Chapter 44 – A Gentle Strike
The ‘My Husband’ team’s two jeeps turned 180 degrees and left the city center. This time, the commentator wasn’t surprised at all—instead, he wore a face of smug amusement.
“Well… how should I put it?” Commentator A said, his mouth curving wildly upward. “When it comes to meetings—or rather, when it comes to Talk—I’m really surprised. How did Talk ever give the impression of being doomed to loneliness? I can’t recall anything about his past at all! And if anyone ever tells me that Talk is just a typical, aloof straight man, I’m not having it.”
“In the last round, everyone was engaging in close-quarters combat and exchanging blows with abandon, right? Just three shots and the wife-fan got headshot down.” Commentator B smiled mysteriously. “This round, though, they’re fighting all cautiously and politely, not even daring to get close. I’m not sure what happened in between, but the incredible will to survive and self-awareness that Talk displayed is something many of our male compatriots could learn from.”
Commentator A added, “Right—especially for some of those single folks watching. Think about why you don’t have a wife while others do.”
Commentator B laughed, “Haha! A single word makes all the difference; it’s clearly the wife-fans, isn’t it?”
Commentator A retorted, “Get real! Who in their right mind would kneel with a washboard for the wife-fans?”
The live audience erupted, shouting in unison, “Rap! Rap! Rap! —”
Sang Ye vaguely sensed the noise from the crowd below, but his professional noise-canceling headphones kept him oblivious to what was happening—and he didn’t even notice that Tan Mo had come by and left.
Meanwhile, the four teammates were dividing up supplies in the open area.
Sang Ye glanced at the circle formation and said, “Team, let’s take the weak flank1 route into the circle.”
“Playing so conservatively?” Miracle asked in astonishment. “That’s not like you, Song—and besides, hardly anyone’s really operating seriously, you know…”
Sang Ye went “click, click, click” as he attached a flash hider, a sighting accessory, and other attachments to his gun, configuring a fully-equipped M762. He scanned his rifle and, in a low, thoughtful voice, said, “I want to be the last man standing…”
“What’s up?” Miracle, unaccustomed to this sudden change, asked. “Why did you suddenly get so fired up?”
Sang Ye pressed his lips together, his tone biting as he declared fiercely, “Without him, I’d still be just fine!”
His teammates all turned to look at him: “…………”
“Ha?” Miracle asked, utterly confused. “Who?”
Sang Ye realized he’d lost his composure and continued in a cold tone, “None of your business.”
By now, even the teammates could tell that “Boss” was seriously angry—and the consequences were bound to be severe.
Fueled by an endless reservoir of resentment and a rare intensity among all the players, Sang Ye led his team into the sixth circle.
Strangely, as the map shrank, he didn’t encounter the My Husband team again until a series of system messages suddenly popped up in the upper right corner. The messages revealed that the My Husband team hadn’t managed to enter the circle; they had been wiped out on the north side by two other teams.
“What a shame, I was really looking forward to exchanging a couple of shots with the captains,” Nanbei sighed. Then, shifting his tone, he added, “Hey, why don’t they come from our side? Over there, not only is the wuli team waiting, but a few other strong teams are too. And here, there are fewer people. If the four of them go up against us, how could they possibly win? Song, don’t you agree with my analysis?”
“Not only that…” Miracle jumped in, seizing the moment with a cheeky smile, “Song can even kill with a light touch. Isn’t that way better than going the other route?”
Nanbei found the joke amusing and was just about to agree when—
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“……”
At the sound of the boy’s ice-cold voice, both fell silent in an instant.
Then, Sang Ye coldly clarified, “I’m a killer. I have no feelings.”
“…………”
After a brief silence, the teammates all looked away, barely managing to stifle their laughter.
Even Xing Xing—such a socially anxious kid—let out a little “pfft.”
When Boss delivered his flat declaration of being a killer, there was an oddly endearing quality in it that made him instantly less frightening.
Meanwhile, just across the stage from the Wife Fans team, a row of four people waited boredly for the round to end.
Fang Fang patted his mouse, clearly frustrated, and couldn’t hold back his complaining:
“Tan Mo, you’ve gone too far—what kind of ridiculous route are you taking us on? If you don’t command properly next round, I’m kicking you out.”
