This chapter is brought to you by Fatima, thanks for the ko-fi! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ
Chapter 58 – Comfort.
Tan Mo stood sideways outside the door, so still that he almost blended into the shadows.
Inside, Sang Ye was playing his game, fingers flying across the keyboard, while tears streamed down his face in steady streams.
Maybe because he knew he was alone in the room, he finally let himself go—his sobs came in short, choked bursts, his thin shoulders trembling with each breath. He had held it in for too long, and now the suppressed cries rasped out from his throat, hoarse and raw.
His vision blurred from the accumulating tears. He quickly raised his slender wrist to wipe them away before immediately returning his hand to the mouse—continuing to control the recoil, continuing to cry.
Tan Mo lowered his gaze, staring at the cold marble floor beneath his feet. He was silent for a moment, then his expression shifted, his eyes betraying a deep, unrestrained ache.
He stood there for a long time, listening.
Each sob landed like a hammer on his heart.
Yet, he didn’t go in.
Instead, just as quietly as he had come, he turned and left.
No matter how many thoughts ran through his mind, at this moment, Sang Ye needed space more than he needed him.
…
The three of them didn’t take long to finish their meal outside.
On the way back, Tan Mo glanced at the time and suddenly decided to stop by a Starbucks.
Xiao Pai lifted the takeout box in his hand. “Brother, I’ll head back first and give this to Bai Mao”
Stepping through the automatic doors, Tan Mo said, “Wait for me. Song isn’t going anywhere.”
“I know he’s not running off, but…”
Xiao Pai scratched his head, puzzled. Why was Tan Mo—who usually preferred doing things alone—suddenly needing company just to buy a coffee?
But in the end, he gave in and followed. “Alright, fine. I guess I’ll reluctantly get one too… Brother, you’re paying, right?”
When they returned to the practice room, Xiaopai saw Sang Ye still playing.
“You’re up? Hurry and eat.”
“Oh,” Sang Ye replied in a slightly hoarse voice. He cleared his throat but didn’t turn around, too focused on his game. “Just leave it there. I’ll eat after this round.”
Xiao Pai placed the takeout box beside him. “Eat it soon. Don’t let it get cold.”
Tan Mo sat down and wordlessly set a cup of iced Americano on Sang Ye’s desk.
Sang Ye’s wrist only paused for a moment. Without looking around, he spoke in a low voice, “Thanks, but I don’t drink coffee. Give it to Xiao Pai or someone else…”
He had never been able to get used to coffee’s bitterness. He remembered telling Talk this before, thinking that Talk would have remembered.
Tan Mo glanced at Sang Ye. Even from the side, he could see the slight redness and swelling in the boy’s pale eyelids.
“It’s not for drinking.” Tan Mo turned toward his own computer, entered his password, and said in a voice only the two of them could hear, “Use it as an ice pack.”
Sang Ye’s fingers paused mid-action while switching to a sniper rifle. He pressed his lips together, understood, and didn’t say anything else.
…
There was no training on Friday nights. Usually, everyone would either browse forums, watch live streams, or stream their own games—everything was relaxed and laid-back.
But tonight, in one corner of the room, the sharp, continuous sound of a keyboard and mouse clicking echoed non-stop. The intensity surpassed even their usual training matches.
Xiao Pai was eating the whipped cream off his matcha frappuccino when he came across a trending forum post.
“What the hell—” he blurted, spluttering some foam onto his keyboard. He quickly wiped it away with his sleeve and continued, “Who’s got this much time on their hands? Is this Gal’s alt account or something? They actually uploaded the training match video to—”
Before he could finish, Hu Fu kicked him under the table.
Hu Fu twitched his eyes meaningfully and kept glancing toward Sang Ye behind them, signaling Xiao Pai to shut up.
Xiao Pai shrugged his shoulders and said no more.
Even though he knew Sang Ye had a strong mental game, there were bound to be tons of negative comments online. Even if he wasn’t affected by them, there was no way he could be happy seeing them.
Good thing he hadn’t blurted out where the video had been uploaded.
