Chapter 31: Reality
The last cigarette burned out, and Shen Guanchao pulled himself out of his memories.
Having trained for several hours straight, he felt a bit drained. He hung up the phone with Pear Flower Na, intending to go back to his room to sleep.
Today was the last day of Xie Jingchu’s trial training and the first day of his official induction into the team. During the break, Pei Zhi was bustling about downstairs, organizing welcome activities as if he had been injected with chicken blood; the noise drifted up from below.
Shen Guanchao closed the door, shutting out all the clamor related to Xie Jingchu, and buried his head in the bed.
The All-Star Game was the day after tomorrow. Taking advantage of the rising discussion around the team, the club would officially announce Xie Jingchu then.
Shen Guanchao buried his face in the pillow, his heart beating a little fast.
He knew clearly that he wasn’t ready to play in the same team and live day and night with his former ambiguous romantic interest. But the person had already been poached; they couldn’t just give him a sky-high termination fee to send him away.
In the subsequent operations, to package the new player, the team would arrange for Xie Jingchu to appear in the same frame as the veteran members more often, livestream together, and shoot promotional videos together, using the gimmick of “veterans leading the rookies” to quickly monetize the new player’s commercial value.
Zoe was usually clingy with Fox, and their fanbases were tightly bound, so naturally, they couldn’t be the ones to mentor Xie Jingchu.
The “custody rights” of Xie Jingchu naturally fell onto the head of Shen Guanchao, who was also a massive traffic magnet. In the coming days, Lu Wuxu had scheduled all their activities together.
The thought of having to suppress his nausea and pretend to be brotherly with the person who had deceived him in front of fans made Shen Guanchao, lying on the bed, feel a burning desire to hang himself.
Falling asleep with a messy state of mind, he woke up very early the next day.
NAVA had announced their new manager, Lu Wuxu, last night. For publicity needs, the other members of NAVA had reposted the official announcement on Weibo last night.
Shen Guanchao, having gone to sleep early, was long overdue this morning.
[NAVA·Flesh: Good morning, looking forward to the brand new you // Entertainment Frog: Article: E-sports circle’s “Daddy-style Boyfriend” Lu Wuxu suddenly transitions behind the scenes; the real reason behind it is actually…]
Having just woken up, he slipped up in his groggy state and reposted the wrong Weibo. It wasn’t discovered until ten minutes later. Pei Zhi was so angry smoke was coming out of his seven orifices. His roar penetrated everyone’s door panels forcefully early in the morning: “Shen Guanchao!!!”
“You reposted the damn wrong Weibo!!!”
In the bathroom, Shen Guanchao, who was about to doze off while brushing his teeth, was instantly startled awake by the sound. Before he could even spit out the foam in his mouth, he opened his phone with the toothbrush still in his mouth, deleted that Weibo post, and reposted the correct one.
Lu Wuxu happened to come looking for him for something. Leaning against the door frame, he couldn’t help but chuckle at Shen Guanchao’s appearance.
Shen Guanchao rolled his eyes, wiped the foam off the corner of his lips, looked at this “daddy-style boyfriend,” and asked with a fake smile, “Very funny?”
“A little.” Lu Wuxu nodded honestly. “If you’re washed up, let’s go. We need to take a group photo downstairs.”
Shen Guanchao nodded slightly and walked downstairs side by side with him.
Downstairs. Xie Jingchu, wearing the formal team uniform for the first time, allowed Zoe to pull him around and pose him in various flashy postures. Fox stood aside, his eyes full of sympathy as he looked at him.
Once everyone had arrived, a group of grown men seriously arranged themselves into a messy formation. Shen Guanchao stood between Lu Wuxu and Xie Jingchu, flashed a perfect smile, and didn’t forget to make a peace sign with one hand.
Pei Zhi set the camera and returned to his spot.
As the countdown ended, a new family portrait was born.
In front of the glittering wall of honor in the villa, this first-tier team, combining new and old members, once again exuded new vitality.
The photo turned out ugly.
Fox took one look and walked away.
“What is this? Why does my face look like a donkey? Why does my brother look so good?” Zoe zoomed in on the photo carefully and said with disdain.
“It’s not that ugly. Isn’t it pretty good?”
Pei Zhi didn’t believe in evil; he insisted on printing it out and hanging it on the wall.
“Your aesthetic sense is dead.” Shen Guanchao mocked in passing. He turned to walk toward the training room, but out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Xie Jingchu still standing motionless beside him, frowning slightly.
He leaned over and very lightly tugged at Xie Jingchu’s clothes, pulling out a small section of the hem that was tucked into the waistband. “A blind person playing e-sports? Can’t even dress properly…”
Xie Jingchu lowered his eyes, his breathing quickening, not knowing where to put his hands. “Thank you.”
Shen Guanchao didn’t care about his inner drama and said straightforwardly, “Shut up, go train.”