Tan Mo grabbed the water bottle on the table with one hand, his eyes peering through the gaps in his equipment as he looked across. After a moment, in the dim light, he squinted.
The boy on the other side was intently focused on his computer, though his expression remained as cold as ever. Even though he had managed to avoid a direct confrontation, it didn’t seem to have pleased his counterpart.
Tan Mo sighed, lowered his head, and slumped back in his chair.
—This kid’s thoughts are really hard to read.
“Heh,” Fang Fang remarked as he saw Tan Mo lower his head in remorse. Feeling a surge of victorious satisfaction, he sneered, “So you realize you were wrong, huh? Then make sure you fight properly next round.”
Tan Mo sat up and began packing his things. Not even glancing at Fang Fang, he said in a flat tone, “I don’t feel like dealing with you.”
Fang Fang: “??? Is this man always so unpredictable???”
On the field, as the circle shrank smaller and smaller, Sang Ye and Xing Xing managed to break into the final circle. There were four teams remaining, two of which were at full strength.
Sang Ye kept moving back and forth along the reverse slope, scanning for an opening to break through, planning to take down the team positioned on the hill. The enemy team on the slope began aiming and spraying bullets toward his side. Fortunately, there was cover, and the fragments scattered as they struck the rocks.
Sang Ye timed his move perfectly—listening for the sound of the enemy switching weapons, he shifted his position to the side and cleanly landed a headshot on one of them.
However, with the enemy outnumbering him, Sang Ye immediately saw two more targets emerging along the hillside’s line of sight. Given his current position and state, the best outcome would have been to retreat, but the situation didn’t allow him time to think. As soon as he fixed on a target, he dropped his scope and unleashed a burst of fire.
But the anticipated heavy firepower never arrived. Instead, one adversary fired just a single shot at Sang Ye; after merely grazing him, that shooter was then hit in the head by a bullet still thick with the smell of gunpowder.
Sang Ye paused briefly.
Tan Mo wasn’t around, and Sang Ye almost forgot he had a teammate behind him.
Sang Ye stepped forward and secured the kill with a follow-up shot.
Xing Xing poked his head out from behind a car at the edge of the circle, still holding his sniper rifle.
Sang Ye administered a quick compliment to himself, “Your shooting is on point.”
Xing Xing let out a small “Mm-hmm,” adding, “You’re pretty steady yourself.”
[“These two little guys complimenting each other—so adorable, it’s making all the moms in the audience melt.”]
[“One’s got white hair and the other’s got pink hair, and they’re about the same age. Perfect for a duo.”]
[“What duo? A “scream and shout” team, maybe?”]
[“Hahahahahaha, the guy who mentioned “scream and shout” earlier, don’t leave!”]
Commentator A enthusiastically remarked, “These two making it to the final circle is really something. Compared to those old pros, they’re like underage part-timers.”
Commentator B laughed warmly, “Haha, but it’s also quite touching to see these young guns. Song is WLG’s newest assault player, nicknamed ‘Little Talk,’ and Aster, the sniper for catch22, is also a rookie this year. Their performance on the field is impressive, and it signals a refreshing generational shift.”
Commentator A continued, “Exactly, these two youngsters have a promising future. Now, looking at the current battlefield, there are three groups left. The wuli team is locked in a fierce battle with Xiao Pai’s squad, so they haven’t had time to worry about Song and Aster. Maybe this is their perfect chance to advance…”
Before he could finish his sentence, a gun trace from an oblique angle emerged and knocked Xing Xing to the ground.
Commentator B exclaimed, “Oh no! JunX launched a sneak attack on the two young ones! Song’s reaction was lightning-fast—he didn’t have time to take cover and had to return fire! JunX is frantically peeking out from behind a tree and outputting damage… they… oh!”
The screen in front of Sang Ye went dark, and the entire engagement lasted less than three seconds.
Sang Ye felt a twinge of regret, but he had to admit the opponents were strong.
When he removed his headphones, he happened to hear the announcer’s voice echoing through the venue.
