Chapter 15

After securing an early-game advantage, Yun Qi’s team had essentially taken control of the jungle. The enemy jungler stood around in his own jungle in a daze, forced to watch as Shang calmly stole his Blue Buff away. His mentality shattered, and he started typing furiously:

[Even casual games match me with pros?]

[Who’s the enemy jungler? So savage?]

[No way it’s Liu Ying, holy crap.]

[Bro, stop messing with my jungle. Let me farm in peace, I beg you.]

[Bro, Shang bro, have mercy. I’m a streamer.]

Shang acted like he hadn’t heard a thing, completely absorbed in farming his jungle. Wang Chun was the one who responded.

[Wang Chun: Matching with us? Tough break for you.]

[Wang Chun: Be good. Next game.]

Doesn’t Eat Grass was bombarding the voice chat: “Brother Chun, who the hell did you rope in as jungler? Dude’s cracked, damn.”

“Brother Chun, take us along next game too.”

“I’ll play support for you.”

“Wild King Brother, notice me~”

“Wild King Brother, ever thought about going pro?”

“What do you think of DYJ?”

“Sour.” Yun Qi called out to him.

Doesn’t Eat Grass paused. “Huh?”

Yun Qi said, “Pipe down a bit.”

Just then, the bot lane shooter unmuted: “Top laner’s sour?”

Doesn’t Eat Grass let out a cheeky laugh. “Hey, what’s up, bro? Which pro legend are we talking to?”

The shooter fired back instead: “DYJ didn’t even crack top three this year.”

Doesn’t Eat Grass clicked his tongue. “Tch, DYJ’s been slumping this year, but they’ll bounce back to peak form next season.”

“Good luck with that.” The shooter’s words carried a pointed edge.

Doesn’t Eat Grass dove right into the debate with him. Their voices dominated the in-game chat, but they multitasked flawlessly, racking up impressive plays on their respective lanes without missing a beat.

Yun Qi shadowed Shang the entire match. On the interface panel, Shang’s mic indicator glowed steadily—meaning he could hear every word of the team chat. Yun Qi had no room to call anyone out; he was multitasking himself. Every so often, he’d glance at the panel and confirm Shang’s mic stayed on… but he never said a peep.

He rarely streamed and posted even less, so his voice wasn’t familiar to the average viewer—no one could ID the jungler from a single line. But Yun Qi? That voice had whispered in his ear a thousand times over. It never failed to rattle the doors of his heart.

The shooter and Doesn’t Eat Grass kept yapping away, and before long, the conversation swung to Yun Qi. The shooter took a stab at his identity. “SK Qiluo?”

Doesn’t Eat Grass jumped in first: “No secrets here—SK Qiluo.”

Wang Chun chimed in: “Oh, that guy.”

His tone dripped with subtext, like he was on the verge of spilling something but thought better of it.

The shooter wouldn’t let it drop: “Qiluo, eh? Qingmo’s boyfriend?”

Doesn’t Eat Grass tower-dived for a kill, pulling back from under the enemy defense tower with his skirt hem slightly smudged. A wet smacking sound came through his mic, like he was chewing gum. “Yup. Captain Lang’s feasting good, right?”

Almost every random who clocked Yun Qi in a pub dragged Lang Xian into it—or straight-up asked about their “thing.” SK’s marketing had done its job too well. No one bought that it was fake anymore. Even forced clarifications just fueled the rumors—they figured the team was covering.

Hell, the entire pro scene assumed Yun Qi and Lang Xian were a genuine item.

Yun Qi was at a loss. He was the one being marketed, the one trading flirty glances with Lang Xian in those videos. He couldn’t very well proclaim their innocence—the manager’s orders were clear: if anyone asked, don’t engage. Don’t deny outright. Keep it vague. That was the hook that kept everyone hooked.

Yun Qi itched to chime in, but those two were hogging the mic, and the topic had already veered off. Butting in now would just scream overcompensation.

He bit his lip. His fingers slowed on the keys.

Little Cherry Blossom trailed behind Shang and snagged a kill of her own. The announcer boomed with Shang’s triple kill. The battered Little Cherry Blossom stood amid the pile of corpses to recall when a Specter blinked out of nowhere—likely gunning for the scraps. But as a support, it lacked the damage. The second it showed, Shang flashed in, slapped a mark on it, and shredded it in moments.

