Chapter 149

“…cannot be called a genius.”

With the conclusion of his indifferent statement, cheers erupted repeatedly from the audience below.

It seemed that wherever this person appeared, he was accompanied by stares and screams.

A gentle tap on his shoulder brought Ye Chi’s gaze up. Chen Dong said, “Stop looking.”

Ye Chi removed one earphone. “Learn by watching,” he said.

Chen Dong sat down behind Ye Chi. “Does it not bother you when you watch?”

“Some masochism is part of the competition,” Ye Chi replied.

The atmosphere inside the car wasn’t too bad. Losing the match was certainly upsetting. Ye Chi was equally distressed. In the first game, they couldn’t find their way, and in the second game, they were steady until they lost everything in one move.

Perhaps this was the real pressure when facing a strong team. DSG could make countless mistakes, but they only needed one mistake to lose the game.

During the Baron fight, Ye Chi had a feeling. He knew Mo Yin must have been hiding in that brush, ready to engage. But in actual competition, tense nerves, high-pressure lanes, and the desire to win could affect instantaneous actions and judgments.

Could he really 1v5?

With such a hopeful mindset, thinking they had an advantage after securing Baron, even if Mo Yin jumped out to engage, they believed they could win.

The result was obvious.

They lost.

Some people truly could 1v5.

Perhaps this was the charm of a superstar.

Mo Yin was not wrong. Genius was indeed irreplicable. He was not that kind of genius, and he had a much longer road ahead of him.

Ye Chi finished watching Mo Yin’s solo interview, then watched the group interview of DSG.

During the interview with the team that had won ten consecutive games, there was no excitement or enthusiasm. Everyone remained calm and composed. Mo Yin sat in a corner with his head down, only lifting it when questions were directed at him.

The microphone during the match was also revealed.

Despite the earth-shattering team fight, their communication was exceptionally clear and concise.

“Prepare for Baron.”

“Go all in.”

“I’ve engaged.”

“Push mid.”

That was all of Mo Yin and his teammates’ communication.

After the Penta kill, there was no celebration for himself or any expression of excitement, only cheers from his teammates.

Calm, decisive, restrained. Sensitivity to team fights, flawless operation.

No one liked losing.

But this time, Ye Chi admitted defeat wholeheartedly. The gap between him and Mo Yin was not just in gaming skills but also in mentality.

Back at the base, the coach led the team through a review. The more they reviewed, the more Ye Chi felt the comprehensiveness of Mo Yin. Whether it was lane pushing, team fights, roaming, or operation, Mo Yin had already reached the pinnacle of what a mid-laner could achieve. He had maintained this peak state for two years.

“Don’t be too upset,” the coach comforted everyone. “We had opportunities to win both games. We just need to prepare more thoroughly, and we still have a chance in the playoffs.”

Everyone nodded silently. The coach turned to Ye Chi. “Captain, say a few words.”

Ye Chi said, “Let’s continue to fight.”

Chen Dong smiled. “Feng has watched the video back and forth several times.”

“What?” Lian Cheng said, “Not the interview video?”

Ye Chi said, “Can’t I?”

Laughter broke out among everyone, and the atmosphere finally relaxed.

“Bao has always been quite arrogant, but I’ve never seen him make such targeted remarks before. Feng, could this be another form of recognition?”

Sun Yuanyang’s analysis earned a big thumbs-up from Ye Chi.

More laughter followed.

“Feng, you’ve really had a tough day.”

“Getting roasted in support, blown up in-game, mocked in interviews… Feng, my poor Feng, why are you so pitiful…”

The members of REAL gradually lightened up. Despite being “bashed” by his teammates, Ye Chi remained calm and unconcerned. “I know some of you also wish to be treated like this. Unfortunately, I’m the only one worthy.”

“Go to hell —”

“Wait, I’m going to the group chat later to judge your play tonight harshly!”

“Not hurt enough from Ma Bao’s beating, huh?”

Meanwhile, the DSG team was also conducting a review of the two games.

The coach and analysts pointed out some of the team’s mistakes, but not a single mention was made about Mo Yin.

Regarding Mo Yin’s reckless decision in the second game, the coach merely commented casually, “Adapting early to the next patch was effective. There are still areas for improvement in overall coordination.”

In team games, having an absolute center was clearly not a good sign. In almost every esports world, such teams inevitably ended up crumbling amidst growing imbalances and conflicts.

The system popped up again, notifying Mo Yin after the meeting: “The world line hasn’t changed. Although you defeated the protagonist 2-0 today, the protagonist has gained insight into ‘the heart of the strong’ as a result, and will make rapid progress in future matches.”

Mo Yin: “I regret not bringing you along in the previous few worlds.”

System: “Happy! The coordinator is praising it, right? Praising it, right? Praising it, right?”

