This chapter is brought to you by Fatima, thanks for the ko-fi! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
Chapter 72 – Women’s Clothing Live Broadcast.
Sang Ye’s visa issue was resolved so quickly that even the WLG team, who had traveled all over the world, was surprised.
Xiao Pai, using his skills as a social butterfly, managed to get some information from Yu Haotian, saying that a big shot had guaranteed Sang Ye’s visa.
As for who the big shot was, Sang Ye didn’t know and just assumed it was someone in the club with connections.
Once all the paperwork was sorted, WLG confirmed the departure date, which was just two days away.
The night before departure, everyone left early to pack, and since Sang Ye had already packed a few days earlier, he decided to use the free time to do a live stream.
As soon as he opened the live stream, fans flooded in with congratulations, wishing him good luck at the Global Finals and hoping for great results.
[“The visa process went surprisingly fast, why was it blocked before?”]
[“Was it because of an unstable income?”]
[“He’s got a lot of endorsements and competitions, probably made millions this half-year. His worth might be right after Tan Mo’s, the undeniable rookie king.”]
[“Rapping really pays off, truly a “no money problems” couple.”]
[“I think it might be due to credit issues, which is why the approval was denied.”]
Sang Ye thought some of the comments were a joke and leaned back in his chair with his thermos cup: “Credit issues? No such thing. I don’t even use a credit card.”
[“Think harder, what do you owe?”]
“Stop trolling me,” Sang Ye said with an indifferent expression, already seeing through it. “The only thing I’ve borrowed from the library is a book on moral education, which I returned at the end of the semester. Except for the lack of ‘intelligence, physique, beauty, and labor,’ my virtue is top-notch.”
[“Almost forgot, Fu Gui, you’ve actually been to school.”]
Sang Ye stared at the scrolling comments for a few seconds and twisted the cap open. “Tch.”
[“You owe us almost a year’s worth of cross-dressing. If I were the visa officer, I wouldn’t let you leave the country.”]
“…………” Sang Ye didn’t even take a sip of water, stood up, and walked over to the computer to find the button to turn off the comments.
[“Hahahahahaha Fu Gui, why are you so quiet? The model student of moral education, speak up!”]
[“Fu Gui, you’re really going too far. Should we remind you on New Year’s Eve to pay up?”]
[“Song, you better think carefully. Not paying back your debts and ruining your credit is a character issue, and it might even affect your career in the gaming world.”]
“What do you mean ‘affect my career’? Delete that!” Sang Ye’s white hair stood on end.
If this had happened in the past, even if some haters tried to sabotage him, Sang Ye would’ve just scoffed and ignored it.
But now, this joke was no longer something to laugh about.
The Global Finals this year meant everything to Sang Ye. He had pinned all his hopes on it, and there was no room for error.
The fans didn’t mean anything by it, but Sang Ye took it to heart.
The concept of metaphysics is hard to explain. According to the Law of Conservation of Character and the Buddhist law of karma, it’s possible that because he had ignored his fans for half a year, during the Global Finals, he might end up facing some cosmic retribution. At that point, it would all be over for him.
— This thought was like a drop of ink in water, rapidly spreading and staining, impossible to stop.
Sang Ye had even started to imagine himself standing offstage, clapping, watching other teams lift the Global Finals trophy.
The audience didn’t know what had suddenly angered Sang Ye, and all they saw on camera was the previously mischievous boy suddenly quieting down. He slowly pulled his legs off the chair, glanced sideways, and began to nibble on his fingers.
[“Ahhhhhh I’m crying, he’s so cute!”]
[“I’ve screenshot and made a meme, with versions labeled “guilty.jpg”, “I’ll think about it.jpg”, “getting anxious.jpg”. Sisters, feel free to grab them in the fan club.”]
Sang Ye rested his hands on the table, his voice broken and rapid: “You—you all wait a minute, I’ll go get the cross-dressing clothes, ten minutes… Don’t spread the word. If you do, I’ll chop all of you.”
[“???”]
[“What does that mean?”]
[“This happiness came too suddenly.”]
The host disappeared from the live stream, leaving only a gaming chair angled at a certain direction and more than 5 million fans who still couldn’t believe what had just happened.
The cheongsam was still in the dormitory, and Sang Ye couldn’t possibly change into it and then go to the practice room. What if he ran into acquaintances or trainees on the way? He would lose all face.
