Chapter 9: He Was Right. SK Has Problems.

He was right. SK had problems.

Major problems.

Skill level was only one aspect of it. The biggest issue was internal team conflict. They could spout lies in front of the cameras, but no one could fool his eyes when it came to their gameplay.

Years ago, sitting side by side and playing the same game, the man had already revealed his exceptional insight. From a single match, he could dissect the opponents’ skill levels, team dynamics, strengths, and weaknesses. He had said that a mature team shouldn’t be riddled with holes like that. Right from the start, SK had exposed their lack of coordination with that counterjungle mishap. When Chen Xia tried to swap jungles, their team’s rotation speed couldn’t keep up—problems that ran deep in both teamwork and game sense.

He might not know about the discord within SK, but reflecting on those two games, Yun Qi himself could see the glaring flaws. Why could their opponents counterjungle as a unit, rotate back to defend without a second’s delay? Starting with an inferior lineup and still getting crushed like this—didn’t that scream issues with skill and synergy?

He was right. SK had serious problems.

But… why single out Lang Xian?

Yun Qi released his grip, his expression turning cold and distant, like a stranger exchanging polite chit-chat. “If we want to win, we need to clean up our team’s roster first. SK doesn’t belong on the pro stage looking like this.”

If anyone else had said it, the words might have come off as overly biased against SK. But from a veteran who had faced down hundreds of teams and fought his way through the global server, it was a damning verdict on the team itself.

Yun Qi felt a wave of shame—for himself, for his immature squad.

“Brother, I’m hungry…” The little boy’s soft, milky voice cut through the solemn judgment like an unexpected balm. Yun Qi lowered his eyes, his gaze drifting to the man’s waist, while the other man stared at his sharp, refined brows with a cold, lingering intensity.

A moment later, the man drew back his leg and turned to walk away in another direction. Each footstep echoed like a hammer blow on Yun Qi’s heart. When Yun Qi looked up again, he had vanished from view.

That suspended feeling in his chest still lingered. Then came the thunderous cheers from the arena ahead—the victors soaking up the crowd’s adoration while the losers sulked in self-pity back in the rest room.

Yun Qi made his way back to the rest room. He had barely pushed open the door when a steel pen hurtled straight at him. Bang! Ink splattered across the pristine white wall as the shattered pen clattered to the floor, missing his forehead by a fist’s width. Still reeling, Yun Qi traced the projectile’s path to its source: Chen Xia, who was usually so quiet.

Chen Xia’s chest heaved with rage as he roared, “I’ve never played a more frustrating game in my life! Ganked right out the gate, jungle collapsed—and now you’re questioning what I was doing? Out for a stroll, that satisfy you?!”

With that, he ripped off his team uniform and slammed it to the ground. He turned to the coach. “One word, coach. I won’t take this anymore. Put me on the board or ship me off to the exchange. We’re done going forward!”

Still in his thin undershirt, Chen Xia stormed out. In that charged moment, Yun Qi could instantly grasp what argument had just exploded. He saw Jiu Shuang kick the table, his lips moving as if muttering to himself without a sound—he knew exactly what had sparked the fight.

Jiu Shuang had a abrasive personality—straightforward if you were kind about it, emotionally tone-deaf if you weren’t. He celebrated wins louder than anyone and stewed in defeat harder than anyone. Perhaps because his skill outshone the rest of the team, he was always quick to point fingers and bark orders. Even back in youth training, the program leads had pulled him aside multiple times over it. He’d reined it in somewhat since then, but in the heat of the moment, old habits resurfaced.

He and Chen Xia usually got along great, never clashing through match after match. This time, it wasn’t personal. KRO’s sheer dominance had sown seeds of self-doubt in everyone. That sensation of utter helplessness clung like a nightmare. Who among the winners wasn’t brimming with pride? Jiu Shuang had been one step away from being the most prized mid laner in the league, storming through to the Grand Finals—only to crumble here. His spirit had shattered long ago.

