This chapter is brought to you by Fatima, thanks for the ko-fi! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
Chapter 64 – Bite The Velvet.
The night before the Intercontinental Tournament began, a team meeting was held at the WLG base.
After the meeting concluded, Sang Ye approached the coach, saying he had something to discuss. The only ones remaining in the room were Tan Mo, Yu Haotian, and the management team.
Before E Lan stepped out, he turned back for one last look.
Aside from Sang Ye, everyone in the room was either a team official or someone with even more authority—the captain.
Ever since Sang Ye overheard his conversation yesterday, E Lan had been on edge.
When today’s meeting was suddenly called, E Lan thought it was finally time to deal with what he and An Liu had done. It took him a great deal of courage to step into the conference room.
But that wasn’t the case.
The coach only went over some final pre-match reminders.
Instead of relief, E Lan felt even more uneasy. Throughout the meeting, he kept sneaking glances at Sang Ye.
Sang Ye, who had overheard everything, felt like a ticking time bomb—and in E Lan’s gut, he could sense the countdown to detonation was approaching zero.
—This was the perfect opportunity to get him kicked out.
Sang Ye wouldn’t let it slip away.
E Lan cast one last look into the room, his eyes darkening slightly, then walked out.
—It had to be now.
Out in the corridor, An Liu was waiting. When he saw E Lan, he let out a carefree smirk.
“Well, at least now that the secret’s out, you don’t have to keep hesitating. There’s only one path left for you now.”
E Lan didn’t even spare him a glance. His expression was bleak as he kept walking forward, brushing past An Liu.
“You see it now, don’t you?” An Liu clapped him on the shoulder.
“People are selfish. You should start looking out for yourself before it’s too late—”
“Don’t touch me!”
E Lan shoved his hand away, eyes full of disgust, and stepped away from him.
After everything that had happened, he didn’t blame anyone else.
He only blamed himself.
At the time, when An Liu approached him for a conversation, it was clearly out of the ordinary—yet E Lan still followed him outside.
After returning to the second team’s practice room, E Lan put on his headset with a dark expression.
Even Ji Feng & Jin Cao was used to seeing him like this.
Not long after, An Liu walked in. The moment he saw E Lan’s face, his own twisted into a smug grin.
An Liu sat down in front of a computer and sent a message to NSN’s team manager:
[By tonight, he’ll send you an email. But my commission needs to go up.]
As An Liu’s fingers danced across the keyboard, greed gleamed in his eyes.
If he could convince E Lan to transfer to NSN, he’d get a cut of the referral fee.
Meanwhile, E Lan remained completely unaware.
Throughout his training session, his mind was preoccupied with one thought—what Sang Ye would say about him to the management team.
It was true that An Liu had approached him about transferring. Even though E Lan had said nothing at the time, the suspicion alone was enough to condemn him.
Trust between him and the club had already cracked—and WLG would never keep someone who even appeared disloyal.
E Lan had never been the type to defend himself.
He would rather bear the weight of a misunderstanding than go out of his way to explain himself.
E Lan exited the simulator and opened a club’s official website.
Before WLG could kick him out, he would leave on his own.
At that moment, the coach walked in.
E Lan, lost in thought, didn’t notice right away.
An Liu, on the other hand, saw the coach heading straight toward E Lan. He leaned back in his chair, watching with amusement, ready to enjoy the show.
The coach came up beside E Lan and patted him on the shoulder.
E Lan flinched in surprise.
The coach gestured for him to take off his headset.
With his face tense and almost pale, E Lan took a deep breath, removed the headset, and braced himself for the final judgment.
But the coach simply patted his shoulder again and said,
“You’re playing tomorrow. Get ready.”
“……”
The room fell into dead silence.
For a moment, E Lan thought he had misheard.
Even An Liu was frozen in shock, his expression nearly vacant.
The coach continued, “Song’s eye hasn’t fully healed yet, and it’s affecting his vision. He suggested you take his place.”
Fifteen minutes earlier, in the conference room…
The coach frowned in thought. “Are you sure about this?”
Sang Ye rested his head on one arm, looking drowsy. “Yeah.”
