The night air after the rain hung heavy with damp chill. Esports Night had wrapped up peacefully, and the players were filing out the doors one by one, chatting and laughing as they swapped stories about the evening’s highlights.
Yun Qi’s spat with the guy could have been glossed over easily, brushed aside with his hasty exit. Yun Qi had never been one for drama; he simply ignored people who saw him through prejudiced lenses, treating them like so much empty air. But tonight—maybe it was that glass of brandy—an inexplicable surge of backbone welled up inside him, urging him to hash it out right there with the jerk in front of him.
The man picked up on Yun Qi’s resolve. Everything he knew about Yun Qi came from online rumors and scandals. Yun Qi had never really clapped back at the accusations lobbed his way, so the guy figured he was a soft touch behind closed doors. Besides, calling out someone who’d slept their way up was practically a public service, purifying the scene a bit. He had justice on his side, or so he thought. Chest puffed out, he sneered, “What, you proud of that? Selling yourself lets you stand tall and talk big now?”
With neither side yielding, the friend next to him panicked and grabbed his arm. “Come on, let’s go. Everyone’s coming out.”
“No worries,” the man shot back stubbornly. “I need to set him straight today. I don’t care if it blows up. And anyway, I’m just voicing what everyone here is thinking but too chicken to say.”
Yun Qi had a decent profile in the Esports Circle, built mostly on a steady stream of tabloid fodder. He made for good clickbait, after all. When he’d signed his contract, he’d more or less auctioned himself off—his whole persona was the team’s call.
Guys like him, hyped up on their looks, were few and far between. Esports players had a rep for being average at best; the grind and the lifestyle wrecked your body and face. Some teams ran boot camps with endless training sessions—guys glued to their seats all day, sleep schedules shot to hell, turning fit frames into dad bods. And honestly, looks didn’t matter in this game. Skill got you in; appearance was irrelevant. Talent scouting for hotshots was like sifting through gravel for gems. Slap some real ability on a pretty face, though, and boom—you were a star overnight.
Yun Qi knew exactly what his looks bought him, biases included. He didn’t sweat it or rage out. Instead, he fired back coolly: “Spot on. Maybe everyone’s got beef with me deep down. Big deal? If they keep it zipped, I play dumb. But you? You stick your neck out like the first bird on the branch. So let’s you and me sort this.”
“You mouth off that I’m a sellout—a straight-up personal attack with zero proof. I could drag you to court for slander. You swallow some hearsay and come charging like a tommy gun, no brain cells to tell what’s what. On the day the world ends, you’d probably still hug your enemies. Which Esports Team are you with? I’ve got time and fight in me to school you proper. Wanna take it offline?”
“None of your business which team,” the guy replied warily. “Trying to bait me?”
“Believe what you want. Too many faces tonight; I don’t remember yours. Drop your team name—I’ll binge your match vods later and check if I got you wrong.”
His buddy was sweating bullets now. Not only had the burn fallen flat, but if this escalated, they’d look like the assholes. He yanked the guy’s arm again. “Drop it. Place is emptying out.”
Sure enough, a crowd had gathered at the entrance.
The man gave Yun Qi a shove. Yun Qi stumbled but caught his balance, watching the pair bolt down the steps. The instigator kept whipping his head back, eyes burning with resentment. Yun Qi held his stare for a long moment before turning away.
SK’s crew was deep in conversation with folks from their table. Lang Xian stood smack in the middle of the group, oblivious to Yun Qi—his attention locked on whoever he was talking to. Yun Qi scanned the throng. He hadn’t spotted Yu Jin since that earlier moment.
Was he still around somewhere, or long gone? No way for Yun Qi to tell.
A lot had gone down tonight, but what stuck with him—what he kept circling back to—was that short contract-signing scene… and him, upstairs.
“Let’s bounce.” Xue Yan breezed past Yun Qi, phone dangling from his hand, tossing out a check-in: “Foot holding up?”
Yun Qi chucked his crumpled tissue in the trash. “Fine.”
Xue Yan glanced over his shoulder. “Captain Lang and the rest have some loose ends. Head to the car?”
