Chapter 4 – The Echo in His Chest
Tee could feel his teammate’s seething rage up close, and he didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly.
Stealing a glance at the fan teammate, who remained unnervingly calm, as if existing in a completely different reality, Tee couldn’t help but admire his fearless audacity—like a newborn calf unafraid of tigers.
It wasn’t until Bull finally left the game that Tee cautiously asked,
“Uh… just now, was that an accidental discharge?”
A long silence followed.
Just when he thought the topic would simply fade away, the team comms crackled to life with a low, composed voice: “What?”
Tee hesitated for a second before clarifying, “You shot Bull. Was it because he was cursing at you?”
He wanted to explain—Bull had always been like that. At the training base, he was practically a walking powder keg, prone to exploding for no reason at all.
But before he could say anything else, a pleasant, baritone voice rang through his headset: “No.”
Then, with chilling indifference—
“Not enough seats.”
…
Tee’s breath hitched.
It dawned on him that this person hadn’t killed Bull out of anger.
He did it simply because there wasn’t an extra seat on the motorcycle.
But when Tee thought about it, it made sense.
Bull had driven the Jeep to pick them up, but after the vehicle was destroyed, the only remaining ride that could get them out of the toxic zone was this two-seater motorcycle.
Every house they had passed earlier had no usable vehicles, and the poison fog was still spreading.
The safe zone was all the way at the top of the map, forming a sharp right angle with their current position.
While the players in the game were still frantically navigating the battlefield, the casters outside were losing their minds.
This was supposed to be a casual fan match where pro players carried their audience to victory.
Who would have thought they’d run into someone who didn’t play by the rules—someone who, within just ten minutes of the match, had managed to eliminate his own team’s professional player?
“It seems our fan player on the field has a strong sense of independence. With no extra space in the vehicle, he didn’t hesitate to take down his own teammate. Not only that, but he also looted his teammate’s medkits. Now, let’s interview Light’s Bull. After this match, what are your biggest thoughts?”
Bull stared at the microphone in front of him as if it were his sworn enemy.
After a long pause, he finally responded, “No thoughts.”
The audience burst into chaos, but amidst the excitement, Mars remained seated, his mind replaying the game footage—the sniper flick, the kill notification.
[Killer used 98K to kill Light—Bull.]
“Killer.” He murmured the name, the sound reverberating in his chest.
The teams were still sprinting across the battlefield, and along the way, they knocked out a few unlucky solo players. Eventually, the motorcycle’s speed noticeably slowed.
“Fuel up.” The driver casually instructed his teammate behind him.
At that moment, Tee suddenly had an unsettling thought—
The only reason his teammate had kept him alive was probably because he had fuel in his backpack.
If he hadn’t grabbed the gas can at the start of the match, he might have been gunned down alongside Bull.
No—more likely, he wouldn’t have even lived long enough for Bull to come pick him up.
They encountered a few ambushes near the safe zone’s perimeter, but the two of them effortlessly wiped out their attackers. The remaining survivors were too weak to outrun the encroaching poison zone.
As they sped down the sunlit highway, watching the rushing river flow beneath them, Tee finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
This was the moment he had envisioned—except he was supposed to be the one in control.
Originally, the team captain had set up this match to help Tee gain experience and build his popularity as a rookie.
Who could’ve predicted that a casual fan match would turn into this?
For most of the game, Tee had been stuck in the back seat of a motorcycle, his biggest contribution being the two gas cans he carried.
Yet, reality was cruel, and he had no time to dwell on his frustration.
Up ahead, a massive bridge loomed before them, its towering structure resembling a beast baring its fangs—waiting to devour its prey.
“Should we take a detour—” He had barely spoken when the motorcycle suddenly accelerated, rushing straight onto the deadly overpass.
Gunfire erupted from the side.
Without hesitation, both Tee and his teammate jumped off the bike.
As Tee scrambled for cover, his teammate had already blown up the motorcycle, using the explosion as a smokescreen. Under the cover of flames, he rushed forward, swiftly eliminating the enemy on the flank before engaging the ones ahead in a gunfight.
Tee seized the opportunity to reposition, drawing enemy fire and taking down their support players.
Just as they cleared the bridge defenders, a stray bullet pierced through the level-two helmet Tee had looted from Bull’s crate.
His body involuntarily hunched forward as he searched for cover.
He wanted to warn his teammate not to come for the revive—this was a full squad, and the last player was prone at the 11 o’clock position near the bridge entrance.
However, Tee never voiced these thoughts, because the moment he hit the ground, his teammate seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, instantly sniping the hidden enemy. At the same time, he lobbed several grenades in the direction of the remaining opponents.
Tee was down, and naturally, the enemy was waiting to finish off whoever came to revive him.
Yet, his fan teammate had a completely different approach—instead of rushing to help, he used grenades to probe their positions.
But the bridge was a tight, confined space, and some of the explosions landed dangerously close to Tee.
With his health hanging by a thread, Tee had to juggle multiple challenges—healing himself, dodging his teammate’s friendly fire, and staying alert in case the enemy got desperate and rushed in to finish him off.
His situation was beyond miserable.
A few moments later, his teammate predictably wiped out the remaining enemies with ruthless efficiency.
His actions were precise, decisive—almost as if he had planned everything from the start.
Even now, with the fight over, there was no indication that he planned to revive Tee.
Clearly, both squads had strategically positioned themselves at the bridge to farm kills, raking in easy points from trapped players.
Since the enemy team had originally rushed over from a nearby house rather than arriving by vehicle, they had no means of escape once they were defeated.
The car that arrived later was also destroyed in a final act of vengeance before the last squad was eliminated.