After Sang Ye returned, he didn’t go straight into the practice room but instead entered a nearby auxiliary room to change.
When there were only two pieces of black thigh-high stockings left, Sang Ye held them up in front of his face for two seconds before putting them on.
— The last time in the dark, when Talk touched him, he wasn’t wearing stockings, but this time, since it was for others to see, he had to cover up as much as he could, hiding as much as possible.
Once he had finished dressing, Sang Ye opened the door and smoothed out his skirt with one hand.
Before, Sang Ye had resisted wearing women’s clothing because he thought it was a little strange for a man to do so. But now, he had found a righteous and unavoidable reason for it, so he had no psychological burden. He walked calmly into the nearby practice room.
Sang Ye approached the computer but didn’t sit down immediately.
The live stream clearly had no defenses. The bullet comments that had been buzzing with excitement just moments ago disappeared for half a second, and the entire screen cleared. Only a few question marks slid across the screen.
[“???”]
[“Who are you, girl?”]
The camera couldn’t capture the full body, and half of the view was blocked by the desk, but a figure appeared, wearing a crescent white cheongsam. The dress revealed a long neck, two arms in a soft pink hue, and a tight, seductive curve at the waist, accentuated by the smooth fabric.
Because the front of the dress was flat, the wearer didn’t exude a mature charm but instead conveyed a youthful, light, and innocent aura. However, at the bottom, near the high slit of the skirt, just above the desk, a strip of black lace peeked out from the thigh area, outlining a pale, flawless patch of skin.
The live stream couldn’t hold back anymore. In an instant, the comments flooded in, coming in fast and dense, so much so that the screen froze and became unreadable.
[“It’s over, I’m done for.”]
[“Song is too stunning!!! My number one cheongsam beauty!”]
[“Ahhhhhhh what do I do, I’m so excited! The months of waiting were worth it!”]
[“Baby, you’ve got me all hot and bothered.”]
[“Streamer, hurry up and show your face! Step back a little, let us see your whole body!”]
[“Where’s God Tan? Is Tan watching the stream? Tan, if you don’t show up, I’m going to leave you!”]
The bullet comments were moving too fast for Sang Ye to keep up, so he bent down, one hand on the desk and the other holding the mouse, moving closer to the screen.
In the frame, the soft white line of his jaw appeared, but the camera still didn’t capture his full face, leaving everyone anxious and eager to see more.
Sang Ye finally noticed the number of viewers in the top right corner. Before he left, the live stream had only five million followers, but in just ten minutes, it had surged to ten million and was still climbing, about to break twelve million.
“Are you even human?”
Sang Ye cursed under his breath. He had told them not to spread the word, not to make a big deal of it, yet this group had no integrity.
“Where did the extra five million viewers come from? If you’re not my fan, get out.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than the number of followers jumped from eight million to nine million, marking the most dramatic increase in live-streaming platform history.
[“Tonight, we’re all your fans.”]
Sang Ye muttered angrily, but he couldn’t care less about these shameless people. He pulled out the gaming chair and was about to sit down.
The fans were also eagerly awaiting the moment they’d finally see Sang Ye’s face.
At that moment, a harsh “screech—” of shoes scraping across the marble floor echoed from outside the door.
Sang Ye turned to look.
Tan Mo slid past the door, stretching out a long arm to grab the doorframe, halting himself and pulling back.
“…”
Sang Ye stopped moving, looking bewildered.
He said he had never seen Tan Mo so panicked.
Tan Mo might have come running, his hair was slightly messy, he rubbed his face while panting, walked in, and without saying anything, he grabbed Sang Ye’s slender arm and pulled him away from the chair.
He glanced at the colorful screen filled with barrages, then leaned on the edge of the table with his back to the camera, and pulled Sang Ye back to stand in front of him.
[“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! Tan Shen! Tan Shen, get out of the way! I can’t see anything!”]
[“I’m so anxious! Emma! These two people! Tan Mo, get out of the way!”]
Facing Tan Mo sitting on the table, Sang Ye was still in a daze, not understanding why the man suddenly appeared.
Tan Mo let go of Sang Ye at this time, and instead put his hands around his thin waist, suddenly pinched him hard, and held Sang Ye towards him: “You play pretty wild, huh?”
