The door to the Training Room was tightly shut.
Yun Qi and Liu Ying had won the first game, and the second one had just gotten underway.
Liu Ying said, “You played really well last round. You’re usually so quiet—didn’t expect your style to be so brutal.”
Yun Qi sat at his station. The opening ten minutes of the previous game had been a heart-pounding affair, with both sides trading blows evenly. Their lineup wasn’t favorable—every lane was perfectly countered by the enemy team. Coordination among the random teammates fell short, leaving even Liu Ying struggling a bit. But Yun Qi kept his cool. After those ten minutes, the momentum shifted dramatically, thanks in large part to the top laner’s ferocious play.
It had been a long time since Liu Ying savored such a thrilling match. Pinned down for the first ten minutes, he didn’t grow frustrated—instead, his excitement only mounted. He declared that he’d finally matched a worthy opponent.
Throughout that game, Liu Ying’s attention wasn’t on his own performance but on Yun Qi. He watched as Yun Qi executed flawlessly in mechanics and game sense, surging from last place in gold to second overall. Yun Qi had truly grasped the essence of the game: economy was king. Suppress the enemy in resources, balance out the counterplay chains, and then it became a pure battle of skill.
He had internalized it completely.
On the loading screen, Yun Qi replied, “Didn’t want to risk a comeback. Wanted to wrap it up quick.”
Liu Ying responded confidently, “Relax—with me in the queue, we rarely lose. As long as one lane holds steady, I can carry.”
Yun Qi said, “Then carry us.”
Liu Ying waved it off. “Carry’s a strong word. Your top laning was seriously impressive. I’m not even on your level.”
The game began. Yun Qi bought a defensive item first. His build was the hottest one circulating on the National Server, boasting a sixty-three percent win rate—an exceptionally high figure. Butterfly was classified as a top laner, but she dealt magic damage. After level two, she held a slight edge in lane against nearly every hero. Once geared up, her massive sustain and passive immunity allowed her to dive in effortlessly and disengage perfectly. Her only weakness was a lack of burst damage; she was a poke-oriented champion. That was why most National Server players stacked damage on her instead.
Yun Qi started with defensive boots. Liu Ying asked, “No magic penetration?”
“Planning to get it. Wind Hidden hits way too hard—I need defense first.”
“Hang tight. I’ll gank top after my Red Buff. We’ll bait them out.”
“Got it.”
When Liu Ying hit level four, the two of them failed to secure a kill on the enemy top laner. He had decent awareness and was tough to catch. Liu Ying had no choice but to return to the Jungle.
Not long into the second game, someone knocked on the door. Liu Ying called out to the person nearby, “Chang Shu, get the door.”
Chang Shu was tied up. “In the middle of a game.”
One of the new Trial Trainees stood up. “I’ll get it.”
He walked over and opened the door to find Ziwu standing there.
Ziwu looked dazed. Even someone who didn’t know him well could tell something was off. He seemed utterly lost, like his soul had fled his body. After the door opened, he didn’t say a word to the Trial Trainee. His gaze drifted aimlessly, unfocused, as if he’d been badly startled.
“Bro, you…” The Trial Trainee tried to snap him out of it.
Ziwu stepped into the Training Room and planted himself at Yu Jin’s station. He stood there in silence for a long moment, his fingertips gripping the edge of the keyboard tightly. The rapid clatter of keys and chatter in the room pounded at his skull, giving him a throbbing headache. He endured it and forced his voice to stay even. “Brother Jin wants you.”
He didn’t address anyone by name, so several heads turned. Liu Ying was the first. “Me?”
Yun Qi slowly lifted his eyes. He saw that Ziwu’s gaze was locked squarely on him. His hands went slack beneath the desk, and he stood up. He turned to Yuan Lele beside him. “You take my spot.”
Yuan Lele nodded. “Sure.”
Yun Qi slipped out from his seat. He had no idea what Yu Jin wanted with him—Ziwu hadn’t said, and Yun Qi didn’t ask. He simply left the Training Room.
Like everyone else there, he obeyed his captain without question.
Liu Ying picked up on Ziwu’s subdued mood and eyed him. “What’s wrong with you?”
Ziwu sat down at Yu Jin’s station without answering. He stared blankly at the dark computer screen.
The noise around him was deafening—overlapping voices and the relentless click-clack of mechanical keyboards, all yanking at his frayed nerves. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was vivid, crimson blood.
Yun Qi stepped out of the Training Room, unsure where to find Yu Jin. Naturally, he headed to the Streaming Room first. But the only person inside was the streamer, packing up his gear. The sofa sat empty. Yu Jin wasn’t there. The streamer asked who he was looking for, but Yun Qi just shook his head and left the Streaming Room.
