Chapter 55 – Main Team Substitute
Qin Chuan had been absolutely swamped these past few days. With dark circles under his eyes, he’d lost the last traces of baby fat and was starting to develop that sharp, chiseled look.
The press had been suppressed for now—but for how long, he didn’t know. Shao Zhan was the face of the team. If he couldn’t play in the upcoming tournament, it wouldn’t just be the fans going wild—sponsors would start bailing too.
Shao Zhan’s take was to wait for the police to release an official statement, and then the club could put out a formal announcement to minimize the fallout.
But even in the best-case scenario, the damage to the team’s reputation and brand value would be unavoidable. Shao Zhan might’ve come here just to unwind, but people like them had their whole lives tied to the club. Many kids on the second team or in youth training relied on the team’s support to lift their families out of tough situations. They didn’t even want to imagine how the old chairman—who’d been itching to drag his grandson back to take over the family business—would deal with a club whose value was plummeting.
“What are you thinking about?” Shao Zhan wasn’t the least bit concerned with the mental gymnastics going on in Qin Chuan’s head. His mind was focused entirely on the team’s operations. “Right now, the most important thing is to reinforce the main lineup.”
Shao Zhan had never considered giving up on the team. Sponsors pulling out was normal—it was just business. What mattered to him was the game itself. As long as they kept their heads down and played their best, this rough patch would pass soon enough. He believed the fans would understand too.
Their past glory was earned through hard work and sheer effort—one shot at a time. Now, they just had to do it all over again. And none of this had happened because they’d stopped trying.
Qin Chuan scratched at his unwashed hair, which hadn’t seen shampoo in days, and suddenly realized—this rich young master in front of him probably had no concept of setbacks or bottlenecks.
Du Changcheng, on the other hand, wasn’t surprised in the slightest. He had a deeper understanding of Shao Zhan. The boy had grown up under his wing, and no one knew his character better than he did. What others saw as carefree or rebellious on the surface—Du knew was just a layer. Underneath, Shao Zhan’s nature was resilient and steady, shaped by everything he had been through. That core never changed.
Qin Chuan wasn’t privy to those inner thoughts. Still pretending to be troubled, he groaned and covered his eyes. “You make it sound so easy—he has to be technically solid, have experience in major tournaments, and most importantly, be able to wrangle those monkey brats in the main team. Especially that fat monkey. Where am I supposed to find someone like that? Seriously, where?”
Truth be told, they all knew the best candidate was already at the base. But none of them wanted to be the one to bring it up.
The three of them were putting on a show, pretending to hold a serious meeting, but in reality, it was a standoff between foxes—each waiting for someone else to take the first step.
Du Changcheng, who had been resting with his eyes closed, finally spoke: “Speaking of which…”
Qin Chuan leaned forward, fully focused, thinking Du was finally going to steer the conversation in the right direction—only to hear:
“For dinner, maybe ease off on the spice.” He braced his back with both hands and groaned. “Ugh, this illness is killing me.”
Qin Chuan squirmed in his chair, barely stopping himself from writing the word disdain across his face. Forget it, he thought, hardening his resolve. If nobody else was going to bring it up, he’d bite the bullet and start persuading Yang Sa. Otherwise, what was the point of this farce of a meeting that could drag on all night?
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the one-armed Shao Zhan beat him to it. “Let’s start the selection process.”
“Under what pretense?” Qin Chuan asked. Shao Zhan’s injury hadn’t been made public yet. “And what’s the scope?”
“Main team substitute,” Shao Zhan replied after a pause. “No limit. Just the strongest.”
“You mean that…” Qin Chuan hinted gently. “You really don’t want to reconsider?”
Du Changcheng, who had resumed his nap, opened his eyes and changed the subject. “Does your family know you’re injured?”
The shift in topic was also a quiet way of signaling his stance on the earlier discussion. Qin Chuan, a little sulky, had no choice but to shelve his thoughts and start coordinating with the PR department to begin recruiting.
While leaving voice memos and issuing tasks, he still couldn’t help himself. He leaned in, head swinging between the two “great masters” like a bobblehead. “Come on, can’t we at least discuss it?”
