Yun Qi had thought his resolve was unshakable.
That illusion shattered when public opinion turned against him, painting him as the ungrateful traitor who bit the hand that fed him and burned bridges the moment he crossed the river.
He had hesitated over whether to expose Lang Xian’s dirty secrets—revelations that could derail a man’s entire future. The thirty-million transfer fee had been the final straw, crushing his lingering loyalty. Without that betrayal, Yun Qi might have kept circling around Lang Xian until he fully severed ties with SK.
But Lang Xian had gone too far, leaving Yun Qi with no reason to hold back. A mutual destruction where neither walked away unscathed—that had been his mindset on that fateful night.
After tracking down Yu Jin and bringing him back, Yun Qi had begun plotting in earnest. It had taken immense effort to gather all that evidence, but he was fortunate to have screenshots of his chats with Lang Xian. The other man had never suspected Yun Qi would go this far, so he’d let his guard down completely during their conversations.
Yun Qi had started preparing long before. The first time Lang Xian had groped him, a knot of unease had formed in his gut. He’d hoped those precautions would prove unnecessary, but fate had other plans.
At first, he hadn’t second-guessed himself. He’d done what he had to and owned the consequences. But lately, with so many voices condemning him—even Rong Rong starting to doubt him—Yun Qi’s ironclad determination began to crack.
He had no one to turn to for clarity on right and wrong. Then Yu Jin had sought him out. Yun Qi could never have imagined discussing his harassment with him. He hadn’t wanted Yu Jin to know about the constant fear he’d lived under at SK, or that someone had laid hands on him like that…
He’d never breathed a word to Yu Jin about Lang Xian. He’d even preferred that Yu Jin believe he and Lang Xian were truly a couple—that what happened on Esports Night had just been playful intimacy. Anything to keep Yu Jin from learning the truth about the harassment…
He’d always feared Yu Jin might read too much into it.
“You really think that?” Yun Qi leaned against the door, head bowed, his voice laced with uncertainty. “That I didn’t do anything wrong…”
“Of course you didn’t,” Yu Jin replied, turning to lean against the door as well. He gazed at the man wavering before him. “And it took real courage. Exposing scum like that is the most effective weapon. People fear what they value most. Your former captain loves his marketing stunts and public opinion games? Then let public opinion tear him apart. You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”
Right and wrong came down to his own judgment in the end—other people’s words were too muddled to trust. But Yun Qi could tell Yu Jin spoke from the heart.
“So… I really didn’t do wrong.” The knot in Yun Qi’s chest unraveled, most of the unease melting away.
“Who told you otherwise?” Yu Jin asked.
Yun Qi glanced at him and shook his head.
Yu Jin could guess he’d overheard something—either around the SK Base or online. Those were the only channels these days, and since Yun Qi rarely left his room, it wasn’t from anyone in person.
Yu Jin had his answer and let the matter drop.
They locked eyes in a silent standoff. Yu Jin made no move to leave. Yun Qi finally looked up and caught him staring intently. “Did you need something from me?” Yun Qi asked.
“Not anymore,” Yu Jin said.
Yun Qi blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”
What did “not anymore” even imply?
Yu Jin clearly had no intention of elaborating.
Yun Qi tilted his head, and Yu Jin simply watched him. Dusk had fallen outside, but the room light cast a warm glow. They stood there side by side, profiles to the door.
Yu Jin seemed even taller than before. Yun Qi’s first impression of him had included that striking height, and now, three years later, his presence was more commanding still—his frame more mature, his stature more imposing. Back then, even as he was still growing, he’d towered over his peers. Standing this close, Yun Qi always had to crane his neck to fully read the emotions in those eyes.
Yu Jin had tempered his edges over time. Fame hadn’t brought arrogance or restlessness; if anything, he’d grown steadier, more grounded. There was an indefinable allure to him now. Perhaps Yun Qi’s own perspective had shifted—from the brash, unrestrained fire he’d once adored in his youth to this quiet, steadfast strength.
