Chapter 76 – Are You Ready for Our Revenge?
Even though Xu Shaoqiu had disabled the replay function during that night’s livestream, the fan-made video still garnered tens of millions of views across major platforms.
But the members had no time to follow the online gossip. The day after the stream, they all threw themselves into intensive training.
Only AVG and UGC had advanced to the PCL finals. The other eliminated teams didn’t return home; they unanimously decided to stay and serve as free sparring partners. Teams not competing in Worlds were also on standby. Everyone was fully committed, eager to support the two remaining PCL teams in their quest for greater success.
“Ah…” Xu Shaoqiu scrolled through the messages from team managers, his nose stinging. “When I graduated, I turned down a job offer from a big company and dove headfirst into esports. I earned the lowest salary in my class, did the most exhausting work, and got mocked by classmates who looked down on me.”
“Now I really should thank my past self. You can’t find this kind of drive and passion in most industries.”
After arranging several practice matches and noting the team’s weaknesses, Lao Ma smiled. “I’ve played in so many Worlds, but this is the first time I’ve seen such unity in the PCL region.”
“Who wouldn’t…” Da Shu, who was reviewing the footage from the previous elimination round, shook his head. “This is the first time we’ve been targeted like this at Worlds. What’s their problem, seriously? Tsk.”
“They must’ve been so happy when they won the championship last time, huh?” Xu Shaoqiu said, gossiping as he scrolled through his phone. “I heard South Korea’s introducing a new rule this year—the PGC champion team can get their military service shortened.”
Da Shu’s interest was piqued. “PGC too? I thought only events like the Asian Games counted?”
Xu Shaoqiu: “I just heard that athletes in the Asian Games can be completely exempted. PGC is different, so they can’t be exempted, but shortening their service period is still good news for them.”
Mi Li listened halfway through his headphones. “How pitiful! That beautiful dream will be shattered by our own hands.”
In the corner of the room, Ji Wei didn’t join the conversation. He was carefully applying medicine to Yin Sijue’s arm.
The wound had already healed, leaving behind a reddish-brown scab that occasionally itched.
When Yin Sijue mentioned it to Ji Wei, he had only wanted a comforting kiss from his boyfriend. Unexpectedly, Ji Wei treated the matter like a serious injury—applying medicine every single day without fail, even after they arrived in Korea.
“I don’t feel anything anymore.” Yin Sijue lowered his gaze to the top of Ji Wei’s fuzzy head. “You don’t have to.”
“Just a few more times,” Ji Wei said softly. “So there won’t be a scar.”
Yin Sijue murmured, “Would you dislike me if I had a scar?”
Ji Wei shot him a cryptic look. “What are you talking about?”
“You told the fans before that you loved my hands the most… uh—”
Ji Wei covered his mouth. “The others are here, don’t talk nonsense!”
“That’s enough, you two. Once you’re done applying the medicine, get back to practice.” Lao Ma handed out the key points he had compiled. “Everyone’s different. Focus on your own weak spots, then head to bed.”
Da Shu: “Alright… let’s see. Oh, Taigo’s decision-making was messy when he entered the circle in Phase Three. Can Unique play a few rounds with me?”
Ji Wei noted down his key points, then glanced hesitantly at Yin Sijue.
Da Shu huffed. “What?! Do I need the captain’s approval for that?”
Yin Sijue smiled. “Go ahead.”
The offseason after the group stage lasted only four days—neither too long nor too short—and quickly slipped away in the rhythm of repetitive training.
The day before the finals, a few members went to scout the venue. On the way, Dashu came across a new video.
It was a pre-match interview with SOP’s captain, Zone. The video had just been uploaded and had no subtitles, so he couldn’t understand a word—but the man’s expression was unmistakably arrogant and contemptuous.
Sitting in the back seat, Yin Sijue’s eyes gradually darkened as he glanced at Dashu’s phone.
Xu Shaoqiu, who had been half-listening, frowned. “What video did you just open? It didn’t sound like he was saying anything nice.”
Da Shu: “Zone’s interview video. Brother, what did he say?”
“Of course I heard about what happened on Twitter. Seeing Chinese fans call a team that didn’t even win the trophy last year the ‘favorite to win’ is just adorable. They’re so narrow-minded, aren’t they? I heard this year’s new player, Unique, is a sneaky in-game player who’s just trying to survive. That’s a bit embarrassing. I saw him off-site — he seems to be having issues with Solve. It looks like the rumors about AVG’s decline aren’t just rumors but reality. This year’s champions will definitely come from the PKL.”
Yin Sijue’s voice was relaxed and lazy as he translated the interview word for word — flawlessly.
Ji Wei, who had been watching a replay of SOP’s group stage from last year, tilted his head and glanced at him. “You mentioned me?”