“Quadra Kill!”

“ACE!”

The quadra and ace alerts blared one after another. As Yun Qi’s nerves settled, that long-silent mic finally crackled to life: “Where you recalling?”

Yun Qi flushed with embarrassment. He’d zoned out, lost track of the enemy support’s position. He’d figured the spot was safe and only shuffled into the nearby bush after the ping. With the enemy team wiped, he could’ve recalled right there—but his brain had flatlined.

Little Cherry Blossom’s dainty silhouette hunkered down in the bush, her health bar vanished. One poke and she’d be done for. But with no enemies left alive, the whole team could only watch with bloodshot eyes as she safely recalled.

“Bro, you’re way too cool!” Doesn’t Eat Grass hadn’t even joined the fight. Mid Laner Wang Chun had chipped away a bit, and the Shooter down in bot lane hadn’t come up either. Yun Qi’s Support had soaked up the most damage, while Shang dished out the heaviest hits. They’d taken on five enemies with just two and hadn’t lost a single one—whoever saw this skirmish would have to give them a big thumbs-up.

“Who the hell is this jungler? It can’t really be Liu Ying, can it?” Doesn’t Eat Grass was the only one still in the dark. He probed tentatively. “Little E God?”

Shang didn’t respond, and his two triple-queue teammates were probably stifling laughs.

Yun Qi respawned at full health in the Fountain. The enemy’s Second Tower was gone, so he rushed down to bot lane. Shang was already there, gearing up for the third team fight.

“Let me get in on this—wait for me!” Doesn’t Eat Grass ditched his tower and chased after them down bot. “Jungler, add me as a friend after. DYJ’s short on players.”

Shang ignored every single question, whether from his own teammates or the enemy’s frantic barrage. The skill gap between the two sides wasn’t huge—otherwise they wouldn’t have been matched together—but this jungler had straight-up one-versus-five potential. He had the opponents shaking in their boots, ruining their whole game experience, so they kept hounding him, desperate to unmask the mystery player.

[Little E God?]

[Lion King?]

[Pharaoh?]

[Chen Xia?]

[TTG Yaoyang?]

They rattled off name after name, pretty much covering the entire top ten junglers. Not one was right. Yun Qi eyed the list and thought, How could it be? They’re only guessing from the National Server rankings. They have no clue this guy dominates the Global Server leaderboards.

His own account had once topped the National Server, Korean Server, and EU Server charts. But after two years off the competitive scene, waves of new players had climbed the National Server ladder while his account gathered dust. It had vanished from the rankings entirely.

If they couldn’t even guess who he was, how could they dare to?

He’d gone completely off the grid. Most people figured he’d quit the scene altogether.

Doesn’t Eat Grass caught up. Two-versus-five was a lost cause, and five-versus-five gave them even less of a shot. This third team fight was the enemies’ last chance. Their jungler dove Yun Qi’s Shooter, but before they could celebrate, their own jungler dragged all five of them down with him.

“Insane, bro!”

“Bro, you gotta add me after!”

“Brother Chun, Brother Chun—let’s add him too.” Doesn’t Eat Grass was buzzing with excitement. Whether he was just hyping the mood or genuinely blown away by the jungler’s plays, no one could tell.

The five of them pushed into the enemy High Ground. Little Cherry Blossom never stuck with his Shooter—instead, he shadowed the jungler everywhere. The opponents were at their wits’ end.

[Is this Support double-queuing with your jungler?]

[Who’s your Little Cherry Blossom? What the fuck]

[Is your jungler pro too? Pros scrimming offline?]

[Shang, drop your name]

[Don’t push—give us a chance]

With the Nexus Crystal about to blow, the nonstop spam in chat showed just how desperate they were.

[Add friends, Shang]

The minion wave rolled into the tower. Yun Qi didn’t tap to push. The others took their time clicking away, while the enemies’ five grayed-out avatars could only watch helplessly as their Nexus Crystal shattered.

