This chapter is brought to you by Fatima, thanks for the ko-fi! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
Chapter 63 – Eye Mask.
At this hour, only the emergency department was open.
The doctor glanced at Sang Ye’s eye, then started typing on the computer.
“It’s conjunctivitis with a blocked meibomian gland. Haven’t been paying attention to eye hygiene, have you? A lot of young people these days wear contacts, put on eyeliner, and if they’re not careful, they get infections. You probably don’t do that, but you need to break the habit of rubbing your eyes. When you get home, rinse them with eye drops. I’ll prescribe both topical and oral medication. Just get some rest, and it should clear up in a while.”
Sang Ye’s gaze flickered, and he scratched his right eyelid.
So this wasn’t some dramatic, heartbreak-induced eye disease caused by excessive crying, as he had imagined. Instead, it was simply the result of using an eyeliner pencil that had been shared by too many people during the promo shoot yesterday—and then ignoring the problem until it got worse.
Sang Ye asked, “Will this affect my competition next week?”
“What, a school competition?” The doctor, apparently thinking he was funny, quipped, “Should be fine as long as your brain is working when you go in.”
Sang Ye’s baby face made him look like a high schooler, so the doctor’s assumption wasn’t surprising.
But still, he didn’t think he looked anything like the type to be competing in academic contests.
Sang Ye started to explain, “No, I—”
The doctor cut him off. “Even if it’s for a sports meet, you’ll be fine. It’s not like you’re missing an arm or a leg.”
Sang Ye frowned. “I’m—”
“Unless you’re a referee standing at the starting line with a gun.” The doctor seemed quite amused by his own joke, chuckling. “That wouldn’t work, because you’d have to wear an eye patch. Can’t go around shooting blindly, now, can you?”
“……”
Sang Ye shut his mouth and looked up at Tan Mo.
If his eye didn’t heal soon, it wouldn’t just affect his training—it could jeopardize his participation in the intercontinental tournament.
Tan Mo glanced at Sang Ye’s left eye, which was red as a rabbit’s, looking pitiful. He raised a hand and gave the white-haired head a light pat. “Don’t overthink it for now.”
Just then, the doctor finished printing the prescription, listing the prescribed medications.
Tan Mo took the medical record and led Sang Ye toward the outpatient lobby on the first floor.
Sang Ye walked with his head down, listless. The uncertainty of whether he’d be able to compete was clearly weighing on him.
As they walked, Tan Mo checked the prescription against the medication list. “Ofloxacin eye drops—check. Erythromycin eye ointment—check… We’ll get two more boxes of antibiotics and a pack of medical eye patches.”
Sang Ye blinked, tilting his head toward Tan Mo. “How do you know I already have those?”
At that moment, a doctor in a white coat walked past them. His sharp gaze landed on Sang Ye and lingered for a full five seconds before he seemed to realize that Sang Ye was just a particularly good-looking young man. The doctor gave a polite smile and continued on his way.
Sang Ye withdrew his gaze from the doctor’s retreating figure, turned back, and lowered his voice. He asked again, “How do you know I already have that… Patrick Star eye drop thing? That erythromycin ointment?”
Yu Haotian had brought him the medicine earlier in the evening when Tan Mo wasn’t even there.
Tan Mo closed the medical record. “I know a lot of things.”
Sang Ye gave a small hop, bumping his shoulder against Tan Mo’s side, his suspicion deepening. “Did you buy the medicine for me?”
“Why would I buy you medicine?” Tan Mo remained steady even after being bumped, walking forward without a glance. “I’d be happier if you actually cried yourself blind.”
Sang Ye: “…………”
The on-duty pharmacist had temporarily stepped away, leaving a sign.
The two sat in the front-row chairs of the hospital lobby, waiting.
It was now 2 AM. The surroundings were empty, even the electronic display above the counter had stopped working. The fluorescent lights cast a stark, hollow glow across the hall.
Tan Mo looked down, playing on his phone.
Following the doctor’s advice to reduce eye strain, Sang Ye glanced around idly. Eventually, his gaze settled on Tan Mo’s side profile.
Under the dim hospital lighting, the man’s skin appeared exceptionally fair. His eyelashes were thick at the roots, casting a fan-shaped shadow over his lower eyelid when he looked down. The corners of his eyes tilted slightly upward, and the curve of his side profile was as smooth as something drawn in a manga. Yet, under the fluorescent light, his features carried a layer of exhaustion.