“After joining the international players, it feels like the Summer Tournament is about to get fierce. Wow… I’m really looking forward to seeing JunX’s performance in the main event in a week. With players from the former intercontinental champions and runners-up coming together, who knows what amazing moments will spark?”
“JunX has always played in the assault role—his agility and game sense are world-class. I remember that in last year’s Intercontinental Tournament, JunX nearly replaced Tan Shen to win the championship, though WLG eventually won by a razor-thin margin…”
Sang Ye couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh.
Although that guy was strong, how could he possibly replace Talk?
At that moment, a faint voice from beside him spoke up:
“I thought you’d cry…”
Hearing this, Sang Ye turned his face and asked, “What?”
Xing Xing, his fingertips partially tucked into his sleeve, raised a hand to scratch his pink hair and, looking down, said, “I thought you’d cry, but you didn’t… so you must not be someone who can’t handle losing.”
Sang Ye frowned slightly, finding the kid’s remark inexplicable. “Who said I can’t handle losing?”
Xing Xing gave him a quick glance and, speaking bluntly, added, “When Talk hit you, you looked like you were about to cry… you seemed a bit unable to accept defeat.”
Stung by the comment, Sang Ye’s face flushed, and he instinctively retorted, “I was—”
The truth was, his emotions weren’t stirred by Talk hitting him; it was because Talk was helping someone else hit him—and those two feelings are completely different.
However, Sang Ye would never casually share his inner thoughts with someone else. That’s not something a “cool guy” does. Besides…
He himself couldn’t even sort out or explain that overwhelming sense of imbalance.
At that moment, facing Xing Xing’s inquisitive gaze, Sang Ye frowned impatiently and coldly snapped, “Do I look like someone who cries? Mind your own business.”
Xing Xing pursed his lips and managed a somewhat forced smile. He remembered clearly how, in the previous round, tears had shimmered in Sang Ye’s eyes.
Sure enough, youth love to act cool.
Sang Ye then seemed to recall something Xing Xing had hinted at; his gaze drifted toward the seats across from him—only to find that team had already left.
A round had just ended when staff hurried in to call for Sang Ye, informing him that during the halftime break he needed to do an interview and asking him to come along.
The All-Star Game’s interview segment featured the most popular players, and Sang Ye was among them—indeed, he was the only new face.
He arrived at the studio and, sure enough, saw Tan Mo. However, there were several people around Tan Mo, chatting away; they all seemed to have already completed their interviews.
Sang Ye glanced in that direction from a distance, then leaned against the wall by himself.
Next, the player who entered the green studio for his interview was NSN’s Li Junxian, who even brought along a translator. The people waiting outside could watch the interview process on the display mounted on the wall.
“JunX has already checked in to the NSN base, right?” the female host asked with a warm, engaging smile. “Could you show us a sentence in Chinese?”
The translator leaned in close to Li Junxian’s ear and whispered a few words. After listening, Li Junxian let out a soft “Oh~,” smiled with narrowed eyes, gestured with his hand, and replied in Korean.
The translator then explained his response: “I’m really sorry, I can’t speak Chinese.”
The female host’s smile stiffened slightly, clearly revealing her embarrassment.
Among the players sitting outside, two of them’s expressions changed—lips slightly parted in silence, clearly not about to say anything kind.
It was obvious they were unimpressed by this insincere foreigner. He was asked to show a bit of Chinese—not to speak perfectly like a news anchor; a simple “ni hao” would have sufficed—but he stubbornly kept his dignity and refused to speak.
“F*cking hell…” Sang Ye muttered under his breath. He didn’t want to watch any longer and reached for his phone—only to freeze when he remembered that he’d come straight over after the match ended and hadn’t had a chance to go back to the lounge to grab it.
Sang Ye awkwardly clenched his empty hand.
At that moment, someone stood beside him.
Sang Ye glanced over and saw it was Tan Mo. He straightened his posture slightly, clearly feeling awkward, but he quickly recalled that he was still angry—after the earlier unpleasant incident, he couldn’t just greet him casually like before; at least, not now.
Consequently, the air between them became tense and a bit awkward.
Yet Tan Mo remained unfazed. He seemed to have chosen this spot because it was relatively empty, deliberately staying away from the crowd.