He still remembered spotting him at the Grand Finals. He hadn’t needed to see his full face; his heart had recognized Yu Jin before his eyes could confirm it, pounding with unerring accuracy. Years later, the pull was stronger, more unruly. Even this wordless gaze was enough to set his pulse racing.
Yun Qi felt like his heart might leap from his chest.
Yu Jin offered no explanation for his visit, content to stare openly. Yun Qi couldn’t return the gaze so freely—not with the weight of guilt and obligation anchoring him. He kept his eyes lowered as he spoke. “How tall are you now, anyway?”
It was a ridiculous question, blurted out of nowhere.
He just wanted Yu Jin to say something—anything, even an accusation—rather than this oppressive silence. The quieter it got, the more scorching that gaze felt. Yun Qi wondered if it was his imagination, but Yu Jin’s eyes never once left him.
He didn’t know what the other man was looking at—perhaps he was enjoying the sight of him unable to lift his head in front of him? The ruthlessness Yun Qi had shown when he discarded Yu Jin was now matched by his own utter wretchedness, because every glance from Yu Jin felt like a leather whip, fiercely lashing at Yun Qi’s conscience.
“You asked me how tall I am without lifting your head to look at me?” Yu Jin stared at Yun Qi until he froze like a statue; the man in front of him kept his head bowed, as if he had committed some unforgivable sin.
Yun Qi glanced at him perfunctorily. He had heard that when you didn’t dare to look someone straight in the eye, you should stare at their forehead instead—it would boost your presence and confidence. Yun Qi tried focusing on Yu Jin’s forehead, but he quickly averted his gaze. Yu Jin’s stare was too piercing, leaving no room for him to regain any confidence in his presence.
“One meter eighty-six?” Yun Qi murmured in a daze, as if he hadn’t slept a wink, talking to the man without actually making eye contact.
“I don’t know—you measure it yourself.” Yu Jin said it with shameless authority. How could he not know his own height? He was purely toying with him.
Yun Qi clasped his hands together. The question felt too personal, and there was no way he was going over there to measure it. He turned his body slightly, facing Yu Jin with his side while propping himself against the doorframe to gaze at the bed inside the room. “How am I supposed to measure that…”
Yu Jin reached out. Yun Qi was facing sideways with his eyes lowered, so he didn’t notice the movement in time. Only when Yu Jin’s palm settled on top of his head did Yun Qi realize it; his grip on the doorframe tightened. At such close range, he could hear his own absurd heartbeat.
“One meter seventy-six,” Yu Jin said as he withdrew his hand. “You’ve grown two centimeters.”
He had used himself as a reference point to gauge Yun Qi’s height—and it was spot-on.
Yu Jin’s chest radiated heat. Back then, he had only been tall; now, it was clear he had been working out, with defined muscle lines visible even through his clothes, giving him a sharper silhouette. His outer shirt hung open, revealing a white undershirt that wasn’t sheer, yet Yun Qi somehow felt like he could see right through to what lay beneath.
“I asked you,” Yun Qi’s fingers dug into the doorframe, the color draining from his fingertips as his voice trembled involuntarily, “not for you to measure me…”
“Was that wrong?” Yu Jin’s gaze deepened as it landed on the flush at Yun Qi’s earlobe, his voice growing even lower. “I have my own scales in my heart—some things I won’t forget.”
Some things… What did he mean by that?
Was he just talking about height?
It didn’t sound like it. Maybe Yun Qi was overthinking it, consumed by his own guilt; he always felt like “some things” encompassed far more than that.
Yun Qi was pinned between Yu Jin’s chest and the doorframe, like a mouse cornered by a cat. He didn’t dare make any big movements or meet the cat’s fierce gaze; he could only pray silently for mercy—let him go, let him go. But the cat showed no mercy at all. He toyed with him, teased him; a single meow, a sigh, or a gesture was enough to send the timid mouse fleeing in panic.