Tee watched helplessly as his teammate circled the area with an expression of pure frustration, failing to find a single vehicle.
Just as Tee was about to remind him that there was still a teammate down, waiting for a revive, an off-road vehicle suddenly sped toward them, carrying the last two survivors of an enemy squad.
Tee pressed himself between loot crates for cover, focusing on self-reviving with a medkit.
With his limited field of view, he could only listen to the deafening explosions around him.
Even so, stray bullets still managed to hit him, further depleting his already fragile health bar.
By the time he finally finished healing, he immediately raised his gun to provide cover for his teammate—
Only to see the enemy jeep disappearing into the distance.
Scattered loot crates littered the ground in a chaotic mess, and a wave of complex emotions surged in Tee’s heart.
For some reason, watching his teammate leave without hesitation didn’t fill Tee with resentment or disappointment.
Instead, he felt a strange sense of relief—like he had narrowly escaped death.
By the time he had recovered and climbed down from the bridge, the match had already ended with a [Winner Winner Chicken Dinner] screen.
Fortunately, Tee’s mindset was strong enough to handle it.
Meanwhile, Bull—who had exited the game early—was practically seething, his face turning an ugly shade of green.
On the stage, Tee stood beside the host with a guilty smile, hurriedly giving a standard official response before quickly shoving the microphone back.
At this moment, all eyes were fixed on a young man wearing a black mask, his expression unreadable.
From the instant he stepped into the venue through the operations room corridor, the surrounding cheers and noise seemed to fade into nothingness.
Seated in the team area, Mars felt his brow slightly furrow, his heartbeat slowing unconsciously. His breaths grew deeper, and his fingertips turned cold.
The host on stage spoke rapidly, her tone full of enthusiasm:
“Now, let’s take a moment to thank Team Weiguang for bringing us such a spectacular performance! I’m sure everyone here saw just how thrilling that match was.”
She then turned to the other side:
“Next, let’s interview the incredible fan player who delivered such a stunning performance! Your account is only at the Bronze rank, yet your gameplay today was anything but Bronze-tier. Are you playing on a secondary account? Do you have any plans to join a professional team?”
Faced with the host’s eager questioning, the young man responded with just two indifferent words:
“No.”
No matter how the host tried to liven up the atmosphere, the boy who had stirred up a storm in this casual match remained utterly detached, as if none of this concerned him.
Meanwhile, his teammates in the audience whispered among themselves, and even Qin Chuan couldn’t hide his excitement. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that members of other teams had already logged into their clients, trying to send friend requests.
However, just as Qin Chuan felt the urge to act, a sudden realization struck him—
A vein twitched on his forehead, and an inexplicable sourness filled his chest.
The same unruly attitude, the same explosive presence—
A long-buried memory suddenly resurfaced, sending a shiver down his spine.
“Strange, this guy looks really familiar.” Tangyuan mused, casually munching on potato chips.
Qin Chuan turned and glared at him fiercely:
“Sh*t up. Familiar, my a*s. If your waistline doesn’t drop below 27 inches, I’m kicking you out of Xinghai.”
Tangyuan let out a mournful wail, stuffing his mouth full of chips in protest.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, nor was the Great Wall. And the extra weight on his body certainly didn’t pile on overnight.
Just as he was about to complain to the manager, he noticed the man’s expression had turned grave. Sensing danger, he quickly shrank back into his chair, trying to make himself invisible.
After several rounds of fruitless questioning, the host had all but given up on trying to get a meaningful response.
Originally, he had hoped to discover a rising star at this fan appreciation event, creating buzz and giving their sponsors a solid PR boost—
Now, he just wanted to wrap things up as soon as possible.
With a keen eye for an exit, the host glanced at the microphone still in the fan player’s hand and asked:
“Is there anything else you’d like to say?”
The young man’s slender fingertips lightly tapped the microphone, and in the same cool, detached tone, he said, “I’m back. From today on, PUBG’s rankings will be rewritten.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving behind a stunned host and audience.
His side profile was thin and sharp, his black hair falling over his brows, but it couldn’t hide the defiant glint in his eyes. That half-smirk, half-smile stirred something unexplainable in Mars’ chest.
Though his heartbeat remained slow and steady, a tingling numbness spread through his fingertips, and somewhere deep inside, a faint warmth bloomed.
Even though his face wasn’t fully visible, a certainty rang clear in his mind—his boy was back.
At the same time, Qin Chuan was like an ant on a hot pan, his thoughts spinning wildly as the boy’s chilling aura stirred an unsettling sense of familiarity. And that familiarity was anything but good.
Worried, he stole a glance at Shao Zhan, hoping he hadn’t noticed the figure standing on the stage below. But to his dismay—Shao Zhan was staring straight at the most dangerous direction.
Throughout his career, he had pulled his team back from the brink countless times, shouldering the weight of impossible battles with nothing but his own strength. And every time that moment arrived, a deep, inexplicable unease crept up his spine—like the eerie calm before a violent storm. His instincts screamed—this was the moment of life and death.
This time, Qin Chuan decided to strike first. He didn’t care about the rumors, the headlines, or the consequences. He just had to stop the man beside him.
The scars from three years ago still burned fresh, an open wound that refused to heal. He wouldn’t—no, he couldn’t let history repeat itself. But just as he moved, the man beside him bolted forward at an astonishing speed.
“Mars—Mars!” Qin Chuan scrambled to his feet to chase after him, only to trip over a chair. He watched that familiar silhouette disappear, his urgent cries swallowed whole by the roaring cheers of the audience.
His teammates rushed over to help him up, but at that moment, they had unknowingly blocked his only chance to stop Shao Zhan.