Although his mouth was scolding, his body still subconsciously cared for Xie Jingchu. Sure enough, he couldn’t change this bad habit of being cheap.
Even though he was the one who had ruthlessly cut off contact back then.
In the training room, Fox, who always spoke little, took the initiative to invite Shen Guanchao to duo queue: “Together?”
Tomorrow was the All-Star Game. Zoe wasn’t participating due to special reasons, and Lu Wuxu had already retired. With only Fox and Shen Guanchao competing, they naturally needed to practice their coordination.
Shen Guanchao agreed readily, opened the game client, logged into his main account, and pulled Fox into the team.
After clicking “Start Game,” they were matched into a match shortly after.
Fox had been ranking up fiercely recently, and Shen Guanchao didn’t yield an inch either. They hit it off instantly. These two played like lit firecrackers, grinding high-ELO matches all afternoon. They lost few and won many, crushing the opposition the entire time. Occasionally meeting fans, they harvested a pile of rainbow farts (excessive praise).
Zoe mimicked the fans’ tone, following the trend sweetly in their ears: “Wow~ Brother Chao is awesome~”
“Brother Chao is the best Main Attacker in my heart~”
“Fox carries hard! Ranking up with eyes closed~”
The last sentence was particularly sarcastic: “Wow~ Why isn’t Brother Fox playing with Zoe today~”
Fox raised an eyebrow. “What illness do you have now?”
“Take some antihypertensives to regulate yourself.”
“Performance paused.” Shen Guanchao also had a headache from Zoe’s blowing. After finishing another game, he simply disbanded the team. “Returning your man to you, happy now?”
Zoe: “Okay, okay.”
As soon as that team disbanded, Xie Jingchu immediately seized the opportunity to invite Shen Guanchao: “Carry me?”
He was using his Healer alt account. Shen Guanchao paused, then sneered, “Want to play the same trick you used to trick me before?”
Xie Jingchu choked. “No…”
“I can carry you.” Shen Guanchao said casually, “Let me play on your main account. I kind of want to play Sniper.”
“Okay.”
Xie Jingchu logged into his Sniper account for Shen Guanchao. His eyes involuntarily lingered on Shen’s face for a few seconds before saying, “Ready…”
Teaming up, Shen Guanchao looked at the Little Fox Fairy character beside him, which he hadn’t seen for months. He was slightly dazed, the corner of his mouth ticking up unconsciously, but his throat felt suddenly blocked. His attitude and words toward Xie Jingchu had already undergone a world of difference.
“Ranked or casual?” he asked.
Xie Jingchu: “Ranked.”
Shen Guanchao: “Alright. Don’t blame me if you lose points.”
He said that, but Shen Guanchao’s sniper skills weren’t bad. He just retained the habits of a Main Attacker, liking to rush faces. Simply put, it was “close-quarters sniping.” This type of player was either trash or so insidious you couldn’t guard against them. Shen Guanchao obviously belonged to the latter.
After the game countdown reached zero, he rushed out immediately. Relying on his familiarity with the map, he quickly stole two wild monsters from the enemy Main Attacker’s hunting zone, upgraded his firearm, and rushed the enemy’s inevitable path to take first blood.
Xie Jingchu followed closely behind him to coordinate. His operation was also very detailed, paying attention to his positioning and footsteps, and shielding his teammate at the perfect angles.
A close-quarters sniper like Shen Guanchao was rare for Xie Jingchu to see, but he had heard of such unorthodox playstyles. The margin for error in such operations was very small; missing a single shot could almost declare the failure of the raid.
Although the two had never coordinated like this before, in this kind of pub match, pro players crushed everyone. A game ended in less than twenty minutes. Shen Guanchao took the MVP (Star of the Match) and raised an eyebrow, not expecting face-rushing sniping to be so fun.
Returning to the team screen, Xie Jingchu took a deep breath. Not knowing if Shen Guanchao wanted to continue, he asked nervously, “Still playing?”
“Come.” Without making Xie Jingchu wait too long, Shen Guanchao clicked duo queue again. In less than a minute, matching was successful, and they were in.
In the second game, the two still didn’t communicate much, but their coordination remained excellent.
A speed-push game; this time they finished in sixteen minutes. The two returned to the queue again.
Xie Jingchu exited the settlement screen. Inside the game, the system once again reminded them that they were waiting for a match.
Just like that, with zero communication throughout, they played six games in a row, cutting through the mess quickly.
When the sixth game ended, Shen Guanchao glanced at the time and realized they had been training continuously for several hours. He exited the queue, turned his head to the person beside him, and said:
“Take a break. You’re not a donkey for the production team.”
“Wearing down your body like this… if you get sick from exhaustion, it affects your future, not the team’s.”
The “donkey” in question slowly stood up from the computer station, thinking of what to say, but Shen Guanchao had already strode out, leaving him only an unfathomable back view.
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