Chapter 69 – Suited Up
At the same time, hidden away in his room bonding with his pepper-salted pig trotters, the chubby Tangyuan sneezed—twice—both loud enough to shake the walls.
Uncle Zhou held back the restless parrot and said to Shao Zhan, “You should go up. Someone’s still awake.”
Shao Zhan looked up at the light glowing from the third-floor training room window. “He stays up this late every day?”
Uncle Zhou nodded. “Other than you, I haven’t seen anyone this hardworking.”
Shao Zhan took the stairs two at a time and stood behind the door for quite a while before Yang Sa even noticed. It wasn’t until Shao Zhan reached out and took off his headphones that he finally realized someone was there.
Yang Sa was just about to snap at him, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the crisp hem of a suit. Without missing a beat, he maneuvered his special forces soldier to hide in a more concealed spot.
Without the aid of sound to detect the enemy, Yang Sa’s soldier was quickly surrounded and overwhelmed by a full squad of enemies.
Staring at the grayed-out game over screen, Shao Zhan moved the mouse and exited the game. “Training like this is pointless.”
Frustrated, Yang Sa picked up his empty cup and pretended to drink from it, trying to cover up his embarrassment. “Why are you back?”
Shao Zhan thought for a second. “Passing by.”
“You leaving again later?”
Shao Zhan shook his head. “No. Working overtime at this hour—you’re worse than a capitalist.” He glanced at the timer on the screen. “You really stay up this late every day?”
“Not… not always.” Yang Sa awkwardly put the cup down.
“Wanna talk somewhere else?” Shao Zhan suggested, not giving him time to refuse before turning and heading out. On the way past the break room, he grabbed a bottle of soda water and handed it to the person behind him.
Yang Sa took the bottle and quietly followed.
It was his first time up on the base’s rooftop. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, his professional instincts kicked in—he began analyzing climbing points, noting which spots were better for cover, and where would be ideal for sniping.
Shao Zhan saw right through him and leaned casually on the railing. “Southwest corner’s best—great field of view, easy to retreat from. Northwest corner’s risky—easy to get flanked. But if you’ve got backup, it gives you a wide line of sight—easy to cover deliveries, and good for breaking up fights.”
“Not just that,” Yang Sa pointed to a balcony that could serve as a lookout post. “Set up an MP5K there, and I could cover most of the residential zone…”
In the middle of freely speaking his mind, Yang Sa suddenly stopped. He exchanged a glance with the person beside him, and they both burst into laughter. His light, clear laughter drifted with the chilly breeze.
“Something bothering you?” Shao Zhan asked, imitating Tangyuan’s tone. “Come on, tell your big brother and cheer him up.”
“Big brother?” Yang Sa snorted. “You’re only a few years older than me.”
“Kid, show some respect. Let me tell you—whether it’s one day, one hour, one minute, even a second—older is older. Come on, say ‘big brother’ so I can hear it.” He reached out to tickle Yang Sa.
Completely caught off guard, Yang Sa flinched in shock. He wanted to fight back, but held back, worried about Shao Zhan’s injuries. Knowing he didn’t stand a chance, Yang Sa raised both hands in surrender. “Big brother, big brother.”
“Good boy,” Shao Zhan leaned in and whispered by his ear, “Call me ‘big brother’ once, and I’ll be your big brother for life.”
Yang Sa leaned against the metal railing the same way Shao Zhan did, absently picking at the engraved leaves on the surface, frustration evident in his movements.
“The big match is around the corner. You guys haven’t had enough time to build synergy, so tensions are high. Even small things that shouldn’t be problems keep going wrong—am I right?”
Yang Sa didn’t respond. Shao Zhan had led his team to dominate countless battlegrounds. His tactical skills and leadership were top-tier. Even though Yang Sa had been poring over Xinghai’s internal data these past few days, studying Shao Zhan’s strategies and battle formations, he still felt a huge gap.
To be precise, the more he studied, the more aware he became of his shortcomings. With his current skill level, it was nearly impossible for him to lead a team to place among the top pro squads. On top of that, his coordination with the team was shaky at best. If they hadn’t already secured a spot in the Asia Cup, he would’ve doubted whether they could’ve even qualified in the first place.
Looking back, the bold declaration he made about winning the Asia Cup now felt downright childish and laughable.
Shao Zhan didn’t have the heart to pressure the young captain any further, but he wasn’t one for comforting words either. This was a rite of passage for anyone stepping onto the international stage, and an even greater responsibility for every team captain to bear. He knew how hard it was—he’d been through it himself. And this time, the boy standing in front of him wouldn’t be an exception.
The pain before transformation is the price every warrior must pay to be reborn from the cocoon.
But he believed in the boy—believed he would pull through. That one day, on a grander, brighter stage, he would win brilliantly. Shao Zhan also knew that his own time in the spotlight would eventually pass. This battleground of PUBG would someday welcome new warriors. And these kids, carrying their dreams and the audience’s hopes, would go higher and farther than he ever did.
“The big battle’s just around the corner. Captain Yang, are you ready?” Shao Zhan teased in a deliberately cheerful tone.
Yang Sa ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly messing up his already tousled strands.
“Aiyo, why so pessimistic at your age? I’ve got a secret technique for final showdowns—want me to teach you?” Shao Zhan put on an exaggerated streamer’s voice. “Not 299, not 199, today the boss is coughing up blood with this giveaway—yours for the low, low price of one smile from our pretty boy!” He shook Yang Sa by the shoulders. “Come on, give us a smile. Just one smile!”
But to his surprise, not only did Yang Sa refuse to play along—he actually bent down and bit Shao Zhan’s wrist that was resting on his shoulder. He didn’t bite hard, just gently pressed his teeth in.