Yin Sijue replied calmly, “You blew up the bazooka he’d been carrying for half the game with one AWM shot. Who else would he be talking about? He must hate you.”
Da Shu’s laughter almost drowned out the blaring car horns on the roadside.
Mi Li said coldly, “If the crowd hadn’t interfered in that match, SOP would’ve been wiped out by us. How could he mock players who were just trying to earn points?”
Da Shu: “Exactly!”
Xu Shaoqiu: “They always like to stir up drama in interviews. Don’t let it get to you.”
Da Shu: “We won’t, but the problem’s our fans…”
He opened his secondary Weibo account. The homepage was already flooded with the Chinese translation of the interview, and the hashtag #ZoneMocksUnique was trending.
Netizens had already been frustrated watching the recent matches, and Zone’s insults toward a fellow player only fueled their anger.
Why should a newcomer from your region be mocked the moment he arrives at Worlds?
Soon, the comments section under Zone’s personal account exploded—
[What’s wrong with earning points? It’s a lot cleaner than you guys forming teams illegally.]
[This is hilarious! First time I’ve seen a region call its own players shameful.]
[Looks like the PKL region is really tolerant. What a jerk! Even jerks can play pro now.]
[Anyone who didn’t know better would think SOP already won the Grand Slam. You only won on championship last year — why are you barking?]
[How many championships do you have, huh? How many?]
[Hey, you dare mention our couple? Last week, I left four comments under a beautiful woman’s post asking for her contact info, and she didn’t reply once. He’s clearly jealous of her relationship.]
[Oh, and he loves making dirty jokes under influencer posts. I’ve posted screenshots on my page. Let your regional fans see for themselves.]
[Korean men have no class. Those who know, know.]
[Hahaha, he looks like a bulb of garlic. How dare he flirt with a pretty woman?]
When it comes to trolling, no one in the world can outmatch Chinese netizens.
When their blades turned inward, they could provoke Wolf into drawing his sword against his former teammates.
When united against the enemy, they were strong enough to shatter the defenses of a grown man.
Zone immediately deactivated his Instagram account, wiped all followers, and never gave another interview.
…
On the way back from the stadium, Da Shu and the others once again mocked the comments under Zone’s Instagram.
The next day was the finals. The car was filled with laughter and light-hearted chatter. There was no trace of pre-match tension. Compared to the heaviness of the summer season, everyone was brimming with anticipation.
Yes—anticipation.
After being targeted and ridiculed for days, it was impossible not to feel angry. Every member was fuming inside, even if none of them showed it.
In a world where even a few shoves could lead to suspension, the only revenge possible was to pin the opponent ruthlessly to the ground in-game.
That burning drive fueled their nightly training, devouring all their personal time. They ate while reviewing matches, and fell asleep the instant their heads hit the pillows after practice.
Thanks to Xu Shaoqiu’s efforts, the hotel had finally installed new equipment in their training room. This spared the team from traveling back and forth between Lin Tao’s home and the hotel, saving precious time otherwise lost on the road.
…
On the way back to the training room, the others were walking ahead, talking about dinner. Ji Wei and Yin Sijue trailed behind, their hands gently clasped together.
No words were needed; a simple touch was enough to reassure them both.
During the grueling training sessions, Ji Wei’s wrist ached terribly, and Yin Sijue, still injured, wasn’t feeling well either. While waiting for their turn to play, they would quietly hold hands for a moment before continuing their practice.
Outside the training room, the others had already gone in. Yin Sijue squeezed Ji Wei’s palm gently, as if massaging it.
“The competition’s tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Ji Wei squeezed back, his voice soft yet steady. “Good luck.”
Yin Sijue smiled faintly, his other hand reaching up to lightly tickle Ji Wei’s chin—like a cat.
The training room was filled with the noise of chatter and the occasional complaint from Da Shu, grumbling about how he still couldn’t get used to Korean food.
“I’m not asking you to cheer me on,” Yin Sijue said, amusement flickering in his eyes, his tone rising slightly. “Want to make a bet?”
Ji Wei lifted his gaze, looking at him tenderly. Under the dim light of the hotel corridor, his eyes shimmered like a calm pool of water.
He tugged Yin Sijue into an inconspicuous corner and whispered, “What kind of bet?”
“In tomorrow’s match, whoever gets the most elimination points gets to make one request of the other.”
Yin Sijue’s gaze softened, falling to the side of Ji Wei’s face. “The other has to agree—no conditions.”
Ji Wei froze for a moment, as if time had rewound to a few weeks ago, back in the locker room, when he had forced Yin Sijue into a similar bet.
“How can you, a striker, compete with me in elimination points?” Ji Wei protested.
