Rong Rong was still late.
On the day of the match, he was still up in the air, literally.
Yu Jin had gotten word early that morning that Rong Rong wouldn’t make it in time, so he’d slotted in a substitute. With the Chinese National Team scheduled first in the lineup, time was tight and the pressure was on—they simply couldn’t wait for him.
Rong Rong’s sub was a guy named Yu Jiao. Unlike the trial trainees who’d clawed their way up, Yu Jiao had prior experience with another esports team. Rumor had it he went way back with Rong Rong. After that old team folded, KRO had snapped him up off the transfer list. Whether Rong Rong had pulled strings in the deal was anyone’s guess. The starting roster were all homegrown from KRO’s trial trainees, but like Yun Qi, Yu Jiao was an import from elsewhere.
Yun Qi had never duo-queued solo with Yu Jiao, just gotten a quick read on him during some five-stacks. Having played support for two years himself, Yun Qi knew what top-tier looked like. Yu Jiao’s support game was a clear step above his own. A KRO benchwarmer like that could start for any other team—hell, might even outclass their starters. But KRO didn’t hype their players, so they had barely any fans, rarely competed, and flew way under the radar.
For this qualifier, Yu Jin had tapped Yu Jiao to play, while holding himself out of the lineup. Facing off against Latvia, Yi Yang took the jungle role, and Yu Jin stepped up as coach, right there in their corner.
The qualifiers weren’t as flashy as the Grand Finals, but the arena was packed. Fans from the Chinese National Team and Latvia claimed eighty percent of the seats, with the rest filled by spectators from all over. White faces and Asian ones blended into a sea under the lights, impossible to pick out amid the blinding glow of support banners.
Up at the Commentary Desk sat three blond, blue-eyed guys in crisp suits, mics clipped to their ears, facing the massive screen. They rattled off flawless English—standard for an international official event. Their rapid-fire delivery had the crowd erupting in cheers and screams below. Yun Qi’s English was passable at best, a struggle around foreigners, so he could only catch bits and pieces.
The casters were pros, introducing both teams with big smiles. When they name-dropped “Eidis,” the roar from the stands hit deafening levels. Backstage, Yun Qi had to clap his hands over his ears. He glanced at Yu Jin up front, calmly adjusting his cuffs. He wasn’t competing today—just coaching—so he’d ditched the team’s matching uniforms for a perfectly tailored suit.
Yun Qi hadn’t realized until later that KRO didn’t even have a coach. They’d tried hiring a few back in the day, but with Yu Jin calling all the shots internally, the role turned into dead weight. It wasn’t about Yu Jin hogging power or disrespecting the staff; they just figured out a coach was redundant at KRO. He had the skills to play at the top level and the insight to coach it better—his breakdowns and game plans always outshone any outsider.
No hired gun could match the world-champion experience of someone who’d crushed every major tourney out there. As First Team Captain, Yu Jin knew his players inside out, something no external coach could replicate. Eventually, they stopped assigning one altogether. As long as Yu Jin was around, any coach stayed in the shadows. Some guys on the team only listened to him anyway.
Yi Yang was exhibit A.
Having him double as coach for the international run was a smart call from above.
Yu Jin handled it effortlessly, no nerves in sight. Of course—after all the matches he’d dominated, he was untouchable in this scene. What was there to stress about?
Yun Qi hung back, watching him. First time seeing Yu Jin in a suit. Those ripped muscles and killer lines were on full display now, thanks to his gym routine. The build was addictive, impossible to look away from. Yun Qi wasn’t blind to it; just staring made his knees weak.
He knew the Grand Tournament loomed—no time for distractions. So he turned away, forcing his eyes off Yu Jin. But that spot pulled at him like a magnet, drawing his gaze back every time.
To the broad expanse of Yu Jin’s back.
Finally, after the host’s intro, they stepped onto the world stage. The venue didn’t faze Yun Qi; the only wrinkle today was the language barrier. Silver lining, though—it meant tuning out the Commentary Desk chatter, staying locked in.
A translator stuck close as they entered, introducing themselves to the crowd. A few on the team spoke solid English and handled the host’s questions without one. That’s when Yun Qi caught Yu Jin dropping a line in German. The translator filled him in: it meant they were gunning for the crown.
The prelude to the preliminaries didn’t need to be drawn out—who knew if you’d even make it to the next round? The Latvian players hurried onto the stage right after. Following a quick exchange between the teams, they settled into their player stations, and the 50-to-30 match kicked off.