The live stream picked up the sound, and the bullet comments froze.
The man’s voice was soft, naturally deep and magnetic. His final words carried a subtle breathlessness, a raspy undertone caused by his unsteady breathing—utterly intoxicating.
[“Be like: Even while working hard, he still remembers to talk to Song.”]
[“AHHHHHHHHHH!”]
The sisters, overwhelmed by the mental image they had just conjured, screamed and smacked each other in excitement.
Sang Ye nearly lost all air in his lungs from the sudden grip around his waist. Then, as Tan Mo pulled him closer, he lost his balance and stumbled forward, landing right in front of the man. In a panic, he reached out and grabbed onto Tan Mo’s shoulders.
So, what the audience saw was this—on Tan Mo’s broad shoulders, ten slender, slightly reddened fingers gripping tightly.
Even though they couldn’t see the full scene, just from this single frame, they could imagine everything.
This position was too suggestive—it was enough to make noses bleed!
Sang Ye averted his gaze, not daring to look directly at Tan Mo, and muttered, “I wasn’t messing around… I just wanted to clear my debts before leaving the country.”
Tan Mo instantly understood that it was the chaos in the live chat that had driven Sang Ye to do this. He looked Sang Ye up and down, taking in the full view.
Touching him last time was one kind of experience; seeing him this time was another.
—Both were enjoyable.
“I told you to wear it before, and you refused no matter what…” Tan Mo lowered his head, hooked a single finger under the black lace trim, tugged it slightly, and then let go.
With a crisp snap, the fabric flicked back against soft, pale skin, leaving behind a faint red mark.
Sang Ye’s face instantly flushed as he shifted uncomfortably.
“Who told you to wear black stockings?” Tan Mo looked up, his gaze dark and intense. “I didn’t even get that privilege last time.”
“…To cover up,” Sang Ye mumbled. “It’s more modest.”
Tan Mo took a deep breath.
Did he even know what “modest” meant?
No one dressed modestly in black stockings.
Tan Mo took off his team jacket, revealing the loose white T-shirt underneath.
The bullet comments exploded in shock:
[“What? What’s going on with you two? Is this the start of premium content?”]
Then, Tan Mo draped the jacket over Sang Ye’s shoulders.
[“??????”]
He zipped it all the way up to the top, nearly burying Sang Ye’s chin inside the collar.
Tan Mo’s jacket was way too big for Sang Ye, covering even his thighs.
Sang Ye lifted his long lashes—fluttering like a delicate fan—and glanced at him shyly, still professional: “I still need to stream.”
Tan Mo patted his head, then turned toward the screen behind them, addressing the viewers in the livestream: “He’s worn the outfit now. No one is allowed to bring it up again.”
The chat immediately erupted in protest.
[“We haven’t even seen it yet! You blocked everything!”]
[“How does this count? If we didn’t see it, it doesn’t count!”]
Tan Mo said, “As long as I’ve seen it, that’s enough.”
[“WHY THOUGH?!”]
Tan Mo turned back, pressing Sang Ye down into the gaming chair while still blocking the camera. His gaze lowered as he gently stroked Sang Ye’s warm, delicate cheek.
Then, with a slight tug at the corner of his lips—
“Sorry, that’s a privilege reserved for one half of a couple.”
After a moment of lag, the chat completely lost its mind.
Sang Ye, not quite understanding, just stared at Tan Mo in a daze.
Tan Mo gave his cheek a squeeze, then pushed off the desk with his foot and stepped aside. “I’ll be in the manager’s office. Call me when your stream is done… and don’t take off the jacket.”
“…Oh.”
Tan Mo left.
Sang Ye leaned toward his computer, finding the chat even more chaotic than before—so dense that he couldn’t read a single word. The only thing he could make out was an overwhelming flood of [“AHHHHHHH”] spam.
“Stop making noise. The whole outfit thing is over, and no more talk about my luck at the world tournament. I’m playing now.”
Just as Sang Ye was about to turn off the chat—
A bold, oversized comment floated above the overlapping barrage of messages—it was from a VIP fan explaining:
[Kapuo—Couple—Husband and wife, a pair, the full term for what we usually call CP.]
Sang Ye blinked, his expression momentarily blank. But his heart gave an unmistakably honest reaction—pounding so hard it felt like it might jump out of his chest.
