Chapter 78 – Asian Cup
Once you get to know him, you’ll understand—this is just how the little chubby guy is. The more nervous he gets, the more he talks. After spending enough time with him, the players of Xinghai have all been forced to get used to his constant chatter.
Throughout the match, their positioning, encircling maneuvers, and tactical coordination were all spot-on. Unfortunately, the shrinking circle was terribly unfriendly.
Xinghai practically got poisoned by the zone the whole way while running into one top-tier team after another. The first to go down was the forward, Fat Tangyuan. He quickly switched to the spectator view to observe his teammates, simultaneously reporting the locations of strong enemies based on the kill feed, and analyzing the likely next moves of their opponents with impressive accuracy.
You could say that the current Xinghai team is no longer the unstoppable heavy tank it was under Shao Zhan’s leadership, but rather a reassembled and mutated mecha—each component now a powerful, deadly weapon.
After being eliminated, Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranan switched to the captain Yang Sa’s perspective. While scouting, they tried to determine the enemy’s intentions and tactical shifts by listening to gunfire and engine noises in their minds. Everyone was fully focused, preparing for the next phase of the match.
At the end of the first round, they ranked 15th.
The moment the results came out, Du Changcheng and Qin Chuan exchanged a bitter smile in the lounge. The weight that had been pressing down on their shoulders and hearts seemed to lift a little—yet somehow grew heavier at the same time.
“So… this kind of situation…” Qin Chuan asked hesitantly, “Has it happened before?”
Du Changcheng tried to summon up distant memories but came up empty. He gave a vague reply: “Maybe.”
“‘Maybe’ is your answer?” Qin Chuan didn’t say anything more, just gave him a sharp look full of unspoken emotion.
“It’s just…” Du Changcheng unscrewed a bottle of mineral water and took a sip. “Exactly what you’re thinking.”
Qin Chuan turned to face his longtime partner directly. “Lao Du, be honest with me—under circumstances like this, could Shao Zhan still turn things around?”
Du Changcheng stared at the new match unfolding on the big screen. After a moment of thought, he gave his answer: “He could,” he added a condition, “if that little brat brings his usual aura with him.”
Manager Qin Chuan slumped in his chair, clutching the lone remaining sponsor logo on his team jacket, wearing an expression of pure anguish.
“Well, that’s it then,” he groaned.
Beside him, the foreign coach, Li Bai, and the translator also had grim expressions.
Du Changcheng paused as he capped his water bottle. His sharp, hawk-like eyes locked onto the screen as if he’d just spotted prey. Then, suddenly, he let out a quiet chuckle.
“But then again,” he murmured, “maybe not.”
Whether it was the mental resilience built from recent losses or the fact that the terrible result of the first round had somehow broken the psychological shackles, the players of Team Xinghai were now like fearless, steel-clad mutant beasts on the battlefield.
They played just as hard when ahead, and even harder when behind.
Even when torn apart, even if half-dead and hanging by a thread of health, they would still bite back and take a chunk out of the enemy.
Even if their teeth shattered and their bones were ground to dust—they wouldn’t back down.
You could say: the Xinghai team led by Shao Zhan was an unbeatable elite force.
But under Yang Sa, Xinghai had become a rampaging beast, a pack of full-blown lunatics.
The other teams were all among Asia’s top-tier—nothing surprised them anymore.
Everyone knew: what’s truly terrifying isn’t just a maniac.
It’s a maniac who is also rational, tactical, and perfectly synchronized with a team.
Round 2 — Xinghai placed 13th.
Round 3 — Xinghai climbed to 11th.
Round 4 — They broke into the top 10, taking 9th.
Round 5 — Xinghai placed 8th, steadily rising in the rankings.
During the halftime break, Du Changcheng and Qin Chuan, as planned, put on their most enthusiastic faces to greet the returning players.
“Good work, good work! Wipe that sweat, here, towel, water!”
Usually the kind of manager who wouldn’t even flinch if a soy sauce bottle dropped on his foot at the club, Qin Chuan now busily handed out towels and drinks with a grin so exaggerated it couldn’t have looked more fake.
“Please stop smiling,” Fat Tangyuan said, scratching at the goosebumps on his arms.
“Just because our results aren’t great… even if we lose, you can’t go scaring the players like that. That’s emotional abuse. Too much, man.”
Qin Chuan, who a moment ago had been as eager as a first-day waiter, instantly switched faces like a Sichuan opera performer.
Remembering their pre-discussed strategy, he put on a fake smile, got provoked by the kid’s comment and let it drop, then forced another smile—only for it to collapse again.
It was like he’d entered an infinite loop, stuck between rebooting and crashing.
Finally, unable to stand his own emotional whiplash, he wiped his face—along with all the false expressions.
Grabbing his water bottle, he squeezed into a spot on the sofa among the players and started chugging.
“I’m just in the way, huh? I care about you little bastards and this is what I get. I deserve it!”
“Pfft, who needs your pity?” the chubby kid rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain.
“Clearly, this was strategy. Strategy and tactics, okay? Ever heard of that?”
“Tactics, my ass! Who are you trying to fool? Just admit you got outplayed—stop acting tough…”
With his signature sharp tongue fully restored, Qin Chuan resumed the base’s most routine activity: verbal sparring.
Fat Tangyuan, incapacitated in every way except for his mouth, fired back without letting a single insult hit the ground.
Thanks to these two clowns, the atmosphere in the lounge stayed lively—almost too lively, like one more joke might blow the roof clean off.
During previous halftime breaks, Du Changcheng would usually pull Captain Shao Zhan aside to discuss tactics and the next steps.
But today, he had no such intention.