He headed upstairs.
Yun Qi had only just spoken with Yu Jin about what happened the night before. His emotions were still raw, and he wasn’t sure what Yu Jin wanted to say to him now. His heart pounded wildly. Any possibility raced through his mind: Yu Jin might humiliate him, reject him outright, mock him, scold him. Perhaps he wouldn’t even wait until the Grand Tournament—he might call him delusional right then and there.
He was such a weirdo, wasn’t he?
Yun Qi made his way to Yu Jin’s room, his mind a tangled mess. He raised his hand to knock, only to notice the door was ajar, with no voices coming from inside. His shadow slipped through the gap before he could move, and a voice drifted out: “Come in.”
Yun Qi pushed the door open.
Truth be told, he had no clue what to expect.
In that instant, as the door swung wide and he saw Yu Jin sitting on the bed—his hands a bloody mess, crimson dripping steadily to the floor—all of Yun Qi’s inner turmoil shattered. Nothing else mattered anymore. His vision swam with red, and he froze in the doorway, mouth hanging slightly open, as if a hammer had crashed into his heart. It obliterated his scattered thoughts and seared a devastating image into his mind.
Reason urged him to take it slow, but shock had shrunk his pupils to pinpricks. He inched forward. The man on the bed turned to face him, but Yun Qi’s gaze locked onto Yu Jin’s hands, then the pooling blood on the floor. Suddenly, all reason snapped. He bolted forward, his voice quivering as he demanded, “W-What happened…”
Yu Jin took in the panic in his eyes, the helpless bewilderment, the stunned stare. He didn’t rush to answer. He let the pain burrow deep into his chest. All he wanted was to etch this moment into eternity.
To hold onto that look of worry on Yun Qi’s face.
“I-I…” Yun Qi stammered, words failing him. He glanced around wildly, like a headless fly, then dashed to the table and snatched up the pack of tissues. He tore into the packaging haphazardly, sheets spilling into his lap. With a thud, his knee slammed into the floor. He dropped to his knees and pressed the tissues against Yu Jin’s mangled hands—frantic, yet achingly careful.
“We need to go to the hospital!” Yun Qi choked out. “Right now…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Yu Jin cut him off, drinking in every detail of Yun Qi’s distraught expression. His voice remained eerily calm. “It hurts too much. Don’t make me move.”
Yu Jin’s lips were ghostly pale, his face drained of color. Yun Qi’s palms grew slick with the sticky warmth almost immediately. He flung away the now blood-soaked tissues and grabbed a fresh handful, pressing them firmly to staunch the flow. His voice shook as he said, “Fine, we won’t go. There’s a doctor at the KRO Base, right? I’ll get them… just wait here…”
“Yun Qi,” Yu Jin said firmly, “I don’t need anyone right now.”
“But… you’ve lost so much blood…”
“There’s a first-aid kit behind you,” Yu Jin replied. “Bandage me up, and it’ll be fine.”
Yun Qi twisted around to look, cradling Yu Jin’s hand gently all the while, his heart pounding. “But I don’t know how…”
“I’ll guide you,” Yu Jin said weakly. “Bring it here.”
In the end, they didn’t call for help. With the door shut tight, Yun Qi played makeshift doctor under Yu Jin’s instructions.
Yun Qi hadn’t wanted to handle it this way at first. The sheer amount of blood terrified him—he wasn’t a doctor, and Yu Jin clearly needed professional care. But Yu Jin refused to go to a hospital or let anyone come to him, leaving Yun Qi with no choice. Seeing those bloodless lips, Yun Qi stopped hesitating and hurried off to fetch the kit.
He knelt on the floor, setting the kit in front of him. It was neatly organized with medicines, tourniquets, and tools. His hands fumbled clumsily, his own lips turning bluish as he asked, “H-How do I do this…”
“First, grab a tourniquet,” Yu Jin instructed.
Yun Qi fished one out, peeled off the packaging, and held it up. Yu Jin continued, “Tie it around my wrist.”
Yun Qi wrapped it around his wrist.
The tourniquet wasn’t truly meant to stop the bleeding. Yu Jin’s pain was overwhelming—even his arm was starting to go numb. He just wanted to throttle the nerves carrying that agony, even if it was just fooling himself. He hoped to sever the connection between his arm and the searing wound in his palm. Half his arm had already lost sensation.
“This won’t do anything…” Yun Qi muttered after securing it, his eyes fixed on the gruesome gash in Yu Jin’s palm, not his arm.
“I know,” Yu Jin murmured. “I just wanted the pain somewhere else. But you tied it too loose.”
Yun Qi furrowed his brow. “Let me tighten it, then…”