Post-match blowups used to plague other esports teams. Now the backlash had hit SK. He was right—SK’s current state meant they could handle victory but not defeat. That mentality had no place on the professional stage.

Yun Qi walked over, bent down to pick up Chen Xia’s discarded team uniform, brushed off the dust, and set it neatly on the table. But the simple gesture set off Jiu Shuang, who was slumped nearby. He snatched it up and flung it back at him. Yun Qi hadn’t caught it firmly, and it hit the floor again.

“Why bother picking it up!” Jiu Shuang snapped, fuming.

Lang Xian, Xue Yan, and even the coach were all sitting off to one side. At that moment, the Team Captain—the man in charge of the team—should have been the one to speak up, but he stayed silent, letting the team’s internal conflicts fester and grow. The sight suddenly reminded Yun Qi of a certain phrase: “SK won’t last.”

He picked up his clothes again. Jiu Shuang moved to toss them aside once more, but this time Yun Qi clutched them tightly in his fist. Jiu Shuang looked up and locked eyes with Yun Qi’s gaze—unyieldingly determined. In that look, Jiu Shuang caught a spark of defiance. He sprang to his feet. “You really want to pick a fight with me, huh?”

Yun Qi shoved the clothes into the desk drawer.

He didn’t spare Jiu Shuang a glance as he pushed open the door and headed out. “I’m going to find Chen Xia. Coach, pack your things.”

The coach’s face was thunderous. He waved a hand dismissively, in no mood to talk.

By the time the group slunk back to the van, no one dared break the heavy silence. Yun Qi had tracked down Chen Xia but kept it brief—just said they were heading out and to save any ideas for back at base. He knew Chen Xia couldn’t stand him, harbored a laundry list of grudges. No way was he going to throw himself at a guy who treated him like yesterday’s trash. Yun Qi wasn’t that pathetic.

Once they piled into the van, the atmosphere plunged to subzero. The drive back was a long one; they could’ve caught some shut-eye, but their minds were too tangled in knots to relax.

The minivan rumbled all the way back to SK Base. Tempers had cooled a little by then, and the coach finally spoke up, telling Yueqiu to whip up something nice. “Give everyone the next couple days off to unwind. No training schedules.”

Yueqiu had heard about the disaster at the arena. He shot a cautious glance at the group. They climbed out in silence, shuffling off to their rooms and slamming the doors behind them. That was probably the vibe for the foreseeable future.

“This is a mess…” Yueqiu said to Yun Qi, whose expression looked the least stormy. “One match, and it blows up like this?”

Yun Qi watched the retreating backs of Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia. “They’ll sort it out on their own.”

Yueqiu let out a sigh. “I’ll make something good for lunch. Help everyone chill out.”

“Mm, thanks,” Yun Qi replied. He wasn’t about to stage a hunger strike over it. For whatever reason, he always seemed a step ahead of the others when it came to seeing these things clearly.

Back at base, everyone took their meals in their rooms—everyone except Yun Qi. He lingered in the Training Room, not gaming, just staring blankly at the screen.

After stewing for a while, Xue Yan was the first to shake off his gloom. He wandered into the Training Room and found Yun Qi lost in thought. “What’re you up to?”

Yun Qi sat up straight and tapped his screen to wake the computer from sleep. “Nothing,” he said mildly.

Xue Yan dropped into the seat beside him, face etched with defeat. “I can’t even go online right now. No clue how to face the fans. You? You’ve got the biggest following—bet the pressure’s crushing you.”

Yun Qi’s marketing game was flawless: play up the looks, play up the connections. It was enough to set the internet ablaze. Xue Yan still remembered Yun Qi’s first day as a youth trainee at SK. Everyone’s jaws had dropped; they were all buzzing about how delicately pretty the new guy was. And he was—pretty enough to make their coach fall head over heels on sight.

Morals be damned.

