There was no word from Doesn’t Eat Grass’s side.
Yun Qi hadn’t been keeping tabs on his activity and had already booked the room to wait for him. Moments later, Doesn’t Eat Grass entered.
He initiated a voice call and said, “No way, bro—you’ve only practiced three games and you already dare to 1v1 me?”
Yun Qi smiled and replied, “Just give it a try.”
Doesn’t Eat Grass said, “You’re something else. What were you even thinking? Huh? Want me to pick Little Cherry Blossom against you instead?”
“It’s open,” Yun Qi replied, ignoring his tangent. “Hurry up and ready.”
Doesn’t Eat Grass leisurely clicked ready.
The two entered the match. As Yun Qi had instructed, they both selected Fist Lion. Doesn’t Eat Grass was still distracted on voice chat: “How have you been lately? Doing okay at KRO?”
“Fine,” Yun Qi said in a low voice.
“I haven’t hit you up these past couple days. Been online at all? You’ve been blowing up online lately. Lang Xian’s public enemy number one right now—all because of that video you leaked.” Doesn’t Eat Grass had long suspected something shady between the two and never bought into them being a real couple, so he wasn’t surprised at all when Lang Xian got exposed.
“And you haven’t been showing your face lately either. Does KRO control you guys that strictly—no internet allowed?”
“No,” Yun Qi replied. “I just got here. They have to re-evaluate me, so I need to focus purely on practice. I won’t be using any of my old accounts anymore, and don’t message the old ones either.”
“You’re ditching that Qiluo account too?”
“Yeah.”
“So what are you using now?”
“Nothing.”
Doesn’t Eat Grass caught his drift and hesitantly asked, “You starting over from the Youth Training program?”
“Pretty much.”
“Got it—same as Yuanwei.” Doesn’t Eat Grass’s teammate Yuanwei had been DYJ’s ace Jungler before transferring to KRO. He’d apparently started from Youth Training too and still hadn’t made the Starting Roster—no one knew what spot he was at now.
“So, you running into Yuanwei at all these days?” Doesn’t Eat Grass fished for details on his old teammate.
“Haven’t seen him,” Yun Qi said. “I haven’t spotted him. He’s probably upstairs somewhere.”
Doesn’t Eat Grass snorted. “Traitor. Nothing good to say about that.”
There were all sorts of rumors about why Yuanwei transferred. With his performance back then, he could’ve easily led DYJ into the Grand Finals, but right before the season kicked off, he suddenly demanded out. DYJ lost their ace Jungler; the substitutes who couldn’t fully replace Yuanwei were forced into the starting spots. His departure hit DYJ like a ton of bricks—everyone was stunned—and they got knocked out in the fourth round of group stage this year.
No one understood his stubborn exit even now. Sure, people climb to better places, and picking KRO was fair game, but jumping ship right before matches started showed total disregard for his old team. On top of that, after joining KRO, he’d gone completely radio silent—not even a single appearance—as if he’d vanished from the industry altogether. It was nothing like the ace Jungler hype he got at DYJ. Naturally, everyone was dying to know the real reason he left.
Yun Qi was curious too, but only for a few seconds. He never fixated his attention on others like that. He could’ve easily asked Doesn’t Eat Grass for the inside scoop on Yuanwei’s departure right then, but he didn’t.
Where someone chooses to go is their own business. Knowing the choices of irrelevant people brought him no benefit either way.
Doesn’t Eat Grass kept ranting about Yuanwei. Yun Qi didn’t know the backstory or Yuanwei himself, so he had nothing to add. He just reminded the fired-up Doesn’t Eat Grass on voice chat: “Focus up. Here I come.”
The two kept dragging their feet. Yun Qi had to endure the full rant from Doesn’t Eat Grass before getting serious with his controls and starting to trade with him in lane. But his opponent wasn’t paying attention at all—mumbling complaints while fumbling his inputs—and ended up getting aggressively dove and outplayed to death. The nonstop chatterer Doesn’t Eat Grass finally froze: “Huh?!”
Yun Qi reminded him on voice chat: “Waiting for your respawn.”
No matter what, Doesn’t Eat Grass was still a pro Top Laner, and Fist Lion was his strongest hero. Even distracted, he shouldn’t die to careless play—Fist Lion had tanky health and massive burst; deleting squishies took just one gap-close, but Fist Lion versus Fist Lion, getting bursted was no easy feat. He pulled up the panel to check his opponent’s build—it matched his exactly—and grew even more baffled: “What the hell? Same gear? You’re running my build, right?”