Sang Ye wasn’t an ungrateful person.
For Tan Mo to accompany him to the hospital this late at night meant sacrificing his own rest. And tomorrow, they still had to train as usual.
If only he had listened and come to the hospital in the afternoon, none of this would’ve been necessary.
Lowering his head, Sang Ye murmured, “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me.” Tan Mo locked his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He glanced at the “Temporarily Away” sign at the counter and said, “This is something I should do.”
The tension between them finally eased.
Sang Ye hunched his shoulders slightly, rubbing his palms against his pants. It was clear he still felt embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant…”
Tan Mo: “After all, I’m the one who made you cry your eyes out.”
“……”
Sang Ye stopped rubbing his thighs. A visible blush crept across his face at an alarming speed. He already knew the real cause of his eye infection, but when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, like a mosquito’s hum.
“Don’t say that… I didn’t know at first, but if you keep going on like this… I-I won’t play with you anymore.”
“Why are you not playing with me again?” Tan Mo looked at him, expression unreadable. “Didn’t I already tell you not to play with me?”
“…………”
Sang Ye had been bullied too much. His left eye was already red, and now his right eye was tinged with an obvious flush as well. He fidgeted, looking uneasy, before finally shoving Tan Mo in frustration.
“How can you be like this?!”
Tan Mo casually leaned to the other side, resting his head on his hand, and slowly looked forward, unbothered.
The on-duty doctor had returned, removed the sign, and picked up the medical records from the plastic basket.
“I’ve always been like this.” Tan Mo’s expression remained indifferent as he said, “Cold, distant, never caring about anyone… Is this your first day knowing me?”
Sang Ye stomped his foot and stood up aggressively.
The next second, Tan Mo reached out and grabbed him.
“Let me go! Let me go!” Sang Ye’s small face scrunched up, his entire body tensed as he struggled against Tan Mo’s grip. “I want to go back to Shanxi!”
“Sang Ye,” Tan Mo glanced at him with a smirk, “this trick doesn’t work anymore.”
Just then—
A knock came from the counter window.
—The on-duty doctor was reminding them to pick up the medicine.
Tan Mo stood up, still holding onto Sang Ye’s wrist, and led him over.
He never let go, all the way to the parking lot.
At first, Sang Ye kept struggling, but once they left the hospital, he glanced up at the tall man beside him. Under the night sky, Tan Mo appeared steady and reliable. Even in this big city, far from family and friends, he no longer felt lonely or helpless.
Sang Ye’s face quietly flushed red. Lowering his head, he leaned a little closer to Tan Mo—and finally behaved himself.
Back at the dormitory, Sang Ye carried his medicine into the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor for Tan Mo.
But as soon as Tan Mo stepped in, he turned off the second-floor button.
Sang Ye glanced at the elevator panel, then at Tan Mo. “What are you doing?”
Tan Mo looked at the bag in Sang Ye’s hand and asked, “Do you know how to use it?”
Sang Ye’s right eye sparkled as he nodded confidently. “Of course!”
Five minutes later, he completely embarrassed himself.
Sang Ye was pinned down on the bed, his face tilted up as he kept shouting, “Ah! Ah! Ah!” nonstop. He clutched Tan Mo’s wrist, utterly terrified of the foreign substance about to drop into his eye.
His eyes were too sensitive—he wasn’t used to eye drops. After countless failed attempts to do it himself, he finally let Tan Mo take over, only to dodge frantically again. The drops ended up blinking onto his face instead.
“I should’ve asked the doctor for two more bottles.” Tan Mo knelt on one knee at the edge of the bed, loosening his wrist and adjusting the angle. “Stop grabbing my hand.”
“Be gentle… gentle…” Sang Ye released his grip, but his fingers were still trembling. His soft voice carried a whimper, like a little kitten.
Tan Mo’s breath hitched slightly, but he quickly furrowed his brows. “Stop making noises. I’m not doing anything to you.”
A single drop fell.
Sang Ye blinked.
Rejected.
A second drop fell.
Sang Ye blinked again—right on cue.
Rejected.
Suddenly, Tan Mo called his name. “Song.”
Sang Ye froze and looked at him. “What?”
Tan Mo set the eye drops aside. “When did I ever say you couldn’t play with me?”
