Chapter 4

Lang Xian thought he’d misheard.

Was Yun Qi praising the guy? His words and tone carried no hint of criticism.

But the two had already broken up. Was he still lingering on his ex-boyfriend? Weren’t breakups supposed to end in shouting matches and heartbreak? It could hardly be a pleasant memory. Even if you still thought well of your ex, calling them a decent person was about the limit. Yet Yun Qi’s tone sounded utterly sincere.

Weird.

Yun Qi returned to his keyboard. Moments later, he called out to Lang Xian, who was standing frozen in place. “Captain, you’re dead.”

Lang Xian whipped his head back to the screen. He’d been tower-dived, and the enemy had tossed off a cheeky line:

[Take disciple.]

Lang Xian’s focus snapped back into place. He had no bandwidth left to dwell on Yun Qi’s bizarre fondness for his ex.

The National Server top laner, riding a wave of emotion, delivered a brutal schooling to the enemy. Yun Qi watched it all unfold. Their top laner got beaten so badly he couldn’t step out from under tower and hammered out a plea on screen:

[Bro, he mocked you—don’t take it out on me. I did nothing.]

Lang Xian ignored it, pressing the attack on their fighter. In under ten minutes, the sidelane was routed. The taunting jungler piped up again:

[Bro, this savage after a breakup?]

He’d nailed it. Lang Xian was in a foul mood—no satisfaction from Yun Qi, and now this troll in-game. Professional courtesy wouldn’t let him go easy. A match that typically dragged on for half an hour wrapped in less than fifteen.

Before shoving in the enemy Nexus Crystal, Lang Xian typed out two letters: [GG.]

“Good Game” in the usual sense—a nod to a hard-fought battle. But after utterly demolishing them, it landed as biting sarcasm. No one would mistake it for praise.

Call it poor sportsmanship or outright mockery? No hard proof—most folks saw “GG” as nothing but positive.

Pro players lived under a microscope. Forget outright insults; even sarcasm caught on stream meant a fine from the manager. Subtle jabs were the only safe outlet.

As the game wrapped, Lang Xian flung his keyboard aside and stood. “I’m done.”

Yun Qi glanced up. Lang Xian brushed past him from behind. The guys who’d stepped out for food had trickled back in, and Lang Xian grabbed one at random, hauling him along.

It was the newest youth trainee at their SK Base—a support main. He happened to be Lang Xian’s cousin, so the manager had dumped him on Lang Xian to mentor. On the surface, it was about giving a promising kid exposure to the starting roster. Yun Qi knew better.

Once Lang Xian was gone, Yun Qi solo-queued for ranked. He sat ninth on the Peak Total Points Leaderboard, with a mix of random streamers and pros ahead of him. Climbing on support was tough sledding—even the National Server’s top player struggled with lousy teammates.

The training room had filled up again. Some scrolled their phones, others watched videos. The manager was out handling business, leaving everyone free to kill time without jumping into queues.

Xue Yan sidled up behind Yun Qi and saw him loading into a game. “Skipping breakfast again?”

Yun Qi looked up. No headset on. “Not hungry.”

Xue Yan dropped into the seat beside him—Lang Xian’s spot. He scanned the desk and fiddled with Lang Xian’s custom mouse. “Captain Lang’s been thick as thieves with that youth trainee lately. Kid’s motives don’t smell right.”

Yun Qi shrugged. “No idea. Haven’t noticed.”

Xue Yan pressed. “You should keep an eye out. Bet he’s here to edge you out. A trainee worming his way into the starting roster, buddy-buddy with the captain? Think that’s innocent?”

“Aren’t they cousins?”

“That’s what makes it risky,” Xue Yan said. “Captain Lang’s got your back right now because he likes you. Otherwise, with Jiu Shuang and the others gunning for you, and the manager griping nonstop, finals would be a pipe dream. Play it smart—lock down Captain Lang. Don’t let his cousin steal your spot.”

Yun Qi smiled faintly. “I’m not competing with him.”

Xue Yan smacked the table. “Same difference. Captain Lang’s got sway in the guild. How else does his cousin land at our base? Get savvy—give Captain Lang what he wants. Capisce?”

Yun Qi bit his lip and muttered, “Mm.”

Satisfied, Xue Yan got up and left.