There he stood, leaning casually against the wall with one hand in his pocket, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on the television screen ahead.
Sang Ye’s eyes wandered, troubled.
What’s he supposed to mean by this…?
Is he ignoring me?
Standing next to you and not even saying a word?
The boy’s mouth was full of silent anger, and one side of his smooth, pale cheek puffed up slightly. After a moment’s thought, he turned toward the wall and began picking at a patch of peeling paint with his finger.
Just then, the gentle voice of the female host rang out again:
“This All-Star Game must be your first experience with a PCL event, right? They say first experiences are always unforgettable. May I ask, what are your impressions after stepping onto the PCL stage for the first time?”
Li Junxian chuckled briefly, then restrained himself and replied in a short sentence in Korean.
The translator then said, “It was so easy that it felt a little disconcerting.”
The female host’s expression once again turned awkward.
On the live chat, streams of “???” began to fly by, and many viewers demanded that this player speak properly.
Sang Ye couldn’t help but cast his eyes back to the display screen.
The female host asked, hesitantly, “W-what does that mean?”
Li Junxian didn’t seem to think anything was amiss—or perhaps he was just feigning cluelessness due to his language barrier. Lost in his memories, he replied in Korean:
“When I first saw the player Talk, I was pleasantly surprised—I thought he epitomized the strength of the PCL division. But later I realized that Talk is at the very top; after him, there’s a gap, and no one can ever surpass him. Today, by coming to this match, I experienced it firsthand. That’s exactly how it is—yes, my hunch was right. Although everyone played very casually today, when it came to direct confrontations with other players, they hardly imposed any pressure on me. That is the biggest difference compared to what I experienced in the PKL division… You know, in PKL there are many top players who hardly give you any breathing room.”
The live chat had devolved into a profanity-filled mess.
Outside, several players were huffing in annoyance.
One couldn’t hold back and shouted, “If you don’t like it here, then get the hell out and go home!”
A nearby staff member gave him a shushing gesture with a wry smile, clearly trying to avoid any trouble.
The female host quickly changed the subject, saying, “So, that means you still have quite a strong impression of Talk, right? Sharing the stage with him today must have been a lot of fun, wasn’t it?”
But Li Junxian merely sighed regretfully.
The host’s eyelid twitched as she got a bad feeling.
Sure enough, the Korean continued, “I’m not impressed by him—I still regret missing out on the Intercontinental Championship and the World Championship. I’ve always thought that if someone had Talk’s kind of luck, even if their skill was inferior to mine, they could win the title effortlessly. I haven’t had the best of luck over the past two years, ended up with a subpar team for various reasons, and now I’m here at NSN. This Summer Tournament is my first stop, and I’m glad to have encountered Talk again—sooner than I expected. I believe I can start replacing him from here, setting a new TOP standard for the PCL division.”
Everyone was stunned. It became clear that this guy wasn’t here to support the PCL—he was here to shake things up. He was determined to win this Summer Tournament, his criticism of Talk was unabashed, and he was bursting with confidence; otherwise, he wouldn’t dare say such things openly in an interview.
Some people looked over at Tan Mo, but he remained as calm as ever, as if Li Junxian’s words had nothing to do with him.
Since Tan Mo was right beside him, Sang Ye pursed his lips without saying a word, but his gaze toward the people on the display changed.
It was a look that clearly said he wanted to knife someone.
The female host had already quickened her pace and hurriedly asked the final question, “Besides that, were there any other players in this tournament who left a deep impression on you?”
Li Junxian looked at the translator uncertainly and hesitantly uttered a name: “Song?”
The female host responded, “Song? WLG’s Song? What about him?”
Sang Ye watched intently, also curious about what this was all about.
After confirming, Li Junxian flashed that unreadable smile again, squinting slightly as he spoke a long string of Korean.
Sang Ye couldn’t understand a single word.
The translator didn’t provide an immediate translation into Chinese either.
However, whether it was just his imagination or not, Sang Ye noticed that Tan Mo’s expression had shifted. The air around him grew heavier, his aura exuding an increasingly oppressive intensity.
Li Junxian finished speaking with a cheerful grin.