Sang Ye was momentarily stunned.
The sudden topic change caught him completely off guard.
And in that very second—
Tan Mo swiftly lifted his hand, his sniper-like precision landing a perfect drop into Sang Ye’s eye.
“Hiss—” Sang Ye instinctively squeezed his left eye shut.
But in the brief moment he blinked, Tan Mo, keeping perfect rhythm, expertly dropped two more in. Then he casually screwed the cap back onto the bottle.
Never doubt a pro player’s reaction speed.
“You’re the real sneak attacker…” Sang Ye pressed a tissue to his eye, his face slightly flushed.
Now that the eye drops were actually in, it wasn’t as terrifying as he’d made it out to be. In hindsight, his earlier dramatics seemed incredibly over the top.
Tan Mo pulled out a cotton swab, dipped it in ointment, and lifted Sang Ye’s chin with his fingers.
“When did I ever say you couldn’t play with me?”
Sang Ye shifted his gaze to the floor, his soft, rosy lips parting slightly as if they were stuck together, murmuring:
“You were the one who said… not to do things that would make you overthink.”
Tan Mo replied, “I told you not to do things that make me overthink, and now you’re just not doing anything at all, huh?”
“What do you mean…” Sang Ye looked at Tan Mo with a face full of discontent.
Tan Mo didn’t say anything more. He simply took a cotton swab and carefully applied the ointment to Sang Ye’s lower eyelid.
After overcoming the hardest part—the eye drops—the rest of the process went smoothly.
Once he secured the cotton string of Sang Ye’s eye patch behind his ear, the treatment was finally complete.
Taking a step back, Tan Mo observed Sang Ye. The white eye patch covered his reddened left eye, with double straps extending outward—one looping around his left ear, the other crossing over his well-defined nose bridge before disappearing into his soft, milky-white sideburns, fastening neatly behind his right ear.
It was as if a character had walked straight out of a manga.
The eye patch was meant to prevent Sang Ye from rubbing his eye while sleeping at night and to keep dust out during the day.
Tan Mo wiped his fingers with an alcohol wipe to prevent infection. “What time are you waking up tomorrow morning? Give me a time so I can come up and change it for you.”
The medication had to be applied twice a day.
Sang Ye blinked in confusion. “Huh?” He looked down and hesitated. “You don’t have to… It’d be a hassle for you.”
Tan Mo tossed the used wipe into the trash. “I don’t mind.”
Sang Ye fidgeted for a moment before mumbling, “Then… 9:30. Thanks.”
Tan Mo gathered the scattered medicine nearby. “This was my fault for not handling things properly.”
Sang Ye looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t control my emotions well. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.” Tan Mo casually tossed the bag onto the nightstand but remained standing. “You don’t need to be upset with me. Just do what you want from now on.”
Sang Ye scratched his head, then lowered his hand. He knew this was Tan Mo’s way of making peace. These past two days had been unbearable for him.
“I wasn’t mad at you… I just… wasn’t used to it.”
Tan Mo sighed, his expression helpless.
There are people like Sang Ye in this world—slow-witted, awkward, mischievously clingy, like a little troublemaker. Yet, those who love him are still willing to hold him in the palm of their hands.
Tan Mo bent down to meet Sang Ye’s gaze, lifting a hand to pinch the boy’s delicate cheek. “No more crying from now on, alright?”
Faced with Tan Mo’s striking face at such close distance, the light in Sang Ye’s one visible eye flickered slightly, and a faint pink hue spread across his neck. “Okay.”
“Otherwise, you really might go blind from crying.”
“…” Sang Ye immediately flopped onto the bed, pulling the blanket over his face, his muffled voice dragging into a whine. “Stop bringing that up—I’ll never be able to show my face again—”
Tan Mo chuckled, straightened up, and said, “I’m leaving. See you in the morning.”
As the sound of the door closing echoed through the room—
Sang Ye peeked out from under the covers, his face flushed red. He glanced toward the door, then bit the corner of the blanket with his small white teeth, deep in thought. His single eye shifted slightly before he pulled out his phone.
Just as Tan Mo reached the elevator, his phone vibrated with a new message. He swiped to check.
S.: [I lied to you.]
S.: [I’m not like this with anyone else.]
