SK Base.
Xue Yan had taken two days off. After some fun at the beach, he’d pulled himself together. The recent online storm had been brutal, and the higher-ups had banned them from showing their faces online, worried they’d slip up and make things worse. What they needed right now was someone soft-spoken with a silver tongue to smooth things over—but the team’s only guy with a halfway decent personality had been sold off for thirty million just a while back.
Li Meng hadn’t been sitting idle these past couple of days. SK had been on track to claim the championship this year, only for KRO to crash the party out of nowhere. That team usually dominated foreign servers, but for whatever reason, they’d jumped back into the domestic league this season. They were elite, with hardly anyone who could match them. Losing to KRO wasn’t a disgrace, but getting absolutely demolished by Chole in the Challenge Tournament? That was humiliating.
The championship flop had already left fans disillusioned. Then came the Challenge Tournament beatdown, snuffing out any remaining hope. Officially, they’d given the team a two-day break, but really, the executives had hunkered down in an emergency meeting, hashing out for forty-eight hours straight how to turn SK’s fortunes around.
SK still had massive value—they’d built a huge name this year. Shutting down the team wasn’t an option. Swapping players might be, but the youth trainees didn’t have any standouts, and the subs couldn’t hold a candle to the starters. It was a real pickle.
Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia had lined up sweet gigs at the last Esports Night. They were on the same wavelength, both quietly scouting new teams ahead of time, just waiting for SK to hit the skids so they’d have a soft landing. Lang Xian’s scandal blew up faster than expected, though. With their sky-high egos, they buckled under the public backlash and wanted out immediately. Li Meng stepped in, talked them down a bit, and they fell in line.
Calling it “talking them down” was generous—Xue Yan knew Li Meng’s playbook. Threats probably outweighed the carrots, and the breach-of-contract penalties alone would’ve buried them. Chen Xia and Jiu Shuang might’ve wanted to bolt, but they weren’t going anywhere.
Thankfully, the bosses hadn’t cut SK loose. They shelled out for positive PR, scrubbed the internet clean, dropped videos of the players grinding through brutal training sessions, leaned hard into the sob story, and spun some tales about the guys’ rough backgrounds. It nudged the narrative in a better direction, at least.
SK had the raw talent; they just weren’t clicking as a unit. Lang Xian came out of the backlash even more determined. He’d gone radio silent with everyone outside the team for days, hammering away at training, dead set on rallying for a Winter Season redemption.
Yueqiu kept cranking out upbeat posts like a trooper. But whenever he accidentally caught Lang Xian and Jiu Shuang huddled together whispering on video, the CP fans pounced first.
【No way they’re trying to hype a ship with Jiu Shuang, right? I’m the first to say hell no!】
【Jiu Shuang’s got such a foul mouth, I can’t stand him. Way too arrogant. Gimme Qi Qi!】
【SK makes my blood boil. They sold off my Qiluo, and when Danwan joined, I knew Qi Qi was doomed. He was forcing smiles on those streams—bet he put up with a ton of crap in the team. SK’s blacklisted for life.】
【Chill upstairs. Yeah, I shipped “Mo Luo” too, but Qiluo just wasn’t cutting it. He’s got his moments, sure, but getting traded wasn’t a raw deal. Danwan’s way more well-rounded now—handles hard fights and soft matches, and his synergy’s tighter.】
【That “synergy” you’re talking about is getting jungled by Yi Yang while ADC and support sleepwalk?】
【Stop, just stop! I’m gonna cry. I’ll never see Qi Qi again!】
【Mo Luo CP is officially dead…】
Yun Qi’s popularity meant hordes of fans—and equally hordes of haters. SK had thoroughly broken his supporters’ hearts by shipping him out. When the news dropped, the team lost a chunk of diehards, though the Lang Xian drama had drawn in some scandal-chasers. His account got swarmed by anti-fan ringleaders for days on end; he couldn’t even peek at it until the heat died down a bit.
Qiluo’s account was flooded with comments and DMs. Fans wailed in heartbreak, but those who stuck around showered him with well-wishes.
【Come back soon, baby.】
【Stay strong, Qi Qi. We know you went through hell. Mom’s okay never seeing you play if it means you’ll soar from here.】
【Hope Qibao shines in his new team, with great teammates, a solid captain, killer coach—big trophies and fat paychecks.】
【Day 19 without my baby… sigh.】
Messages kept rolling in daily. Li Meng texted Xue Yan, asking him to try reclaiming the account. Letting Yun Qi walk without yanking it back had been an oversight. He hadn’t posted on it since leaving anyway, so Li Meng figured Xue Yan’s connection with Yun Qi made him the guy to ask.
Li Meng was Xue Yan’s boss—no room to haggle. Xue Yan agreed, saying he’d find a moment to bring it up over the next couple days.
In the training room, Lang Xian hammered his keyboard like a machine gun. His phone buzzed nonstop, but he ignored it. The shrill ring echoed through the room, but everyone was used to it by now. These past few days had been the same—no one dared say a word.
“Why hasn’t Qiluo shown his face?” Chen Xia broke the silence with the remark. No one knew if he was venting on Lang Xian’s behalf or something else, but his tone wasn’t friendly.
