Chapter 23: He Shouldn’t Be Here

He shouldn’t be here.

This event, fast becoming a tradition in the Esports Circle, had never once invited this major league legend. Even back at the peak of his fame, no one had ever spotted him at the Esports Night gala. So when Lang Xian laid eyes on the man, it felt like seeing a ghost.

Yu Jin hadn’t meant to barge in on anything scandalous either. Cameras recorded everything at Esports Night—who knew where some paparazzo might be lurking, waiting to snap incriminating shots? Any player showing up here had to know that. So what were these two playing at? Some kind of lovers’ quarrel?

Yu Jin’s sudden appearance left Lang Xian mortified. Whatever reaction he gave now would probably come off wrong. Over the years, he’d had zero direct dealings with this esports deity, let alone any bad blood. And now the guy was right in his face, forcing a confrontation—Lang Xian racked his brain but couldn’t recall ever crossing him.

The booze had gone straight to his head. Facing anyone else, Lang Xian wouldn’t have been so thrown. But this man? He couldn’t afford to offend him, not in background clout, raw power, or sheer popularity. SK simply couldn’t touch him.

After a quick mental calculus of risks and rewards, Lang Xian forced a smile. “My apologies, E God. I had no idea when our Support got scooped up by KRO… Did that even happen?”

Awkwardness laced his grin.

Yun Qi had never seen Lang Xian wear that look for anyone. The tough talk he’d thrown at Yun Qi moments ago suddenly rang hollow. He shot Lang Xian a glance, but his eyes stayed locked on Yu Jin by the table.

Yu Jin’s long fingers curled around his wineglass, the harsh liquor laced with nicotine. He stared down at the play of light and shadow on the glass, thumb tracing its rim. Impatience sharpened his voice. “Check it yourself. And try using your brain once you step outside. You know damn well there are cameras everywhere at this event. Nobody gives a shit what you lovers get up to in private, but this public stunt? You really think that’s charming?”

Lang Xian shot Yun Qi a long, hard look. Yun Qi ignored him, eyes glued to Yu Jin. Lang Xian figured this was someone best not to piss off—if he couldn’t schmooze a connection, the least he could do was avoid making an enemy. He grabbed Yun Qi’s hand. “Sorry about this. We’re leaving.”

Irritation flickered across Yu Jin’s face, his eyes under the hat’s brim turning stormy. “Didn’t I just remind you—which Esports Team does he play for now?”

Lang Xian’s grip slackened. Yun Qi yanked free and scooted aside. The message was crystal clear: I’m done with you, and I’m not going anywhere with you.

Lang Xian had been caught red-handed by Yu Jin. He’d daydreamed about this exact scenario for years—picturing a chance encounter where he’d charm the guy, maybe even build a useful tie. That’s why, publicly or otherwise, he’d never badmouthed him. Hell, he’d gone out of his way to praise the man, laying groundwork for an easy chat if they ever crossed paths offline. Fat chance of that now.

Eidis wasn’t just savage in matches; the man himself was ruthless. He couldn’t muster a single polite word. First meetings were for putting on a friendly face, right? Even an esports god had to keep up appearances.

But Lang Xian sensed no warmth from him—only a vague, inexplicable hostility. What the hell was that about? His mind spun, chasing answers that wouldn’t come.

A beat later, he glanced back. There was Yun Qi, head bowed to the floor, lashes quivering—an image so striking it looked clipped from a magazine. Maybe his own feelings had slapped a heavy filter on the kid, but right then, Yun Qi struck him as breathtakingly gorgeous.

Yeah. That had to be it.

He’d pegged the reason he was in the crosshairs.

Moments later, Lang Xian quit digging his own grave. He had other fish to fry—things to verify. “Fine. I won’t interrupt his chat with the new team.”

With that, he stormed off.

Yun Qi caught the sound of Lang Xian’s retreating footsteps. He brushed his shoulder, smoothed down his collar, then murmured, “Thanks.”

Yu Jin shoved his wineglass deeper onto the table. Wheeling around, he barked a curt order. “Over here.”

Yun Qi wavered, watching him stride off in a certain direction. He hadn’t realized there was room over there. His eyes flicked to the ashtray glasses on the table, then he trailed after Yu Jin, slow at first.

He followed through a deserted corridor into a room. Someone was already inside. Yun Qi lingered in the doorway, taking stock. The guy was hunched over his phone, deep in a game. Spotting them, he gave Yun Qi a puzzled once-over. Yu Jin brushed past and told him, “Beat it for now.”

So that’s where he’d been hiding all night—no wonder Yun Qi hadn’t seen him around. Yun Qi scanned the room, taking in the space where he hung out.