Yet the translator hesitated, looking slightly troubled before finally saying, “He looks forward to meeting him again on the battlefield.”
That was it?
Sang Ye clearly didn’t buy it. That Korean guy had practically delivered a thousand-word essay just now.
He cast a quick glance to the side, his heart skipping a beat. Taking this as an opportunity to start a conversation, he asked, “What did he actually say?”
But Tan Mo, still wearing a cold expression, simply replied, “Nothing important.”
Sang Ye’s breath caught for a moment. He looked at Tan Mo and gradually furrowed his brows, the emotions flickering in his eyes a mix of frustration and hurt.
Oh!
So now he won’t even talk to me properly?
He’s starting to get impatient with me!
Aside from Tan Mo, there were few people in the studio who could understand Korean. However, the internet was a different story.
[“I noticed his tone was kind of weird. He kept repeating how “pretty” Song was—this is basically sexual harassment, right? Same-gender harassment is still harassment.”]
[“What exactly did he say? Anyone in the chat who can translate?”]
[“Korean major here, reporting for duty. JunX’s exact words: (referring to Song) “He’s really pretty, exactly my type of cute boy. Honestly, you don’t see someone this beautiful every day. The competitive scene doesn’t suit him—he should consider becoming a trainee instead. I’d definitely support him, even spend a lot of money as a fan. I’m really looking forward to facing him again in this match. Just seeing him puts me in a great mood. But I can’t promise I won’t make him cry~ Haha. If he does cry, I bet he’d look even prettier. That would probably make me even happier. I’d love to see him beg me not to kill him.”]
[“Uhh… this is straight-up fantasy territory.”]
At that moment, Li Junxian casually walked out of the studio as if no one else existed, ignoring everyone—except when he saw Sang Ye. He flashed him a smile and winked.
Sang Ye, unsurprisingly, wasn’t in the mood to return the gesture.
Tan Mo watched Li Junxian leave with cold eyes.
Just then, a staff member called Sang Ye into the recording studio.
Tan Mo had initially wanted to clarify that Li Junxian’s words were meaningless and not worth paying attention to. But seeing Sang Ye walk away, he had no choice but to let it go for now.
Suppressing his frustration, Sang Ye took a seat across from the host.
The female host let out a deep breath of relief before quickly regaining her bright and enthusiastic smile.
However, as soon as the interview started, she skipped the usual introductions and eagerly pulled out her phone.
“Song, I have a few questions from the audience for you. Everyone’s dying to know.”
Sang Ye maintained his usual cool, indifferent demeanor. “Mm.”
“First off,” the host glanced up from her phone, her eyes gleaming with unusual excitement, “is making Talk kneel on a washboard a habit you’ve trained him into?”
Sang Ye, seated on the tall stool, nearly tipped forward. He quickly planted his feet on the ground to steady himself, staring at her in disbelief.
“…What?”
…
By the time Sang Ye finished his interview, everyone outside had already left.
He hurried back to the stage and sat down in his seat. Before settling in, he quickly glanced across the room, then just as quickly ducked behind his monitor, his eyes darting away. His face remained flushed, burning hot.
Miracle asked, “How was the interview?”
Sang Ye put on his headset. His voice was a little muffled, but his tone had softened compared to before. “Not great…”
The entire livestream had basically been just him blushing and stammering.
Even now, he still hadn’t fully calmed down.
Before long, the fourth match began.
The “My Husband” team and the “Wuli” team both landed at Saint Mountain. Unlike his usual laid-back attitude in the previous rounds, Tan Mo moved with lightning-fast reflexes, grabbing a shotgun and shooting Li Junxian out of the sky before he even touched the ground.
Right as the director switched the camera to Tan Mo’s perspective, his deep, magnetic voice rang out with refined elegance:
“D*mn, too much nonsense.”
A collective “Awooo!” erupted from the chat.
[“That shot was totally for Song!”]
[“I’m exhausted, but rap god forever.”]
[“Hahaha! Talk actually got mad—what a rare sight.”]
For the rest of the match, Tan Mo deliberately avoided Sang Ye’s team.
The only time they did cross paths in a chaotic skirmish, Sang Ye had a clear chance to ambush Tan Mo’s squad—but Tan Mo intentionally let him go.