Tan Mo tilted his head slightly, glancing back down the hallway before stepping into the elevator. He knew Sang Ye was just saying that to keep him from overthinking.
T.: [So, am I the exception?]
Sang Ye stared at his phone, rubbing his face against the blanket—his skin growing hotter with every second.
S.: [Yes.]
A moment later, a new message popped up.
T.: [What a coincidence. You are too.]
The next day, Sang Ye woke up half an hour early to prepare for Tan Mo’s arrival. He washed his face, tidied up his room, and then sat obediently on the edge of his bed—just like a little wife waiting for her husband.
He instinctively reached up to rub his eye but hesitated mid-air. After hovering for a moment, he reluctantly grabbed a tissue instead, pressing it against the itchy spot beneath his eyelid.
If he weren’t worried about slowing down his recovery and delaying the competition, he wouldn’t have cared so much.
Not long after, there was a knock on the door. Sang Ye responded, allowing the person outside to enter on their own.
Tan Mo stepped in, looking half-asleep. His peach blossom eyes had deeper creases than usual, making him seem even more drowsy.
Sang Ye watched as he unpacked the medicine bag, opened his mouth slightly, then muttered, “Sorry for the trouble.”
Tan Mo usually arrived at the practice room right on time. If not for Sang Ye, he could have slept in a little longer.
“Then be good for me in a bit,” Tan Mo said.
Sang Ye pursed his lips, straightened his back, and nodded with a determined expression. “I won’t move at all.”
Three seconds later—
“Ahhhhhh! Lighter, lighter!”
Tan Mo: “…”
It was just eye drops, but somehow, it felt like he was committing a crime.
Later, while Sang Ye was eating breakfast and playing Sheep a Sheep on his phone, Xiao Pai walked in.
Passing behind Sang Ye’s seat, Xiao Pai gave him a quick glance before casually looking away. “Morning, Bai Mao.”
“Mm.”
But then, Xiao Pai did a double take. Then a triple take.
Finally, he suddenly leaned in, staring at Sang Ye’s white eye patch. With a hesitant expression, he blurted out—
“Kaneki? Is that you, Kaneki1?”
“…”
Sang Ye was just about to clear the final level and couldn’t be bothered to respond.
Xiao Pai grabbed Sang Ye’s arm and interrogated him relentlessly. “Kaneki from Tokyo?”
Sang Ye’s hand trembled from the push, causing him to select the wrong area.
Level one challenge: Failed.
Sang Ye cast a dark gaze at Xiao Pai. “I’m going to chop you up.”
“Yoshi yoshi~ It really is you.” Xiao Pai, satisfied, pulled out his phone, lifted it at a perfect 45-degree selfie angle, leaned in next to Sang Ye’s face, and snapped a picture with a click!
Before Sang Ye could explode, Xiao Pai swiftly bolted.
He quickly edited the photo and posted it on Weibo.
WLGPi V:
[Today is another lovely day with Kaneki Ye~ ❤️]
[📸 Image]
As soon as the post went live, comments flooded in.
[Ahhhhhhh! This is literally Kaneki himself! So freaking handsome!]
[Does your club need a janitor? 😭 I just wanna join WLG and see handsome guys every day.]
[Are you guys hosting a cosplay event? Song’s face is straight out of a manga. He doesn’t even need makeup—just an eye patch, and he looks exactly like him.]
WLGPi replied: [No event. White Hair just trains too hard—his eyes got red from overworking.]
Immediately, a wave of fans chimed in with [Poor Song Bao!] [Stay strong, Song Bao!] [Get well soon, Song!]
Hu Fu frowned. “Xiao Pai, that was messed up.”
Xiao Pai blinked in confusion. “Huh? What?”
Hu Fu pointed at the screen. “Did you edit this?”
“So what?” Xiao Pai asked. “How is a little edit ‘messed up’? I just added a filter.”
Hu Fu snorted. “Then why is Song’s gaming chair warped?”
“!!!”
Xiao Pai frantically grabbed his phone, attempting to delete the post. But Sang Ye’s popularity was too high—the post had already gone viral, and the numbers were skyrocketing. It was too late to take it down.
Frustrated, he blurted out, “Well, at least it looks better than the meat stuck in your teeth!”
“What the hell?” Sang Ye picked up his phone, frowning in dissatisfaction. “My conjunctivitis wasn’t caused by training too hard. Stop making stuff up. I’m a genius—I don’t need to train.”