That man pocketed his phone, stood up, and said amiably, “Sure thing, bro.”

As he left, Yun Qi exchanged a glance with him at the door and gave a polite nod. The other man nodded back before grabbing his phone and hurrying out.

“Come in and shut the door.” Yu Jin had already settled onto the sofa.

Yun Qi entered the room on tiptoe and closed the door behind him. He stood in front of the sofa, a little unsure of himself, until Yu Jin tossed a document and a pen onto the table. “The contract,” he said. “Sign it.”

Yun Qi bent down to pick up the file. The signature line stared him right in the face. He hadn’t expected to finalize the transfer contract here and now, just the two of them. He’d assumed there would be meetings with a slew of executives and a battery of tests before he ever got this far.

Unprepared, he faced the transfer contract on the spot. He picked up the pen and wrote his real name in the signature space. Standing there as he signed, his posture was stiff and awkward.

Yu Jin watched him closely. That night, he’d been so aggressive—forcing the buyout, laying down his demands without flinching, his eyes gleaming with hidden intentions. Now he looked like an innocent lamb backed into a corner.

Seeing him scribble his name so quickly, Yu Jin reminded him, “Shouldn’t you read the contract first? Haven’t you jumped into enough pits already?”

Yun Qi set the signed contract back down and capped the pen. With utter sincerity, he said, “I accept whatever’s in it.”

Even if it screwed him over, he’d accept it.

He’d already promised: as long as Yu Jin bought him out, anything went.

Yu Jin studied that face. Yun Qi looked up, his gaze pure and untainted, brimming with fervent devotion. He laid his heart bare without reservation, every word screaming, “Do whatever you want with me—I’ll take it.”

It didn’t feel like him at all.

Yu Jin removed his cap, revealing his sharp features. He set the cap atop the contract and said, “Once it’s signed, pull out of your current esports team as fast as you can. Dump anything you can from your old setup. The club will handle all your new needs—from your account to your personal life. All you have to do is sever every messy tie with your old team over the next couple days and show up fresh for the new environment. Can you manage that?”

“Yes,” Yun Qi said.

His reply came swift and sure, even if he didn’t look quite ready to pivot that fast.

Yu Jin leaned back against the sofa, his scrutinizing gaze fixed on him. “Your transfer news will spread like wildfire soon, but you don’t respond to any of it. Ignore the online chatter. Get your head straight, make a strong first impression on the new team. Three days from now at the welcome event—if you flop, you’re on your own for the fallout.”

Yun Qi clasped his wrist and murmured obediently, “Mm.”

He had the look of a lamb awaiting the knife now. It was good, in a way—it showed his resolve to jump ship. But it wasn’t, because someone this compliant gave nothing away about the schemes brewing inside.

Yu Jin picked up the cap and rose to his feet, stepping right up to Yun Qi. He could sense the quickened breath, the faint quiver of those lashes. Gazing down at the thick, elegant fringe, Yu Jin warned in a low voice, “In esports, sucking is the cardinal sin. Don’t kid yourself that our connection will fast-track you to stardom. This is your one shot—remember that. KRO doesn’t carry dead weight.”

His breath was steady, mere inches away. Yun Qi could hear his own heart pounding out of control. Steel ing himself, he lifted his head to meet those peach-blossom eyes, so close after three long years.

Cool and detached, distant and aloof—no spark of the old warmth lingered. Yet Yun Qi felt no despair, no sorrow. He was simply, profoundly content, cherishing this moment of hearing Yu Jin’s breath up close.

“I’m no dead weight,” Yun Qi said, his voice soft but resolute. “I’ll make damn sure the new team gets their money’s worth.”

That confidence of his seemed to stir something competitive.

Yu Jin took it all in. A beat later, he plunked the cap onto Yun Qi’s head, pressing down lightly through the fabric with his fingertip. Leaning in close to his ear, he murmured, “You’d better.”

With that, he scooped up the contract, opened the door, and walked out.

Yun Qi stood motionless, listening to the sounds of departure until he was certain Yu Jin was gone. Only then did he reach up and lift the cap from his head with exquisite care, as if handling a priceless treasure. He let it brush his cheek, glide over his lips, then cradled it gently against his chest.

He really was just like a die-hard fan, wasn’t he?

Or maybe even more obsessive—hoarding everything his idol had touched, enshrining it like a relic.

If that was the case, had he finally succeeded at chasing his star?

But damn, he was intense.

Yu Jin, you’re so fierce.

So fierce that I almost forgot how meticulously you used to care for me back then—always so cautious around me, never once raising your voice, all because you were afraid of scaring me.

But that’s okay. I’ve grown up.