The coach warned, “If we start with a substitute, you might not get a chance to play in this tournament at all.”
As long as E Lan didn’t make any critical mistakes or underperform, even if Sang Ye’s eye recovered later, there would be no reason to put him back in.
“Enough already.” Sang Ye slumped onto the table, rubbing his head furiously.
“If you keep talking, I might change my mind.”
The coach couldn’t help but smile.
“Alright, we’ll go with this plan for now. But just because you’re not playing doesn’t mean you can slack off—you need to be ready at all times.”
Yu Haotian smacked his thigh in frustration.
“We should’ve never scheduled all those random events so close to the tournament.”
Suddenly, a low and chilly voice broke the moment, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Doesn’t anyone care about my opinion?”
Sang Ye lifted his head from his arms.
Tan Mo wanted to ask, “What about me?” but the moment he met Sang Ye’s pure and clear gaze, he calmed down.
Sang Ye hesitantly asked, “Is that okay?”
Tan Mo looked at him.
Without Sang Ye, would they really be unable to compete?
He let out a self-deprecating laugh and said, “Yeah. It’s okay.”
…
Inside the practice room…
E Lan opened his mouth slightly but couldn’t make a sound.
“What are you looking at?” The coach leaned over and glanced at E Lan’s screen.
“CX? Wasn’t that where Fool used to play? Why are you looking them up? They’re always stuck in the secondary league and still failed to qualify this year. If you want information on Fool, I can send you some video footage. Alright, I’m leaving now—get some rest. Maintaining your condition is important.”
An Liu’s face turned dark as he glared at E Lan.
—Not only had his scheme failed, but he had celebrated too soon, thinking he was about to pocket a 300,000 commission fee.
However, E Lan quickly lowered his head, hiding his expression behind the computer screen.
Behind the monitor, the usually sharp and aloof eyes of the young man changed—they quietly reddened.
He knew that Sang Ye had said nothing.
E Lan had never been one to defend himself. He would rather bear misunderstandings than try to prove his innocence.
Because he understood—those who trusted him would believe in him without explanation. And those who doubted him… no amount of words would change their minds. Defending himself would only bring further disappointment.
…
Before the first round of the intercontinental tournament, Sang Ye prepared to head out early to watch the match live. All the substitute players from each team would be seated in the front row.
Tan Mo sat on the sofa, looking at his phone, earbuds in, listening to music.
Xiao Pai tapped rhythmically on a wooden fish in a small app on his tablet with a stylus, mumbling superstitiously, “Everything will go smoothly, everything will go smoothly… No shortened lifespan, no shortened lifespan…”
Meanwhile, Hu Fu was stuffing a chocolate pie into his mouth while simultaneously tormenting himself by reading the calorie count on the packaging.
Sang Ye put on his jacket and said to Tan Mo, who was beside him, “I’m heading out first.”
Tan Mo glanced at him, his expression indifferent. He gave a slight nod and continued looking at his phone. “Okay.”
Sang Ye hesitated.
He was worried about Tan Mo’s condition, but Tan Mo had never brought it up, and with so many people in the room, there was no chance to ask.
That said, Tan Mo didn’t seem any different from usual.
Sang Ye zipped up his jacket and headed for the door.
As soon as Sang Ye left, Tan Mo’s eyelashes fluttered slightly. He glanced at the doorway and, two seconds later, stood up as well.
Yu Haotian asked, “Where are you going?”
Tan Mo pulled open the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
Sang Ye hadn’t gone far. The moment Tan Mo stepped outside, he caught sight of the young man’s back, clad in the team uniform.
On the back of the uniform, the ID was printed: WLG-Song.
Tan Mo followed silently behind, watching the slender figure ahead.
It wasn’t until last night that Tan Mo realized just how much Sang Ye influenced him—far more than he had ever imagined.
The moment he heard that Sang Ye wouldn’t be playing, a sudden sense of panic and restlessness surged within him.
Yes, even before the match had begun, he was already afraid.
Before Sang Ye, this had never happened. He had always believed he could handle anything, unshaken by any moment on stage. But after Sang Ye appeared, he found someone to rely on—and in turn, he had grown weaker.