Instead, the one doing most of the talking was the foreign coach, Li Bai. But rather than discussing the game, he launched into folk tales and idioms from his hometown.
This move nearly broke the poor translator.
From the day he picked his major, he never imagined he’d one day have to translate regional dialects and rural slang—especially not in an international esports competition.
As the break finally ended, the translator let out the longest sigh of relief in his life.
Since taking this gig, he’d been drowning in the ocean of esports terminology—yet somehow ended up stuck knee-deep, no, waist-deep, in a mid-game storytelling session.
Good thing there was only one half left.
Otherwise, he was seriously considering asking for a raise.
Du Changcheng wanted to say something to the players but worried that his words might come off too harsh and weigh on them.
He hesitated, measuring each thought, but in the end—said nothing at all.
Yang Sa and the rest of the team silently acknowledged his unspoken concern.
Everyone except the team’s resident chaos agent, who, utterly oblivious, gnawed on a secretly stashed boneless chicken claw: “Smack smack… Coach, you know, like… smack smack… you’re being way too polite… smack smack smack smack…”
“Shut your d*mn mouth, will you?!” Du Changcheng snatched the chicken claw from Fat Tangyuan’s hand and bit into it like he was venting his rage.
“GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! If you guys don’t place in the top three, I swear—don’t let me see you again! Any of you!!”
He shouted this with the force of a hurricane, slammed the door behind him…
…and one second later, was twisting up in pain, tongue sticking out from the spice, frantically chugging mineral water.
Three bottles later, the burn still hadn’t faded.Eyes watering, he signaled wildly for Qin Chuan to fetch a few more bottles.
As he was still drinking, a knock came from outside the lounge.
Tears running down his face, nose sniffly and tongue numb, Du Changcheng yanked the door open and mumbled: “%&*%###… Wha’ do ya wan’…?”
…
At that moment, Team Xinghai had no time to care about Du Changcheng’s torched taste buds or burning insides.
All their focus was locked on the game.
Their positioning and tactical coordination in Round 6 were flawless—and Xinghai rose to 7th place on the leaderboard.
Du Changcheng, once firmly anti-spice, now cradled the leftover vine pepper boneless chicken claws like they were family heirlooms, eyes misty with emotion.
“Are you for real?” Qin Chuan said coolly, trying to bring him back to earth.
“It’s just Round 6. Seventh place.” He also threw a glance at the unexpected guest nearby—mercifully sparing them from the snarky comment that hovered on the tip of his tongue.
Round Seven — the start wasn’t great, but not terrible either. Based on the previous ring-shrinking patterns, they weren’t in the center, but they weren’t far off either. In terms of movement, they still had some breathing room.
Little Fatty flexed his wrists and bragged loudly, “No idea why, but I feel like I’m getting in the groove.”
Yang Sa automatically filtered out the useless chatter from his teammate and began organizing the defense: “Someone’s coming in from Port N. Delivery inbound.”
Positioned at a high vantage point, Yang Sa oversaw the battlefield.
Fat Tangyuan and Jiang Ranan, assigned to the front lines and scouting, were in position.
Zhuang Bai, who had been gathering supplies at the rear, began to fall back as planned.
“Something sounds off.” Fat Tangyuan frowned.
“Another team coming from the NW direction,” Yang Sa warned.
“Oh-ho, doesn’t that mean those two teams are gonna run into each other outside?” Fat Tangyuan swung his legs idly. “Rushing in with gifts like that—man, these teams are just too polite.”
But Yang Sa wasn’t buying into his teammate’s optimism.
He listened to the engine outside sputter to a stop—yet no shots were fired.
The worst-case scenario he had imagined was unfolding.
“Sweet, hold position. Keen, get to the next building and watch the south. River, with me.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean?” Fat Tangyuan was confused, eyes locked on his assigned position.
Zhuang Bai and Jiang Ranan wasted no time. They moved swiftly according to Yang Sa’s instructions.
The two teams outside clearly didn’t come in peace. Judging by their timing and direction, they had likely rushed over after studying the previous match reports.
Not here to deliver easy kills—more like they came to get some.
And Team Xinghai?
They were the main course.
Back in the team lounge, the same tension hung in the air. Even the translator—arguably the least game-savvy person in the room—could sense that something was wrong.
Team Xinghai was strong.
More precisely, the reformed Xinghai was strong—like a dark horse, a sharpened blade carving out space on a battlefield shrouded in smoke and fire.
By this point in the tournament, no one questioned their strength anymore.
And no one dared to underestimate the Xinghai under its new captain.
This team still had room to grow in terms of technical skill, but they had already proven their strength.
Of course, that was also the main reason for the crisis they now faced.
Truly formidable opponents don’t give you time to fully develop—they strike early, eliminating potential threats before they can take shape.
“Oh-ho,” Fat Tangyuan nodded repeatedly, “I get it now. They’re here to snipe the rising star.”
Battle-hardened and experienced, the more chaotic the situation, the calmer the team became. The higher the stakes, the more focused they were.
“Finally realizing how awesome your daddy is?” Fat Tangyuan rolled up his sleeves and took out a forward scout—only to be knocked down and quickly revived by a teammate.
Still, Fat Tangyuan didn’t get discouraged, nor did he linger in battle unnecessarily. He immediately relocated and resumed his watch.
All their hiding spots had been chosen in advance.
Zhuang Bai, responsible for logistics, had used what little time he had to stockpile various types of ammunition at key locations.
Swapping out his weapon, Fat Tangyuan now prowled his territory like a lone wolf.
After playing together for so long, he had begun to pick up on Yang Sa’s intentions.
Though nothing was said aloud, he could tell—their new captain was bold.
Recklessly bold. Super bold.