At that moment, Sang Ye got double headshotted in the final circle and was swiftly eliminated. Without hesitation, he exited the game, switched to his browser, and opened the Maopu forum.
A thread marked “HOT” floated at the top of the homepage.
—Bold take: PCL is just a bunch of noobs fighting each other.
Original Post: [Just watch the first four rounds. Our so-called “genius player,” Song, lasted a maximum of five minutes in a single match. Ha! Is this the player supposedly carrying PCL’s mission to conquer the world? People online really don’t need to hype him up so much. He’s barely stepped onto the international stage and already can’t play anymore. The Koreans are probably laughing behind closed doors, finally seeing PCL’s true colors. Spent an entire summer fighting amongst themselves just to crown a chicken king—but send him abroad, and he still gets beaten down.]
…
1st Floor: [??? Five rounds were played, but you’re only posting the first four? In the fifth round, BTF placed ninth, and WLG placed second—why not include that? What’s your agenda, OP?]
2nd Floor: [Blind fanboys, don’t rush to defend him. Just answer this: how come he lost every single roll fight? If this were the Intercontinental Cup and BTF contested P City, wouldn’t WLG just get steamrolled?]
3rd Floor:[What does this have to do with Song? Even Tan Shen would struggle against Gal’s playstyle.
Gal might look like he’s just playing normally, but every single move was targeting Song. The first match was whatever—whether you find a gun right after landing is pure luck.
But take the second round. BTF could have pushed Hu Fu’s church first and taken the best high-ground vision. Instead, Gal turned around and went straight for Xiao Pai, setting up an ambush. He knew Song would come to support Xiao Pai, so he planned the trap early. That’s when I realized—he was deliberately hunting Song down.
BTF’s team is disgusting. They’ll pull any dirty trick to win. If you don’t understand what’s going on, don’t talk nonsense. If Xiao Pai or Hu Fu were being targeted like this, would you still make a post just to mock them? Let’s be real—you’re just helping the Koreans suppress Song because he’s a rookie.]
4th Floor: [Shine, please come back! Last Intercontinental Cup, you led us to victory over BTF. Now with a roster change, we can’t even make it out of P City.]
…
452nd Floor: [Y’all were cheering when WLG won the Summer Championship, and now, after losing one training match, you’re stepping all over them? No one’s asking you to blindly defend competitive players, but could you at least stop groveling to Korea so quickly?]
…
Sang Ye quickly flipped through two more pages, then closed the tab and returned to his game.
At about eleven o’clock in the evening, Xiao Pai and Hu Fu packed up and prepared to go back.
As they passed the seat near the door, Xiao Pai noticed that the meal was still sitting untouched next to Sang Ye. Sang Ye himself was nearly in the exact same position as a few hours ago, continuously firing at a small broken hole in the door inside a custom game room. The edge of the door panel had already been completely shredded by his bullets.
Xiao Pai stared in confusion for a moment before something clicked in his mind. “Bai Mao, are you alri—”
Before he could finish, Hu Fu slung an arm around his shoulders, laughing and dragging him toward the exit. “Let’s go, let’s go. Get some sleep early tonight.”
Once they stepped into the hallway outside, Hu Fu lowered his voice. “You don’t actually think Song is fine, do you?”
Xiao Pai shrugged. “Huh? He seemed totally normal before we left for dinner. Probably just sleep-deprived and groggy.”
Hu Fu gave him a look of utter disdain, as if questioning his basic emotional intelligence. “Dude, did you not notice that he refused to drop into P City in the last match? His mentality is obviously shaken.”
Xiao Pai glanced back toward the practice room, finally starting to feel worried. “I was wondering about that… I thought Bai Mao had nerves of steel. If he lost, he could just train harder—it’s not even an official match. But not eating or drinking? He’s gonna burn himself out before the Intercontinental Cup even starts.”
Hu Fu sighed. “Yeah, well, I’ve figured something out—you are the one with nerves of steel. You lose, and you still eat, laugh, and go on with life like nothing happened.”
With Xiao Pai, no one ever worried when he faced setbacks. He vented immediately—yelling, slamming the table, jumping on chairs—making sure everyone knew he was pissed.