Tan Mo didn’t care if his emotions were swayed, but if his career was also at the mercy of someone else, then the day Sang Ye left would leave nothing but devastation in his wake.
So he had to rid himself of Sang Ye’s presence, break the habit of feeling at ease only when Sang Ye was around.
Tan Mo stopped walking. Instead of following, he stood in place and watched as Sang Ye turned right into the passageway ahead.
A second later—
Sang Ye took two steps back and reappeared, looking at Tan Mo in confusion. “Why are you out here?”
“…”
Tan Mo placed his hands on his hips, biting his lip in frustration.
Then—
With one hand, he pushed open the door to the emergency stairwell. With the other, he gestured for Sang Ye to follow.
Before stepping into the stairwell, Sang Ye gave Tan Mo a cautious glance—then slipped inside.
The sliding door closed behind them with a dull thud.
Just as Sang Ye turned around, a dark figure suddenly pinned him against the wall.
Rip— The zipper of his jacket was pulled halfway down. A man buried his head in Sang Ye’s neck, his hands gripping his waist so tightly that it hurt.
The scorching breath seared against Sang Ye’s sensitive skin, making his legs weak, barely able to stand. His expression tensed with discomfort. “Talk, you…”
Tan Mo whispered hoarsely, “You lied to me again…”
“…”
He even sounded a little aggrieved.
Sang Ye frowned, thinking. “When?”
Instead of answering, Tan Mo shifted to the other side of Sang Ye’s neck, inhaling the lingering scent of sweet milk on his skin. Sang Ye had no choice but to tilt his head away in the opposite direction.
“During the summer tournament, you promised… you’d always sit beside me.”
“…”
What the hell?! My eyes aren’t even healed yet!
Sang Ye groaned, utterly unable to argue back, feeling as if Tan Mo was draining the life out of him.
—
After finally managing to calm his captain down, Sang Ye discreetly took his seat in the front row of the audience.
Only after sitting down did he realize that the person beside him was Miracle, the star player from XXY—a former teammate from the All-Star match.
Miracle looked surprised to see Sang Ye. Someone who was supposed to be on stage was now seated in the audience.
But the moment Miracle noticed the eyepatch, he instantly understood.
He greeted Sang Ye and, noticing how ridiculously red his face was, asked, “Are you hot? Do you want to sit over here? There’s an air vent above me.”
As he spoke, he even started to get up to offer his seat to Sang Ye.
“No need.” Sang Ye hurriedly cupped his face with both hands, looked straight at the stage, and quietly pulled his zipper up a few inches to cover the slightly reddened skin on the side of his neck.
Luckily, the front row had almost no lighting, making it less noticeable.
Next came the commentators hyping up the crowd. When the camera panned to Sang Ye in the audience, a deafening wave of cheers erupted across the venue.
Seeing himself appear on the massive screen with just one eye visible, Sang Ye didn’t seem too pleased—he stubbornly refused to smile for the audience.
The commentators were all familiar faces and were especially enthusiastic.
Commentator A: “Guess who I just spotted? It’s Song!”
Commentator B: “Wrong, it’s Kaneki Ye!”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Commentator A sighed dramatically, “I saw people in the chat saying that Song isn’t playing today because he’s still recovering from conjunctivitis.”
Commentator B: “That’s right. This game requires players to have sharp dynamic vision, but thankfully, it’s just a minor issue. I’m sure Song will be back in action soon.”
The camera moved away.
Miracle turned to Sang Ye and asked, “Will you be playing in the next few days?”
Sang Ye glanced toward the WLG players’ room. “If they need a substitute, I will.”
There were sixteen teams on stage, representing China, Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan, Japan, and South Korea.
Half of them were from China—the top eight teams from the Summer Split.
The Intercontinental Championship is a necessary step toward the World Championship. However, unlike the Spring and Summer Splits, finishing among the top teams in this tournament does not guarantee a direct spot in the World Championship.
Since PUBG tournaments are not only about players’ skills but also heavily influenced by zone shifts and luck, chance plays a significant role in the game. To minimize this uncontrollable factor as much as possible, the organizers use an entire year to determine which teams qualify for the World Championship.