Yun Qi’s spot beside him used to be Xue Yan’s. He mained marksman, paired perfectly with support. But after a video of the two went viral online and racked up fans, they’d swapped positions.

The clip was nothing special: Yun Qi grinding a match while Lang Xian watched from the side. Netizens spotted “raw affection” in Lang Xian’s gaze, and it exploded from there.

SK really was a looks-obsessed team—Yun Qi hadn’t been exaggerating. From the starting roster down to the youth trainees, the average attractiveness was through the roof. There had even been rumors that breaking into SK’s starting lineup required a pretty face. Yun Qi could vouch for it personally; there really was such an unwritten rule. Unless you were freakishly talented, you could get benched or cut at any time.

Lang Xian was handsome and tall, and the real reason that video blew up outside esports circles was probably his killer looks. Add in his fans stirring the pot, and it dragged in a bunch of casual players who never watched pro matches.

The manager jumped on the chance and hyped it to the moon. The buzz kept snowballing until now plenty of people couldn’t separate hype from reality.

Netizens were convinced “Qiluo and Qingmo have something going on”—their names even sounded perfect together.

If only they knew those names were fake.

Yun Qi’s real name wasn’t Qiluo. To manufacture the “Mo Luo CP” with Lang Xian, the team had changed it specially for him. When he first joined, the guild offered a few options, and he’d picked one at random. Then, right before his official debut matches, the manager had a brainstorm and insisted on tweaking it again. Yun Qi had wondered what was up, but it was all leading to this.

Their manager knew his stuff when it came to marketing. He and Lang Xian’s bargain-bin fan ship had somehow exploded in popularity.

SK racked up fans left and right. It was great for the team.

Yun Qi didn’t mind playing along with the Lang Xian CP hype. He was a product; Lang Xian was a product. Yun Qi knew exactly where he stood. He never fooled himself into thinking he held any real power, and he had no illusions of purity. He was SK’s asset—bought, packaged, and marketed however the team saw fit.

After grinding a few scrims, it was almost eleven, and Yun Qi finally felt hungry. Lang Xian still hadn’t come back; no telling where he’d wandered off to. His schedule was all over the place, with the manager lining up endless errands for him. He wasn’t like the rest of the players.

Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia duoed together. They were tight, shared the same mindset, and both despised Yun Qi, so they never dragged their deadweight little soft support along for ranked climbs. The coach had nagged them endlessly to synergize more and run five-stacks, but when he wasn’t watching, they’d queue without Yun Qi every time.

Xue Yan, as the team’s marksman, ended up queuing with Yun Qi more than most. He was one of the fairer guys on the roster, always looking out for Yun Qi like an older brother would. Yun Qi couldn’t tell if it was genuine goodwill or just because Lang Xian had taken a shine to him.

Lang Xian wielded real influence—he could make or break careers. He had connections, subtle ties to guild execs, links to Pro League insiders. For someone so young, his networking game was unmatched. Bottom line: everyone wanted to stay in his good graces. And being one of his favorites turned Yun Qi into an asset worth cozying up to.

Whichever it was, Yun Qi wouldn’t be shocked. He’d tasted the industry’s cold shoulder since he was seventeen.

Currying favor with the mighty while kicking down the weak—it was universal.

“Holy shit! Danwan’s hit the exchange!”

The quiet training room shattered with a yell.

Jiu Shuang shot to his feet, phone in hand, hollering at Chen Xia and Xue Yan. “Danwan, man!”

Chen Xia scrambled up, snatched the phone, and gawked. “No way—Danwan in the exchange? TKG’s ace support?”

“Yeah! TKG only lost to us ’cause their mid and marksman choked. Danwan’s mechanics are solid. Why the hell dump him? TKG lose their minds?”

Chen Xia handed the phone back. “Beats me, but it’s wild. No knocking Danwan—he’s the real deal. We gotta loop in the manager; tell ’em to grab him.”

“Danwan’s gonna get snapped up fast. Can’t sleep on this—I’ll hit up Captain Lang.” Jiu Shuang bolted with his phone.

They yapped about it right in front of their own support, not even glancing Yun Qi’s way. He heard every word, but he wasn’t the type to shatter. Xue Yan glanced up from across the desk, concern flickering in his eyes. Yun Qi just shook his head silently and flashed a reassuring smile, like it hadn’t fazed him at all.