But once he finished his tantrum, he was fine.
The real problem was someone like Sang Ye—too calm, too composed. That meant something was definitely wrong. More than likely, he was just bottling everything up, overthinking it to the point of self-destruction.
For once, Xiao Pai was uncharacteristically thoughtful. “Should I text Bai Mao or something? Try to cheer him up?”
Hu Fu patted his shoulder. “Don’t bother. Didn’t you see Talk stayed behind?”
Inside the practice room, Sang Ye could sense from the corner of his eye that someone was still there.
He had assumed Tan Mo would leave with Xiao Pai and Hu Fu.
The realization distracted him for a moment.
Maybe Talk still had something to do.
At that moment—
The headset on Sang Ye’s head was suddenly removed. The gunfire that had surrounded him all night faded away, leaving his ears abruptly relieved of pressure, though they now throbbed slightly from the sudden release.
Tan Mo tossed the headset onto the desk. “Shut it down. I’m taking you out to eat.”
Even without his headset, Sang Ye seemed unaffected. His hands didn’t pause for a second as he continued his training.
“I don’t need to. Xiao Pai brought me food.”
“It’s cold.”
“I’ll heat it up.”
“Then do it now.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Song.” Tan Mo’s voice deepened slightly.
Sang Ye’s jawline tensed for a brief moment, but he didn’t respond. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, his fingers still moving.
Tan Mo watched him, his teeth clenching slightly—because he understood.
Two years ago, during training camp, he had shared a room with Fool.
Back then, Fool had been unable to sleep at night. He would toss and turn in bed before finally getting up at 2 AM, carefully slipping out to train alone in the practice room. He would repeat the same flick-shot motion thousands—tens of thousands—of times. When his wrist cramped, he’d simply press an ice-cold towel against it and keep going.
He wasn’t intentionally torturing himself. He just couldn’t stop.
For a rookie—especially a naturally gifted one—the pressure from both the environment and their own expectations was immense. Their goals were set sky-high, and they believed they were unstoppable, that the entire world lay beneath their feet.
It was a cognitive bias, sure. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—because rookies grow. Through constant setbacks and refinement, they gradually shape themselves into the players they aspire to be.
But then Gal appeared.
Through taunts. Through psychological manipulation. Through exposing every weakness and proving—“You’re tr*sh.”
This wasn’t growth.
For a rookie, this was hell-level devastation.
If they couldn’t process it properly, it would break them.
First, their self-esteem would be crushed to dust. Everything they had once believed in would start to feel like a lie.
Then, when they stepped onto the stage again—
They wouldn’t feel excitement.
They would feel fear.
Fear of Gal.
And the suffocating despair of being a failure.
Gal had achieved his goal.
He had left Fool and Song behind, forcing them to repeat the same mechanical actions over and over, trying to erase their own fear.
Suddenly, Tan Mo pressed the power button on Sang Ye’s monitor.
The screen went black.
Sang Ye froze for a second, then frowned, reaching out to turn it back on—only for Tan Mo to push his hand away.
The next second, chair and all, Sang Ye was pulled toward him.
He pressed his lips together stubbornly, something wild flickering in his dark eyes.
If anyone else had dared to shut off his monitor like that, he would’ve thrown a punch without hesitation.
But facing Tan Mo, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He could only swallow down his frustration, the fire burning silently in his chest.
“What are you thinking about?” Tan Mo asked. “Tell me.”
Sang Ye replied, “I want to train.”
“Besides that.”
“Nothing else.”
“……”
Tan Mo reached out and pinched Sang Ye’s cheek.
“Sang Ye, you’re being disobedient.”
Sang Ye scowled. “Don’t pinch me.”
He tried to swat Tan Mo’s hand away, but his wrists were firmly held in Tan Mo’s other hand, leaving him no way to free himself.
Tan Mo let go of his cheek, instead running his fingers lightly along the corner of Sang Ye’s eye. “Why were you crying?”
The light in Sang Ye’s eyes wavered for a second before he furrowed his brows and insisted seriously, “I wasn’t crying. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”
He sounded convincing.