This year’s qualification process started in March with the Spring Split, followed by PCS6, then the Summer Split, and finally the ongoing PCS7. Teams that place well in these tournaments earn ranking points, and only those with the highest cumulative scores from all four major events have a chance to qualify for the World Championship.
With three-quarters of the year already gone, only two teams have secured their World Championship spots: NSN from the PCL region and BTF from the PKL region. In other words, even if these two teams skip the Intercontinental Championship, they will still receive an invitation to the World Championship.
However, unlike these two teams, WLG is under immense pressure.
Due to their last-place finish in the Spring Split, WLG failed to qualify for PCS6, leaving them with zero points from those two tournaments—a massive disadvantage.
Although they won the Summer Split, recovering half of what they had lost, it was still not enough.
—The competition was simply too fierce.
After analyzing the points standings of all teams, the coach came to a conclusion:
“If we want to qualify for this year’s World Championship, we need to place second,” he said in the pre-game meeting. “We must finish in the top two. Even one spot lower, and we won’t make it.”
For a powerhouse team like WLG, failing to qualify for the World Championship would mean an entire year of effort wasted.
This was also why Sang Ye didn’t insist on playing. A single point could decide the team’s fate—if his eyesight were fine, it wouldn’t be an issue, but in his current condition, E Lan was the more reliable choice.
As the commentators continued their lively banter, the first match began.
Although Sang Ye was sitting in the audience, he was even more nervous than when he was playing on stage.
When he was in the game, he always knew exactly what the team was doing. But now, he could only watch from a spectator’s perspective, and sometimes the broadcast camera didn’t even follow WLG, making it even harder for him to keep up with their situation.
Sang Ye had been worried that E Lan might repeat the same mistakes from the Summer Split, where he struggled to cooperate with the team. To prepare for that possibility, he had already spoken with the coach—if such an issue occurred, he would take off his eye patch and step in himself, even if his conjunctivitis hadn’t fully healed.
Fortunately, the worst-case scenario didn’t happen. WLG played with remarkable consistency. Even after getting unfavorable zone shifts three times, they still managed to reach the final circle through clear and intelligent rotations.
BTF, on the other hand, seemed to be playing recklessly. At the shallow dip in the wheat field, they took a fight they absolutely shouldn’t have, and as a result, they were left severely weakened and quickly eliminated by another team arriving from a distance.
Miracle shook his head as he watched. “BTF engaged way too early. Their team wasn’t even in position yet, but they still forced the fight. That’s not like Gal at all. No idea what he’s rushing for.”
“Maybe he just really needed to use the bathroom,” Sang Ye said with a deadpan expression.
“Haha, honestly, you might not be wrong,” Miracle chuckled.
WLG won the first match.
They pulled ahead of second-place Catch22 by a solid 10 points.
For the rest of the matches, WLG never dropped from the top of the leaderboard.
However, Catch22 was closing in aggressively. By the end of the first day, despite not having won a single match, they were only five points behind WLG. A single chicken dinner could be enough to flip the rankings.
Meanwhile, BTF, the team that had been heavily favored before the tournament, seemed to be struggling—possibly due to unfamiliar conditions. By the end of the first day, they had only managed to place ninth, a mediocre mid-table result.
After the matches, everyone headed to the parking lot to board the bus.
Since they were still waiting for two people, the bus remained idling but hadn’t left yet.
Sang Ye sat by the window, planning to take a quick nap, when he noticed a group of people walking past the bus.
Leading the group was a man with a buzz cut, carrying a bag of peripherals in one hand, his face dark with frustration.
Sang Ye tapped on the window beside him.
Gal looked up at the sound, his face darkening even further when he saw the white-haired boy wearing an eye patch through the bus window.
Since the bus was higher up, there was a height difference. Sang Ye had to lower his gaze to look at the people below, then he raised his phone and pressed it against the glass.
On the screen, a scrolling text app used for fan messages was visible.
Korean words slid across the display—clearly a result of machine translation, but still understandable to a native speaker.
The first message appeared:
[Cheer up, Gal.]
Gal’s expression froze.
Frustrated by the poor results of the first day, he hadn’t expected the first words of encouragement to come from a Chinese player—one who considered him a direct competitor.
