said, “You two cool off for now. Whatever issue you have, save it for later. No matter how big the grudge is, finish today’s match first.”
Yu Haotian dragged Elan out of the room.
Miao Sen, looking pale, muttered an excuse about going to the bathroom and left as well.
The coach snapped, “Watch your mouth!”
Talk continued fiddling with his phone, his expression emotionless, as if he hadn’t heard anything.
Sang Ye lowered his gaze, feeling a bit deflated.
He still held onto the hope that one day, he could play alongside Talk.
…
The results came in that day—WLG didn’t make it to the weekly finals, meaning they would lose a week’s worth of points.
The internet quickly erupted with yet another round of heated discussions, with more and more people giving WLG the cold shoulder.
This wasn’t the first time WLG failed to qualify for the weekly finals; it happened during the spring tournament as well, though it shocked people back then. Now, no matter how poorly WLG performed, it seemed the public had grown used to it.
Two weeks into the competition, the teams’ performance was becoming clearer.
FP, who had been quiet for almost half a month, suddenly made noise again.
Though FP’s performance remained at the bottom during the regular season, it didn’t stop them from taking a jab at the once-great WLG.
Over the weekend, while the top 16 teams were competing in the weekly finals, Dust started a live stream, boasting arrogantly and seemingly regaining the confidence he had before the tournament began.
“WLG playing like this is no surprise to me. If you’ve watched my streams before, you’d know.”
“They are only a little bit fierce in the training match. Haha, what’s the use of being the strongest king in the training match?” Dust continued. “Too bad Mercedes misjudged this time. In e-sports, results speak louder than looks. How did they even get caught up with appearances? I suggest some sponsors learn from this and stop bringing idol marketing into the esports scene. Investing with that mindset is bound to end in failure.”
“Right, Song’s subbing in next week. Am I scared? Scared of what? If he’s that good, let him come after me. I’ll say it again—WLG is done. Look at their performance last season. Even with Talk playing, they won’t be able to turn things around, let alone with some rookie. Don’t expect too much, alright? Yeah, I said it. Got a problem with that?”
Xiao Pai was grinding his teeth in anger as he watched the stream in the practice room.
Yu Haotian grabbed his mouse away. “Stop watching people like that. Don’t waste your energy. Focus on playing better later!”
Sang Ye was playing a game nearby. He landed a headshot on an enemy who entered his line of sight, looking calm, but his expression had lost the lightheartedness it had when he first arrived.
Since WLG had missed a week of the finals, the players would have to bear even more pressure in the upcoming matches. Any mistake could cost them a spot in the final championship.
After a three-day break, it was Sang Ye’s turn to play that evening, and the live stream numbers hit a new high.
As the rookie king who was constantly criticized, Sang Ye left a stunning impression on the public in the first day of the PCL training match. The audience had been looking forward to him for a long time.
WLG’s support, which had been rapidly declining, showed signs of recovery due to his presence.
When the commentators saw Sang Ye appear on screen, their tone became noticeably more enthusiastic compared to discussing other players. It was clear that this 18-year-old rising star had earned the admiration and support of many in the industry. Despite his cocky demeanor, he had a strange way of winning over the audience naturally.
Commentator A: “The first round has begun, and we can see that the flight path is quite far from P City. WLG has decisively abandoned their usual drop spot and is now in the same area as NSN. Song finds an Uzi on the rooftop, and—oh no! Miao Sen seems to have deployed his parachute too late and was hit by Kay! WLG loses a player right after landing, this is not looking good. They’re in a tough spot now at this position.”
Sang Ye frowned while looting his gear. “What happened to you?”
Beside him, Miao Sen had beads of sweat on his forehead as he rubbed his wrist, staring at the screen and taking a deep breath. “Sorry, my hand was too slow.”
Sang Ye couldn’t afford to be distracted, so he focused intently, trying to catch every small sound through his headset.
However, the audience, with their omniscient view, could see clearly that NSN had already taken control of three buildings around them, boxing WLG in from all sides.
Geographically, WLG was already at a disadvantage, and losing a player made it even harder to break through.
As expected, at the three-minute mark, NSN tightened their circle and launched a full-scale assault.
Sang Ye managed to take one down with some clutch moves, but ultimately, the team was wiped out.
The livestream chat exploded:
[“What?”]
[“That’s it?”]
[“After all the hype, this is what we get?”]
Sang Ye stared at their 1-point result, his lips pressed tightly together, his expression heavy.
Although it was only the first round, he already sensed that something was off compared to his first day in the scrims. An uncontrollable feeling of anxiety and panic was starting to build inside him.