He swallowed discreetly, moving his mouse away from the [Close Chat] button, minimizing the livestream window—only to remember he hadn’t actually turned off the chat. So he pulled it back up again.
But when he saw the flood of [“Ahhhhhhh”] still filling the screen, Sang Ye licked his lips. One corner of his mouth pressed into a straight line, while the other quivered upward in a smile he simply couldn’t suppress.
“Stop yelling, stop yelling.”
The moment he spoke, he lost his composure. His gaze immediately dropped, and he bit down on the collar of the oversized jacket, his flushed face looking incredibly endearing.
It was a smile so filled with emotion that even through the screen, the viewers could feel his heart racing.
Sang Ye simply turned off the camera, leaving only the gameplay visible in the stream.
But by then, many fans had already recovered from the emotional shock and were celebrating with pure joy.
[“My wish has been granted—THE SHIP IS REAL!!!”]
…
The next day, WLG’s world championship team set off, consisting of the four starting players and the substitute, E Lan.
Their journey from Shanghai involved a layover in Frankfurt before arriving in Berlin—nearly sixteen hours of exhausting travel, completely flipping their day and night cycle.
Sang Ye only remembered that when they departed, it was dark outside. And when they finally landed at their destination and stepped out of the airport, it was still dark.
Berlin was freezing.
Standing by the roadside, Sang Ye let out a small sneeze.
Before leaving, Fang Yuerong had repeatedly reminded him to dress warmly.
Initially, Sang Ye hadn’t paid much attention—he was the type to refuse wearing thermal leggings in winter, prioritizing style over warmth even if he was freezing to death.
But then Fang Yuerong had said, [The tournament lasts three weeks. If you catch a cold, get a fever, and can’t play your best—if you don’t make it to the finals…]
“MOM! STOP! I’LL WEAR IT ALL!”
And so, before departure, Sang Ye bundled himself up into a walking ball of fluff.
Hearing the soft sneeze, Tan Mo took off his black Gucci knit wool hat and placed it snugly over Sang Ye’s head.
“Cold?”
Sang Ye obediently let Tan Mo put the hat on him. “I’m fine.”
The temperature difference was just a bit extreme after stepping out of the airport.
Sang Ye had a small face and a small head, and with the knitted hat on, his face looked even tinier—barely the size of a palm.
Just as Tan Mo finished adjusting the hat, his fingers paused. Then, he folded the brim down, covering Sang Ye’s eyes.
Blinded, Sang Ye had no choice but to tilt his head up. “What are you doing?”
Tan Mo held his head still, suppressing a laugh as he gazed at the boy’s delicate, fair features under the streetlights. He suddenly had a strong urge to kiss him.
Sang Ye flailed his hands, letting out a distressed “Awooo!” as he struggled. “Stop messing with me!”
Yu Haotian, meanwhile, was busy checking vehicle license plates against his phone. Suddenly, he waved at the group. “Quit fooling around! Get in the car!”
Once inside, Xiao Pai, struggling with international roaming, refreshed his Weibo feed and whined sourly, “Bai Mao, do you even know that just from your—no, actually, the night before last—crossdressing livestream, you gained nearly three million followers on the platform?”
Sang Ye blinked. “I didn’t know.”
“…”
How infuriating.
Xiao Pai continued grumbling, “And that crossdressing stream of yours was way too half-assed. You didn’t even show your face! Everyone barely got a glimpse before you covered up with a jacket.”
“None of your business.”
That’s what Sang Ye said, but deep down, he had some doubts.
Was it really me who didn’t let them see…?
He sneaked a glance at the man sitting beside him.
Tan Mo was calmly scrolling on his phone, looking completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
Xiao Pai kept browsing for a while, then suddenly said, “The internet is saying you two are together.”
“…Cough!” Sang Ye sucked in a sharp breath, only to choke on his own saliva, breaking into a fit of coughing.
Tan Mo reached over, patting his back while lazily glancing at him. “Oh yeah?”
Sang Ye’s face flushed from the coughing, and when he met Tan Mo’s gaze, he quickly looked away.
“Yeah,” Xiao Pai answered, not realizing Tan Mo had been talking to Sang Ye. Sitting in the front row, he couldn’t see behind him. “Tons of people are tagging the official account, asking for confirmation. Bai Mao, have you seen it?”