Shao Zhan didn’t pull away. He exaggerated the pain with a dramatic cry, “That was my only good hand! You’ve ruined it!”
Yang Sa generously let go, then lightly pressed on the spot he’d just bitten, which had turned red. “Well? Gonna tell me or not?” He bared his teeth, pretending to act fierce with his good looks.
“Alright, alright,” Shao Zhan gave in, leaning lazily against the railing in his formal suit. “You win.”
“What?” Thinking he was about to be let in on some martial arts-level secret, Yang Sa immediately leaned in. “What did you say?”
That night, under a clear breeze and bright moon, accompanied by the chorus of summer insects, the scene was just too perfect. Momentarily dazzled by the wind and beauty of it all, Shao Zhan couldn’t help but lower his head and plant a soft kiss on Yang Sa’s pale cheek.
Completely caught off guard, Yang Sa, who had been laser-focused on battle tactics, jolted like he’d been electrocuted and leapt backward. His eyes darted everywhere, not knowing where to look, and he bolted down the hallway like a shot, disappearing through the half-open door.
Back at his training station, he played three consecutive matches. Between games, he snuck out and smoked five cigarettes before finally calming down.
Meanwhile, Shao Zhan hadn’t really fallen asleep in his room either. He’d left the door slightly ajar, hoping to grab a moment to talk about the match. But after watching Yang Sa run back and forth like a headless chicken, he eventually gave up waiting—and passed out cold.
With each round going more smoothly than the last, Yang Sa gradually regained his rhythm. His confidence returned, and his rationality—like a wild beast—was finally caged again. A barrage of questions began to surface in his mind:
Why did he kiss me?
What’s the relationship between us now?
Even if he’s the boss, does that mean he can kiss me whenever he wants?
Reclaiming his confidence from the battlefield, Yang Sa cleanly exited the game and marched straight to the room of the “offender.” He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could touch the door, it creaked open with a soft squeak.
In the dim light, Shao Zhan was half-lying on the bed, still dressed in the same clothes from earlier. His tall, lean figure was fully on display.
Yang Sa’s burning fury vanished in an instant. He stood frozen in the doorway for a long moment before quietly tiptoeing over to the wardrobe and pulling out a blanket. Just as he was about to drape it over the other man, Shao Zhan shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. Startled, Yang Sa dropped the blanket and bolted like a startled cat.
Still groggy, Shao Zhan sat up, rubbing the half of his body that had gone numb from sleeping on it. He stared in confusion at the blanket now draped over the back of a chair—and locked eyes with the big round glasses of a Minion cartoon character printed on it. They blinked at each other for a long, long moment.
Since he had an early meeting to catch, Shao Zhan washed up quickly. The entire base was silent, the only sounds were of the myna bird clucking and pecking as it wandered around.
Their schedules didn’t align at all, so Shao Zhan left Yang Sa a message on his way out. But just as he hit send, his phone started ringing—it was Yang Sa.
“You’re still awake?” Shao Zhan was surprised. Kids these days really can stay up, he thought. But then he remembered his own early days leading a team—how he once trained nonstop just to master a single movement technique. In that moment, it suddenly felt like it had been a lifetime since he left the battleground of PUBG.
From the sound of things, Yang Sa wasn’t far from the greenbelt; Shao Zhan could hear the myna screeching in the background. Having pulled an all-nighter, Yang Sa sounded impatient, cutting straight to the point—asking his former captain to hand over the so-called secret technique.
Originally planning to tease him a bit longer, Shao Zhan glanced at the time and realized he was almost at the company. He put away his playful tone and spoke seriously into the phone. \He said that fixing weaknesses wasn’t easy—especially when taking over a team that was about to compete in a world tournament.
With limited time for team synergy, focusing too much on shortcomings could easily lead to a deadlock, trapping both individuals and the entire team in a cycle of failure. Sometimes, switching perspectives could help: while addressing weaknesses, one should also play to their strengths.
He said, “Captain Yang, if a strength is sharp enough, it can be just as unexpected and effective.”
Although he had stepped down from his responsibilities a bit earlier than planned, he firmly believed that his boy would bring both him and the team a pleasant surprise.
“Got it,” Yang Sa replied after a brief silence. Then he added a warning not to say anything inappropriate—and cleanly hung up.
“H-Hey, I wasn’t gonna—” Shao Zhan, with only one free hand, angrily tried to call back, but all he got was a busy tone.
“Alright, sure. Real bold now.” He stared at the dark screen. “Still wet behind the ears and already refusing to listen.”
Back at the base, Yang Sa pulled up recent training footage and revised the training plans based on each team member’s strengths. Then he waited outside Du Changcheng’s door to get the coach’s approval as soon as possible.
Tangyuan was aggressive and bold with his plays but often rushed in recklessly. Jiang Ranan was quick and nimble but prone to misjudgments due to his overly unpredictable movements. Zhuang Bai was steady and reliable, but his style was too old-fashioned and rigid—frequently missing the best timing to act.
During Shao Zhan’s time as team leader, these issues were well-covered. His individual skill was so strong it elevated the whole team. That’s not to say the other players lacked skill—it’s just that Shao Zhan’s personal ability, paired with a high level of coordination, had led them to dominate in tournament after tournament.
Now, without Shao Zhan’s protection, the team clearly felt psychologically diminished. Yang Sa knew well that the kind of trust forged in the heat of battle was not something he could easily replace.
Fortunately, the new training plans showed promise. The players’ confidence had improved, but a solid placement on the world stage still seemed like a distant dream.
Though no one said it out loud, a sense of restlessness was quietly spreading among the team.