Chapter 87 – A Part of the Play
Zhuang Bai’s farewell gathering was scheduled for the following afternoon.
Since there was still training, no one organized any drinking. After dinner, a few of them escorted Zhuang Bai to the station. Fat Tangyuan shoved all the packed food into their old teammate’s hands and told him to eat it if he got hungry on the way.
Zhuang Bai opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end, said nothing, leaving all his reluctance behind in the chill of the night.
During the joint training with Team One, Team Two’s captain Zhao Yan couldn’t quite believe it was all real. He pinched himself a few times when no one was looking.
But after just one day of training, he stopped pinching himself and just wanted to slap his own face.
To be honest, every player in Team Two harbored dreams of making it to the main roster. As they say, a soldier who doesn’t dream of becoming a general is not a good soldier. But once it was really their turn to take the field, that’s when they realized just how big the gap was.
When he first heard he’d been picked to join Team One as a substitute, Zhao Yan practically bounced up the stairs to the third floor. His excitement was like someone who had just won tens of millions in the lottery. But within half a round, he’d burned out. He got crushed when playing aggressively, and still got crushed when playing it safe. His movement, marksmanship, and tactical awareness—none of them measured up.
The scrimmage had barely begun before the kid was spiraling into a mental breakdown. In the second half, he had no idea what he was doing—he was just running on what little willpower he had left.
Truth be told, even he didn’t know what exactly he was holding on for—only that the match wasn’t over yet, and he couldn’t give up.
When the captain finally announced the end of the day’s training, Zhao Yan collapsed into a chair with such exhaustion it felt like his soul had left his body.
His teammates all knew he’d been thrown in at the deep end, so they treated this “tender little duck” with extra care. Especially the chubby one—like he was seeing a younger version of himself—he even pulled out two spicy rabbit heads he’d secretly stashed away and handed them over to the new guy: “Here, eat up, it’s good for you. Don’t be shy. Seriously, don’t be polite with your chubby big brother.”
During the post-game review with Du Changcheng and Li Bai, they were also especially considerate of the kid’s feelings. They thought if they scared him off now, the team would really be in trouble. Still, some things had to be said. They carefully picked a few urgent technical areas to work on based on his current level.
Zhao Yan understood the goodwill from his teammates and coaches. But the blow had been too hard to take. Clinging to a pillar like a starving ghost, he kept confirming, over and over: “I’m just a substitute, right? Just here to fill a spot and train with everyone, right? Once Captain Shao comes back, I’m heading straight back to Team Two, right?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Fat Tangyuan stealthily stole the rabbit heads back from Zhao Yan’s desk and tried to comfort the kid. “You’re just a deadweight substitute. The moment that old bastard comes back, he’ll kick you right back to Team Two.”
After hearing a string of what didn’t exactly sound like kind words, Zhao Yan nonetheless felt as if he’d been granted amnesty. It greatly soothed his battered little heart.
“No need to kick me,” he muttered, clinging to the wall like a pitiful ghost. “I’ll roll back to Team Two myself… you won’t even have to lift a finger.”
…
After finishing a day of training and returning to the dorms, Shao Zhan, as usual, called right on time to check in. Yang Sa unhesitatingly rejected the call.
The base was a mess of problems, and yet Shao Zhan was out there acting like nothing was wrong.
Tonight, Yang Sa wasn’t planning on saying even a single word to that bast*rd. He wanted to focus completely on drafting a new training plan—one tailored for the new team members—and also work on adjusting team coordination.
The busier he got, the more Shao Zhan called, until Yang Sa was finally forced to just turn off his phone.
Then, the team manager, Qin Chuan, showed up at his door holding someone’s video call, looking grim.
“Please, I’m begging you,” Qin Chuan said, knocking. “Am I supposed to be part of your play too, this late at night?”
Yang Sa accepted the phone, guilt written all over his face. Qin Chuan pulled the door shut behind him, locking himself outside, then kicked the wall hard.
“I told you, didn’t I? I told you—don’t start dating the boss so easily! You think this is just your business alone?”
After a few brief words on the call, Yang Sa hung up and went looking for Qin Chuan. He found him huddled alone in the snack area, sipping canned coffee through a straw.
Yang Sa sat beside him and handed back the phone. “Sorry,” he said. He knew it was his fault for causing trouble for Qin Chuan, and promised it wouldn’t happen again.
Qin Chuan drank with his eyes closed, his cheeks puffing in and out as he fought to stay calm. Eventually, the poor aluminum can crumpled under his grip with a sharp crackling sound.
He tapped his knee, one leg crossed over the other, and said, “Sa Sa, it’s not that I want to meddle, but listen to your brother’s advice, okay?”
Late into the night, Yang Sa sat quietly while Qin Chuan, speaking sincerely, continued: “Dating the boss isn’t as simple as you think. Take today—he couldn’t reach you, so he found me. He could’ve found anyone else too. If he really wanted, he could’ve turned the whole base upside down looking for you…”
Even after working with Shao Zhan for so many years and knowing him inside out, Qin Chuan still felt these words needed to be said.
When your boss holds your entire future—and your livelihood—in his hands, everything about you hinges on his character. Even if he’s Shao Zhan, even if he’s not the type to abuse power, you still can’t just let things slide. Especially at the beginning of a relationship, you need to set boundaries for the future.
“Manager, I understand. I trust Shao Zhan,” Yang Sa said. “Besides, I have my own skills and the ability to walk away if I need to.”
“I know that,” Qin Chuan said, gripping Yang Sa’s hand. “But right now, you can’t think only about yourself. You’ve got a fanbase now. It’ll only grow with time. While you and Shao Zhan are active players, your relationship will stay hidden. But after retirement—who knows? You understand, most fans are young. Everything you do will influence them. If you’re not careful, you’ll give them the wrong idea, like in those TV dramas—where dating a domineering CEO looks like the easiest thing in the world…”
Yang Sa squeezed Qin Chuan’s hand back gently.
