Chapter 5

After finishing lunch, Yun Qi returned to the base from the restaurant.

The base was a small Western-style house with a courtyard. With only seven or eight people living there, there was no need to buy them a villa.

The youth trainees didn’t live here—this place was reserved for the starting roster. The coach came in during the day and headed home at night. If it got too late, he’d crash in the temporary room; otherwise, he went back to his own place. Being married with a wife and kids, he rarely stayed over.

That meant every evening, someone might bring a girlfriend back. There were cameras outside, but as long as Captain Lang turned a blind eye, it was no big deal.

Yun Qi stepped into the training room, which buzzed with chatter. Jiu Shuang stood at his station, chewing gum and grinning as he talked with Chen Xia. Xue Yan was absent, his seat empty. At a glance, Yun Qi spotted Lang Xian back in action, along with that standout youth trainee.

The youth trainee sat in Yun Qi’s spot, watching Lang Xian game.

Yun Qi headed to the empty seat across from him, right next to Xue Yan’s position. The game client was still open on the screen. Yun Qi checked Xue Yan’s match history—solid performance that morning, no losses.

Lang Xian caught sight of him from the corner of his eye and glanced up. “Come back and sit.”

Yun Qi eyed the youth trainee in his chair and said mildly, “I’ll hang here with Brother Yan for a bit. Keep practicing.”

The youth trainee jumped to his feet, flustered. “Sorry, bro—didn’t see you come in.”

Yun Qi gave a small smile. “No worries. Sit.”

The youth trainee looked to Lang Xian, who tossed his headset aside and fixed Yun Qi with a teasing stare. “He’s got a thing about germs. You sat on his cushion—he won’t be parking there anytime soon.”

The youth trainee’s mouth fell open awkwardly. “Uh…”

Yun Qi shook his head. “Captain Lang, why spook the kid?”

Lang Xian straightened up, nonchalant, and asked, “What’d you eat for lunch?”

“Ramen,” Yun Qi replied. “Only thing I eat.”

“That same little diner?”

“Yeah.”

“You never switch it up?”

“Not sick of it yet.”

Lang Xian grabbed his mouse again, ignoring the youth trainee beside him entirely. He fiddled with the keyboard while keeping up the banter with Yun Qi. “Sounds boring as hell just hearing about it. Win the Grand Finals, and I’ll treat you to something good.”

“Pass.” Yun Qi took a seat. Hidden behind the screen, his face gave nothing away. “Stomach can’t handle it.”

A subtle tension hung in the training room. The youth trainee picked up on it, sitting right next to Lang Xian as the captain got solo-killed—clearly distracted. The kid peeked through the gap between the monitors toward the other side, lips pressed tight, saying nothing.

Xue Yan returned that afternoon, and the five queued up together on pro accounts. Games like these had zero challenge unless they ran into rival pros. Even the top solo queue solos bowed to a full pro stack. Enemies spotted them immediately and started yelling in chat. No coach around, so Jiu Shuang fired off two words:

[Offline.]

They shot back:

[Queued into SK! Bros, gimme 10 mins to fanboy!]

Yun Qi ran Snow Rabbit bot with Xue Yan. They took it slow, farming up instead of shoving lanes, letting the enemies enjoy the game. But Chen Xia ganked early out of jungle—at 1:15, he rolled the enemy shooter like a camp. Panicked typing followed:

[Brother Xia, mercy—your fan here!]

Chen Xia ignored it. He wasn’t big on talk, kept to himself in the team, stuck to his jungling guns. While Jiu Shuang traded barbs with the foes, he demolished top lane.

[Shanghai SK Jiushuang: You good, fellas?]

[Shanghai SK Jiushuang: Skip the staff—build’s ancient.]

[Shanghai SK Jiushuang: Damage that pitiful? Ten cooldown runes?]

[Shanghai SK Jiushuang: Peek my latest build, hit 2300 Peak easy.]

“Shuang’er,” Lang Xian said into the mic. “Pipe down.”

Jiu Shuang zipped it. Under ten minutes, they battered the Nexus Crystal. No fight from the other side.

Before it ended, their shooter typed:

[Captain Lang, massive fan—add friended?]

[Shanghai SK Qingmo: Sorry, main’s locked.]

Nexus blew, game over. Total stomp.

Xue Yan leaned back, legs crossed. “Zero thrill.”

The youth trainee piped up from the side. “You guys are insane.”