At that moment, he didn’t realize that the other three players were feeling the same. This is what’s known as team morale—when it’s low, things go badly, and the worse things go, the more disheartened everyone becomes. Once this vicious cycle starts, it’s hard to break free.
Miao Sen, in particular, was clearly struggling. During one match, Sang Ye caught a glimpse of his hand trembling as he held the mouse.
Since Miao Sen’s argument with Elan, his performance had been crumbling.
Everyone knew that in the spring season, Miao Sen had already been burdened with criticism.
Now, in the summer season, he had to take on the role of team captain, enduring even more harsh comments.
The pressure had built up to the point where he could barely control his own hands.
Sang Ye had also taken some risks, but the top-tier teams in the summer season were far more formidable than those in online matches or scrims. They played with their full strength, mercilessly eliminating their opponents. Compared to these veterans, Sang Ye was like a helpless chick.
In that round, fate didn’t favor Sang Ye. Instead, he ended up taking the blame.
“Why did you take that fight without your teammates around!?”
/r the first time, the coach’s yelling made Sang Ye’s shoulders tremble.
He bit his lower lip, his face flushed, and suddenly remembered what the coach had said before—”Just wait… you’ll stumble eventually!”
This week, once again, WLG failed to make it to the weekly finals and would have to compete in the knockout stage to fight for a top-eight spot.
The fans no longer held any expectations for the team.
NSN, currently ranked first, had a strong chance of winning the championship again, just like in the spring season. Even though their reputation had plummeted due to their captain and players causing trouble for WLG, it seemed that results were all that mattered. As long as they performed well, they could redeem themselves.
After being quiet for so long, Lu Qikai finally started a livestream, smiling brightly on camera. When asked about Sang Ye, he waved it off with a generous attitude:
“He’s a rookie; we should treat him with kindness. In a few years, he’ll mature. I’ve never held a grudge over what happened before.”
“Song is still a fierce player, but… in these major tournaments, he turns out to be nothing more than a paper tiger. It’s a real shame.”
“NSN did consider giving him a starting spot, but in hindsight, it’s a good thing he went to WLG. As the results show, Shine is more suited for a championship team.”
“Haha, I’m looking forward to WLG’s performance in the knockout stage tomorrow. It’s been a while since we’ve seen them in the weekly finals—I almost miss them.”
The night before the knockout stage, Tan Mo rarely attended a team meeting.
After everyone left, he and the coach stayed in the practice room for a long time.
Word has it that the coach stormed out, slamming the door.
The next day, Tan Mo didn’t even show up at the venue.
It was clear that their argument had ended on a sour note.
When Sang Ye slung his bag over one shoulder and boarded the bus, he glanced at the empty seat next to him. Turning to look at the orange glow of the sunset outside the window, he felt something sinking inside him, just like the setting sun on the horizon—a growing sense of loneliness and melancholy.
When Sang Ye arrived at the competition venue, he didn’t immediately go on stage to set up his equipment. Instead, he locked himself in an empty bathroom for nearly ten minutes.
He splashed his face with water twice and stood before the mirror, trying to make himself understand a few things.
— ‘No one can save you.’
— ‘Talk can’t save you.’
— ‘Everything depends on yourself.’
Sang Ye didn’t know how to approach the upcoming match. He only knew that the team’s overall state was terrible. Fear and uncertainty filled him, but there was one belief that hadn’t extinguished inside him—he couldn’t give up.
…
Two minutes before the match began, Tan Mo arrived at the venue after all, pushing open the door to the locker room.
The coach glanced at him but, in a show of stubbornness, pretended not to see him.
The first match began.
WLG landed within the first two circles, but when the third circle refreshed, they needed to cross a hill from a lower slope. However, a team had already taken position at the top, aiming down at them.
It was easy for the high ground to suppress the low, and with no cover, WLG struggled to find a breakthrough.
Miao Sen and Xiao Pai were knocked down one after the other. Sang Ye took the opportunity to reposition, swiftly aiming and knocking down an opponent who peeked out. Despite his efforts, he eventually succumbed to enemy fire.
Commentator A: “Even under these conditions, he managed to take down two opponents! You can always count on Song’s shooting skills—he’s utilized every bit of space to the maximum!”
But the viewers didn’t care. All they saw was WLG getting wiped out again, earning only 4 points this round.
[“I’m getting more and more frustrated with WLG. What are they even doing out there?”]
[“Song is great when he plays well, but most of the time, he doesn’t deliver. Just another overhyped player with too much marketing.”]
[“The higher they rise, the harder they fall. He probably didn’t expect this when he took that Mercedes endorsement. What a shame.”]
[“I remember that line before the tournament, “Soaring to the skies,” and I was moved to tears back then. Now, it feels like he was just full of lies.”]
