Chapter 10

The defeat in the match had left everyone nursing a smoldering rage in their hearts, but Lang Xian’s anger couldn’t be pinned on the lost game. Yun Qi already had a clear sense of the kind of man he was—what he was capable of.

He felt no shock whatsoever at Lang Xian’s words or actions in that moment. That utter indifference cut deep into Lang Xian’s pride, more harshly than the self-indulgence in the bathroom; his expression held less warmth than he’d show a stray dog.

Yun Qi lifted his eyelids, bestowing a cursory glance on the man who’d lost his mind in the night. Lang Xian was handsome enough—a one-night stand wouldn’t be any great loss. Yet Yun Qi felt no spark of desire for him. “If that’s what you want, who could stop you?”

Lang Xian didn’t get it. Yun Qi pulled his bathrobe tighter around himself and spoke with deliberate calm. “But Captain, I’m not worth nearly as much as you. It might be a shame for my career to end right here, but not for yours. You’re the hottest Top Laner on the market right now. Wouldn’t it be a waste to throw it all away before you’ve even started?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, just laying out the stakes,” Yun Qi replied, his eyes clear and guileless. “If you’re still up for it after that, I won’t object. I’m not exactly pure down there anyway.”

Lang Xian froze in place. He hadn’t expected such brazen honesty. He dropped his gaze, tracing the curve of Yun Qi’s waist. Everything enticing lay hidden beneath the bathrobe—flawless skin and a lithe frame that suited a man perfectly. How had he been made so flawlessly?

“Figured it out yet?” Yun Qi crossed his arms. “I’m freezing here.” He had no intention of indulging this madness any longer.

Just when Yun Qi thought Lang Xian might back off, the man’s hand suddenly rose, slipping toward the hem of the bathrobe. Yun Qi blocked it on instinct, but Lang Xian seized his arm. The panic flashing across that delicate face drew a smile from him.

“What, getting nervous?” Lang Xian’s lips curved. “Not clean down there anymore, but I can’t even touch?”

He threw Yun Qi’s own reaction back in his face. It was time to put this overconfident fool in his place—someone who dared think he could hold the upper hand.

Yun Qi shot him a cold glare, but his ears remained flushed pink, a rosy flush spreading across his collarbone and neck. The chill in his eyes rang hollow, both comical and alluring.

“You really think that scares me? That it’ll work?” Lang Xian’s fingers brushed Yun Qi’s cheek with cruel gentleness. “Forget whether losing to KRO kills my shot at being the top Top Laner. Just consider how many times I’ve let you off the hook—you should know you’re special to me. I don’t have limits. I’ve hooked up with fans, after all. You think I’d hold back with you?”

Yun Qi shoved at him. Lang Xian clamped down on his hand, toying with it. “Qi Qi, I’m serious about you. Haven’t you figured that out? I could’ve booted you ages ago otherwise.”

He guided Yun Qi’s hand to his own face, his gaze brimming with feigned devotion. “But you insist on chasing pipe dreams, so I’ll wait. Wait until you see that the one who drives you wild won’t spare you a glance—might not even know you exist. Then you’ll realize who you should be fantasizing about in your private moments. How patient have I been? How much do I love you?”

In that instant, Lang Xian clung like some inescapable parasite. Revulsion churned in Yun Qi’s gut, but he couldn’t break free. He tilted his head back defiantly. “I like Eidis. I think of him when I come. I’d rather he never knows I exist than get tangled up with you.”

With a fierce push, he broke away, eyes reddened. “Captain Lang, my fantasies are delusional, but you’re not far off.”

He clutched his bathrobe and stormed off.

Lang Xian’s face darkened as he watched Yun Qi’s retreating back—fleeing in panic, slamming the door in fury. The sight filled him with vicious pleasure, a twisted sense of fulfillment.

He loved Yun Qi’s haughty demeanor, but those glimpses of vulnerability in his eyes? Those thrilled him even more.

Back in his room, Yun Qi’s damp hair dripped steadily. The mirror threw back a face twisted with turmoil. Staring around the room, an indelible memory surged up.

That humiliating night. The intruder at the foot of his bed. The slick touch he could never shake. His coach, hand clamped over his mouth amid the chaos, dragging a scorching tongue along his ankle.

And the captain who’d swooped in to “save” him—the Lang Xian he’d clutched at like a lifeline in that desperate moment. Only now did Yun Qi see he was no better than that vile coach.

All he wanted was to game in peace. Why was that so damn hard? Why was SK crawling with creeps and lowlifes? Had he picked the wrong team from the start? Was he the only one suffering like this, or did every player endure the same hell?

Yun Qi’s mind raced in that moment, consumed by profound self-doubt. He reflected back to his days as a youth trainee, to his arrival at the SK Base, to meeting his teammates and coach—had he slipped up anywhere along the way? Had he said anything out of line? The harassment from his own coach and captain left him feeling utterly helpless and humiliated.

He collapsed onto the bed, droplets from his damp hair soaking into the sheets. He turned the thoughts over and over in his mind, like a silkworm weaving its cocoon. Moments later, his reflections veered in another direction, and that face surfaced unbidden once more. Yun Qi cracked his eyes open.

“Eidis…” he whispered the name, his expression fracturing like fleeting light across water. “Eidis.”

He had no idea what he wanted to say, but murmuring it aloud filled him with a spark of hope.

The next morning, the fallout from the defeat continued to boil over.

SK had been brutally dismantled by KRO, shattering the fans’ fragile hearts with this harsh reality. Overnight, the team’s official account had been deluged with messages.

Netizens piled on the mockery, streamers raised doubts, and fans offered explanations laced with pity—all unfolding simultaneously. The manager advised everyone to lay low for the time being. Streams would pick up later, but no one felt like going live.

Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia seemed oblivious to the drama. Yun Qi rose early and found the pair patched up, sharing breakfast side by side.

Nothing new there. Yun Qi made his way to his station.

Just as he was logging in, Xue Yan asked, “You streaming today?”

Yun Qi replied, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Xue Yan stood across from him. “You check the team account? It’s been overrun by haters. KRO fans are steering the narrative hard. Going live now is asking for it. Manager just said to dodge the spotlight for a couple days.”

“It’s not about that. Schedule says today’s stream day. Skipping it looks guilty. Pros win some, lose some—it’s normal.” Yun Qi slipped on his headset, ready to hit go live.

Xue Yan couldn’t dissuade him and let it go. They did need someone holding the line on public opinion. SK’s earlier arrogance had rubbed plenty of other esports teams the wrong way. Veteran squads had fallen to them, and with SK dominating all season, their fans hadn’t held back either, alienating even more people. A crushing loss to KRO now? Everyone was primed to gloat.

The team account was a lost cause. Yun Qi, the squad’s top draw, was under extra fire from messy scandal rumors, making him a risky pick—but his popularity made him ideal.

He logged in, and the platform’s push lit up the streaming room in seconds. Before he could utter a word, the bullet screen erupted with topics scrolling at breakneck speed.

[Qibao’s here!]

[Wait, Qibao? How you got the guts to stream?]

[Shanghai SK Qiluo? Yup, right room—platform reads my mind.]

[Hot on the news, don’t follow esports, just lurking.]

[This the team KRO demolished so bad we had to look away?]

Yun Qi scanned the frenzy and offered his trademark professional smile to the camera. “Bit early start today. Morning, everyone.”

[Wuuu baby morning~]

[I’m not okay—SK diehard crying buckets]

Yun Qi hadn’t realized the extent until fans clued him in: a trending topic called “SK Fans Cried.”

The hashtag had exploded post-match, rocketing to Rank One overnight—a national embarrassment.

Yun Qi soothed them. “Wins and losses are part of the game. Pros face setbacks—it’s inevitable. Don’t take it too hard, and don’t sweat SK. We’re grinding training. Catch you next season.”

He settled into the stream with a clear head, but the netizens weren’t buying.

[Losing to KRO? Not on you.]

[Fans’ll adjust. Every domestic team’s eaten an L to KRO. First time this ugly tho lol]

[SK wasn’t untouchable? That TKG beatdown energy where? KRO turned you inside out.]

[SK’s all fan service stans. Esports simping over looks—dead.]

[Glad I bet KRO from jump. Real fans never let down.]

Yun Qi watched the bullet screen veer into uglier territory.

[Endless CP hype—SK ops got issues. Real competition? Crumble.]

[Props to Luo Shen for even streaming. Snowman plays were a joke. No counterjungle with Chen Xia to hold the jungle? Good luck. Map awareness worse than mine.]

[Pfft, ops from a BL baiter? Starting roster’s all pretty face.]

[Why stick to soft support? You gay fr?]

Yun Qi scrolled through all these bullet screens. He read them as if they were someone else’s drama, his face showing no change from the calm indifference he’d had when he first went live. The netizens were stomping their feet in frustration, while that very face of his—the spark of all the controversy—stared innocently back at the doubters through the camera lens.

[Speak up.]

[Why aren’t you talking?]

[You know damn well you don’t deserve that spot. Too scared to respond?]

[Pat pat Qibao. Don’t feel bad—we fans still support you.]

[Some people are just ridiculous. He earned his starting roster spot with real skill. You think you know better than the pro coaches?]

[And what’s wrong with soft support? Does he play badly? If you’re so great, you do it.]

[Your Brother Shang is back. Newsflash: if my fridge stops cooling, I get to complain. He crushes soft support—want me to play your words back? He’s not even top ten in Peak.]

[The support role’s always the hardest to judge. Do you people even get it?]

The stream was a total warzone, but Yun Qi stayed completely unfazed. After the endless bickering dragged on, his voice came out steady and even: “Thank you all for caring about SK. We lost the match, but we didn’t lose our fighting spirit. SK will face everyone on the stage in even better form down the road.”

His polished words nearly convinced everyone in the training room.

[SK’s fine without haters worrying. See you next season on the field, Qibao! It’s all good—wins and losses are part of the game!]

[Sounds perfect. So why aren’t the other SK guys showing their faces?]

[Breaking: KRO’s gone live, and E God is making an appearance!]

[Holy shit!!!]

[Catch you later—gotta go for now, will be back to roast you.]

This bombshell announcement instantly gutted half the viewers. Eidis never streamed—fans only caught glimpses of him live at events. And with this esports legend vanishing from the public eye for the past two years, the news hit like a nuke.

[E God??? No way, Qibao—wall-climbing for a sec, brb.]

[Didn’t Eidis swear off streaming? Why’s he suddenly showing up?]

[Don’t just sit there—go grab screenshots!]

[Beauty stans, ditch this for E God. Esports top, you know the vibe.]

In a flash, half the audience bailed, the haters evaporating without a trace. Only a handful of die-hard fans stuck around.

[Doesn’t matter who’s coming—I stan Qibao forever.]

[But I’m curious. Didn’t they say E God hit the pro scene? Qiluo, you see him yesterday?]

[I didn’t. Baby, did you? E God really ghosts his fans.]

[His fan count is terrifying. Even my fave stans him. True esports god.]

[E God is so hot. Luo Luo, you see him? Handsome irl too?]

[Upstairs sis, heads up: Luo Luo doesn’t like chatting about others~]

Right then, Yun Qi’s voice drifted down softly: “I saw him.”

He lightly adjusted the camera angle on his screen. His gaze softened noticeably, his tone dipping unconsciously, almost dissolving into the air: “He’s always been handsome.”