Sang Ye yanked the brim of his hat down and slumped against the car window.
Xiao Pai called his name twice but got no response. He turned around and frowned. “He was awake just a second ago. Did he seriously just fall asleep?”
Hu Fu guessed, “Probably exhausted? I don’t even wanna shower when we get to the hotel—I just wanna pass out.”
“Then I’m definitely not sharing a room with you.” Xiao Pai turned back to his phone, muttering to himself after a while, “But honestly, people have been saying Tan Shen and Bai Mao were a thing for ages. Why do they still refuse to give up?”
“……”
Sang Ye had nothing to say.
He had been pretending to sleep at first, but after the car rocked him back and forth for a while, he actually dozed off.
Tan Mo heard a faint thud as Sang Ye’s head bumped against the glass. Without even glancing away from his phone, he reached out and pulled Sang Ye’s head over, letting it rest on his shoulder.
After finishing his conversation with another team captain, Tan Mo put away his phone, planning to close his eyes and rest. But when he glanced down, he saw Sang Ye’s sleeping face.
With his hat covering his forehead, only the lower half of his face was visible. Maybe it was because he was bundled up too warmly, but his cheeks were flushed pink, and his slightly parted lips were a soft, dewy red.
He looked like a little kid.
Tan Mo watched him for a moment, then, taking advantage of their secluded spot in the very back corner of the bus, he leaned in closer—
But just then, the bus lurched forward and came to a stop.
Sang Ye slid forward slightly from the momentum, jolting awake. He immediately sat up, his upper body swaying a little as he struggled to fully wake up.
Pushing his hat brim up, he licked his lips and mumbled drowsily, “I fell asleep.”
“I know.” Tan Mo averted his gaze and stood up to grab his bag. “Even asleep, you won’t let me kiss you.”
Sang Ye: “?”
This time, for the global tournament, they weren’t staying at a hotel. The event organizers had booked an entire residential community for the teams, complete with practice rooms, a cafeteria, a convenience store, a gym—everything they could possibly need.
WLG was likely the last team to arrive.
After getting off the bus, they dragged their luggage to their assigned building. Once inside, the administrator handed each of them an information form.
Since the form was entirely in English, Sang Ye had no choice but to ask Tan Mo for help filling it out.
Tan Mo sat on the couch, leaning forward as he wrote on the paper, which he had propped against the coffee table.
Sang Ye crouched beside the table, watching him write.
Talk’s handwriting is really nice—even his Arabic numerals look good.
As he admired the handwriting, Tan Mo suddenly paused and asked, “Which room do you want to stay in?”
Sang Ye was caught off guard. He glanced around in confusion. “Isn’t it pre-assigned?”
Tan Mo pointed to a section on the form and pushed the paper and pen toward him. “You need to write down your preferred room number here. Fill it out and give it back to me when you’re done.”
Almost instinctively, Sang Ye’s eyes flicked to Tan Mo’s form—room 506.
He picked up the pen, scratched his head as he stared at the form, then got up and walked over to Xiao Pai to check his form.
“What are you looking at? Room numbers? You’re staying with me again this time, right?” Xiao Pai said. “I’m in 513.”
Sang Ye responded with an “Oh” but didn’t confirm. He also took a quick glance at E Lan’s form.
E Lan had written down 521.
Sang Ye returned to the coffee table, ready to write. But just as he was about to put pen to paper, he hesitated, biting the pen cap as he frowned at the blank space.
Anyone who didn’t know better would think he was trying to prove Lagrange’s theorem.
Tan Mo pulled out his phone and played with it, not looking at Sang Ye. In a low voice, just loud enough for the two of them to hear, he said, “You don’t need to overthink it. Pick whatever room you want… I told you before, I won’t pressure you.”
Sang Ye pressed his lips together, then carefully started writing.
“5—1—”
Before he could even finish the second number—swish!—a long, slender hand suddenly pulled the paper away from above. The pen was snatched, too.
“……”
Sang Ye looked up.
Tan Mo pressed the paper against the coffee table, head lowered, and drew two heavy slashes over “51.”
“Sang Ye, you can’t keep spoiling yourself, you know? People grow under pressure.”
“……”
Sang Ye watched in silent disbelief as Tan Mo firmly wrote “506” on the form in one smooth stroke.