Yin Sijue took his hand, leaned down, and met his eyes.
“Let’s bet,” he said softly. “Please.”
Ji Wei crossed his arms and, imitating Yin Sijue’s tone from the previous day, asked, “Have you already made up your mind?”
Unlike Ji Wei, Yin Sijue kept his secret to himself. He pulled up the online order page and zoomed in on the transaction image for Ji Wei to see.
The logistics tracker showed that the package was already on its way, expected to arrive at the AVG base in two days.
“I had it custom-made last week,” Yin Sijue said casually. “The turnaround time was pretty fast. After we get back from the competition, we’ll try it out someday…”
Ji Wei looked at the scaled-down cat-ear costume on the screen, his face flushing red.
“How am I supposed to wear a tail that big? And—wait—there’s a lot less fabric than that baby outfit, isn’t there?!”
“Yeah,” Yin Sijue admitted shamelessly. “I made a few revisions later.”
Ji Wei: “…”
Not a few. More like a few hundred million.
In the end, he succumbed to Yin Sijue’s pleading.
Five minutes later, Ji Wei sat at his computer, fuming, and started a single-player four-person queue game.
Why—why did I agree the moment he teased me?
How am I supposed to survive wearing something that ridiculous?
Clearly, he just needed to train harder and score more kills in the tournament!
Ji Wei was still distracted as he queued up for the match. Da Shu had to call his name three times before he snapped out of it.
“What’s wrong?”
Da Shu waved his phone at him. “What’s wrong? The takeout’s coming in twenty minutes. You’re playing a game right after getting back—can you even finish it?”
Ji Wei nodded and turned toward P City. “No problem, I can finish it.”
Twenty minutes later, he closed the PUBG Mobile app right on time and returned to the table to have dinner and review matches with the team.
After the review came another long night of training. Everyone went to bed two hours earlier than usual, and when they woke up, it was time to face the PGC World Finals.
…
The day of the finals.
Under the diamond-shaped dome, the PUBG trophy gleamed gold at the center of the stage. The arena—capable of seating tens of thousands—was packed to the brim, the air thick with heat and anticipation.
In the stands, glow sticks rippled like a restless sea, and fans held up signs bearing team names and player IDs, their colors flickering like beating hearts.
From the commentary booth, Mika’s voice came through the microphone, excitement barely contained:
“Hello everyone! Welcome to the live broadcast of the PGC World Finals!”
Yamy: “After round upon round of fierce battles, the final sixteen teams now stand on this stage! Tonight, they’ll make their last push for the championship crown—through twelve grueling rounds!”
As whimsical music filled the arena, the massive circular screen suspended above the stage suddenly lit up, revealing the face of SOP member Hunter.
The pre-match trash talk had begun.
The organizers clearly couldn’t resist stirring the pot. They immediately juxtaposed SOP and AVG—the two teams with the deepest rivalry—and even thoughtfully added a Chinese translation.
On-screen, Hunter’s eyes curved in a smile.
“Luck doesn’t favor the weak. We hadn’t even begun to shine in the early games, and yet so many teams have already fallen. The finals will only be easier for SOP.”
The scene shifted to reveal Da Shu standing in the shadows, light carving shadows across his features. He smiled at the camera with a mixture of contempt and smugness.
“Your KD can’t be saved by tough talk. The whole world knows your only strength lies in cheap tricks, not 1v1 gunfights.”
Shot, hearing the translator’s words, gritted his teeth in anger. “SOP has always been the strongest team, and tonight is no different.”
The scene switched, and Mi Li glanced at the sofa where Shot had just sat. “Some of you out there better hope you’re in the safe zone—because that’s your only hope.”
The next second, the scene changed again.
Flanker’s eyes drooped as he sneered, “I heard several players are making their World Championship debut this time. It’s an honor to face SOP on your first outing, but don’t even dream of winning the championship.”
The frame cut, and Ji Wei’s face filled the screen.
Having just listened to the translator, he nodded. “Yes, I’m here at Worlds for the first time.”
Ji Wei stared at the camera without blinking, his gaze cold and hard. He tilted his head. “So by that logic, coming here to ruin your careers in your first year—doesn’t that sound even more humiliating for you?”
Next came the captains.
Zone, worn thin by two days of abuse online, glared with dark circles under his eyes and snapped, “I won’t give you that chance. The moment we win the championship, the whole world will forget you were ever here.”
The next moment, Yin Sijue’s handsome, icy face filled the frame. Light shadowed his brows, and his eyes were cold and sharp—a stark contrast to Zone’s exhausted look.
He stared straight at the camera and said, flatly, “AVG’s full name is Avenger. Are you ready for our revenge?”