These were all professional esports players; no one let the roar of the crowd below rattle their focus. Everyone quickly slipped into game mode. During ban-pick, they followed Yu Jin’s cues to ban heroes.
One reason many Asian countries skipped the EU server was the subtle differences in server setups and game design. For pros, those tiny variances—like item shop placements or map layouts—could prove deadly. National server habits didn’t translate easily. But KRO had grinded foreign servers for years, so they were right at home with international server controls. Yun Qi had crammed all the essentials in those few months too, and the all-English tooltips posed no issue.
They targeted the core heroes of the meta’s most obnoxious comps in ban-pick, ignoring raw power levels. Team comps swayed matches more than individual hero strength; breaking those nasty synergies was key.
Yu Jin had only skimmed a handful of Latvia’s games, without deep dives—call it underestimating them if you wanted. Why? Latvia had snagged last year’s world title in the smash-hit PC shooter Gun Peak, but in Cloud Summit Decisive Battle, they were perennial underachievers. On the EU server ladder, they scraped the bottom.
Teams like this were a double-edged sword. A win proved nothing; a loss would sting. A year on, their growth was a question mark. Stay cool-headed—that was plenty.
Yun Qi sat at the third-floor station. The enemy top laner and shooter locked in. Yu Jiao snagged Specter, the engage support. With their shooter being an immobile marksman, Yun Qi eyed Meng Ke and Scorpion King, the teamfight control picks.
“Grab Scorpion King,” Yu Jin said quietly from behind, nailing the call.
Yun Qi turned to look at him.
Yu Jin rested a hand on his desk and murmured, “Snowman’s still free. Big CC gets cleansed, and their support’s not picked yet.”
Yun Qi nodded. “Yeah, same thought here.” He locked Scorpion King.
Immobile marksmen like Lisita folded hard to teamfight control. But an unbanned Snowman—a cleanse monster—made Scorpion King’s low cooldown, brief stun, and dive better suited. Sure enough, enemy support took Snowman. Yun Qi exhaled in relief.
“Scorpion King’s got a sky-high pick rate this season,” Yi Yang noted. “Solid choice.”
“You locked in?” Yu Jin asked.
“Yep, Andre. Cool with that?”
The counterjungle poster boy. Yi Yang was scheming again. Glancing at their mid Moon God, Yu Jin cautioned, “No early invades into their jungle.”
Yi Yang eyed that Moon God. “Hero that good at holding lane? Nah, I’m farming safe.”
Picks done, they loaded in.
The caster desk broke down the lineups. One caster, a clear Yu Jin stan, gushed about him. On comps, Latvia looked shaky—facing a champ who’d dominated worlds.
Post-start, Yu Jin hung back, eyes glued to their screens, zeroing in on Yi Yang’s for jungle pathing, wave management, ganks.
Latvia’s top laner didn’t clock Yun Qi’s playstyle, so they poked and prodded in a standoff. Three minutes in, Scorpion King snowballed first blood top. Chinese fans erupted. Perfect start.
“Over here—this red’s counterable!” Yi Yang dove enemy jungle to choke their economy. Enemy top down, Yun Qi synced up to steal red buff, then dipped out clean.
Cameras panned the players’ faces. Yu Jin stood mute behind them, stealing glances at the stands where frenzy built. A bench coach, not even subbed in, whipped up more heat than the game.
“Eidis!!!!!”
Blonde hair, blue eyes—a girl.
She yanked every eye in the arena. Standing tall, she bellowed at the stage. Yu Jin motioned her down, and she plopped back into her seat.
“This foreign girl’s wilder than our fans?”
“Hardcore stan. And damn, she’s a looker.”
Prelims streamed live; she owned the internet.
【LMAO this foreign hottie channeling my energy】
【Eidis too handsome, throat’s shot】
【Latvia’s trash, top lane demolished】
【Luo Shen OP as hell】
[That suit on E God is hitting me right in the feels.]
[Are you even watching the match? Why is everyone obsessed with Captain E?]
[Just admit Captain E is the hottest.]
[No worries against Latvia—E God isn’t even playing. That says it all, right? Kick my ass in the Grand Finals.]
At that moment, the enemy’s First Tower in bot lane crumbled.
“Group up on me. I’ll flash out,” Ziwu commanded.