Qin Chuan groaned, frustrated. “You two old bastards—can’t you just make a tiny sacrifice for the team?”
“Sacrifice? What kind of sacrifice?” Shao Zhan sat lazily in the small conference room’s swivel chair, smiling faintly. “Like, offering myself? I don’t mind, really. The question is—does he want it?”
Qin Chuan shivered. “You damn flirt, stop making moves on me!”
He crossed his arms and fumed silently for a while, brain still churning. That steel-gun Yang Sa might just be a steel-rod straight guy, he thought. Why else would he run off so thoroughly three years ago?
And just like that, the gossip flame within him ignited recklessly.
“So tell me, Zhan—what exactly did you do to him back then…?”
“A real man doesn’t brag about past glories,” Shao Zhan said, reclining like he was in a rocking chair, with his one good arm resting behind his head in a mock-casual pose. Because of the cast, it was the only hand he could move. “Although…” his eyes gleamed with mischief, “maybe tonight you could come to my room, and I’ll demonstrate what happened three years ago…”
Qin Chuan slapped his hands over his ears and bolted with a bang, yelling as he fled, “I’m not pure anymore! I’m dirty! I’m dirty!”
Du Changcheng, utterly unfazed by the nonsense, took a sip of his herbal tea. It was too hot—he quickly spat the goji berry back into the cup when no one was looking. But when he turned his head, he realized Shao Zhan had seen the whole thing. Embarrassed, he nodded toward the direction Qin Chuan had run off. “Did you have to go that far?”
Shao Zhan’s injury had cast a shadow over the entire team. Though Du Changcheng sighed inwardly, he kept his expression light.
After all, Shao Zhan wasn’t just the captain of Xinghai—he was the team owner, and the backbone everyone looked to. Ever since he was young, his grandfather had taught him:
“A man can be defeated, but never broken.”
He knew what he was getting into when he threw everything he had into the world of esports. That quote from The Old Man and the Sea had carried him through countless dark nights.
Du Changcheng didn’t love Shao Zhan’s seemingly carefree attitude. The world could be crashing down, and the guy would act like he’d just messed up a late-night snack order. But he understood his captain—Shao Zhan was the kind of person who carried everything silently. So instead of pushing, he simply asked about the investigation.
For once, Shao Zhan dropped the playboy act. “Qin Chuan’s on it,” he said seriously—though the reassurance was quickly followed by, “Just worry about your own backdoor.”
Du Changcheng stared daggers at him, too pissed to speak, but his fragile hips made it hard to stand up and beat the guy like he wanted. The frustration was obvious even across the table.
“When are you going to see your grandfather?” he asked, swallowing his anger and trying to keep things civil.
“If you hadn’t dragged me into this stupid meeting,” Shao Zhan snorted, “I’d be home having a proper meal right now.”
“Scram, scram, scram!” Du Changcheng drained the last of his tea and waved him off without mercy. “Get lost—better yet, never come back!”
Shao Zhan, for once, didn’t argue. With the poise of a true captain, he ignored the insult, pushed his chair back, and headed for the door. Just as he pulled it open, a round, chubby face squished nervously into the doorway.
“C-C-Captain…” Fat Tangyuan clutched his chest. “Are you… okay?”
He got too close, and the sheen of oil on his face caught the light, nearly blinding Shao Zhan. Rubbing at his eyes, Shao Zhan looked past him at the others poking their heads around outside to check on him.
“I’m not dead yet,” he said coolly. “It’s just a flesh wound. Now all of you—back to training!”
With one hand, he grabbed Fat Tangyuan by the collar and kicked the round little guy out the door. “Extra practice for you, Fatty.”
Then he bent down, staring into that chubby, doughy face. “You’re worried about Daddy, aren’t you? Then train hard. Play well…”
Everyone held their breath, expecting something moving—some powerful, heartfelt words.
Instead, Shao Zhan slowly spat out nine syllables: “Make Daddy some more money for medical bills.”
Any lingering sentiment was instantly snuffed out by the capitalist calculation.
Fat Tangyuan waved to the rest of the team, grumbling as he waddled away: “Let’s go, let’s go. I told you capitalists don’t have hearts, but nooo, you just had to come, didn’t you…”