Xiao Pai smiled. “…Bai Mao, I love how seriously you commit to your jokes.”
Tan Mo, in a calm tone, said, “His conjunctivitis is actually because of me…”
Before he could finish, Sang Ye let out a loud “AHH!”, jumped up, and covered Tan Mo’s mouth.
Tan Mo noticed how tense Sang Ye had become, and a hint of amusement flickered in his exposed peach blossom eyes.
However, perhaps because Sang Ye was covering his mouth too tightly, when Tan Mo tried to move his lips, the soft touch brushed against Sang Ye’s palm.
The sensation traveled straight from his palm to his heart, like an electric shock. Sang Ye yanked his hand away as if burned, quickly hiding it behind his back.
Tan Mo looked at him, puzzled.
Sang Ye shook his head, indicating it was nothing, then sat back down with burning cheeks.
Meanwhile, Xiao Pai was still pressing for answers. “Brother, you still haven’t finished. What do you mean ‘because of you’?”
Tan Mo replied, “Because of the commercial shoot I did with him—his infection came from the makeup.”
“Tch.” Xiao Pai clicked his tongue. “Getting this kind of trouble right before a competition… The manager’s gonna regret this so bad.”
Sang Ye clenched his palm slightly. Though the sensation had lasted only a brief moment, as fleeting as a dragonfly skimming the water, the memory of it was vividly imprinted there.
He pressed his lips together, eyes fixed on his computer screen, but the corners of his eyes had already flushed a soft shade of pink.
So this is what…
Talk’s lips feel like.
…
Switch to Training Mode
Losing vision in one eye didn’t affect Sang Ye much in daily life, but in training, it was starting to drive him mad.
The four-man squad had relocated to a decoy garage. From prior intel, they knew there were enemies in the adjacent residential area, so everyone remained on high alert while looting.
Tan Mo, still positioned outside, gave a warning. “Song, enemy approaching from the west.”
Just as he finished speaking, Sang Ye caught the sound of footsteps through his headset. In an instant, he swung his crosshairs onto the enemy and fired—but the first two shots missed. It wasn’t until the third shot that he locked on properly. If not for his lightning-fast reflexes, he would’ve been gunned down on the spot.
With only a sliver of health left, Sang Ye quickly healed himself, frustration evident on his face.
If this kind of mistake happened on the intercontinental stage, he would have been eliminated the moment his first shot missed.
Professional players are required to synchronize their hearing and vision during matches to maximize their chances of winning.
But ever since Sang Ye started wearing the eye patch, he could still handle enemies on his right side fairly well. However, when they appeared on his left—especially at extreme angles—he couldn’t achieve the same precision as before.
After reviewing the replays for two days, the coach also noticed the issue and asked, “Song, is your eye almost healed?”
Sang Ye ruffled his hair in frustration, slumped over the table, and groaned, “Don’t ask!”
The coach: “……”
So that means it’s not healed.
But seriously, has this kid’s temper gotten worse?
With only one day left until the intercontinental tournament, the team went to the venue for a rehearsal of their entrance. However, Sang Ye’s exposed left eye would start feeling dry and itchy after being in the open air for too long—it was extremely sensitive. Inside, he was burning with anxiety.
He didn’t want to miss the tournament. Even if he had to compete with just one eye, he still wanted to give it a shot.
—“Haven’t you figured it out yet? He’s not going to give you a chance to play.”
Sang Ye was walking back with a package when he heard the words near the bamboo grove at the base.
The voice was unmistakable—it was An Liu.
Sang Ye stopped in his tracks, but instead of walking away, he peered through the gaps between the bamboo leaves at the two figures standing in the clearing.
He was deliberately eavesdropping on An Liu’s conversation.
That troublemaker was talking to someone in a secluded corner again—Sang Ye had a gut feeling that nothing good was coming out of it.
An Liu took a drag of his cigarette, his expression relaxed. “He fought so hard to win the Summer Championship because he was determined to keep you buried on the bench. Next up is the Asia Championship, then the World Championship—you’ll never get to participate in these international events… Tsk, this place is brutal. If you miss even one opportunity, all future glory will have nothing to do with you.”
Sang Ye narrowed his eyes slightly and finally saw who the other person was—E Lan, someone who had always been at odds with An Liu.