The first teamfight erupted in bot lane. Ziwu flashed in and dove straight for the enemy Moon God. The crowd roared in excitement, but he ended up on the brink of death and got cleaned up by the enemy Shooter. Yun Qi zeroed in on their Lisita without hesitation. The Snowman couldn’t protect her—its shield shattered the moment it went up, and Lisita fell.
“Aaaaaah!!!!”
“Luo Shen!!!”
Latvia’s fans stared at the frenzied mob, unsure who they were chanting for. But given the match so far, it had to be the Scorpion King player—the fresh face making his debut on the European Circuit and absolutely dominating.
With both of the enemy’s big damage dealers—Lisita and Moon God—down, their lineup fell into chaos as they tried to retreat. Yi Yang cut off their escape, scooping up the Snowman in the process.
“They’re done,” Yi Yang declared.
KRO claimed a flawless victory in the first teamfight. Everyone now had a clear read on Latvia’s skill level, and even Yu Jiao shook off his caution. Playing Specter, he tower-dived their Shooter twice alongside Chang Shu in bot lane—and both times, it worked like a charm. By the fifteen-minute mark, the enemy was deep in a desperate deficit.
“I’m blowing them up!” Yi Yang shouted as he dove under their tower. Yun Qi feared he’d get caught out, so he locked onto an enemy along their support path. Sure enough, he ran into the Moon God, landing a full combo at her displacement landing spot to take her down before swiftly pulling out of their jungle.
The players wore headsets, blocking out the chaos from the stands. Yu Jin, on the other hand, heard every curse hurled their way from the Latvian side. He paced behind the players, eyes flicking between Yi Yang’s screen and the massive overhead display. The match was unfolding beautifully—no need for his input—but his expression remained grim. Every so often, he’d press his tongue against the roof of his mouth, staring silently at the big screen.
The casters never stopped talking, breaking down KRO’s form this year with a spotlight on Yun Qi and Yi Yang.
[I love Yi Yang’s energy.]
[KRO’s got this against Latvia. No sweat—even without E God those two years ago, they hit T2. Top ten is locked. This one’s a guaranteed win.]
[First time watching the European Circuit. What’s Latvia’s level? Big brains explain?]
[Like 30th place tier.]
[Or the gap between SK and KRO.]
[Oof, savage. SK fanboy?]
[How’d you guess? Luo Shen stan for life.]
[Calling SK a “shit team” killed me. Latvia’s not that bad—don’t insult them like that.]
[Still can’t accept Qiluo = Milk Cap. Top-tier top laner. Elite.]
[+1. Feels like two different players.]
[Quietly: Qiluo’s cracked as support too. Check sour’s breakdowns.]
Latvia wasn’t terrible—they just couldn’t keep up with KRO’s raw talent. Yu Jin didn’t need to check the stream to know what the bullet screen must be saying. Now that KRO had their number, they played aggressively. At twenty-one minutes, buffed by the Tyrant, they delivered the killing blow.
They took the first game with ease. Building momentum on stage was crucial, and Latvia’s spirits were clearly broken. In the second game’s draft, they hemmed and hawed before finally settling on a ban: Scorpion King.
It was entirely predictable. KRO stayed cool, centering the comp around Chang Shu with a Pig Farming Strategy. Every other role picked tanky heroes—even Ziwu locked in the poke mage Ice God, who had some built-in durability but low damage and focused on control. It was all to fatten up Chang Shu.
They had a safety net if they lost, so they dusted off the rarely seen Pig Farming comp to test its viability on the pro stage. They were ready to sacrifice the game if needed and played with bold abandon. To everyone’s surprise, though, the enemy had no answer for it.
With Snowman banned, they couldn’t lock down Chang Shu’s slippery long-range mage. He picked the hyper-mobile Demon Tail, while Yun Qi stacked defensive items and health. The enemy lineup was nimble enough, but they burned all their damage without dropping the tanks—and they couldn’t touch Demon Tail. The Latvians unraveled completely.
[No counterplay to this comp. Their picks are trash—mobility’s useless against all that bulk.]
The second match concluded with a brutal rout via the unbeatable Pig Farming Strategy. Cheers erupted from the audience stands, while the Latvian Cheer Squad sat there with faces ashen, not even getting a chance to make out the faces of their players before the Latvians beat a hasty retreat from the arena.
Yi Yang grinned smugly. “The EU Server’s rep makes it sound so scary, but they’re not that hot.”