[“I used to be a fan when I shipped him in that CP pairing, but seeing this performance? I’m over it. Can all professional players just rely on their skills, please?”]
Tan Mo quietly watched the barrage of comments on his phone. When he looked up, he saw that the broadcast had cut to a shot of the recently eliminated players.
The young, white-haired player furrowed his brow, blinked, and his delicate Adam’s apple moved slightly, as though he was swallowing some emotion he couldn’t quite express.
Tan Mo turned off his phone, unzipped the bag resting by his feet, and pulled out his team jersey. “I’ll be playing the next round.”
His voice was calm and indifferent, devoid of the earlier discussions’ tentative tone.
The coach immediately sat up straight, frowning deeply. In a heavy voice, he said, “Tan Mo, I’m warning you, don’t—”
“I have a duty to protect my teammates,” Tan Mo interrupted as he stood up and threw on his jacket. “They shouldn’t have to bear all of this.”
In the players’ room, Sang Ye rubbed his palms over his face, which alternated between feeling cold and hot, then suddenly spoke. “We can’t keep going like this.”
The other three players were taken aback.
Sang Ye turned to Miao Sen and asked, “Are you okay?”
Miao Sen’s expression was bleak. He opened his mouth but didn’t say a word.
“Listen, don’t be nervous,” Sang Ye said gently. “You can take your time. No one is rushing you, no one is contradicting you, and no one is blaming you. Just go at your own pace. We’re all going to listen to you and believe you can lead us into the top eight.”
Miao Sen’s eyes reddened instantly. Facing the calm and steady gaze of the young boy, he felt the pressure inside him break down like a dam bursting.
For so long, he had been plagued by doubt. Netizens doubted him relentlessly, his teammates sitting beside him doubted him, and it felt like no matter where he went or what he did, there was always a pair of eyes judging him from behind.
He couldn’t admit it, but Sang Ye had hit the mark right on.
Miao Sen’s lips trembled, and after a long moment of hesitation, he shook his head.
Hu Fu, looking serious, patted Miao Sen on the back in a gesture of comfort.
“It’s okay,” Sang Ye said with a faint smile. “I’ll go talk to the coach. You can rest, and we’ll sub in Elan—”
“I’ll play.”
When the deep voice sounded at the glass door, everyone’s heart skipped a beat, and they turned to look.
Tan Mo zipped up his team jacket, walked in, and patted Miao Sen’s shoulder. “You’ve worked hard.”
Sang Ye watched the man intently, not looking away even as Tan Mo sat down beside him.
Xiao Pai was so excited he stumbled over his words, waving his hands wildly. “Tan Shen! Tan Shen! You—you—you can play now?!”
Hu Fu exaggeratedly wiped the sweat from his brow and shook his hand, causing all his flabby flesh to jiggle. “Man, I’ve been exhausted without you.”
Tan Mo logged into his account, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Mind your language.”
As he logged into the game, he sensed someone staring at him.
Tan Mo turned his head and saw the young boy staring at him with wide, dark eyes filled with confusion, curiosity, and a hint of indescribable sadness.
Tan Mo asked, “What are you looking at?”
Sang Ye felt a bit embarrassed. He propped his face on his hand and looked down, swallowing the lump in his throat. His voice was hoarse as he asked, “Why are you here?”
But Tan Mo didn’t respond, his focus entirely on adjusting the settings to his preferences.
Sang Ye rubbed his eyes and didn’t press the question. He wasn’t really seeking an answer anyway. His emotions had been swinging wildly, and with the collapse of the courage he’d been holding onto, he suddenly felt like he had someone to lean on. It made him emotional.
The moment Tan Mo walked into the room, Sang Ye had almost wanted to cry.
The first round ended.
Xiao Pai and Hu Fu went to check on Miao Sen and ask the coach about the next steps.
Two staff members also left the room.
Sang Ye glanced at the man beside him, who was still focused on fine-tuning his equipment. He didn’t know what to do, but he didn’t want to leave either.
He was about to put his headphones back on.
Then, suddenly.
A large hand rested on the side of his head, pulling him closer. Warm breath brushed against his ear as a deep voice whispered:
“Because you looked like you were about to cry.”
Sang Ye’s long lashes fluttered twice, and his head lowered meekly. His pale cheeks flushed red as a tingling warmth spread through his ear, sending waves of restless feelings through his heart.
…
When the second game started, the director’s camera swept across the WLG area, the whole audience was in an uproar.
The commentator stood up in the studio, his voice full of enthusiasm:
“Oh my God! What did I see? It’s Tan Shen! The king of PCL is back!!!”