Chapter 75 – Not Heartbroken, Just a Stomachache
“Even if everyone else is heartbroken, that fatty wouldn’t be. The only thing he gets hurt is his stomach—from overeating.” As he spoke, Jiang Ranan pulled out his phone to show his teammates the fatty’s Weibo.
After typing out a few hundred words ranting about his “cold-hearted” teammates, the little chubby guy’s next post was already about ordering takeout to comfort his poor, weak, helpless self—accompanied by a picture of his plump figure surrounded by delivery bags.
“Relax, relax.” The ever-optimistic Jiang Ranan spoke lightly, trying to reassure his teammates. “Even without us, our little fatty can take great care of himself.”
“Let’s hope so,” Zhuang Bai said, still full of worry. On the other side, Yang Sa remained silent.
“Aiya, what’s with you guys?” Jiang Ranan bounced on the spot twice in frustration. “When we’re not around, the little fatty is living his best life—why won’t you believe it?”
As they spoke, the group was heading into the internet café they had chosen. The first one through the door stopped in his tracks and turned to Jiang Ranan. “You were right.”
“Huh?” Jiang Ranan, bringing up the rear, was thoroughly confused.
Yang Sa, who followed close behind, also came to a halt and silently gave a thumbs-up toward those behind him.
“What’s going on?” Finally squeezing past some customers heading out, Jiang Ranan stepped into the futuristic-looking cyber café—only to immediately spot a plump figure seated at a computer facing them, wearing headphones and exuding the air of a seasoned boss as he called out to the people around him to join the game.
The group walked up to the familiar wheelchair. In perfect sync, the three of them pulled the chair back, took off his headphones, and exited the game—all at once. Yanked out of the match mid-flight, the plump Tangyuan blinked his beady little eyes, stunned for two seconds before finally returning to the real world.
Faced with the familiar faces of the real world, he decided to strike first: “You guys—you guys—seriously, that’s so not cool.”
His chubby finger pointed at them one by one.
“You came to the internet café without me. You didn’t even bring me, a disabled person. Bullying the disabled now, huh? Looking down on me, is that it?!”
While Yang Sa explained the situation to Tangyuan’s temporary teammates, Zhuang Bai held down the squirming chubby one trying to muddy the waters. Jiang Ranan, meanwhile, pulled up a certain someone’s Weibo and held the screen up for him to see.
“Weren’t you eating takeout in the hotel? Weren’t you planning to try all the food in Singapore or die trying?”
“And in reality?” Zhuang Bai leaned in close with feigned affection. “In reality, you’re here practicing solo, leveling up your skills, planning to leave your teammates in the dust.”
“But I—I…” The chubby boy was so flustered he accidentally wiped imaginary sweat with his pinky. “I just wanted to work hard in secret… and then blow you all away with how amazing I’ve become…”
After fake-smiling for a good few seconds, he snapped back with hands on his hips: “And what about you guys? Coming to the café without me?!”
Jiang Ranan mimicked his voice and pose, twisting his body: “I just wanted to work hard in secret and blow you all away with how amazing I’ve become~”
“Captain, you be the judge!”
Feeling outmatched by the two-on-one, Tangyuan called for backup— only for Yang Sa to silently shove his phone in his face.
Right then, Shao Zhan’s video call came through. He’d meant to remind Yang Sa to get some rest and not overwork himself— but instead, he stumbled right into the middle of the team’s pre-match drama.
“Perfect timing!” Jiang Ranan perked up immediately.
“Let our old captain settle this!”
“Settle what?” Tangyuan quickly changed his tune, grinning at the screen.
“Our dear old captain works so hard—shouldn’t he be resting right now? And you, what are you up to, dragging him into this mess? You bunch of scheming traitors!”
Then, smiling like a bootlicker: “Dear ex-captain, thank you for all your hard work. Don’t worry about anything on this end. With me, Old Tangyuan, holding down the fort, you can rest easy tonight…”
He went on and on until— “Eh? Why’d the screen go black?”
He handed the phone back to Yang Sa, who checked it and said, “He disconnected.”
“Aiya, Captain,” Tangyuan smacked his thick lips in mock regret. “All that heartfelt emotion, wasted.”
“Heartfelt?” Jiang Ranan didn’t even try to spare him. “That was nothing but fake, oily flattery.”
…
While Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranan were rolling up their sleeves and arguing with the chubby kid, Shao Zhan’s call came through again. Yang Sa put on his Bluetooth earpiece and found a quiet corner to answer.
“Why did the call drop just now?” Yang Sa asked. He’d been about to check the SIM card. They were all outside—if they couldn’t receive messages from the manager or coach, it would be a real problem.
“I hung up,” Shao Zhan admitted shamelessly. “I just didn’t want to deal with that fat kid.”
“You—” Yang Sa lowered his voice deliberately, “everyone kind of misses you.”
He wasn’t lying. As a core team member and former captain, Shao Zhan had always been the soul of the team during past competitions.
“I know,” Shao Zhan loosened his tie, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the person on the screen. “What about you?”
“Me?” Yang Sa shifted uncomfortably on the bench, subtly edging away from the phone, and asked softly, “What about me?”
Shao Zhan suddenly leaned toward the screen, not missing a single reaction on the other end. His voice turned unbelievably gentle.
“You,” he said, “do you miss me?”