Jiu Shuang grinned. “No streamers? Way more fun vs. those big Vs—the ones mouthing off online nonstop. Love smashing ’em.”

Lang Xian warned, “Too chatty earlier. Bad look for the team.”

“Didn’t even curse, bro.”

“Streamers or not, zip it. That mouth’s dipped in poison.”

And wouldn’t you know—they queued into a streamer.

The next match was stacked with streamers. Several big names, famous across the internet and ranking in the top ten on the Peak Points Leaderboard, each wielding a signature hero at the top of their game. One of them, the streamer Huayao, was even friends with Lang Xian.

“Fuck, Captain Lang? The whole SK team! Shit, guys, shit just got real!” Huayao bellowed in his streaming room. The five streamers all snapped to attention, faces grim.

On the loading screen, the major streamers let out feral roars as their chat rooms descended into chaos. Bullet screens flooded every streamer’s display.

[LOL, last game you called it “so easy,” and now you’ve queued into the championship favorites? Savage roast hahaha]

[Little demon, you gotta pull out your main Athena for this, right?]

[Little demon, your love rival’s on the enemy team]

Huayao was renowned for three things. First, his god-tier Athena play that had once landed him in the Top 3 of the National Server with a peak score of 2,400 points. Second, his natural talent and stellar connections—he rubbed shoulders with pros and often partied up with them. Third, he was a diehard fan of the War God Eidis. His signature and bio used to blare a blatant declaration: “Bend me over for E God.”

But after the platform cracked down harder on adult content during the internet cleanup campaign, that signature got flagged and locked for being too explicit. He’d toned it down to: “Only for E God.”

He frequently cosplayed as female heroes, slipping into skirts and stockings for his streams, openly admitting it was all to seduce his god. His fans relentlessly spammed his crossdressing pics under KRO Team members’ accounts, @-ing Eidis to come check them out. It never made waves. Eidis’s own comment section, though? Completely overrun with Huayao’s girly shots.

Everyone knew Eidis’s ace was Carmilla, the hero with a massive crush on Goddess. And Huayao’s cosplays? All sultry big-sis Goddess vibes.

Pale skin, stunning looks, killer legs—he played the edgelord game masterfully. But since he was a guy doing drag, netizens never slammed him for it. At worst, they’d call him shameless.

Those crossdressing pics didn’t snag his crush but did draw a horde of thirsty dudes. Before every stream, he’d warn, “Gays, read my bio.” That line—”Only for E God”—had shattered many a tough guy’s illusions.

Huayao’s exploits didn’t stop there. Whether from his naturally wild streak or sheer desperation to simp for his idol, he’d once dropped a comment on Eidis’s account: “My little flowers bloom for you.” It shot straight to hot comments and seared plenty of eyeballs.

“Edgy dude, comedy streamer, drag king, E God simp, industry disgrace, Athena god”—those were just some of his nicknames.

His scandalous rep gave him unmatched traffic in the streaming scene.

Netizens loved to hate-watch him. That was Huayao’s reality online.

This clash with the SK Team drew even more drama. Some fans egged SK on to teach Huayao a lesson. Others hyped him up to smash the championship hopefuls with Athena and claim his crown as the uncrowned king.

Huayao stayed cool, locking in Goddess. At the start, he pinged the enemy support: [Hey, love rival.]

Yun Qi didn’t bite at first—he didn’t want to jump the gun or misread the vibe. But then Huayao dove straight for him with another ping:

[Luo Shen, you crushing on my man too, huh?]

[Shanghai SK Qiluo: Your man?]

[Shanghai SK Qingmo: Wanna bet we wipe you in ten minutes?]

[Huayao: Hehe, easy there, Captain Lang. Just saying hi to my little rival. Luo Shen, add me as a friend? We’re clashing aesthetics—straight-up competitors.]

The bullet screen exploded:

[You dumbass, what the hell? How dare you compare yourself to my Qibao?]

[Demon Bro, quit clowning. He’s the real deal fan.]

[Demon, what are you doing? You think your looks stack up to Qiluo’s?]

[Not trying to throw you under the bus, but don’t embarrass yourself.]

[Wait, Demon Bro, your chat’s swarmed by SK fans? Has the internet forgotten how Qiluo blew up? Fanservice shipping!]

Yun Qi ignored the netizen pile-on, and Huayao had no time for his chat either. The game kicked off, and none of the streamers wanted to look like total scrubs. They played with white-knuckled focus, groaning at every gank with a resigned, “Pros are just on another level.”

