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Can the number one “salted fish” Mid Laner join the low-tier professional team, FM, and lead them to break out of the siege?
Qi Feng: “Just watch the Boss lead this team to victory.”
Chi Jing: “Stop overextending, holy shit. We’re about to get wiped.”
The team manager silently facepalmed. Who could save his poor heart? He was going to die of anger.
“Let us congratulate this year’s Summer Split ChampionsâTeam FM! They broke the mold of traditional team compositions with a daring, fighting spirit! They have secured their ticket to the semi-finals! Let us look forward to their future performance!”
Golden rain showered onto their shoulders. Five players, hands linked, ran onto the podium to claim the trophy that belonged to them.
In this moment, they clearly felt the spirit of esports.
“Brother Feng, how many more championship trophies do you think we can take?”
The man beside him seemed to ponder, yet the answer slipped out instantly: “Two.”
One for the semi-finals. One for the National Grand Finals.
This was their faith in themselves. This was their confidence.
From youth trainees all the way to the starting lineup, everyone had endured hardships. Chi Jing had gone through a transfer, suffering through the bitter to reach the sweet.
Their efforts were worthy of two trophies.
“When we win the championship, let’s go public, okay?”
Qi Feng lowered his eyes, obscuring the emotions in his gaze. But Chi Jing knew; he was afraid. He was afraid Chi Jing would reject him.
So, Chi Jing took Qi Feng’s hand in his own, their ten fingers interlacing tightly.
“Okay.”
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