Mo Yin: “You’re amusingly stupid.”

System: “…”

The system dared not speak, whether in the small world or the real world, the Coordinator was nearly invincible. It seemed only the protagonist could punish it.

The system also remembered that in the previous few worlds, the protagonist had succeeded only once, with all other missions failing. Of course, the adult’s meaning was that mission failures didn’t matter, but it had no authority and knew nothing.

Well, it really seemed like a somewhat dim-witted system.

The system silently emoted.

Mo Yin’s world temporarily quieted down.

When they bumped fists on the field today, locking eyes with each other, different faces but trembling souls.

There was no need for further analysis or confirmation; this was “Him”.

Pei Mingshu, Pei Qing, He Xuan, Randes, Li Xiu.

All of them were “Him”.

Mo Yin had always consciously avoided what had happened in the previous world.

Those pure, innocent, and genuine emotions went beyond natural human laws.

Mo Yin lay on the bed in the dormitory, hands behind his head.

He recalled the night in that small single-room dormitory, the bitter medicine.

That “Mo Yin” was unlike him but also very much like him…

After a brief moment of reflection, Mo Yin felt there was nothing he was unwilling to admit. That was him, too.

As for his feelings towards “Him”… well, let’s deal with the present first.

—

The team took a two-day break.

Mo Yin didn’t go home; the concept of “home” seemed strange to him. His memories of his family were filled with endless affection, although they were a wealthy family, his parents treated him with very down-to-earth love and fully supported his decision to give up school and pursue a professional career.

It sounded perfect, perfectly false.

Alone at the base, Mo Yin chose to livestream gaming.

Streaming was a requirement of the team, and he had also signed a streaming contract with the platform. With Mo Yin’s wealth, he didn’t care much about the money from the streaming contract, but he loved gaming, especially playing games under the gaze of the public, so he streamed diligently.

As soon as the stream started, fans swarmed in, and gift effects dominated the screen instantly.

Mo Yin never asked for gifts during his streams, nor did he discourage fans from sending them. He streamed to play games; the microphone was on, but whether he spoke or not was uncertain, as he was naturally quiet while gaming.

Apart from the game’s sound effects, the only sound in the entire stream was Mo Yin’s continuous breathing, jokingly referred to by fans as esports ASMR.

Especially during intense team fights, Mo Yin’s breathing remained steady, contrasting sharply with his dazzling, high-speed operations. Although there was no camera, fans could entirely judge his expression based on Mo Yin’s usual gaming style. Without thinking, it must have been that standard indifferent face.

Strong to the point of exploding, cold enough to freeze, it would be strange if his popularity didn’t skyrocket.

“Mai Bao changed accounts again.”

“Can’t help it. If he doesn’t change, the opponent keeps dodging, and it takes two hours to get a match.”

“Can’t blame the opponent. If it were me, I’d dodge too.”

“If it were me, I wouldn’t dodge. Mai Bao would pick me~”

Mo Yin didn’t read the barrage, queued up for the game, and picked a hero he wasn’t so proficient with. Fifteen minutes later, the opponents surrendered.

Still, it was a bland match.

Closing the settlement interface, Mo Yin glanced at the friend request notifications.

Regardless of which account he used, Mo Yin never added friends, not even his teammates, maintaining his image as a ruthless and cold-hearted demon king.

However, those who wanted to add him as a friend were always in endless succession—fans, strangers who recognized him—all flooding his friend requests in minutes.

There was an interesting incident in his memory.

Ye Chi had also sent him a friend request once.

During an interview, Mo Yin claimed he didn’t know Ye Chi at all, which wasn’t a lie, but he did remember Ye Chi’s game ID.

Because Ye Chi’s ID was quite abstract.

“Playgay.”

It was precisely because of this outrageous ID that when Mo Yin clicked open the friend request, he paused for a second when he scrolled down, which was caught by the fans.

He played three games in a row, and by the fourth game, the opponents dodged upon entering.

Mo Yin understood that this account of his was “useless” again.

There was no way around it; most people playing games wanted to win. Who would be bored enough to go looking for trouble?

Previously, Mo Yin had also tried not to stream and play with other accounts, but he was recognized after only a few games. His suffocating laning style, teamfight operations, and mute play were all too iconic. Besides matches and training games, Mo Yin found it difficult to enjoy games during leisure time.

He might as well go back to his main account.

Sometimes, he encountered high-profile anchors trying to ride on his popularity, and they could play a few games together.

What annoyed him the most was running into those who set up gambling games based on their gaming performance, where most of the players were actors, making the gaming experience poor.

The ideal scenario was encountering a group of professional players, where he could truly enjoy a game.

Mo Yin texted his aunt for a cup of coffee, somewhat bored, and clicked on the friend request interface with his mouse.