“I’m okay,” Yun Qi said. “We lost, and word’ll spread even if I stay quiet. If I don’t say anything, the fans will just fret themselves sick. They feel sorrier for us than we do ourselves, so yeah, I’ll stream—but not today.”

“You’re good to them,” Xue Yan said. “Real fan service.”

Yun Qi smiled faintly. Xue Yan peered at his screen. “What’s that?”

“Replay of today’s match,” Yun Qi said. “Figured I’d take a look.”

“I can’t even stomach it. KRO was unreal,” Xue Yan groaned. “Those guys aren’t human. Liu Ying especially—that Andre of his… He straight-up owned Crow Dog. Little E God earned his rep.”

Even thinking about those two matches made Xue Yan flinch. Liu Ying had been their personal nightmare, the kind that’d linger in their nerves for days.

“Ugh, nope,” Xue Yan said, averting his eyes after a quick peek. “Not ready for that yet.”

Yun Qi powered down the computer. “Then we won’t. Not feeling it anyway.”

Post-match reviews were routine, but Yun Qi’s head wasn’t in it. He closed everything out and chatted idly with Xue Yan about the day’s fallout.

That evening, Yun Qi showered in the bathroom.

He stood under the spray, but the images that had haunted him all day refused to fade. They kept his nerves on edge, every sensitive fiber alive. He couldn’t shake those sexy fingertips, that sudden sharp profile, the hallway encounter, the bold nudge of his shoe, the instant his fingers brushed the chest badge—and the wild inner tempest that had surged through him.

He was more mature than before, more aloof, and even more charismatic.

He was so perfect, so utterly captivating. What you can’t have is always the best; what leaves you becomes the one you love most. This was heaven’s punishment for Yun Qi. He regretted sending that breakup text. He regretted wishing him a good partner, noble heirs, and a normal, happy life.

He couldn’t accept him getting married. He couldn’t accept him having a child. He couldn’t accept anyone else by his side. Deep down, he was selfish and despicable to the extreme—the more restrained he seemed on the surface, the more wildly fervent he burned inside.

“Mm…” His slick fingers finally stilled their frenzy. Yun Qi pressed his forehead against the wall as the showerhead rinsed away the sticky evidence trailing down his legs.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Yun Qi’s hair was still dripping wet. He’d given it a cursory towel-dry, but the instant he stepped out, he ran straight into the man who’d been waiting patiently at the door.

Lang Xian’s expression was stony, as if he’d been standing there for ages.

Yun Qi wore nothing but a bathrobe, the white fabric ending high on his thighs. His skin glowed with a tender flush from the hot water. Lang Xian said not a word. In a haze like a drunkard lost to the bottle, he pinned Yun Qi against the wall and dropped to a squat right in front of him.

He seized those slick thighs, pressing his cheek to the yielding flesh. A shiver of electric thrill raced through him. Yun Qi glanced down, and just as the other man leaned in for more, he raised his knee in warning. “This is the hallway.”

Lang Xian barked a sardonic laugh. “Having a good time all by yourself in there?”

Yun Qi flushed as if caught red-handed, heat crawling up to his ears.

“So fragrant,” Lang Xian murmured in a lovesick daze, rising slowly to his feet. His palm cupped the heated flush behind Yun Qi’s ear with exquisite gentleness. Feeling that feverish skin, he leaned in close and whispered, “Just like after you’ve been thoroughly fucked.”

Yun Qi turned his head away. The hallway lay silent around them—far too tempting for madness.

“Do you remember how Zhang Zan got himself kicked out?”

The name sent a jolt through Yun Qi’s heart.

Zhang Zan, their former coach.

“Right now, I want to do exactly what he did,” Lang Xian said, inhaling that heady, uncontainable fragrance. His eyes curved into delighted crescents. “Pry open your door lock in the dead of night, clamp a hand over your mouth, and lick you clean from head to toe.”

“Only then will you understand just how patient I’ve been with you.”