Maybe someone like Xiao Pai would actually believe him.
But Tan Mo didn’t call him out on it. He simply asked again, “Did you cry or not?”
Sang Ye shook his head. “No.”
Tan Mo’s expression remained indifferent. He raised an eyebrow slightly. “Really?”
Sang Ye swallowed, his throat moving as he tried to suppress something. His eyes turned glossy. “No….”
But before he could finish the sentence, he shut his mouth immediately—afraid that if he spoke another word, a sound he couldn’t control might escape.
Tan Mo finally released his slender wrists, his tone softening as he asked one last time—
“Did you cry?”
Sang Ye pressed his lips together again and again. Against his fair skin, the gradual spread of redness in his eyes was painfully obvious.
He opened his mouth slightly, but no sound came out.
Then, all of a sudden, his lips quivered.
As he shut his eyes, tears began to fall.
Wiping at them with the back of his hand, he mumbled with unmistakable grievance:
“I’m not crying! I really didn’t cry. Ugh, so annoying—I told you I didn’t cry—wuwuwuwu….”
Tan Mo chuckled, ruffling the boy’s fluffy white hair with gentle affection.
Leaning over, he reached for the napkins on Sang Ye’s desk, pulling out a few sheets to wipe his tears.
Earlier, Sang Ye had held onto his pride, unwilling to show his emotions. Even when alone, he would only let a few golden teardrops fall before quickly pulling himself back together.
But in front of Tan Mo—once the floodgates opened, he just couldn’t stop.
Tan Mo had no choice but to grab a few more tissues. With an exasperated sigh, he said, “Sang Ye, you sure have a lot of waterworks.”
Sang Ye sobbed uncontrollably while still managing to complain, “It’s all your fault, all your fault!”
His muffled voice was thick with emotion, soft and sticky like a freshly steamed sugar cake.
Tan Mo had never encountered something like this before.
Even his five-year-old cousin could be soothed with a couple of bounces in his arms—he had never cried this hard.
Having wiped away half of Sang Ye’s tears, Tan Mo sat back down, feeling completely helpless. “How are you more of a child than an actual child?”
Sang Ye continued to wail, completely ignoring him.
He had already lost both face and dignity—at this point, he couldn’t care less if Tan Mo laughed at him.
Tan Mo teased, “I’m the only adult here. Want to sit on my lap and cry?”
But the moment he said it, he didn’t expect—
——That Sang Ye would take it as an actual invitation.
The boy leaned forward, gripping the armrest of Tan Mo’s chair.
One knee lifted onto the chair’s edge.
Then, parting his legs slightly, he lowered himself down.
“………”
Tan Mo stared in stunned silence as Sang Ye drew closer—
Climbing onto his lap.
Wrapping his arms around his neck.
Pressing his warm, soft body snugly against his chest.
Suddenly—Tan Mo wasn’t laughing anymore.
Sang Ye’s tear-filled eyes were hazy, but the warmth of the embrace made him feel grounded and comforted. It melted away his defenses with ease.
Sniffling, he whimpered, “I want to go home… I miss woo-dad and woo-mom…”
Tan Mo tilted his head slightly to glance at him, pushing aside any fleeting thoughts. He wrapped his arms around Sang Ye, coaxing him like he would a child.
“You can make time to call them tomorrow… It’s okay. Losing a training match isn’t reason enough to go home.”
Sang Ye inhaled the crisp, clean scent of Tan Mo’s collar and neck. The coolness steadied his mind, gradually calming his sobs.
But the sadness still lingered.
“I feel like I can’t play this game anymore… I keep losing. Every time, I lose. I can’t even make it out of P City…”
“It’s not your fault.”
The two were so close their faces were practically touching. Tan Mo’s voice softened.
“His individual skill is undeniably strong. That’s normal—he has four more years of experience than you. When I debuted, he was already dominating PCL. But what happened today won’t happen in the Intercontinental tournament. There, he’ll have to face WLG as a team—not just you alone.”
Sang Ye wasn’t sure if he was simply too exhausted from crying, but in the quiet warmth of Tan Mo’s voice, his sniffles finally ceased.
