Chapter 73 – Spoiling Only Me
As usual, Yang Sa stayed behind to discuss the next day’s schedule with the coach. Du Changcheng wanted to offer some words of comfort, but didn’t know where to start. He knew the new captain was in an anxious state before the big competition, and that simple reassurance wouldn’t help. The best he could do was maintain their regular routine and observe quietly.
Every time he saw the boy pushing himself too hard, he couldn’t help but think of Shao Zhan. That rascal—no matter how busy he was—couldn’t he find a moment to come back and check in? Really unreliable. Still, even with this lingering resentment, he dared not let any of it show in front of the new captain.
After their routine meeting, the two “veterans” of the esports world hurried off to catch up on sleep, leaving Yang Sa at his seat for extra practice.
In the early hours of the morning, just as he completed his self-imposed training tasks, he ran into Qin Chuan, who was lying sleepless on the sofa in the break room tapping away on a tablet. He was working on competition planning and the budget for the next quarter. Heaven knows—this was the first time since taking over the team that he’d been so meticulous with numbers.
Yang Sa grabbed a bottle of cold cola from the cabinet and sat across from him. “Is he… doing okay?”
“Who?” Qin Chuan’s eyes wandered across the spreadsheet, searching for areas to cut costs. He shook the stylus in his hand and gestured for Yang Sa not to worry. “The little fatty one’s fine. Just loud-mouthed, as always. Built tough—he didn’t grow all that padding for nothing…”
Mid-sentence, he suddenly had a flash of realization. The kid probably wasn’t asking about the Fat one.
An awkward silence followed. He licked his lips and forced a change of subject. “As for Lao Shao, nothing serious. Just some old geezers in the corporation trying to throw their weight around to feel important. Back when the old man was still around, they didn’t dare act up. But now that the Shao family’s uncle is out of the picture, there’s always someone trying to grab a piece of the pie. Still, don’t worry. That old bastard hasn’t survived these past years on salad alone. It’s not that he lacks the ability—he just doesn’t want to bother with the company’s affairs. If you ask me, his tactics are even sharper than his uncle’s.”
Yang Sa twisted open the bottle of cola and calmly sipped away the foam that was about to overflow. “I was asking about Tangyuan.”
Qin Chuan was so mad at himself, he wanted to slap his own face. Inwardly, he swore that if he ever got involved in the two of them again, he’d be the biggest fool on earth.
The two sat facing each other in silence for a while. Then, Yang Sa, who was usually a man of few words, suddenly spoke without context: “I’m not worried about his problems. He… he’ll handle them just fine.”
Still frustrated with his earlier slip-up, Qin Chuan didn’t look up. Instead, he reminded the new captain that it was already late and he should get some rest.
“I’m going to bed now,” Yang Sa promised. Then, with a hint of hesitation, he asked if he could take half a day off tomorrow. He had contacted a machine shop and wanted to check if they could help modify a wheelchair.
Just watching Fat Tangyuan struggle every day to climb from his wheelchair into the gaming chair was hard enough to bear.
“Sure,” Qin Chuan replied. With Tangyuan’s build, there really weren’t any ready-made wheelchairs that would suit him. A custom one would definitely come in handy—especially for international competitions. He’d check with the event organizers later to see if they could make any accommodations for injured players.
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Yang Sa casually as he adjusted a cushion. “Are we using the current team uniforms for the competition, or will there be custom ones?”
“They’re custom-made. The factory already delivered them,” Qin Chuan said. “The sponsor has changed, so the new uniforms will be distributed before the match.”
“Could I get mine early?” Yang Sa asked. “This is my first time leading the team in a competition of this level. I want to get used to it ahead of time.”
“No problem,” Qin Chuan replied, not reading too much into the flimsy excuse. “The uniforms are in the equipment room—just go grab yours. Your in-game IDs are all embroidered on the back.”
After thanking him, Yang Sa left. Qin Chuan, buried in spreadsheets and characters, stared blankly at the now-empty sofa. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with their new captain today—but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.
…
A new day began. The first to knock on the door of the Xinghai base was a deliveryman in a yellow vest.
Without even unboxing it, Yang Sa took the wheelchair he had ordered overnight and headed straight for the factory. After discussing the modification plans, he handed it over to the craftsman. Leaving the factory, he wandered off alone, with no destination in mind.
The kind of factory willing to take on small jobs like this was more like a handmade workshop, but time was tight, and Yang Sa didn’t have the luxury to be picky. The factory was tucked away in an old part of the city, near some elementary and middle schools, surrounded by clusters of stationery stores.
Wearing a loose, casual jacket and carrying a black backpack, Yang Sa looked every bit like a kid skipping class.
When he bought a solid wood headphone stand, the shopkeeper almost reminded him that skipping school wasn’t a good habit—but thought better of it at the last second.
It wasn’t until Yang Sa asked if there was a print shop nearby that the owner, distracted while packing the headphones, accidentally let his thoughts slip out: “You’re a student and you don’t even know where the copy shops are…”
Following the shopkeeper’s directions, Yang Sa wandered around and actually found a place that could do spray printing on wooden items.
With the headphones on his back, he had a simple rice bowl meal near the school district. Adopted overseas when he was very young, Yang Sa had almost no memories of casually eating around a school like this. Maybe his brother had taken him out for a bite back then—but he couldn’t really remember.