“Yeah,” Yun Qi said. “You’re the pro, after all.”
“Then how’d I die?” Doesn’t Eat Grass buckled down. “Rematch, rematch—I’m coming in.”
The two moved into their second round.
They cleared out the minion wave, gear identical and levels even—it was pure mechanical showdown. Doesn’t Eat Grass might not have matched Yuanwei’s popularity, but DYJ’s bad results weren’t on him. He was still hugely popular online, with his researched builds praised across the industry. If you ranked Top Laners by skill, he cracked the top ten easy.
The second round matchup kicked off. Doesn’t Eat Grass wanted to flex a little. In his mind, Yun Qi was just a support player who’d only practiced three games yet had the nerve to challenge him to a 1v1. It didn’t faze him much. He dove straight in and unloaded a full combo of skills, hoping to burst Yun Qi down on the spot. But Yun Qi reacted with surprising speed—a quick sidestep and he dodged most of the damage.
Everyone knew Fist Lion could shred squishies in two punches flat. Tanks or beefier warriors, though? You had to land every bit of damage and follow up with a kick to seal the deal. In his flashy play on Yun Qi, Doesn’t Eat Grass whiffed half his skills and ate a full counterload in return. His health bar plummeted to nothing in moments. Panicking, Doesn’t Eat Grass bellowed into his mic, “Holy shit!”
The words had barely left his mouth when Yun Qi flashed forward with a flying kick, wiping out the last sliver of health. Doesn’t Eat Grass’s screen went black.
“What the—?” The furious clatter of keyboard mashing echoed through the headset. “What the hell?!”
Yun Qi’s long, slender fingers adjusted his headset as he replied calmly, “I told you to take it seriously.”
Doesn’t Eat Grass sounded suspicious. “Bro, that wasn’t you playing, was it? Jiu Ke isn’t sitting right there with you?”
Yun Qi’s voice softened. “I haven’t earned the right to chat up the starting roster players yet.”
“Then who’s next to you? What the fuck—how’d you burst me like that?”
Shock laced his every word. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. He spent ages dragging his cursor over the replay, poring over Yun Qi’s Fist Lion maneuvers.
“You still owe me that skin,” Yun Qi reminded him.
“Yours!” Doesn’t Eat Grass cranked up his volume, his tone turning fierce. “Fuck, this is insane… what even is this? Hold on, lemme check my rig.”
“Best of three. You’ve died twice already.”
“I was distracted before—not focused. Rematch.” Doesn’t Eat Grass insisted, “Relax, if a little support like you can drop me twice, the skin’s yours, no question. I ain’t buying this. One more.”
Yun Qi didn’t have it as easy in the third round. Doesn’t Eat Grass buckled down, and the two traded blows evenly, health bars scraping rock bottom on both sides. Doesn’t Eat Grass’s voice came out ragged. “No way—you, with three practice games, going toe-to-toe with me? My rice bowl’s about to shatter.”
With that, he lunged for a flashy kick and finally took Yun Qi down.
“Now that’s more like it,” Doesn’t Eat Grass said, his tone brightening. “You had me scared shitless. Thought my pro career was toast.”
Yun Qi sat at his station, staring at the darkened screen. In a low voice, he murmured, “Impressive.”
The quiet made it worse. Doesn’t Eat Grass sensed something off in the delivery—his relief evaporated. Over the mic, he probed, “What were you up to just now?”
Yun Qi wiped down his monitor and nudged his mouse into a comfy spot. “Nothing. Just slow on the uptake.”
“For real?” Doesn’t Eat Grass pressed. “You weren’t… you know, throwing it?” Even he didn’t sound convinced.
Yun Qi shot back, “You’re overthinking.”
Doesn’t Eat Grass fell silent, apparently tangled in his own doubts.
Undeterred, Yun Qi added, “Forget the skin. I was joking.”
“Nah, it’s yours,” Doesn’t Eat Grass said magnanimously. “Fair bet’s a fair bet. But isn’t that account fully skinned? KRO can’t be that strapped for cash.”
“Nope. I inherited the shooter account—shooters come loaded with skins. Top laner? Looks like I’m the first. Peeked earlier: zero skins.”
“You switched to top laner? Not just screwing around?”
“Yep. Your new rival from here on out.”
“For real?” Doesn’t Eat Grass sounded baffled. “Why top laner? That’s a huge jump from support. Sure, I’ve seen junglers and mages pivot to support, but never the reverse.”
Pros whose mechanics slipped but who still drew crowds often got nudged toward support by their teams. The role didn’t demand as much—just nail the basics: tank damage, peel for carries, ward up. Nail those, keep the other lanes solid, and the team holds together.