“Brother Qiu knock back any drinks?”
“Nah, Brother Qiu’s on drive duty.”
“Right. Onward.”
The two of them returned to the car first. Xue Yan had gotten carried away chatting with people while Yun Qi was away and drank a bit too much. The moment he climbed back into the car, he collapsed into the seat, ready to pass out. Yun Qi let him sleep and kept quiet himself, watching the steady stream of people coming and going outside.
Tonight, everyone had been caught up in serious business, and word of his buyout hadn’t spread yet. What kind of storm would hit when they all woke up tomorrow? Yun Qi could pretty much picture it. He was used to this sort of thing by now. Whatever came his way—troops or floods—he’d meet it head-on with steel and earth. Nothing could shake his resolve to leave SK.
Yun Qi leaned against the car window, gazing out at the bustling scene, his mind gradually unwinding.
They pulled back into the SK Base around eleven at night.
Yueqiu had gotten the news already. He pulled Yun Qi aside into a room for a quiet word—no need to guess what about. Yun Qi confirmed he knew of the buyout, leaving Yueqiu with little else to say. He just told Yun Qi to make sure he said proper goodbyes to the team over the next few days.
Yun Qi stepped out of the room, and there was Lang Xian waiting right outside. He shot Lang Xian a single glance, with no intention of acknowledging him, and headed straight for his own room. Lang Xian trailed after him like a shadow. Yun Qi could hear the footsteps right behind him but didn’t bother shooing him away. He knew the guy wouldn’t let him off the hook tonight.
Once inside the room, Yun Qi made no effort to hide. He left the door wide open. This was Lang Xian’s second time stepping foot in here. Yun Qi shrugged off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and changed into slippers, acting as if Lang Xian weren’t even there.
“When did you hook up with Eidis?” Lang Xian finally lost his patience and demanded. “What the hell did you do?”
To outsiders, the whole thing sounded absurd. Yun Qi’s current track record didn’t come close to qualifying him to rub shoulders with someone like that. Lang Xian had racked his brain all evening without a clue. Hell, he couldn’t even pin down the timing. When exactly had the two of them crossed paths? He’d kept Yun Qi under such tight watch ever since he joined the team—aside from Xue Yan, the kid barely had any friends.
If they’d known each other before Yun Qi signed on, it made even less sense. With a connection like that, he would’ve jumped ship ages ago instead of holding out until things got this desperate. So yeah, they must’ve met after he joined the team.
“Tonight? Or that night you snuck out?” Lang Xian thought back to the evening a few days earlier when Yun Qi had vanished. “You went crawling to him, begged for help. Struck some kind of deal, right?”
Yun Qi replied lazily, “All you need to know is that our paths end here. You can’t control me anymore. That’s it.”
“You really think you can just walk away that easy?”
“If you actually had pull reaching that high up, sure, I couldn’t. But as far as I know, you don’t have any ties to KRO—no relatives in the mix, either. And tonight? You folded the second you saw him. Someone with real power like that wouldn’t have given him the time of day.”
The analysis hit too close to home, leaving Lang Xian at a temporary loss for words. He had to admit, his showing in front of Eidis tonight hadn’t exactly been commanding. It stemmed from respect for the guy’s skill and status—and yeah, he hadn’t anticipated crossing paths with a pro legend like that under those circumstances.
Plus, Eidis’s stare hadn’t been exactly welcoming, which had toned Lang Xian down a notch.
“So now you’ve latched onto a big shot and figure you’re invincible, huh? Don’t forget, I’ve still got dirt on you that you’d hate to see go public.” Lang Xian issued the reminder with a dark edge. The prize he’d been chasing was slipping right through his fingers—how could he not be desperate? He was, but he kept his cool, face impassive.
“You mean the thing with Zhang Zan?” Yun Qi took his time folding his clothes. A faint whiff of cologne lingered in the closet, soaked into the fabric. “True, I don’t want that getting out. But weighed against sticking around here to deal with your harassment and sabotage? I’d choose exposure in a heartbeat. Go ahead—blast it online. Fire up your fans for the opening salvo: me, the shameless seductress who lured the coach into bed. That’s right up your alley.”