“I will seriously think it through,” he promised.
…
That night, Yang Sa called Shao Zhan via video and laid out the rules for their relationship. One rule in particular was that if the two of them had a conflict, they were not allowed to drag others into it.
“If I make you angry and you won’t pick up my calls, I’m not even allowed to ask someone else to help?” Shao Zhan sounded beyond aggrieved. “Normal couples can ask their friends to mediate, you know.”
Unfortunately, his over-the-top acting didn’t fool the person on the other side.
Yang Sa pointed out firmly, “Normal friends can refuse to get involved. But the people you’re thinking of are your employees.”
Shao Zhan thought about it and accepted the proposal. Although he’d always treated the guys at Xinghai like brothers, what Yang Sa said wasn’t wrong. If he used Xinghai’s members to find Yang Sa, it would easily be seen as an abuse of power for personal reasons.
In the past, he had been a young master with a title but no real authority, just drifting along. Now that he held the reins of the company, he needed to be even more cautious about his behavior.
He truly liked Yang Sa’s straightforwardness, and was sincerely grateful to him for helping guide him down the right path.
It was almost unbelievable, but in that moment, Shao Zhan genuinely felt it—Yang Sa loved him, and was ready to walk alongside him down the road of life.
“Yes sir.” In the video, Shao Zhan, dressed in a sharp suit, lazily saluted.
“From now on, I will never let our personal matters affect the Xinghai team members.”
“What else?” Yang Sa asked as he highlighted key points on the training plan he was drafting.
Under Yang Sa’s relentless questioning, Shao Zhan wilted like a frostbitten eggplant: “I will also never use my authority to enter your room without permission again.”
The six-foot-tall man practically used every fiber of his being to express his unwillingness.
“Given our relationship, don’t you think that’s a bit too harsh?”
“And what exactly is our relationship?” Yang Sa’s single sentence left him speechless.
Shao Zhan immediately realized the problem—although they had shared an incredible, passionate night together, Yang Sa had never actually agreed to be his boyfriend.
“That’s not fair. You’re cheating!” he protested.
“And one more thing: without my consent, you’re not allowed to make our relationship public.”
After saying that, Yang Sa decisively hung up the call and returned to perfecting the customized training plan for the new team members.
On the other side, Shao Zhan could only stare at his disconnected phone and angrily question it: “What relationship? You already said we don’t have a relationship. What could I possibly reveal? First you flirted and ran away back then, and now after sleeping with me, you pretend it never happened…”
When the secretary came in to deliver documents, President Shao casually adjusted his collar and returned to his usual composed appearance.
While glancing through the next meeting agenda, a sudden inspiration struck him.
He clutched his phone, flashing a classic villainous smirk: “Does Shao Daddy look like someone who’d be stumped by this little problem?”
Meanwhile, Yang Sa, who had fully thrown himself into his work, had already muted notifications from Shao Zhan.
But somehow, new message alerts kept popping up nonstop, disrupting his focus until he had no choice but to cut the internet connection altogether.
Just as he tried to dive back into his train of thought, an endless stream of call requests followed.
As soon as Yang Sa tapped the speaker button, Max shrieked in German like he’d been bitten by a donkey: “Sa! You slept with the captain of Xinghai?!”
While Shao Zhan, completely satisfied, finally put down his phone and got back to work, Yang Sa was left to deal with a bombardment of furious messages from his foreign friends.
If someone charged in to interrogate him right now, Shao Zhan could only spread his hands and say, “I don’t even know what our relationship is. Maybe my foreign friends can tell me what we count as in their culture?”
By early morning, the more Yang Sa thought about it, the angrier he got.
He stormed into the training room and started punching the chair that used to belong to the former captain.
…
In the days that followed, both of them had packed schedules.
Shao Zhan not only had to manage the countless affairs of the corporation, but also had to carve out time for his surgery and recovery.
Yang Sa, on the other hand, had to adjust to the new reality of Zhuang Bai’s departure, while also taking on the crucial task of training new recruits for the team.
They were both so busy that even a simple check-in call became nearly impossible.
In rare quiet moments, Shao Zhan couldn’t help but wonder if “Work” had become the third party in their relationship— and he had a creeping fear that the third party might just win.
But what could he do?
He had fallen for someone who was even more addicted to work than he was.
Just as Shao Zhan was packing for his trip abroad for surgery, he received a distress call from Qin Chuan: “Yang Sa’s brother is here. What should we do?”
“Don’t mess around,” Shao Zhan replied, thinking Qin Chuan was joking.
“It’s real! He said his name is, uh…” Qin Chuan hid between the villa wall and the fence, whispering nervously, “His name is Clemens.”
“Where is he now?” Shao Zhan asked.
This Clemens should be from the German family that had adopted Yang Sa.
“I told him to wait at the gate,” Qin Chuan said, scratching his chin.
“How should I put it… it doesn’t feel like he came here just to visit family.”
Even though the man masked it well, Qin Chuan could still sense the tension under his gentlemanly demeanor—definitely not friendly.
Shao Zhan thought for a moment and said, “Ask Yang Sa personally first.”
The Yang Sa he knew was not someone who would let others make decisions for him—not even the people closest to him.
It was part of what made him so independent, and so attractive.
After Qin Chuan agreed, Shao Zhan added, “Whatever happens, notify me first.”
After thinking a moment longer, he clarified, “And not because of my personal feelings. As his boss, protecting the team is my responsibility.”
“In this case,” Qin Chuan replied,
“Even if it were purely for personal reasons, I’d still side with you.”