Yun Qi roamed relentlessly, dropping wards everywhere. In high-end play, the bushes might as well not exist—both sides struggled to catch each other out. Xue Yan farmed steadily, so when mid-lane teamfights erupted, he dished out solid damage.

Huayao’s Goddess fell to Lang Xian. Undeterred, he pinged: [Captain Lang, mad I teased your crush?]

Huayao’s fans lost it:

[Holy shit, Demon Bro, balls of steel]

[Calling out SK’s fanservice? Legend]

[Little demon, you’re done for]

[Huayao: Captain Lang, come gank me]

And sure enough, Lang Xian obliged, collapsing on him like a landslide.

During the team fight, Lang Xian ignored everyone else and charged straight at Huayao. The Goddess had explosive burst damage but zero self-preservation—she was fragile as glass, one hit and she was toast. Lang Xian was on Fist Lion with all that mobility, so the Goddess didn’t dare poke out from under the tower anymore.

[Shanghai SK Qingmo: Called?]

The ever-adaptable Huayao: [I don’t dare anymore, bro wuwuwu]

These two were friends off the stream—they even had each other’s contacts—and the netizens knew all about their love-hate dynamic. They piled on, mocking Huayao for walking right into his own doom.

Huayao’s presence made the match less of a bloodbath, almost harmonious by pro standards. SK took the win without breaking a sweat, then they queued up a few more games. By the time training wrapped up around seven, everyone was calling it a night.

Pro accounts didn’t accept random friend requests, which meant Yun Qi barely got any verification pings from streamers.

The youth trainees were still hanging around after the matches. Yun Qi had been playing from the seat next to Xue Yan’s. That rig had been gathering dust for ages, and the backup PC just didn’t feel right under his fingers. He’d underperformed a bit in those games.

But with teammates like these, even his soft support playstyle carried them to victory.

The second the matches ended, Lang Xian dragged Yun Qi away.

Yun Qi followed him outside the training room, utterly baffled, staring up at him in confusion. Lang Xian got straight to it. “Jiu Shuang mentioned this afternoon that they’re buying Danwan. You know about it?”

“I heard,” Yun Qi replied without playing coy. “I was right there when he said it.”

“The team’s probably going to go through with it,” Lang Xian said. “He’s worth the investment, after all.”

“I have no objections,” Yun Qi said simply. “It’s the team’s call.”

Lang Xian exhaled sharply. There wasn’t a hint of deception in Yun Qi’s eyes, which left him completely stumped. “Yun Qi, what do you even care about?”

He was a pro player whose spot was on the chopping block, yet here he stood, cool as ice, jumping into training matches like nothing was wrong. Lang Xian couldn’t read him at all. He needed to know what mattered to Yun Qi if he wanted to find a way in.

But those eyes gave nothing away—clear and serene, unruffled by anything or anyone.

This wasn’t what he’d expected when the team signed Yun Qi.

“I care about the matches. About winning and losing. About whether SK can take the championship.” Yun Qi tilted his head. “Shouldn’t I?”

“But it doesn’t seem like you do,” Lang Xian shot back. He stepped forward, crowding Yun Qi into the corner. “I have a say in whether Danwan joins. If you care about keeping your spot, show me some sincerity.”

Their breaths mingled as Lang Xian closed in. Yun Qi’s back pressed against the wall. Lang Xian loomed over him, his uneven exhales ghosting across Yun Qi’s nose. Yun Qi looked up, Xue Yan’s warning echoing in his mind. After a long moment under that intense stare, he finally spoke. “So what do you want me to do?”

Lang Xian seized his wrist and stepped even closer, guiding Yun Qi’s hand toward his waist. Yun Qi yanked it back with lightning reflexes, his expression sharp and wary. “Don’t.”

The refusal was so firm.

Lang Xian’s breathing grew ragged. “You have to give me something.”

“I know.” Yun Qi clutched his own wrist and lowered his gaze. “Just not that.”

“It’s the only thing I want.” Lang Xian laid it bare without shame. “I only want you.”

Yun Qi lifted his eyes, the elegant upturn of his phoenix gaze drawing Lang Xian in. His own reflection stared back from those depths—cold and distant. Lang Xian’s eyes burned red. “I don’t get it.”

In the empty hallway, Lang Xian’s gaze turned dark with desire, raw and insatiable.

“I don’t get why it has to be me, Captain Lang.” Yun Qi dropped the pretense. “Your account’s full of flirty admirers. Why fixate on me?”