I’ve gone from being timid as a mouse to bold as a lionhearted warrior, charging headlong into love without a shred of fear, even knowing there’s a one percent chance you might retaliate against me.

Yun Qi stood by the window, gazing out at the rainy night, his thoughts drifting to the ex-lover who felt so tantalizingly close yet might as well have been at the ends of the earth.

Every breath he took, every icy glance he cast, was enough to ignite a thrill deep in Yun Qi’s heart.

It had been so long. So very long.

Never before had Yun Qi felt life so exhilarating, so utterly alive.

~~~

The feverish night reached its fever pitch amid the downpour.

In the center of the hall, beside the cake table, a man grabbed the microphone and announced that the banquet was officially underway.

Cheers erupted in response, heralding the night’s smooth kickoff. Tables in the middle of the hall were soon laden with fresh platters of food. The players settled into their seats, friends clustering together in tight groups, rubbing shoulders. At one table, a bunch of guys jostled playfully for spots, the popular winners stuck in the middle, glasses in hand as they laughed and urged their fawning peers from other teams to settle down. In that moment, the esports teams seemed to set aside their rivalries, treating one another like long-lost family—pulling each other into huddles, inseparable.

SK’s members sat with a team that had come from Chengdu, chatting amiably to show goodwill. Xue Yan nursed his drink now and then to keep up appearances, but after waiting forever, he still hadn’t caught sight of Yun Qi.

The hall was packed with people. Amid all those faces, bright outfits were few and far between, and the warm orange had vanished into the crowd. Finally, Xue Yan stood up and said he needed to step aside to make a call.

He dialed Yun Qi’s number. The phone rang for a bit with no answer—the hall was too noisy. Xue Yan’s face darkened as he tried again. This time, there was a response. Yun Qi picked up and said he was on his way.

Xue Yan waited right there, and sure enough, Yun Qi appeared moments later. Watching him approach, Xue Yan asked, “Where’d you come from?”

“Inside,” Yun Qi mumbled vaguely.

Xue Yan noticed the hat now clutched in his hand. Curious, he asked, “There’s space inside?”

“Yeah, this place is huge. You done looking around?”

Xue Yan shook his head. “I just poked around the hall. Didn’t know there was more space inside.”

Yun Qi headed back toward the hall. “We can check it out later.”

They returned to the table, where Yun Qi nodded in greeting to the folks from the other team. He set the black baseball cap on his lap and ate with exaggerated care, drawing comments from the others about how uptight he seemed, so stiff and formal.

“Too many people,” Yun Qi said with a smile, brushing it off. “I’m not used to it.”

They let it go. Moments later, someone grabbed the mic and proposed a toast. Everyone obliged, rising to their feet and lifting their glasses—or drinks if they had no booze. As the guy bellowed, “To esports!”, the crowd threw back their shots in unison.

Xue Yan hated drinking and planned to just fake it, but he noticed Yun Qi beside him raising a glass too. Yun Qi’s gaze was fixed somewhere distant, resolute as ever. He murmured, “To esports,” like he was steeling himself, then tilted his head back and downed the hard liquor in one go.

As glasses clinked back down and everyone resumed their seats…

No one noticed the tricky vantage point from the second floor, where one man lifted his glass in a private toast of scalding liquor to the teetotaler below.

Yu Jin leaned over the railing, his tall goblet brimming with vivid red wine. He watched the splash of vibrant color in the crowd below clutching that black hat, and downed his shot like a solemn vow.

In that moment, only one sensation filled him: a swelling arrogance.

“Thirty million to buy someone else’s boyfriend,” a puzzled voice said from behind him. “Fun?”

Yu Jin gripped the railing beneath his hands, his palms sliding along the cool metal, his voice low and gravelly. “Fun.”

The man chuckled, then reminded him, “He’s tangled up with his captain. The entire pro scene knows it.”

“You mean that waste of a captain from SK?”

The man behind him arched a brow. “Waste of a captain? You got something against Qingmo?”

Yu Jin snapped back to attention, tearing his gaze away from that eye-catching warm orange. He set his glass back on the table and casually picked up the lighter and cigarette lying there, lighting up. “Nothing against him.”

The man remained skeptical.

Yu Jin took the seat across from him. After his first drag, he asked, “Yangyang’s team hitting playoffs in July, right?”

The man crossed his arms in a guarded, old-school gesture. “Yeah. Losers’ bracket—their last challenge tournament this year.”

Smoke curled upward, wreathing his face in haze. Through the white mist, those features looked sharp… and unkind.

“Tell him to cripple SK,” Yu Jin said, his legs spread wide as he propped himself against the long table, tapping his pipe on the ashtray. “Then I’ll let him come back.”