Because of this unspoken truce, by the time the final zone closed in, they were the only two players left.
Commentator A, visibly excited, exclaimed, “What do we call this? Fate has brought them together! The last two lone wolves—wife and husband—are about to face off in a 1v1 duel! Let’s see who will come out on top!”
In the forest, they each took cover behind a large tree.
Sang Ye took a deep breath and swiftly pulled back the bolt of his gun. However, the man was even faster—his bullet flew toward him at lightning speed, shattering his armor. Instead of gaining the upper hand, Sang Ye was left with just a sliver of health. He quickly ducked behind a rock ahead to regain his composure.
Commentator A: “What a shame—Song is out of healing items. If he had just one, he could patch himself up and make a final push.”
Commentator B: “This match is pretty much decided. Now it’s just a matter of when Talk decides to finish him off.”
Crouching behind the rock, Sang Ye’s heart pounded out of rhythm. Now that Talk was facing him in a solo fight, he didn’t feel upset—just exhilarated.
It was only now that he realized Talk had been avoiding his position throughout the match, deliberately steering clear to accommodate his emotions. The thought made Sang Ye’s face heat up, and a hint of guilt crept in. Maybe he had been overreacting.
Hearing footsteps rustling through the grass, Sang Ye knew that Tan Mo was closing in. Even though he had no real chance of winning, he was determined to land one final, solid shot.
—This is a competition.
He timed the footsteps, calculated the distance, then moved in a smooth sequence—sidestep, aim, pull back the bolt. His finger was about to squeeze the trigger out of instinct when he abruptly stopped himself.
In his scope, he saw Tan Mo approaching, gun in hand, but with the barrel pointed downward—he had no intention of shooting.
Sang Ye’s lips parted in confusion as he watched Tan Mo walk right up to him. Lowering his own gun, he tilted his head up to look at the man.
Tan Mo dropped a medkit at his feet.
—For healing.
“……”
Sang Ye instantly understood, and his face flushed crimson.
The audience erupted into deafening screams.
Commentator A slammed the desk. “HE’S NOT EVEN KILLING HIM?! HE’S HEALING HIM?! This is hands-down the most outrageous thing I’ve ever seen in a PCL match! Talk, Song—are you two really committing to ‘friendship first’ all the way to the end?!”
After a faint rustling sound, Tan Mo switched on the all-channel voice chat and spoke in an indifferent tone, “Still want to keep playing?”
Now, not only could everyone hear their voices, but the camera had also zoomed in on just the two of them.
Sang Ye’s usually fair face was now flushed an unmistakable shade of red, his shyness practically spilling out of the screen.
He didn’t pick up the medkit on the ground. Instead, he shook his head and whispered almost inaudibly, “It’s fine… Just shoot.”
Tan Mo wasn’t convinced. “You’re sure?”
Sang Ye was well aware that millions of viewers were watching this match unfold. He just wanted it to end as soon as possible. Nearly burying his face, his voice grew even smaller, “Mhm.”
But Tan Mo asked again, “Really? You want me to shoot?”
Sang Ye clenched his teeth, starting to feel restless. “Yes!”
Tan Mo raised his gun but gave a casual warning first. “Then don’t come sulking at me later.”
“……”
A sudden explosion of high-pitched screams erupted from the audience, loud enough that even Sang Ye, wearing headphones, could hear them.
Mortified, he bit his lip, so flustered that for the first time in his life, he just wanted to get it over with. His voice even carried a faint quiver, as if he was holding back tears. “Just hurry up already!”
Tan Mo steadied his aim and pulled back the bolt—but just a second before firing, he lowered the gun again.
Sang Ye thought, Now what?!
Tan Mo calmly took out a suppressor, attached it to his gun, and once more raised his sights.
With a short, muffled gunshot, he delivered the gentlest final blow.
Note :
- “weak flank” is simply an area with fewer people, so you don’t have to cluster with other teams, making the competition less fierce. ↩︎
Is this scene with JunX being the bad guy even neccessary. Chinese e-sport writers seem to like giving KR characters evil image. I like reading e-sport novels, and this situation always happen without fail.