The matter of picking up Tata was postponed.
Yu Jin said his parents had taken Tata back to their hometown to visit his grandma, and they wouldn’t return until next week. This had to wait—they couldn’t head to Yulin to fetch Tata right before the Grand Tournament. It was over a thousand kilometers away, and the round trip would be exhausting enough.
They could only wait until his parents got back to Shanghai.
Yun Qi agreed. He knew Tata was fine and well cared for, so there was no need to rush bringing it back.
Over the next couple of days, he threw himself into training.
He made time each day to change Yu Jin’s dressings and check on his wounds, but otherwise devoted every spare moment to practice.
Yun Qi could endure more hardship than most. From the moment he walked through the door, he’d outworked everyone else. Liu Ying and the others figured it was just the usual newbie fire—everyone was gung-ho for the first three days. But weeks later, Yun Qi was still clocking in on time, skipping midday naps, always pushing past the limit without ever slacking. He was the last one out of the training room every night, which earned him a nickname from Liu Ying: Top Laner Grind King.
With the Grand Tournament looming, Jiu Ke felt the pressure mounting. But it wasn’t the event itself weighing on him—it was Yun Qi. Talent alone wasn’t scary; it was talent paired with that insane work ethic. Pure nightmare fuel. Why was Yun Qi grinding like this? Dead set on a starting roster spot? Sure, that was normal. But this all-or-nothing drive felt off.
He wasn’t some Pro League newbie. SK might not have snagged the national title this year, but they’d turned heads in official matches. Yun Qi had competition experience, yet here he was, grinding for a starting spot like it was burned into his very soul.
No breaks, no mercy.
Jiu Ke had no choice but to match the pace.
Today, he aimed to be the last one out of the training room. But Yun Qi was unbreakable. Jiu Ke maxed his session, then kept grinding for two more hours, and still, Yun Qi hadn’t budged. Finally at his limit, Jiu Ke called out, “Milk Cap.”
He used the new ID.
Yun Qi was used to it by now. He looked up. “Yeah?”
“You heading out or what?” Jiu Ke asked.
“Not yet. Still got games to finish.”
Frenetic keystrokes echoed from across the room. Jiu Ke tsked, slouched in his chair, popped a piece of Green Arrow gum in his mouth, and tossed one over to Yun Qi.
Yun Qi was mid-match when it landed on his desk. The training room was empty otherwise. “Thanks, bro,” he said to Jiu Ke.
“No sweat.”
Jiu Ke chewed his gum, eyes glued to his screen. He’d just wrapped a game but had zero motivation for another. He scrolled Mai Lang instead and stumbled right onto Yun Qi—a highlight reel trashing his Soft Support play. No glaring mechanical mistakes, but the critics hammered his game sense: Why that hero? What should he have done? The comments were a dumpster fire of doubt and flames, with a handful of fans pushing back: Check the full map context, don’t clipbait.
Those got buried fast.
【Your Luo Shen’s got nothing but his face, huh?】
【Global situation? Let him watch his own replay—should a Shooter even pick Little Cherry Blossom there? Moron grabbing Soft Support. Does he get the game at all?】
【666, pros got less brains than you armchair experts】
【Piss off, you simps. How am I worse? Three National Ranks, Peak 2100. How many Support ladder heroes he got? Go look. Whatever he has is coattail-riding—thanks to Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia.】
【Look, Qiluo and Qingmo ain’t saints either. Smashing Qingmo just proves he’s coasting on looks. His short vid said Qingmo calls all the shots in the team and harassed him—logical they’d slot him in. Fans dogpiling Qingmo? Gold. Without that, your Luo Shen’s not even sub material.】
【Tech’s straight garbage. I could queue up and clap a few. No National Rank but Provincial Server Ninth Ghost lol】
Jiu Ke scrolled through the mess, brow furrowed, then hammered out a reply on his screen:
Not that bad, actually pretty solid.
Send.
The second it posted, notifications blew up—one, two, nine, ten, fifty, a hundred red dots in under two minutes.
That’s when he realized: wrong account. He’d dropped it from his main streaming profile. He tapped to delete, but the replies were already flooding in.