The second message rolled onto the screen:
[Looking at your performance today… What a disappointment. Did you join the Intercontinental Cup just to mooch a plane ticket for a vacation in China?]
“…………”
Gal’s face instantly turned black. He glanced from the phone to Sang Ye, his eyes brimming with murderous intent.
The two teammates beside him tensed up, ready to restrain their furious captain at any moment.
However, Sang Ye remained calm, his cold gaze fixed downward. The phone screen scrolled once more.
[Was your opponent today someone called ‘Thin Air’?]
Gal’s temper finally snapped. He raised a fist and shouted at the bus, while his teammates clung to him for dear life, preventing him from charging forward.
Completely enraged, Gal suddenly realized that Sang Ye didn’t understand Korean. Switching tactics, he began yelling in English instead:
“Get off the bus! Get off!”
From behind the vacuum-sealed bus window, the sound outside was muffled.
Sang Ye blinked.
“What the hell is ‘Give Te’o F’?”
Nope. Didn’t understand a word.
He calmly took out his earphones and plugged them into his ears.
Xiao Pai turned his head and asked, “What’s that noise?”
Sang Ye: “A raccoon cursing in the streets.”
Xiao Pai: “???”
…
That night, BTF received an official warning from the tournament organizers—strictly prohibiting players from threatening members of other teams.
Gal stared at the warning letter: “……”
—
The next night, almost at the same time and in the same place, Sang Ye leaned against the window and raised his phone once again:
[Cheer up, Gal.]
[Out of five matches, you failed to make the final circle in three. Under your leadership, BTF is really underperforming this year.]
“…………”
Gal, unable to “threaten other team members” outside the sports center, could only swallow his anger. He shot Sang Ye a venomous glare before storming off.
—
On the third night.
Sang Ye leaned against the window once more:
[Great job today, Gal.]
Reading those words, Gal—who had spent the past few days being relentlessly PUA’d into questioning his own existence, drowning in thoughts like “What am I even doing?” “I’m terrible.” “I didn’t lead my team well.” “Maybe I really did come to China just for a vacation.”—paused for a moment.
Then, the next line appeared:
[That last grenade you threw? Bounced back and nearly blew yourself up. Thanks for the highlight—it gave everyone something to laugh about all night.]
“……………”
Gal quickened his pace and walked away.
—
Over the past three days, BTF’s morale had visibly plummeted, a far cry from the championship-worthy form they had shown before the tournament.
Meanwhile, after three days of hard work, WLG had managed to maintain their spot in the top three.
E Lan seemed like a completely different person—he no longer clashed with the team and even pulled off several highlight-worthy plays in the tournament.
People marveled at WLG’s incredible year, noting that even the two rookies they had recruited were strong enough to hold their own.
As the tournament progressed, discussions about Sang Ye gradually died down on the forums.
One day, after finishing a scrim with the second team, Sang Ye arrived late to the cafeteria for lunch. He saw Xiao Pai, Hu Fu, and E Lan sitting together at a table, eating.
Xiao Pai was still as chatty as ever, laughing so hard he was nearly spitting out his food.
Hu Fu’s broad shoulders shook with laughter.
E Lan, on the other hand, kept his head down, quietly eating. But the aura he gave off was no longer the same—gone was the arrogant detachment he used to exude.
Sang Ye paused for a moment but didn’t join them. Instead, he picked a nearby table and sat down.
Not long after, something cold brushed against his face.
The sudden chill was a bit startling.
Sang Ye looked up.
Tan Mo placed a can of yogurt on the table and sat down across from him.
“Why didn’t you go over?” Tan Mo asked.
“Thanks.” Sang Ye picked up the peach-flavored yogurt, condensation still dripping from the can fresh out of the fridge. “I came down late—they’re probably almost done eating.”
Tan Mo studied Sang Ye’s eyes for two seconds, then pointed to his left eye. “How’s it doing?”
“It’s not as red as before,” Sang Ye replied. “Should be fine in a couple of days.”
Tan Mo seemed to run out of things to say. He tilted his chin slightly, gesturing toward Sang Ye’s food. “Eat.”
Sang Ye lowered his head and started eating.