There was no time to waste on nostalgia. After finishing his meal, he gave up his seat to some students who had just gotten out of class, then went to the workshop at the scheduled time to pick up the wheelchair and returned directly to the Xinghai base.
At the entrance to the base, Du Changcheng was playing chess with Uncle Zhou. Foreign coach Li Bai was holding the base’s adorable pug, who was wearing a stiff neck brace, seriously observing the profound depths of Chinese culture.
Possessing the soul of a retiree, Du Changcheng lit up with joy the moment he saw the wheelchair. He personally went up to give it a try. Yang Sa had bought an electric wheelchair, with the control panel right on the front of the armrest.
“If only I had this when I had my surgery…”
Remembering his old injury, Du Changcheng awkwardly trailed off. He lifted himself out of the chair and waved to Uncle Zhou. “Old pal, come give it a try.”
Unable to refuse, Uncle Zhou took a seat and did a quick lap. The base’s pet bird—nicknamed “Little Rooster”—was so startled it flapped madly after him in hot pursuit.
After the test drive, the wheelchair was carried up to the third floor.
Fat Tangyuan, who had still been catching up on sleep, was dragged out of bed by the ear courtesy of Du Changcheng. Barely awake, feet kicking and groaning, he shuffled out of bed. But once in the wheelchair, it was like he’d activated turbo mode—zipping down the empty hallway at top speed. He even thoughtfully woke up Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranan, who were still sleeping, so they could admire his new ride.
His booming laughter echoed through the base villa like a curse, turning that morning into a nightmarish wake-up call for every player still lost in their dreams.
“This wheelchair,” said Qin Chuan, still in his pajamas and barely awake, squinting at the chaos as Tangyuan excitedly showed off his brand-new “flying chariot,” “isn’t it a bit… narrow?”
“Too small? What do you mean too small? Where is it too small?” Puffing his cheeks and sucking in his belly, Tangyuan tried to pull the overflowing fat on his sides back into his body. “It’s perfectly spacious here!” But the moment he spoke, he lost control, and the fat burst out with a poof.
As everyone laughed and joked around, Yang Sa remained serious, calmly explaining that he had already checked with customer service. Custom wheelchairs—from data collection to modeling to delivery—simply took too long. The factory couldn’t afford to restructure the frame either, as it would compromise the overall engineering design, not to mention the time needed for testing, which they didn’t have.
“Don’t listen to them, Captain,” Tangyuan said anxiously, his puffy eyes blinking as he tried to sound sincere—he was just short of handing over his heart. “This chair is perfect. Absolutely perfect!”
Yang Sa turned the wheelchair around and pushed him toward the training room. “The height is adjustable. Let’s test it with the computer setup.”
“But, but—” Tangyuan’s big head twisted around with effort. “I haven’t eaten yet!”
“The factory workers are waiting. They promised to give me the modification plan before dinner. If they work overtime, it’ll be ready tonight.”
“You’re serious, Captain?” Initially trying to resist, Tangyuan looked like a rubber chicken caught by the throat of fate—squeaking helplessly. After a short struggle, he realized there was no winning against destiny and silently gave in.
The translator had already cleared out Tangyuan’s workstation in advance and, as requested, had moved his treasured gaming chair into the utility room, giving it a prime position like it was a family heirloom.
Tangyuan launched the game and ran through some standard maneuvers in the training arena. Yang Sa stood nearby, jotting down notes about adjustments that might be needed. After communicating with the workshop, he confirmed that most issues were minor. If they sent the wheelchair in the next morning, it could be returned by the end of the day—no delay in use.
“Captain, this thing’s already great. No need to change it,” said the little fatty guy, who was just like his figure—broad-hearted and easygoing. On the field, he was a frontline striker; off the field, he believed in “close enough is good enough.” What he feared most were serious types—but Yang Sa, meticulous to a fault, had been running around on his behalf since the injury. He couldn’t say no to that. Even the slight resentment he once felt over Shao Zhan’s attitude toward Yang Sa had unconsciously faded away.
“If it won’t interfere with today’s training, then let’s go with what the technician suggested—make the changes tomorrow?” Yang Sa bent down slightly, asking for the person’s opinion.
The fatty guy on the wheelchair nodded eagerly. “It’s really great! I’m super happy with it.” As he spoke, he even flashed the side blinkers on the wheelchair to show his gratitude.
“As long as you like it,” Yang Sa replied, pulling a headphone stand from his backpack and handing it to the Xinghai team members.
Esports players usually weren’t picky—they’d just hang their headsets on the monitor or desk. But this dark brown solid wood stand matched the desk color perfectly. It was printed with the Xinghai team logo and each player’s in-game ID.
Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranan cheerfully accepted theirs and took out their new headsets to hang up.
“You—you guys all got one?” Tangyuan asked in disbelief, clutching the headset he’d cuddled all night like a precious treasure.
“We all got one,” Jiang Ranan carefully arranged the headset he’d just taken off. “We came up earlier yesterday, thought we’d give you a surprise, make you happy.”
“I am happy,” Tangyuan said, holding his chest like it had been pierced by a knife. “I thought I was the only one getting special treatment from that old bastard.” He started to get agitated. “You guys could’ve at least dragged it out a bit longer.”
“Just be happy with the surprise,” Qin Chuan smacked him on the head, and Du Changcheng added, “Making such a big fuss—what’s wrong with you?”
“I’m the idiot here,” Tangyuan started grumbling like an old lady, “I should’ve known that old bast*rd would never treat me as special…”