【Jiu Ke!!!!】
【Holy shit, Brother Jiu landed】
【Bro Jiu, wrong comment? Thought the vid was your Rong Rong? LOL】
【Lil bro shield activated】
【Jiu bro, when’s the next stream?】
Jiu Ke clicked his tongue. His mouse hovered over the comment as he hesitated about whether to delete it. Professional players weren’t free to speak their minds—it was an unwritten rule in the esports circle. Casually commenting on players from other teams could stir up unnecessary drama. Lao Xun had never explicitly forbidden it, but everyone knew better.
Of course, if you didn’t mind getting dogpiled online, you could say whatever.
Besides, his comment wasn’t anything malicious; there was no handle to grab onto. Jiu Ke withdrew the mouse without further hesitation, deciding to leave it.
A question nagged at him, though, and he blurted it out. “You still in touch with anyone from your old team?”
There were only two people in the training room, so it was obvious who he meant.
Yun Qi replied, “Rarely. There’s one guy I got friendly with there—we chat now and then.”
Jiu Ke propped his chin on his hand as he scrolled through the feed. This marketing blogger’s account was nothing but Yun Qi content—no one else—and every title was pure clickbait, dredging up all of Yun Qi’s dirt. Jiu Ke wondered just how deep the grudge ran.
“You used to stream, right? Why not talk to Lao Xun about picking it back up? You’ve got a solid fanbase—way bigger than mine,” Jiu Ke said. “More importantly, there are people online stirring up drama. You going on stream to clear the air would do you good.”
Yun Qi gave a faint smile. “I’m used to it by now. There’s too much to clarify, and if I streamed just for that, it’d probably drag all those old issues back into the spotlight. Besides, Captain Yu told me no streaming for now—at least not until after the tournament. I listen to him.”
He didn’t overthink things the way Yu Jin did, and following his lead was always the safe bet. With the Grand Tournament right around the corner, Yun Qi had no bandwidth for streams anyway.
Hearing it was Yu Jin’s call settled it for Jiu Ke. He nodded. “Captain Yu’s got a point. Big matches coming up—no need to bother.”
Yun Qi fell silent on his end, the only sound the rapid clacking of his keyboard as he dove back into whatever he was doing.
Jiu Ke left him to it.
The two of them grinded away until eight-thirty. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, and the Mid Laner Substitute Rui Rui poked his head in. “You two grind kings.”
Jiu Ke glanced back and spotted the bouquet cradled in Rui Rui’s arms. “Where’d those flowers come from?”
“Oh, the front desk next door sent them for Ziwu,” Rui Rui said. “He didn’t want them, so Lao Xun told me to stash ’em in the streaming room.”
Jiu Ke stepped closer. A massive bunch of roses— he’d seen guys send flowers to girls plenty of times, but a guy getting roses? That was a first.
The blue roses were wrapped beautifully. Some fangirl must’ve been nursing a crush again.
Yun Qi finished packing his gear and walked over, eyeing the bouquet. Jiu Ke, standing beside him, asked, “You and Ziwu not getting along lately? Did you two have a falling out?”
Everyone had witnessed Yun Qi’s aggressive solo queue challenge against Ziwu the day before yesterday. It had come out of nowhere, leaving them all baffled.
He couldn’t let word get out about Yu Jin’s injury—or his Intimacy Starvation Syndrome. Yun Qi had no choice but to fib. “Nah, everything’s fine.”
Rui Rui couldn’t hold back. “Fine? Then what was that solo queue beef the other day?”
Yun Qi shrugged it off like it was nothing. “I’d heard he was a beast. Just wanted to test my own skills.”
Rui Rui bought it. “Ziwu must’ve gone easy on you. As Brother Ziwu’s sub, I’ve got the best insight— the gap between us is like a whole galaxy. No one’s topping him on mid lane anytime soon. His game sense, his mechanics… flawless. And he’s in his prime.”
“I know,” Yun Qi said. “Just testing the waters.”
Rui Rui looked baffled. “Still, you’re the first one to take him down—even if he sandbagged. Ziwu never pulls punches with anyone else. Guess that means he’s acknowledged you.”
Acknowledged? Yun Qi didn’t give a damn about Ziwu’s approval. He hated the guy—especially after what happened with Yu Jin.
