Chapter 35 – The Show’s Only Just Begun
His face darkened, but his hands stayed steady on the controls. He tilted his head slightly, listening carefully for the sound of footsteps around him.
That man still hadn’t shown himself—yet every move of his team was already within the man’s grasp.
“Sa, hang in there.”
Black, who had just pulled off a high-speed escape and taken down an enemy blocking his path, was now racing back to regroup. “Three minutes.”
“We won’t make it in time,” Yang Sa thought grimly. On this battlefield, that man would never make the same mistake he had. He wouldn’t leave room for a repeat.
Yang Sa stuck close to the building’s cover, skillfully circling around the nearby footsteps.
But still…
Where was that man who once ruled PUBG like a god?
To control the flow of the match, to strike a fatal blow at the most critical moment—
Where was he now?
He had moved through several positions—it took a fair bit of time. After all, without teammates, he tried his best to avoid unnecessary engagements.
On the other side, teammate Little White’s journey into the city didn’t seem to be going as smoothly as expected either.
He rushed through several locations only to find them empty, with enemies hot on his tail. Yang Sa gripped a grenade and slowly approached the tightly shut door.
Whether it was or wasn’t — he had to take the gamble.
However, the moment he opened the door, a grenade flew out in a graceful arc.
Too late!
At the same time he threw his own grenade, Yang Sa abandoned standard tactics. Instead, he made his character leap forward. The incoming grenade brushed his shoulder and spiraled back behind him.
As he lunged into the room, he opened fire in a sweeping motion amid the erupting blast.
But unfortunately, the man behind the flames—who had been in control the whole time—wasn’t about to give him that chance.
[Starcraft-Mars used MK74 to knock down LAP-Killer]
[Starcraft-Mars used MK74 to kill LAP-Killer]
Yang Sa stared at the grayscale screen as the man walked toward him. He wiped his face, told Little White to play solo and keep farming, then rested his chin on his curled fingers and chuckled quietly in the dimly lit ops room.
Running from the zone, Little White nearly choked. He shot a glance at Little Blue, who was spectating from the other side, as if to ask, Did he go nuts?
Little Blue couldn’t be bothered with the idiot:
“Figures. Just a fool who’s good at doing warm-up stretches.”
Busy with a game of Chinese idiom matching, Little Black looked up at the remark and reminded his colorful friend that he was spectating the same fool.
“I can’t live like this,” Little Blue grumbled, yanking off his headset. He understood—and Yang Sa understood even better.
Even if Little White managed to survive until the very end, with three Xinghai players still alive, this match was already over.
On the scoreboard, Starcraft’s points were still climbing. The lead LAP had worked so hard to build was rapidly slipping away.
But for the LAP team, it wasn’t just the end of a round—
It was the end of something more.
The opposing team was different. Under that man’s lead, Xinghai was like a steel-clad beast—unyielding and indestructible. No matter the circumstances, they followed their pre-planned routes with unwavering precision, advancing with a belief in crushing all resistance. They held onto their advantage without suspense, all the way to the end.
After Game Five, Xinghai ranked first, with a commanding lead in points.
The outcome was sealed. LAP’s team members half-heartedly began packing up their peripherals.
Little Blue stretched his neck like a toy doll, eyes fixed on the dark swirl in Yang Sa’s hair.
“Sa… that was my mistake…”
Yang Sa slung his gear bag over his shoulder and cut him off: “The real show is just getting started.”
As his hand touched the doorknob, scenes from the game inevitably replayed in his mind.
The moment he stepped out, the door across from him also began to slowly open…
…
Swept by the sudden light, Shao Zhan squinted slightly.
Behind the tall, vividly dressed figure ahead, a slender silhouette emerged at a slow pace.
There was still a trace of youth left in his features, but the eyes beneath his black hair were cold and unreadable.
For a split second, Shao Zhan wanted to reach out—stop the man whose gaze hadn’t paused on him even for a moment—and ask:
Where have you been all these years?
Have you been doing okay?
But he only stood there silently, listening to the fading footsteps—just like he had three years ago.
“Captain,” Tangyuan nudged the person in front of him with his belly. The post-match interview was coming up—they couldn’t linger here.
Shao Zhan got the message. He walked a few steps with his peripheral bag slung over his back, but still couldn’t resist glancing back:
“Fatty, your stomach…”
Tangyuan sucked in his belly and tiptoed forward like a ballet dancer, gliding past Shao Zhan as lightly as a snowflake, as soft as a tuft of down…
But he had clearly underestimated someone’s sharp tongue.
All they heard was Shao Zhan dialing the team manager Qin Chuan: “Some team members’ waistlines have grown again. People who know we’re esports players might understand, but outsiders probably think Buddha himself visits our base daily.”
On the other end of the call, the manager promised to immediately contact a health coach to create a specialized training plan for the team members.
Tangyuan felt his vision go dark—utterly hopeless about the road ahead. After a few half-hearted attempts at comfort from his teammates, he felt even more aggrieved.
“The captain doesn’t love me anymore… I was already behind Lao Du and Bage in his heart, and now there’s this new overpowered guy. He never used to mind that I was fat. Don’t you think… maybe he’s not planning to love me anymore?”
Jiang Ranan tried to hold back, really tried, but in the end, he couldn’t: “Have you considered the possibility… that maybe he never loved you to begin with?”
In a mix of disillusionment and self-sabotaging despair, Tangyuan waddled up to the front desk, belly out. But the moment he was met with enthusiastic cheers from fans, he lost himself in the adoration.
Nudging the always-silent Zhuang Bai, he whispered smugly: “See? Someone still loves me.”
But the next second, as Shao Zhan walked into the venue, the crowd erupted in perfect sync: “Mars! Mars!”
Even the LED signs shifted instantly like a battlefield turning tide.
Tangyuan could only stare as his own round, chubby fan sign was tossed onto a backseat—completely ignored.
He quietly shuffled over next to Zhuang Bai and began searching on his phone: “How to kill and dismember someone without leaving evidence…”