If he had participated in the intercontinental tournament, they might still be talking about the matches right now.
After two days of rest, the final week of competition began.
BTF seemed to have finally adapted to their surroundings. From this week onward, they fought fiercely, finally showing the dominance expected of PKL’s reigning champions.
Not only that, but during the pre-match interview on the final day, Gal made an audacious declaration:
“We’re taking back the trophy we lost for an entire year.”
This statement immediately drew backlash from PCL fans, who lashed out at him online.
“What do you mean by ‘taking back’? What do you mean by ‘lost for an entire year’?”
So WLG’s championship win in last year’s Intercontinental Cup—earned fair and square—was just something you Koreans misplaced?
Before heading out for the final day of matches, Sang Ye stood in front of the mirror and lifted the eye patch covering his left eye.
The redness was gone. His eye had regained its usual clarity, bright and pristine like water washing over glass. Only a small, swollen bump remained on his lower eyelid.
Sang Ye found it unsightly and covered it back up.
Inside WLG’s locker room at the venue, the players were preparing for the match. They would be heading onto the stage soon.
Sang Ye was about to leave for the spectator stands when—
“E Lan.”
A deep, slightly lazy voice called out.
Sang Ye turned toward the source.
Tan Mo was looking at E Lan, pointing at his own collar. “Here.”
E Lan reached down, touched the area under his neck, then lowered his gaze. With a quiet “Oh,” he flipped his jacket collar back the right way—it had unknowingly folded inward.
Sang Ye held his breath.
For as long as he had been sitting on that couch, he had been holding it.
The truth was, with or without him, Talk could still win the championship.
It didn’t matter if the person sitting beside Talk was Shine, him, or E Lan—this man would always get what he wanted.
He was nothing special. Completely replaceable.
Sang Ye got up, said nothing, and walked out the door.
Tan Mo looked toward the doorway, about to speak—but by then, the door had already closed.
His brows furrowed slightly as he lowered his hand.
Sang Ye walked down the VIP passage leading to the spectator seats, hands in his pockets. As he walked, he suddenly lifted his eyes and stopped in his tracks.
He had forgotten something!
In the past few days, before each match, Sang Ye had always helped Tan Mo “recharge.” But just now, when he left the locker room, his mind had been completely blank—he hadn’t thought of it at all.
Yes, that was what they called it—“recharging.”
Sang Ye hesitated for a moment, debating whether to go back. But as soon as he turned around, he saw WLG’s four players already heading down another corridor.
Standing in place, he bit his fingernail, his brows furrowing in indecision.
But then he recalled that Tan Mo had been in good form lately—there had been no signs of an episode. Maybe he was stable now.
Sang Ye relaxed his furrowed brow and let out a breath, continuing toward the spectator stands.
The final day of competition began.
Commentator A: “The teams are in peak form this year—the competition is incredibly intense. The rankings for the top three, even the top five, are constantly shifting. Every team is giving it their all.”
Commentator B: “This is a fight for tickets to the World Invitational—there’s no room for error. WLG is currently ranked second, and if they can maintain this performance, our PCL titans will reunite at Worlds.”
Commentator A: “That’s right! Now, let’s take a look at the flight path for Game 1… Oh? BTF is changing their drop spot—what’s this about? They’re heading for Pochinki. With this flight path, they could’ve easily gone up to Yasnaya…”
Sang Ye watched the colorful dots spreading along the plane’s trajectory—each dot representing a player.
Miracle, seated beside him, asked, “BTF is contesting your drop?”
Sang Ye narrowed his eyes slightly. “Looks like they’re at it again.”
“At what?” Miracle asked.
Sang Ye: “Asking for a beating.”
Miracle: “……”
If Sang Ye were playing, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t get caught by Gal. But as long as Tan Mo found the right opportunity to face off against Gal, then Gal wouldn’t be making it out of Pochinki.
The opportunity came quickly.
Four minutes into the game, Gal and Tan Mo found themselves on opposite sides of a two-story house, separated by a single wall.
Gal held his angle at the window, waiting for the perfect moment. As soon as Tan Mo peeked, Gal fired.
But Tan Mo didn’t fire back—not a single bullet.