Sure, Yu Jin had hurt himself, but it was because of Ziwu. And Yun Qi, the idiot, had played right into it. He’d actually believed Yu Jin wanted nothing to do with him—that getting close would mess him up. But that wasn’t true at all. It was Yun Qi’s hot-and-cold act, his radio silence, that had pissed Yu Jin off.
Clearly, Yu Jin did care about him. Yun Qi should’ve realized it sooner.
If he had, none of that mess would’ve happened. Yu Jin’s hand never would’ve gotten hurt.
Yun Qi was now only worried about one thing: whether Yu Jin’s hand would leave a scar or something like that. The wound was so deep; what if it damaged an important area and couldn’t heal properly? If that happened, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself, nor would he forgive Ziwu.
He was just as hateful as Ziwu.
Such guilt could only be slightly compensated by doing his utmost to care for Yu Jin meticulously. Yun Qi was afraid that Yu Jin would suffer lingering effects, so over these past two days, he had been dutifully taking care of him.
“Put the flowers in there,” Yun Qi said. “I’m heading back to my room.”
Jiu Ke said, “I’ll go with you.”
Rui Rui hugged the flowers and headed to the Streaming Room, while Jiu Ke followed Yun Qi upstairs.
Their rooms were not in the same place. Before parting, Jiu Ke stopped and suddenly said, “Ziwu didn’t mean to do it.”
Yun Qi turned back to look at him.
Jiu Ke hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and said, “In our Esports Team, aside from you, everyone else came from the Trial Training here. No matter what happens to KRO in the future, I don’t think anyone will abandon KRO. Everyone loves this team and treats it as the only team for their lifetime. You’re the only one who came from another team. We’re afraid you don’t have our kind of stubborn loyalty and can’t understand our passion for KRO. I don’t know what happened between you and Ziwu, but I hope you two can resolve it peacefully.”
Jiu Ke had realized the issue between the two of them. He had wanted to turn a blind eye and pretend nothing had happened, but in the end, he couldn’t hold back.
“Ziwu… is a bit eccentric,” Jiu Ke said. “But I know you’re a measured person. From these days of getting along, I can tell you’re very steady. If there’s really an irreconcilable conflict with Ziwu, go to Captain Yu—he can definitely sort it out. Since you’re here, we’re teammates, sharing honor and disgrace. Bear with it where you can, show mutual understanding, and don’t hold onto each other’s faults.”
Jiu Ke was a veteran of KRO, and he was a bit older than them, so his words naturally carried the authority of an elder. Most importantly, he had a competitive relationship with Yun Qi, yet he was willing to offer this advice for the harmony of the team—how could Yun Qi not take it to heart?
He did have some conflicts with Ziwu that were hard to resolve. Whether they could actually be resolved wasn’t up to him; it depended on whether Ziwu could stand him.
Yun Qi promised him, “Of course. I know Captain Yu has it hard leading us, and I won’t cause him trouble. As long as Ziwu can tolerate me, I guarantee that like everyone else, I’ll see this Esports Team as my only home in the future.”
Jiu Ke smiled with relief. “It’s great that you think that way. I didn’t misjudge you. There are hot-tempered people in the team no matter what—take time to grind it out. You haven’t officially played a match yet, so they can’t fully trust you. A lot of people still have their guard up against you. I’ve dueled with you, so I know I’ll have to yield this position. Yi Yang was right—I’m getting old. At 25, I’m considered on the older side in this circle. KRO’s future will depend on you and Yi Yang.”
“I’m not much younger than you.”
“But your strength has already crushed mine,” Jiu Ke knew full well. He had traded lanes with Yun Qi, so how could he not know how formidable the guy was? “You haven’t played on the International Server yet, have you?”
Yun Qi shook his head.
Jiu Ke said, “You wasted your youth at SK. There are 21 days left until the tournament starts in Seoul. I hope you maintain your level these days. Captain Yu has a keen eye—he won’t give me an internal slot just because I’m a veteran, nor will he favor you as a newbie and let you play a match. We’ve always been about strength here. Even if you were Captain Yu’s blood brother, it wouldn’t guarantee you a spot on the Starting Roster. So if you want to stand out, prove yourself, and clear your name, you have to seize this Grand Tournament opportunity. As long as you can win the Asian Server championship and bring glory to the country, the rumors won’t vanish entirely, but the voices supporting you will definitely grow louder.”