Climbing on support was brutal because it was a selfless gig. You couldn’t dictate tempo. Flashy, mobile soft supports were unicorns in pro play, so matches usually hinged on tanky peelers. Victory rode entirely on your core carries’ skill.
Want to rank up on support? Pray you queue with a rhythm-carrying beast. Otherwise, no matter how much you tank or shield, if your mates can’t keep up, you can’t drag the team to victory.
Support climbing: thirty percent skill, seventy percent luck. Old industry wisdom.
“Sure, there are exceptions,” Yun Qi replied to Doesn’t Eat Grass’s question, brushing it off without further elaboration.
“KRO’s the only team bold enough to take a chance on fresh talent,” Doesn’t Eat Grass speculated. “Switching you from support to top lane? That’s gutsy. Good luck out there.”
“Thanks.” He really would need it.
“I’ll jump into the shop and gift you a skin,” Doesn’t Eat Grass said. “But I’ll have to RNG it—no extra crystals left. Want me to send you some cash so you can pull for it yourself?”
“Nah,” Yun Qi said. “We’ll settle up when you’ve got spare crystals. Gotta grind practice now.”
“Hey, chat a bit—don’t go,” Doesn’t Eat Grass tried to stall him. “You gonna run into E God at KRO?”
Yun Qi hung up.
Voice chat ended.
That question had slipped out anyway; Yun Qi just didn’t want to answer and cut the call short.
Doesn’t Eat Grass started harassing him over WeChat.
【Can you?】
【Talk to him?】
【As handsome as in his videos?】
【You know that super flirty streamer who’s got a thing for him?】
【Isn’t he your idol? Shoot your shot!】
【If you see Yuanwei, put in a good word for me.】
【Owe you the skin for now—will send it when I pull it.】
【Cute Little Duck.jpg】
Yun Qi glanced at the barrage of messages and fired back one of his own.
【Got it. Off to practice.】
After wrapping up their solo duel, Yun Qi realized he had plenty of room to improve—from awareness and reactions to mechanics. Doesn’t Eat Grass lived up to his rep as DYJ’s top lane king; when he got serious, he was a nightmare to face. Yun Qi only had to be 0.01 seconds slower on his reactions to get turned around and killed multiple times. There was a ton of progress to make, and he wouldn’t be bored anytime soon.
Yun Qi loaded into the Training Camp, sticking with Fist Lion. He pulled up the minion wave and cranked the AI to advanced difficulty. He duked it out with the bot for a few rounds, not daring to slack off. Melting advanced AI wasn’t tough, so after a few hours of that, he queued up Peak Matches on Fist Lion.
His current account sat at 1941 Peak Points. The higher you climbed, the slower the grind got. In the 1200-1500 range, a win netted you 30 points. Past that, it dropped to 20, then 15, then 10. Over 2000, you were lucky to snag 5 per win—and losses docked 10. Above 2100, you mostly matched against National Server mains in every role.
The competition was brutal.
Marksmen weren’t meta this patch—it was all about burst mages. Jungler mages dictated the game’s pace, with top lane not far behind, a notch above marksmen. Supports brought up the rear.
Yun Qi knew the struggle all too well after grinding support for so long. It was hell to climb into the National Top 10 on support. No teaming up in Peak Matches—every game paired you with randoms of similar skill. One misplay could snowball the whole team into a loss. Wins gave +5, losses -10. He’d been stuck treading water.
Now on a carry role that could swing games, things were different. A strong top laner had the mobility to delete the enemy core carry. He didn’t have to sweat other lanes imploding.
If he just farmed up clean, he could carry late-game solo.
So Yun Qi ground Peak Matches all day. Bots were fine for basics, but real players were better practice—their tricks, ganks from the jungle, unexpected counter-kills. It threw more curveballs at him, sharpening his game sense and reactions.
Today went smooth—no losses. The 1900 bracket wasn’t much pressure, so Yun Qi climbed fast, hitting the 2100 Youth Training benchmark in no time.
Rocking Fist Lion at blue proficiency amid a lobby full of National Server tags drew eyes right away. Voice chat lit up at the start: “Fist Lion smurf?”
【Peak Summoner 5: What the hell is this Fist Lion? Blue bean?】
【Peak Summoner 3: Why queue with blue bean proficiency? Cringe.】
【Peak Summoner 1: Quiet. That’s usually a booster.】
【Peak Summoner 5: Don’t troll me, man. I’ve been losing all day—my combat power’s tanking. Just farm under tower, bro, please.】