D*mn it.
…
Unless explicitly marked as a single room, each room had two beds.
When Sang Ye first entered, he was on high alert, his mind racing with all sorts of scenarios—like Tan Mo shutting the door as soon as they got inside and pinning him to the bed or something…
But after showering, getting into his own little bed, and tucking himself in, nothing happened.
Tan Mo had turned on a soft moon-shaped night light. Right before sleeping, he hesitated for a moment before finally switching it off.
Lying there, Sang Ye realized that rooming with Tan Mo was actually pretty nice.
Tan Mo was neat, quiet, and considerate. He had packed all the essentials, making him an even better roommate than Xiaopai.
In the darkness, Sang Ye blinked twice, then turned over to face Tan Mo’s side of the room. In a whisper, he called out, “Tal—k…”
“There’s no one else here,” Tan Mo replied. “Just say it.”
“……”
Sang Ye hesitated for a moment, rubbing his nose against the blanket before quietly asking, “Why did you insist on rooming with me?”
“To make sure you don’t stay up playing on your phone.”
“……”
Sang Ye turned the other way and pulled the blanket over himself.
Not playing with you anymore.
…
The first two days after arriving were mainly spent adjusting to the time difference. After that, the team had scheduled promotional shoots and training matches, so everyone in WLG slept in a bit later on the second day.
Sang Ye was quick to get moving and arrived at the community cafeteria ahead of the others. By then, most people were already having lunch. Looking around, he saw mostly blond-haired, blue-eyed foreigners, as well as some with Southeast Asian features.
Since no one was wearing team uniforms, it was impossible to tell which team they belonged to, but a few faces looked familiar from videos Sang Ye had seen before.
Not knowing the language, Sang Ye had no choice but to point at the menu while ordering: “This one, this one, and this one…”
Just as he sat down with his tray, a blond foreigner approached, looking both nervous and excited.
The guy gestured animatedly and spoke a string of words. Sang Ye assumed he wanted to share the table. Since the table was big, he casually lifted his chin toward an empty seat, indicating that it was fine.
However, even after sitting down, the guy kept talking to him.
At that point, Sang Ye had no choice but to pull out Google Translate.
Just then, Tan Mo arrived.
He sat down across from Sang Ye and asked, “What’s going on?”
Sang Ye replied, “No idea what he wants.”
Tan Mo exchanged a few words with the guy before turning to Sang Ye and saying, “He’s French. Wants to say a couple of things to you.”
“Oh, okay,” Sang Ye responded indifferently. He wasn’t particularly interested, so he just set the translator to French and left it there.
Tan Mo agreed to translate for the guy.
The Frenchman looked at Sang Ye with an intense gaze. But as soon as he spoke, Tan Mo’s expression became noticeably neutral.
The guy glanced at Tan Mo expectantly, urging him to translate.
Tan Mo picked up a warm towel, wiped his hands, and then said to Sang Ye, “You are the most exquisite Eastern beauty I have ever seen.”
“……”
Sang Ye’s hand trembled, nearly spilling the soft-boiled egg from his spoon. He looked up at Tan Mo.
Typical French—passionate and expressive.
But hearing those words come from Tan Mo made things feel… different.
As if Talk himself was saying them to him.
Sang Ye’s face started to heat up.
The Frenchman continued.
Tan Mo translated, “The sun, moon, and stars would all pale in comparison to you.”
Sang Ye’s breath grew a little unsteady. He clutched his napkin nervously.
Tan Mo continued, “Like a summer straight out of Shakespeare’s sonnets.”
“……”
Sang Ye immediately buried his head.
Then, the Frenchman spoke once more, “Can I have your contact information?”
But this time, Tan Mo said nothing.
The blond guy looked at Tan Mo and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Tan Mo replied with a single sentence: “Il est à moi.”
For a moment, the guy’s expression changed dramatically. He glanced at Sang Ye, then at Tan Mo, hesitating with a flushed face before quickly walking away.
Sang Ye was confused. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Tan Mo replied casually. “Eat your food.”
Sang Ye made a sound of acknowledgment and didn’t question it, lowering his head to continue eating.
When he had almost finished, he picked up his phone and saw a new notification.
As he unlocked the screen, he realized the translation app was still open, and the last recorded phrase was displayed on the screen—
[He is mine.]