For a while, neither of them moved, just staying in that position in silence.
Then, slowly, Sang Ye shook his head.
He turned his face, burying it deep in Tan Mo’s shoulder and neck, as if seeking refuge in a safe harbor.
The soft strands of his hair brushed against Tan Mo’s neck, sending a tingling sensation through his skin.
Tan Mo pressed his lips together, his Adam’s apple shifting up and down.
“Talk…”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll always have to face Gal one-on-one eventually. Even if it’s not right at the start, there will come a time when I have to face him alone. When that happens… what should I do?”
Sang Ye’s voice was quiet, filled with dejection, like a sponge soaked with water—heavy and saturated with doubt.
“I thought that winning the Summer Championship meant I was invincible. That after that, I’d win the Intercontinental, then the World Championship, that nothing could stop me…”
He paused, voice trembling.
“But maybe… this is as far as I go.”
Tan Mo frowned slightly. Of course, Sang Ye’s thinking was flawed, but no matter what he said now, it wouldn’t carry the same weight as the crushing blow Gal had just delivered.
“I’m not just crying because I lost… It’s more than that… because…”
Sang Ye parted his lips, his breath hot as it spilled against Tan Mo’s neck.
“I promised I would win everything for you… but I can’t do it… I’m a liar. I’m just a puppy.”
A vein pulsed sharply along Tan Mo’s neck.
His hand slid up Sang Ye’s back, resting on the nape of his neck. His grip was firm—perhaps a bit too tight—as he struggled to suppress a certain emotion before finally saying:
“You’re not. Every promise you made to me—you’ll fulfill them all. It doesn’t matter what Gal says or does to you. Don’t pay attention to him. The only thing you need to do… is believe in me.”
“…”
“Song.”
“Mm?”
“The road ahead is longer than you think. You won’t stop here. He can’t defeat you. You’ll only become stronger.”
“…”
“Trust me.”
“…Okay.”
…
After crying and making a scene, Sang Ye was suddenly overwhelmed by a desperate urge to find a hole in the ground and bury himself in it.
He awkwardly climbed off Tan Mo’s lap, only to get his leg caught on the armrest midway.
Tan Mo, however, simply leaned back and watched with an amused yet indifferent expression. He made no move to help, letting Sang Ye struggle on his own.
By the time Sang Ye finally stood on solid ground, his entire body—from the tips of his hair down to his toes—was burning red like a freshly cooked shrimp.
—The whole process was nowhere near as smooth as when he had climbed up in the first place.
Flustered, Sang Ye clutched his flushed face with both hands, rubbing at his overheated cheeks.
Letting his emotions run wild had felt like drinking fake liquor—completely intoxicating. But now that he had sobered up and recalled everything he had said and done, he just wanted to bash his head against a wall.
Tan Mo casually brushed the creases from his pants before standing up.
“Let’s go. I’ll take you to get something to eat.”
Sang Ye immediately grabbed the takeout box from the table.
“I’ll just heat this up. It’s late—I don’t feel like going out.”
Tan Mo went along with it.
The two of them gathered their things and headed to the dormitory, where there was a shared kitchen with a microwave.
At this hour, no one else was around.
Sang Ye heated up his food and then slumped over the kitchen table to eat, while Tan Mo sat across from him, quietly watching.
Sang Ye felt a bit self-conscious under Tan Mo’s gaze. He stuffed a mouthful of rice into his mouth, hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Talk, can you do me a favor?”
Tan Mo lifted his chin slightly. “Go on.”
Sang Ye lowered his head, fidgeted for a while, then whispered, “What happened tonight… don’t tell anyone, okay?”
Tan Mo leaned in, resting his elbow on the edge of the table. “Which part are you talking about?”
Sang Ye blinked in confusion. “Huh?”
Wasn’t it obvious?
He thought Tan Mo knew.
He was talking about how he had cried for so long after losing to Gal in the scrim match.
If that got out, his reputation as “God Song” would be ruined.
Tan Mo said, “Are you talking about when you cried and called for your parents—”
Sang Ye: “……”
Tan Mo: “—or when you climbed onto my lap and wiped your tears and snot all over my clothes?”