The game-end announcement boomed. The chatter in voice cut off abruptly. Yun Qi didn’t leave the lobby right away. Instead, he lingered on the results screen, staring at Shang’s hero portrait for a long, long time.

Everyone’s avatars were still lit up—some scrambling to add friends, others dissecting the game’s flaws. Yun Qi did nothing, ignoring even his own stats. He’d set his profile to stealth mode. After a moment’s hesitation, he clicked the portrait and pulled up the player’s info.

Yao Qi.

Total games: 136. Peak Match rating: 2400. That included Casual Games, so if this guy rarely played those, all 136 were Ranked or Peak Matches. Those were terrifying numbers. 2400 was pro-level, and you’d need near-perfect wins across 136 games to hit that peak score.

The flashing avatar showed a Maine Coon cat with a golden bell around its neck. Yun Qi zoomed in on the image, his expression softening. Doesn’t Eat Grass’s voice crackled through the headset: “Don’t sweat it—I’ll add this Shang… Fuck, friend request rejected.”

There was a big plus icon in the bottom right corner for adding friends, but players could toggle permissions. Clearly, this one had his locked down.

“This rating’s insane—just 136 games?” Doesn’t Eat Grass yelped. “This dude’s a beast. Even pros don’t pull numbers like that. 136 Peak Matches at 2400? Doesn’t make sense. Whose smurf is this?”

Yun Qi stayed on that profile screen for ages. This chance encounter had hit him out of nowhere. A smooth, one-sided stomp of a game had stirred a storm in his heart. After a long silence, he said, “Sour, I’m done playing.”

Doesn’t Eat Grass: “Huh? What’s up?”

Yun Qi: “Nothing. It’s late. Time to rest.”

Doesn’t Eat Grass said, “Alright, it is getting late. Get some rest. Swing by Chongqing sometime when you’re free.”

“Okay,” Yun Qi replied. “Logging off.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Yun Qi exited the game. A few friend requests had popped up in the backstage area. He tapped them open and saw they were from two players on the enemy team—the ones who’d been completely dominated in the match. Not his teammates.

Yun Qi hit reject. The automated reply fired off: “Sorry, not looking for teammates right now. Have fun gaming~”

With that, he logged out.

He’d planned to grind a few more matches, but suddenly he just couldn’t get back into it. Yun Qi grabbed his phone from the desk, pulled up his contacts, and stared at the starred number with the messaging app open. He bit his lower lip, propped his forehead on his hand, and agonized over it for ages before typing out: I’m not really with him…

His thumb hovered over send, but it felt utterly pointless.

He was the one who’d callously walked away all those years ago. And now he was the one scrambling to explain himself.

He was the one who’d agreed to play up the CP ship. And he was the one who now refused to own it.

Classic case of wanting it both ways.

You can’t have it all, Yun Qi. He’s not some needy cat that comes running when you crook your finger, or a loyal dog eager for a pat on the head. He’s not some disposable plaything you can beckon over and toss aside whenever you please. And he’s definitely not that nameless sidekick who stuck with you through endless days and nights in the internet cafe, his world filled with nothing but you.

He’s a top pro now.

He’s a god in this scene—one that countless players can only dream of approaching.

What makes you think he still gives a damn about you? That he cares if you’ve dated anyone, or if there’s someone warming your bed these days?

“Yun Qi.”

The voice from the doorway hit him like a bolt from the blue. Yun Qi jumped, looked up, and answered guiltily, “Yeah?”

Xue Yan frowned at him. “It’s past three in the morning. Why aren’t you in bed?”

Yun Qi rose slowly from his chair and powered down the computer.

He deleted the unsent message on his phone, too, then walked awkwardly to the door, shoving the device into his pocket. “…Heading to bed now.”

Perhaps because of that unexpected matchup, Yun Qi dreamed of that face again that night. In a space thick with sensual tension, a pair of slender legs bound in lace ribbons straddled his lap. Lithe arms wrapped around his neck as a voice purred, “How do I look in this cosplay?”

A hand slid out from beneath the skirt’s hem, tugging at the lace, fingertips slick and gleaming. The praise came without restraint: “Stunning. You’ve got your big brother completely wrapped around your finger.”

It was a dream. And it was once reality.