“I…” Yang Sa choked up, pressing his fist against his lips to block the emotions trying to slip out.
“Mm?” Shao Zhan propped a hand against his temple and pressed again, “Do you miss me?”
Yang Sa sucked in a sharp breath, eyes darting around nervously, afraid someone would notice what was going on.
“I asked you a question,” Shao Zhan couldn’t help teasing when he saw how flustered Yang Sa looked. “Do you miss me or not?”
“Stop—asking!” Yang Sa nearly ground his teeth, shooting a warning glare as he sat up straight like an honor student paying rapt attention in class.
“What are you so afraid of?” Shao Zhan reached out as if to poke the serious expression on the other boy’s face. His fingers only met the cold, hard screen, but the gesture still made him laugh aloud in the empty office.
“What are you—laughing—at?” Yang Sa mouthed furiously, then realized he was being too stiff and awkwardly scrunched his nose.
“I’m laughing at you,” Shao Zhan pointed out. “You look so suspicious. You’re wearing earphones, and still looking around like you’re terrified someone will hear you whispering sweet nothings. Kid, you’re very obvious. Are you that scared people will find out you’re talking to your boyfriend?”
“What boyfriend!” Yang Sa stood up in a panic.
Realizing people were now turning to look from all directions, he quickly bent down, apologized with a hand gesture, and shrank back into his corner seat. “You’ve really gone too far. Don’t say stuff like that.”
Not far off, the trio at the computer terminal stopped fooling around. Each turned into a secret agent, discreetly aiming their gazes toward the new captain.
The injured chubby Tangyuan had the worst of it all. Stuck in a wheelchair and unable to claim a good position, he scratched his ears in frustration, wishing he could flatten the other two into meat pancakes.
“What do you mean ‘saying stuff like that’?” Shao Zhan pretended to be upset, twirling his finger between the two of them. “We’re stuck in this awkward in-between. When’s it going to end?”
“What awkward in-between?” Yang Sa, thoroughly flustered, shook his head wildly and lowered his voice, checking his surroundings.
“You really—have—to—stop—saying—this stuff!”
Shao Zhan found Yang Sa’s reactions incredibly amusing. With just a bit of teasing, the boy would go into a flustered frenzy like a little kitten thrown into chaos, his hair practically standing on end.
It was only because they were separated by a phone screen—and an entire flight’s distance—that this little puffed-up kitten hadn’t already kicked him over and stormed off with his tail held high.
“Alright, I’ll stop messing with you,” Shao Zhan said, finally slipping back into a serious tone to calm him down.
Yang Sa, half-suspicious, sat up straight. “Do you have any advice about the Asia Cup?”
“Well…” Shao Zhan pinched his chin and fell into deep thought for a moment, his expression solemn.
Yang Sa, now fully alert and focused, perked up his ears, ready for some pre-match wisdom—only to hear Shao Zhan slowly say, “After the tournament ends, shouldn’t we figure out… what’s going on between us?”
Yang Sa’s rising tension wasn’t just from frustration—it was from shyness too. A blush spread across his fair cheeks. “What between us?!”
Shao Zhan raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m done for real this time.”
Even though he’d been teased more than once, Yang Sa didn’t plan on forgiving him just yet. Still, when Shao Zhan finally brought up the Asia Cup, he couldn’t help but rein in his emotions.
“About tomorrow’s match…” Shao Zhan deliberately drew out the words, watching as the other boy focused intently, trying hard not to laugh.
“As for what I need to say—” He coughed, poured himself a coffee, tidied up the desk, and finally returned to the screen under Yang Sa’s impatient urging. Taking a slow sip, he said,
“What I need to say… I’ve already said.”
Before Yang Sa could curse him out, Shao Zhan raised a hand to stop him and added gently, “As for what I haven’t said—you already know.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” Yang Sa rubbed his hair in frustration, unable to vent the restless anxiety building inside him.
Everyone feels nervous before a match—even veteran captains had once been rookies who had to grind their way through. If he could, Shao Zhan truly wished he could stay by his side, watch him grow bit by bit, and pass on everything he’d learned with no reservations.
But he couldn’t do that. From thousands of miles away, all he could do was try to distract the other boy from his nerves with small talk and side matters.
Still, even though he was a little worried, Shao Zhan didn’t let it consume him—he believed the new captain could handle it. He also knew that Yang Sa had always kept his emotions buried deep. In front of everyone else, he was still that sharp, unstoppable rising star of the esports world, like a blade freshly drawn from its sheath.
“I’ll be waiting for you all back home,” Shao Zhan said after checking the time—he still had two overseas meetings coming up.
Yang Sa nodded. “You go ahead.”
But Shao Zhan, a bit reluctant to end the call, clung to the last few moments.
“I know I’m probably nagging, but let me say it again: Xinghai doesn’t need to prove anything with this Asia Cup. Your most important mission this time is to bring everyone—old, injured, sick, whatever—safely there, and then safely back. I’ll be waiting here for you.”
Before hanging up, though, Shao Zhan still gave a few suggestions about the team’s pre-match training.
And so, after playing a few rounds of PUBG to keep their reflexes sharp, the four battle-hardened competitive players of Team Xinghai—known for dominating international arenas—ended up grouped together in a sleek, modern internet café in Singapore… playing Fall Guys.