“!”
Sang Ye sat up straight, his face flushing red. “Don’t tell anyone about either of those!”
Inside, he fumed with indignation.
Talk did it on purpose!
Talk is so mean!
Tan Mo chuckled, deciding not to tease him any further. He glanced at the takeout box. “Hurry up and eat.”
Sang Ye buried his head and ate quietly for a while. But that lingering sense of disappointment crept back in, and he softly asked, “Crying over something like this… does that make me weak?”
Tan Mo stared at the milk-white head filled with dejection for a moment, then bit his lip and said, “I should be honest with you about something—I lied before.”
Sang Ye looked up at him. “When?”
“Back at the training camp,” Tan Mo said. “I was targeted by Gal too.”
Sang Ye blinked, then grew angry. “How could he be like that?!”
Tan Mo, however, was already indifferent to it.
“I only decided to go pro after graduating from university. I was twenty-two, which is already considered late for a professional player. So Gal often made remarks about my age. After beating me a few times in regular-season matches, he started mocking me—calling me an old man with slow reflexes, saying I’d be retiring the moment I debuted.”
“That’s so mean!” Sang Ye slammed his fist on the table and pressed further. “Then what? What did you do back then?”
He couldn’t imagine it.
Would Tan Mo have cried too?
That was hard to picture.
Tan Mo leaned back in his chair. “Finish your food, and I’ll tell you.”
“……”
Sang Ye finally stopped overthinking and obediently focused on eating.
Once he finished, he pushed his food container aside impatiently. “Then what? What happened next?”
Tan Mo stood up and said, “Nothing. I just ignored him.”
“……”
Sang Ye’s face fell in frustration. He blinked, feeling like he’d just been tricked.
…
The Next Morning
Yu Haotian walked into the practice room, carrying a stack of uniforms. The moment he saw Sang Ye’s swollen red eyes, he was shocked. He exaggeratedly cupped Sang Ye’s face, his voice full of distress.
“My dear ancestor, what happened to your eyes? We’re filming the promotional video for the Intercontinental Championship tomorrow, and in a few days, you have the Twig endorsement shoot! Can you even show up like this? Your face is worth eight figures—can’t you take better care of it?”
Sang Ye, annoyed, swatted his hands away. “Didn’t sleep well. It’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
Yu Haotian nagged at him a bit more before turning to the team. “We’re filming tomorrow, so I brought your uniforms for the Intercontinental Championship. Try them on.”
Xiao Pai took his uniform and said, “It’s not just our team filming tomorrow, right? Who else is coming?”
Yu Haotian replied, “Catch22 will be there, and I think BTF is coming too.”
Xiao Pai cursed under his breath. “D*mn.”
Sang Ye pursed his lips slightly at the mention of “BTF.”
Meanwhile, Xiao Pai and Hu Fu took off their T-shirts on the spot to try on the new team uniforms.
Sang Ye also stood up, crossing his hands to grasp the hem of his shirt.
Just as Tan Mo turned around to grab his own uniform, he was met with a direct view of a pale, slender waist.
“……”
Sang Ye had lifted his shirt halfway when he noticed a gaze from the side and looked over.
Their eyes met.
“……”
“……”
Tan Mo: “You’re changing here?”
Sang Ye glanced behind him and saw that everyone else was doing the same. “What’s wrong?”
They were all guys—what was the problem?
“Nothing.” Tan Mo picked up his cup. “I’m going to get some water.”
Sang Ye pulled his shirt off completely.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tan Mo couldn’t help but notice the fair skin flashing in his peripheral vision.
Just then, Xiao Pai turned around. “Eh? Bai Mao—”
Tan Mo, who had just taken two steps away, suddenly stepped back and positioned himself between Xiao Pai and Sang Ye.
Now completely blocked from view, Xiao Pai: “?”
Tan Mo looked at him calmly. “What do you need?”
A confused Xiao Pai: “???”
He wasn’t even talking to you.
Author’s Note:
Talk: “What do you need? He’s changing. Turn your head away.”