Instead, he let Gal land all three headshots.
The entire arena erupted in gasps.
Sang Ye’s heart sank, as if the ground beneath him had caved in, plunging him into darkness.
In the next five seconds, WLG completely collapsed.
Whenever a squad was eliminated, the broadcast director would pull up all four players’ individual screens and display them side by side.
When WLG appeared on the big screen, the slot belonging to Tan Mo was empty.
Sang Ye shot to his feet.
…
On his way backstage, Sang Ye ran into Yu Haotian, who had just come out.
“Song, perfect timing—I was looking for you.” Yu Haotian’s expression was tense. “Get ready. You’re playing in the next match.”
But Sang Ye had no mind for that right now. He only asked, “Where’s Talk?”
Yu Haotian studied Sang Ye for two seconds. Perhaps realizing there was no point hiding the truth from him, he said, “He came back just now but left again… He’s not in a good state.”
Sang Ye started toward the restroom but suddenly stopped in his tracks. He turned around and headed back the way he came.
Yu Haotian called after him, “Where are you going?”
“To find him,” Sang Ye replied.
Sang Ye arrived at an emergency exit near the entrance to the spectator stands. Pushing open the door, he found exactly who he was looking for.
—This was the place where they usually “recharged.”
Tan Mo sat on the stairs, his long legs curled up, his body leaning against the cold iron railing. His team jacket was draped over his head.
It seemed like only a secluded, makeshift space like this could give him a sense of security.
But beneath the jacket, his figure was trembling—just barely, but unmistakably.
This was the second time Sang Ye had encountered a situation like this, and he was still inexperienced. He hesitated for a moment, then crouched down beside Tan Mo, gently pulling his stiff body against him.
“Talk, it’s okay now…”
Sang Ye spoke softly, his hands moving carefully as he slowly lifted the jacket away, revealing a face damp with sweat and tears.
The lights were glaringly bright. Tan Mo seemed startled and instinctively buried his face in Sang Ye’s chest.
All Sang Ye could do was gently rub his back, hoping to ease the tension in his body, while repeating over and over, “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”
“You lied to me…” Tan Mo’s voice was hoarse and trembling as he spoke against Sang Ye’s chest. “You weren’t there… I ran for so long trying to find you. I got caught…”
A wave of guilt and heartache surged through Sang Ye like never before. He stroked Tan Mo’s hair and the cool skin at the nape of his neck, his voice firm but soft. “I’m here. I’m here. I won’t go far again.”
Sang Ye stayed by his side, patiently waiting for Tan Mo to calm down. He had crouched for too long, and at some point, he somehow ended up sitting on Tan Mo’s lap.
Time passed slowly. Outside, the sounds of the crowd dispersing could be heard, followed by the start of the next event.
Sang Ye’s phone had been vibrating non-stop. He knew Yu Haotian was probably going crazy looking for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Tan Mo like this.
Thankfully, Tan Mo was finally stabilizing.
Feeling the trembling under his palm subside, Sang Ye lowered his head and asked softly, “Feeling better?”
Tan Mo rubbed his head lightly against the front of Sang Ye’s shirt before pulling back just a little.
From his slightly higher angle, Sang Ye could see Tan Mo’s lashes damp with tears, making them appear even darker and thicker. His eyes were still unfocused, and his cheeks were flushed.
So beautiful…
A strange and quiet thought surfaced in Sang Ye’s mind.
It was the first time he had ever found such fragile beauty in a man—sickly yet captivating.
Just then, Tan Mo’s eyelashes fluttered, and he slowly lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Sang Ye.
For a moment, everything around them fell into absolute silence.
They were so close their breaths mingled.
Sang Ye looked at Tan Mo, and suddenly, his mind went completely blank.
Looking back later, he could only assume that aliens must have abducted him in that instant, hijacked his thoughts, and made him do something he would have never dared to consider before—something he still couldn’t fully comprehend even afterward.
Almost simultaneously, their eyelashes flickered.
—Sang Ye lowered his head.
—Tan Mo tilted his face upward.
A velvety softness bloomed between their lips.
Ahhhhhh!!! MY BABIES’ FIRST KISS!!!