With that, Yun Qi turned, gave Lang Xian’s chest a light pat, then stepped aside and dragged his suitcase out from beside the bed. He crouched down and started packing.
Lang Xian eyed his determined posture and knew there was no stopping him. All the pent-up frustration from the night boiled over, especially with Yun Qi’s outright dismissal. He dropped any pretense, sank to a crouch, seized Yun Qi’s wrist, and hissed under his breath, “I don’t know when you snagged Eidis, but don’t kid yourself—getting bought out by KRO isn’t some golden ticket. You know what KRO is? Top-tier domestic esports team. You could barely make a dent at SK. Their roster’s crawling with geniuses. You really think you’ll shine there and shoot straight to stardom?”
Yun Qi answered without haste, “That’s my business.”
Truth was, he had no idea how far he’d climb. He knew Eidis wouldn’t hand him success on a platter—the man could only offer this one shot at a team switch. Everything else? Professional ethics drew a hard line.
Yun Qi was far too calm, and that only made Lang Xian lose his composure. His attitude turned icy in an instant as he laid his cards on the table. “Yun Qi, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You can still back out now. I can talk to the bosses upstairs and get them to pull your profile from the exchange while negotiating with KRO. We can pretend none of this ever happened. But if you actually go to KRO, flunk the tryouts, and get booted? Don’t expect me to take you back.”
Yun Qi met his gaze steadily. Threats and concern warred in those dark eyes, all part of a fierce performance. “Captain Lang, I’ve already signed the contract. You can’t hold onto me.”
Lang Xian’s brow twitched, disbelief flashing across his face at the other man’s speed.
Yun Qi shoved his hand away and swept the clothes out of the cabinet. “Let the new guy have this room from now on. Your youth trainee—he’ll make the starting roster eventually, right? Save it for him. He’s such a fanboy.”
Yun Qi bit hard on the word “fanboy.” The door stood open, and Xue Yan wandered over, ready for bed. Spotting someone inside, he lingered in the doorway. “Yun Qi? You busy?”
Lang Xian caught Xue Yan’s voice and rose with a helpless sigh. Yun Qi brushed past him and stepped out to face Xue Yan squarely.
“Everything okay?” Xue Yan murmured, flicking his eyes toward Lang Xian—afraid the captain had roughed him up or worse.
“No problem,” Yun Qi replied. “What’s up?”
Xue Yan leaned in. “I just heard you’re leaving. KRO bought you out?”
“I was gonna tell you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I was so wrapped up in Esports Night today, I didn’t even check the exchange listings. Figured no team would bite at that price… But now the rumors are flying online. This is gonna explode, especially with your history with Captain Lang…”
“Relax. It’s done between us,” Yun Qi said. “Everyone saw it coming. That whole ‘relationship’ was just marketing hype. It’ll die off once I’m gone.”
“Not so sure. Your CP fans are obsessed right now. Things were red-hot just days ago. A sudden transfer like this? Trouble’s brewing.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve got a little gift ready,” Yun Qi said. “You’ll see it the day I leave. Don’t sweat it for me.”
Xue Yan eyed his secretive confidence, his own worry twisting into something more tangled. He couldn’t fathom Yun Qi’s play, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Going scorched earth?” Xue Yan warned. “You don’t have to burn every bridge. It’ll hurt you too.”
“I’m already as low as it gets,” Yun Qi said, his gaze an endless void. “From Zhang Zan to him, I haven’t had a peaceful day. Time to settle all the old scores and the new ones.”
Xue Yan opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn’t Yun Qi. Even as an outsider, Lang Xian’s pushy tactics sometimes grated on him—what could he really say? Yun Qi breaking free from this mess deserved cheers, not pleas to stay or second thoughts.
“Sigh,” Xue Yan relented. “Your call.”
~~~
By the next day, word of Yun Qi’s 30-million buyout had spread far and wide. Mindful of Yu Jin’s warning, he stayed off the internet—no posts, no clarifications, nothing. He simply bided his time, packing his things and staying ready to go.
Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia were stunned. They racked their brains but couldn’t grasp what made Yun Qi worth KRO’s high bid or what the team saw in him. That cutthroat squad, which chewed up prodigies without batting an eye—picking up a little support like him?
And his toxic online rep—hadn’t KRO’s manager seen it? Snagging a player like that was straight-up madness.
Yun Qi hadn’t logged on, but his teammates’ faces told the story. He steered clear of the training room altogether, waiting for the front office to wrap up the handover with KRO and give him the green light to leave. He kept to himself, ate alone, and retreated to his room. He tuned out Jiu Shuang and the others’ sporadic chatter about him.
“Thirty million’s insane enough, but a team actually went for it—KRO, of all teams. What the hell?” Jiu Shuang’s mind was overheating, still drawing a blank. “What’s KRO’s angle? Buying him for decoration?”
“All I know is a bunch of pro-level tech gods threw their hats in KRO’s ring and got zilch.” Chen Xia chimed in.
“Exactly. Yuanwei’s rotting in their reserve camp. How’s Yun Qi pulling a 30-million pickup?”
“Something’s off. Big time.”
“Weird as hell. What’re Brother Li and the managers saying?”
“What else is there to say? With a price that high, Brother Li was bound to step in. How many people in the scene can even hit ten million? The bosses upstairs wouldn’t hesitate for a second. Besides, his position in the team right now is pretty awkward. Thirty million? They’d be over the moon.”
“But look on the bright side. Even if Qiluo joins them, he might not snag a spot on the starting roster. With all those pros in KRO, what does he count for? He’d still be riding the bench. It’s pricey, sure, but let KRO buy themselves a lesson.”
“Is it really okay to trash-talk your own teammate like that?” Xue Yan said, displeasure clear in his voice. “You two—it’s just the last couple of days. No need to be so vicious about him, is there?”
The newcomer, Danwan, didn’t dare utter a word.
Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia clammed up too. The training room fell into a heavy, awkward silence.
Upstairs, Yun Qi was fretting over his luggage.
He didn’t own much clothing, but nearly a year living here meant he’d accumulated a fair bit of stuff. Now he had to figure out how to get it all over there—or even if he should bother.
The team had vehicles, but heading to a new esports team with his old squad driving him there would look bad. In the end, Yun Qi settled on booking a ride online. Thing was, he had no clue what his new digs would be like—how spacious, or whatever—so he waffled over what to pack.
If only he could peek at the room first.
Yun Qi mulled it over for ages before searching online for KRO members’ info, hoping some video might reveal their living setups. No such luck—the backgrounds in their highlight reels weren’t bedrooms. He was still stewing over it, thumb hovering to lock his phone, when a text pinged in.
【Send the address.】
His texts usually only snagged spam ads these days. It had been forever since a real person reached out that way. With tech being what it was, apps handled everything—friendships, even family chats. Yun Qi had half-forgotten how texting even worked. Staring at this message and the contact name, his heart skipped a beat.
Nerves hit him all at once. He dropped the pillow clutched in his other hand and opened WeChat, scrolling down to that long-dormant avatar with zero recent chatter.
He dithered forever, fingers trembling. The keyboard letters felt alien; he pecked them out agonizingly slow. Even after typing a brief message, he read it back a dozen times before daring to send.
【Are you picking me up?】
No emoji, just a question mark to play off his hope. He glued his eyes to the screen, heart pounding harder by the second. He craved a reply—yet dreaded it. The tension was tearing him apart.
No response came for what felt like eternity. Yun Qi’s unease swelled; that message was too loaded, too forward. He long-pressed to unsend, but it’d timed out. He bit his lip, forehead beading with anxious sweat.
He blasted off his address in a frenzy—three messages in a row. The huge block of text buried his earlier one. Out of sight, out of mind, he lied to himself. Crisis averted.
But just as he resigned himself to silence, two minutes later, his phone buzzed.
A fresh WeChat notification.
Short enough to roil his hard-won calm into a storm once more.
【On my way.】