“Heh, show his face with KRO? You expecting that from him?” Jiu Shuang sneered. “Even Yuanwei’s vanished into thin air. What right does he have to pop up? Just pretend this scene never had such a person. His pro career’s done for.”
“I could get him holing up anywhere else, but KRO? I wouldn’t dare go there myself. Where’s he getting the nerve?”
“Why bother with him? Karma’s hit. Who knows what kinda rough life he’s scraping by with now. You think a top team’s that easy to stick around in?” Jiu Shuang glanced at his phone, then tossed it aside with a clatter. “Let him fade away like this. Nobody gives a damn.”
Xue Yan listened to the group without chiming in.
He was tuned into a livestream. A streamer claiming he’d trialed at KRO was yapping about it, all full of conviction as he broke down Yun Qi joining a new esports team and milked the hype: “You guys, give up on this Qiluo. KRO ain’t a place for humans—nothing but top-tier talents, one after another. I’m telling you, he’s got no shot. It’s not like I haven’t been there. I bailed ’cause I couldn’t hack the cutthroat vibe. Any random team treats people better than KRO. Qiluo’s skill ain’t trash or anything, but he’s got zero standout qualities. Starting roster? No way. Other teams? Fat chance too. Why? You know Yi Yang’s caliber? How many years did he spend riding the bench at KRO? If Qiluo’s gunning for their starting roster, he can forget it…”
【Streamer said well】
【Qiluo was never any good anyway, I really don’t understand how these fans dare to cheer like that. Lang Xian’s character is bad, but at least he has the skills. What does Qiluo have? Purely a decent-looking face.】
【Streamer hopes you don’t slap face】
The streamer jabbed at the screen, all fired up. “I’m laying it down right here today—if Qiluo makes the starting roster, may I get flattened by a car on my way out the door!”
Xue Yan frowned. The clock on his screen read seven fifty. Outside, darkness had fallen, but the room blazed with light. Everyone was holding their breath, the air thick with stifled tension and undercurrents of unrest.
~~~
Water rushed over the marble countertop with a steady hiss.
The faucet ran full tilt, a clear column pounding down onto the stone. A pair of pale, dripping fingers gripped the edge. For five or six seconds, the flow wasted itself unused before those glistening fingertips finally twisted the handle shut.
Eyes lifted to the mirror.
Yun Qi spotted the person behind him.
He had no idea if Liu Yushu had followed him out or just come for some air. Yun Qi shut off the tap, turned around, and flashed Liu Yushu a smile.
Liu Yushu caught the flush at the tips of his ears—crimson and damning.
“You alright?” Liu Yushu asked with concern.
“Yeah, fine.” Yun Qi grabbed a tissue from the dispenser by the counter, dried his hands, and dropped it in the trash bin at his feet before heading out.
Liu Yushu fell in step beside him as they strolled down the corridor.
“Guess I was the last to know,” Liu Yushu said, referring to the dinner chatter. “You’ve got that kind of history with Eidis. I figured you actually had a grudge, didn’t wanna toast him.”
Yu Jin’s bold move at the table had laid their connection bare.
With talk that brazen, who couldn’t see they had something going on privately? Chen Wen knew the full story, while Liu Yushu had pieced it together on his own—albeit a tad late.
“It’s not a big deal. He bought me onto the team,” Yun Qi said. “So I don’t get a vote on which esports team I end up with.”
Liu Yushu slapped his thigh. “Damn, that explains why you’re so locked in on KRO. Should’ve mentioned you knew Eidis—would I have doubted you could get in? Now I don’t even need to try recruiting you. Total lost cause. Anyone Eidis signs, even Boss Xu can’t touch. Forget us competing for you.”
Yun Qi hadn’t contradicted it at the table—after all, Yu Jin had stated facts. He truly had no choice. That night he’d begged, he’d sold himself outright, promising whatever it took. Yu Jin had bought him. If Yu Jin wanted him, refusal wasn’t an option. Not that he’d wanted to refuse in the first place. Deep down, KRO was his one true goal; other teams had never even registered.
It was just Yu Jin’s possessive claim at the table that blindsided him. He’d frozen for ages under all those stares, gone speechless in front of everyone, then seized the moment to excuse himself to the bathroom and bolted—straight to this spot, where he’d stood lost in a daze.
He couldn’t stay in that room any longer. His emotions were surging, and even though Yu Jin’s firm voice had been talking about joining the team, Yun Qi couldn’t suppress his joy. He felt both panicked and delighted, desperate to find somewhere to hide his feelings before they gave him away.
His Intimacy Starvation Syndrome had been triggered the moment Yu Jin grabbed him by the neck. His blood was boiling, and with all those eyes on him, Yun Qi didn’t want to let that shameful side of himself show.
“I was wondering why the bosses invited you out to eat. You’re skilled, sure, but not that much, right? Now it makes sense,” Liu Yushu said with sudden realization. “Eidis recommended you. No one would slack off on that. I’ve never heard of him vouching for anyone before. If he picked you, you must be something special.”
Liu Yushu shrugged. “Now the logic checks out. No wonder you’re joining tonight’s dinner.”
Yu Jin was miles ahead in esports prowess, crushing most pros. His undefeated record back in the day was the stuff of legends—something other players could only dream of. In this circle, his word carried weight; people dissected every syllable, and even the bosses wouldn’t argue with his recommendations.
It was no wonder he was a player’s idol.