The barrage exploded in the chat, filled with “Is Ma Bao going to add a friend?” Yet Mo Yin merely feinted, sliding the mouse past.

The fans in the livestream room sighed in relief.

“There’s a subtle peace of mind.”

“Yes, by not adding anyone equally, I won’t be jealous of anyone.”

“Will anyone really be able to get Ma Bao’s friend request? I don’t believe it.”

While the fans entertained themselves in the chat, Mo Yin finally got into a ranked match after waiting for nearly half an hour.

[MY has joined the team chat.]

[Sukisuki has joined the team chat.]

[Playgay has joined the team chat.]

[Kong has joined the team chat.]

[Junming has joined the team chat.]

The chat exploded instantly.

“Damn, it’s Tea Bro.”

“Is Playgay Crazy Bro? Did I crash?”

“It’s him, playing Gay Bro, ID is ‘Ni Da Tian’.”

“Good thing he’s not on the other side; otherwise, Crazy Bro would have PTSD from laning against him.”

The chat was lively with discussions, and Mo Yin also noticed this ID belonged to Ye Chi.

Undoubtedly, Ye Chi should also know it was him.

No, it should be said that everyone knew it was him.

[Sukisuki: Wow, encountered the male god, I’ll just lie down for this one.]

[Junming: Two mid lanes, who’s going mid?]

[Sukisuki: Why even ask? Whoever wins goes mid.]

“Love Brother’s words truly touch my heart!”

“Exactly, who dares to snatch the mid lane position in front of MY?”

“Pure underlings, beaten both ways, buddy watch and learn well.”

Mo Yin didn’t type or speak, but his teammates were excitedly chatting away.

[Kong: Oh my, three roles?]

[Junming: ? Who else?]

[Kong: …me]

[Junming: Who are you?]

[Kong: It doesn’t matter, is support on the third floor?]

The third floor was Ye Chi, who didn’t respond.

[Sukisuki: What’s going on? Why isn’t the third floor talking?]

Mo Yin was on the first floor. He didn’t pay attention to what his teammates were saying and directly picked the hero he wanted to play.

The second floor was ADC, who also chose the hero they wanted to play.

When Ye Chi on the third floor finally made his pick, he hesitated and finally locked in a mid-lane hero, directly clashing with Mo Yin’s position.

[Kong: …6]

[Junming: ?]

[Junming: He seems absent.]

[Kong: If he’s not present, why queue up for a game.]

The fourth floor cursed while picking a top lane hero, and the fifth floor typed, saying “here.”

At the same time, Ye Chi on the third floor finally spoke up.

[Playgay: Sorry, just had to step away suddenly. Should I take mid then?]

[Junming: Don’t rush, if you can play, it’s not easy to queue up for a game.]

[Sukisuki: No insta-lock! I want to play games with Mai Bao!]

The barrage instantly filled with “…” and “???”.

How could someone call Mai Bao in front of Mai Bao himself!!! Are you crazy?!! Mai Bao is the aloof, cool, and flashy mid-lane mage king. This kind of cute nickname should only be used privately. How could you use it in front of the main character?

Sukisuki was a casual player, a fan of Mo Yin, and subconsciously typed out the nickname commonly used for Mo Yin on forums. After sending it, he nearly bit his tongue. Oh no, would Mai Bao get angry and insta-lock me?

[Playgay: I can go support.]

[Playgay: Is that okay? If not, I’ll lock in, Ma?]

The barrage was instantly flooded with question marks and asterisks, and the excited words were met with a system prompt for a mute, which flooded the screen in the livestream room.

Footsteps thudded at the stairwell.

“What trouble have you caused now?!”

Chen Dong yelled.

Ye Chi turned around, his hair messy, a bit of stubble on his chin, holding a bowl of instant noodles in his hand, and wearing glasses on the bridge of his nose. He looked entirely unkempt. “What did I do?”

Chen Dong leaned close to his screen. “You queued into Mai Bao’s game and not only stayed silent, but also called him that. Do you not want to live? The fan group is already plotting to assassinate you!”

Ye Chi chuckled. “It’s not that serious, right? Don’t all of you call him that too?”

He had seen the third floor using it, so he followed suit. He even omitted the “Bao” to avoid being accused of sycophancy, although he considered himself a bit of a fan too.

“Forget it, forget it. I can’t reason with you. Hurry up and just quit. Maybe there’s still a chance.” Chen Dong really wanted to shake some sense into him.

“It took me so long to queue into a game. He shouldn’t mind, right? Don’t shake me, I spilled my noodles. I’m about to start my game…”

Ye Chi set down the instant noodles and turned his face away. Both of their gazes turned to the same place.

At the bottom right corner of the screen, words had appeared at some point.

MY: S*B.

Chen Dong: “…”

Ye Chi: “…”