Yun Qi was exactly like that mouse with its tail clamped tight—once as arrogant as could be in front of Yu Jin, now just as cautious and terrified.
“Bro.” At that moment, a shout rang out, like a savior charging through enemy lines to rescue the desperate little mouse. Ziwu stood a short distance away, phone in hand, and said to Yu Jin, “Lao Xun’s here.”
Only then did Yu Jin slowly withdraw his gaze and turn toward the hallway.
Yun Qi began gasping for breath without restraint; in that instant, it had felt like Yu Jin had stolen his very air. His heart pounded wildly—what kind of blunder might he have let slip if it had gone on any longer?
Thank goodness—thank goodness someone had come.
Just as Yun Qi thought the crisis had passed and lifted his head, he met a gaze that could only be described as razor-sharp.
Ziwu stood at the edge of the hallway, one hand in his pants pocket and the other spinning his phone nonstop. His scrutinizing eyes bored straight into the man by the door. Yun Qi met them for a moment before Ziwu turned and headed downstairs.
Yun Qi couldn’t make sense of that look, but it was no casual glance—it was deliberate, laced with amusement and probing intent.
As if to say on purpose: I’m staring at you abruptly so you’ll know I’m watching, scrutinizing you, keeping you off-balance.
Carrying his confusion, Yun Qi made his way to the stairs and spotted a man in a suit at the bottom. Yu Jin and Ziwu were talking to him. Yun Qi didn’t know who Lao Xun was; there were still many people and things in the esports team he hadn’t fully grasped yet.
Back in his room, Yun Qi closed the door.
He walked to the water kettle, poured himself a cup of tea, took out a pill, and held it to his lips. He stared at it for a while, but his mind was filled with Yu Jin’s face. He wouldn’t sleep well tonight.
Damn desires—he’d have to take care of it himself late into the night again.
He wanted to get close to Yu Jin, yet he couldn’t. His breath, his touch—anything could ignite Yun Qi’s desire. In that instant, Yun Qi felt like the most pitiful person in the world. Getting close to the one he liked only made things worse for him, and yet he was also the luckiest, because he was right there by his side.
Yun Qi swallowed the pill. He knew it was all an illusion, mere self-consolation and deception. If the medicine truly worked, he wouldn’t keep hurting himself every time.
The next morning, Yun Qi finally learned Lao Xun’s identity.
Lao Xun was the manager of KRO. He’d taken leave recently to be there for his wife’s delivery—her health had been an issue, and after two years of trying to conceive without success, they’d finally welcomed a baby girl. Beaming with joy, he’d stayed home for three months before returning.
Lao Xun had no objections to the recent personnel changes. He welcomed Yun Qi with open arms. He had the look of an upright gentleman. Though everyone called him Lao Xun, he wasn’t old at all—around thirty-five, probably. Freshly back from leave, he was dressed in a sharp suit, looking every bit the picture of formality and propriety.
“I got the heads-up even while I was at home,” Lao Xun said with a teasing grin. “They said the team had snagged a powerhouse. Does that mean Jiu Ke’s spot is on the line?” With Jiu Ke absent, Liu Ying chuckled and nodded.
“Yun Qi?” Lao Xun asked. “Should we start calling you by your real name from now on?”
“Either works,” Yun Qi replied. They shook hands in greeting, and Yun Qi found Lao Xun’s mature presence quite refreshing.
Lao Xun was a smooth talker, warming up to people instantly without a hint of awkwardness. “They called you a top laner powerhouse, so I pictured some cool type like Ziwu or Jiu Ke. But you’re so refined and handsome—a rare beauty. The contrast is off the charts.”
Yun Qi wasn’t sure how to respond. He shook Lao Xun’s hand and then stood there quietly.
From the side, Yu Jin added, “The team was tired of the same old faces. They brought you in for a bit of fresh decoration.”