“I’m grabbing food,” Yun Qi said. “Brother Yan, you want anything?”

Xue Yan kept grinding his game. “Not done yet. Go ahead.”

Yun Qi pocketed his phone and headed out.

Right outside the training room, he spotted Jiu Shuang chatting with Lang Xian by the SK Base entrance. Crystal clear what they were discussing. Yun Qi didn’t interrupt and made for the nearest dining hall instead.

The base used to have a little kitchen, but with everyone’s tastes all over the map, the standard three meals were pretty basic. Chen Xia and Jiu Shuang ate out religiously, Lang Xian and Xue Yan grabbed takeout now and then, and Yun Qi skipped breakfast altogether. So they shuttered it.

Good thing eateries dotted the area. Yun Qi ducked into the closest one and ordered a bowl of clear broth noodles from the boss.

His stomach wasn’t the strongest—he couldn’t handle bold flavors, and he was picky to boot. No green onions, ginger, or garlic for him. The meals from the base’s private kitchen were even tougher to stomach. But the noodles at this little diner near the SK Base hit the spot just right, so Yun Qi ended up here often.

The moment he walked in, the boss greeted him warmly. “Hey, you’re here.”

Yun Qi nodded. “The usual.”

“Got it. Take a seat; it’ll be right out.”

Yun Qi slid into an empty spot at a table. The surface gleamed clean; a quick wipe with a napkin turned up no grease stains. While he waited, he pulled up the guild chat and noticed someone new in the Starting Roster team group. He tapped it open. It was that youth trainee.

The guy had chimed in with a friendly hello to everyone. No one raised any objections to him joining. Xue Yan sent a welcome, and Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia were even warmer about it. With the youth trainee playing support too, the message was crystal clear.

Yun Qi followed suit and dropped a small red packet.

—Welcome, little bro.

The youth trainee snagged it moments later and replied.

—Thanks, big bro.

Surface pleasantries were easy enough. What the kid actually thought? Yun Qi couldn’t care less. He’d shoved Xue Yan’s warnings aside entirely—which was why, just as his noodles arrived, Xue Yan hit him up in a private message: Are you nuts?

—No, not crazy.

Xue Yan unleashed a barrage right away.

—Why welcome him? At least play dumb and stay silent to make your stance clear. And he’s support too, you know.

—He just mysteriously pops into the group? Joining was the final straw. What’s a youth trainee doing in our starting roster group? Don’t you get what he’s after?

—Also, I told you to cozy up to Captain Lang. How come you didn’t invite him along when you headed out to eat?

—So how’d he end up coming back with that youth trainee?

—We’ll talk when you get here.

Yun Qi eyed the flood of messages, then calmly dug into his noodles. The boss asked if he wanted vinegar. Yun Qi shook his head, thanked him, and fired off a single word to Xue Yan.

—Fine.

He set his phone aside and savored his lunch in peace.

Once he finished, Yun Qi didn’t bolt right away. The boss knew him well by now and, as he settled the bill, asked, “You guys take the championship?”

Yun Qi blinked in surprise. “You watch the matches?”

“Nah,” the boss said with a wave. “But my son does. Kid’s hooked on gaming—sixth grade and he’s already haunting internet cafes. He’s glued to your matches on that tablet all day. I’ve even spotted you in there.”

“Not champions yet. Grand Finals are still coming up.”

“When?”

“Next Wednesday.”

“Oh, that’s soon. Better ramp up practice. Your opponents are no joke, right? There’s this guy with the English name—Eidis? My boy’s obsessed, won’t shut up about him. Faith this, faith that.”

“Eidis is the real deal.”

“I don’t follow it much, but the kid swears he’s the greatest gamer alive. That right?”

Yun Qi scanned the QR code to pay. “Pretty much.”

The boss pressed on. “You gonna run into him at Grand Finals? Think you could snag a signature for my boy?”

Yun Qi shook his head. “He hasn’t competed in forever. Grand Finals… no clue if he’ll show.”

“Ah, gotcha. No sweat then. I figured pro players all hang out off the clock. Guess you’re not that tight, huh?”

Yun Qi managed a stiff smile.

They weren’t close. Just the perfect boyfriend he’d so arrogantly ditched back in his reckless youth, that was all.