E Lan stood there, tall and thin, silent, saying nothing.
“Let me put it this way: even if his eye doesn’t heal, even if he underperforms, as long as the team’s ranking doesn’t drop, you still won’t get a chance to play.” An Liu sneered. “Understand now? He has Tan Shen backing him. As long as Tan Shen is around, he’ll always have a firm hold on that position. You can’t beat him. So, think about my offer—stop wasting your time here. Another club is willing to give you a starting position.”
Just then, a faint noise came from the other side of the bamboo grove.
An Liu’s expression darkened as he quickly moved around to the other side. “Who’s there—”
But before he could finish speaking, his face froze in sheer terror.
“You… you…” An Liu’s expression was stiff. Just moments ago, he had been speaking so confidently, but now, he was suddenly at a loss for words, as if he had been struck mute.
Sang Ye ignored him and instead shifted his gaze lightly toward E Lan.
It was rare—E Lan’s face turned pale.
Sang Ye remained silent, his expression revealing nothing. Without a word, he carried his package and left.
“D*mn it!” An Liu furiously threw his cigarette to the ground. “I’m screwed!”
…
A day later, the long-awaited PCS7 Intercontinental Tournament for PUBG players finally began.
The tournament would last for two weeks, with matches held three days per week—five rounds per day, making a total of thirty matches to determine the final rankings based on cumulative points.
By evening, all the teams had arrived at the venue.
BTF, a world-renowned Korean esports team, was highly popular and was being interviewed by a swarm of reporters in the front lobby.
Among the crowd, Gal’s sharp eyes immediately spotted Tan Mo, tall and poised, leading his team through the staff-only corridor marked by a yellow boundary line toward the players’ lounge.
His gaze then locked onto a particular figure—a young man carrying a peripheral gear backpack. His white hair stood out strikingly, and an eye patch covered his left eye. His long lashes drooped slightly, and he walked through the crowd with a calm, unreadable expression.
A smirk appeared on Gal’s face. The spotlight reflected off his sharp teeth, making them look even more menacing. He cracked his knuckles and leaned slightly toward a journalist’s microphone, speaking in Korean:
“We’re here to defeat our enemies.”
…
Inside BTF’s lounge.
Gal slumped onto the sofa and pulled out a ginseng energy drink from his backpack.
It contained no banned substances—it was a custom-made tonic supplement produced by a factory in South Korea, something Gal only drank after intense workouts to replenish energy.
“Oh my! Oh my!” One of his teammates exclaimed. “Hyung, you’ve been drinking that stuff like crazy lately. You don’t really need it for today’s match, do you? I’ve never seen you drink this during a competition before.”
Gal let out a long sigh as the carbonation bubbles fizzed, stretching his muscles. “I need to stay in top condition. This helps keep me sharp.”
“Hyung… don’t tell me you’re going this far just because of that kid?” Another teammate (Little Bro B) chuckled. “Aren’t you worried you’ll need to pee in the middle of the match?”
Gal shot him a murderous glare.
The room fell dead silent.
Gal turned his gaze toward the empty space before him, narrowing his eyes. He crushed the aluminum can in his bare hand, the metal crinkling violently under his grip.
His voice was filled with malice as he swore viciously: “I’ll make that kid understand what real respect is!”
Half an hour later, it was time to go on stage.
Gal strode into the player area with an air of supreme confidence, as if he recognized no one.
The venue echoed with the voices of the commentators, but he didn’t understand a word.
Then, he heard the commentator mention “WLG”. Gal, still relaxed, glanced up at the big screen, intending to get an early look at his opponents.
But with just one glance—he froze.
Among the four players on-screen, three were familiar faces, but there was one new addition—a dark-haired boy with a silent, brooding expression.
Panic set in. Gal immediately turned to his teammates and asked frantically, “Where is he? Where is he? Shib*l! That little bast*rd—where the hell is he?!”
At that moment, the camera switched to the audience, capturing a stunning white-haired beauty, his left eye covered with an eye patch.
The entire arena erupted in deafening screams.
Xiao A: “…Hyung… it looks like he got substituted out.”
“……”
Gal felt a mouthful of blood rising in his throat.
And to make things worse…
The moment his focus wavered, a pressing need to pee suddenly hit him.
Author’s Note:
Song: “I’m not playing today. Lmao, sucks to be you.” 😛