SITS CH37

Chapter 37: Pre-Match Accident

On the walk back to the hotel, rain began to fall halfway through. The autumn rain was far gentler than summer downpours, only dampening the tips of their hair.

Not long after they got back, Zhao Rui and the others returned with the fried chicken. Since drinking was off-limits during the tournament, they had also bought several large bottles of cola.

“Come on, eat while we have the meeting tonight,” Zhao Rui offered warmly. “I just sampled a wing, the flavor is actually pretty good.”

That night, everyone munched on fried chicken while listening to the coach break down data.

These figures were generally compiled from the scrims they had played earlier that day.

The coach said, “Shen Man, there’s one thing from this morning’s scrim I need to call you out on.”

Shen Man was eating fried chicken too, slowly working his way through a drumstick. Hearing his name called so suddenly, he lifted his eyelids: “Hm?”

The coach said, “Look here. This ward you placed is a bit problematic. If you had dropped it in this position instead, we would have spotted the enemy the second they rotated over.”

Shen Man glanced at the ward location: “I didn’t place that ward. Zhao Rui did.”

Coach: “Impossible. I remember distinctly that it was you.”

Shen Man looked over at Zhao Rui, who was frantically stuffing chicken nuggets into his mouth.

Zhao Rui shook his head.

The coach said, “See? Zhao Rui says it wasn’t him.”

Shen Man said, “Check the replay.”

The coach rewound the footage by one minute and looked closely. Sure enough, it was Zhao Rui who had placed it. It was just that both of them happened to walk past that bush, and the overlapping models made it look like Shen Man had dropped it at first glance.

Coach: “My bad… Zhao Rui, why the hell did you shake your head if you placed it yourself!”

Zhao Rui finally swallowed the nugget in his mouth: “I never said it wasn’t me! Shaking my head meant I forgot!”

Coach: “…”

Shen Man went back to gnawing on his drumstick.

Details dictated success or failure. Details that seemed negligible at first glance could easily play a pivotal role in competitive matches.

Their team wasn’t particularly harsh yet. Some organizations explicitly mandated in their rulebooks that laners had to set up specific vision upon leaving base, fining players a thousand yuan for a single missed ward, using penalties to hardwire those details into mandatory habits.

The meeting wrapped up past ten. The coach said, “Only a few days left before the match. Everyone rest well!”

Miraculously, Shen Man had been sleeping exceptionally well these past few days. No, “well” didn’t even cover it; he could practically curl up anywhere and doze right off.

The meeting ended at nine, and by ten he was already lying in bed yawning.

Xu Zhouye was somewhat curious: “Does ge sleep this early at the base too?”

“Not really,” Shen Man said. “At the base, usually around midnight.” Lying on his side, the pillow was slightly high, practically burying his face in it. When speaking to Xu Zhouye, he tilted his gaze up from below.

Xu Zhouye had heard the term “doe-eyed gaze attack” before, and today he finally experienced it firsthand. From this angle, Shen Man was completely stripped of his usual frosty detachment, looking just like a harmless little animal. His dark, lush eyelashes looked as though they had been traced with eyeliner, staring innocently upward. Xu Zhouye’s heart trembled from how adorable he looked.

Doing his utmost to suppress the urge to touch him, Xu Zhouye rubbed his hair and then his nose, murmuring, “Mm… early to bed and early to rise is good for your health.”

Catching his fidgety movements, Shen Man wondered why he was acting so restless, like he had fleas crawling on him.

Still, he voiced none of it, letting out a yawn before shutting his eyes: “Going to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Xu Zhouye said.

With only a dim nightlight left on, the room felt cozy and warm, giving Xu Zhouye the distinct illusion that Shen Man had fully grown used to rooming with him.

Even though they hadn’t headed home yet, Xu Zhouye was already beginning to miss these quiet moments.

For the semifinals, the clash between TKR and 3B was scheduled for Day 1.

During scrims with ACE over the past few days, one could clearly see the suffocating pressure weighing on TKR. They no longer held back any secret strategies, deploying multiple tactical setups against ACE that they had never revealed before.

Both squads traded games back and forth, but overall, ACE maintained roughly a sixty percent win rate.

Before the match, Zhao Rui reached out to TKR’s Marksman out of basic sportsmanship, sending a message to wish them good luck.

TKR’s Marksman replied with thanks, adding that if they lost, could Zhao Rui help him snag an autograph from Shen Man? If they won, he’d ask Shen Man himself in person.

Zhao Rui was baffled, replying that Qin Yixing was right there, so why couldn’t he just ask Qin Yixing?

The Marksman told him to drop it; Qin Yixing refused to part with any, claiming he only had a few left himself, and that having offended Shen Man so badly, Shen Man would definitely never sign another one for him.

Zhao Rui: “…” You guys are truly something.

Still, judging by his tone in chat, their team atmosphere seemed decent enough, certainly not so stressed that they had no time to text back.

On match day, ACE held no scrims. Setting up a live stream in the analysis room, the team gathered together to watch 3B take on TKR.

The competitive value of this match was immense. Fans hailed it as an early grand final, driving viewership through the roof, with the stream channel easily breaking past ten million viewers.

Xu Zhouye pulled out a bag of potato chips from somewhere, tore it open, and handed it to Shen Man.

Shen Man took it and had a taste. Tomato-flavored; he liked it quite a bit.

“Who are you betting on, 3B or TKR?” Zhao Rui said. “Bets are open, wagering a hotpot dinner!”

“Fifty-fifty, I cast my vote for TKR.” Even though the relationship between both clubs wasn’t great, they were still brother teams representing the same home region. There was no sense in inflating foreign pride while deflating their own, so Liu Shishi cast his vote for TKR.

“I’ll pick TKR too,” Xu Xiaochong said. “Hope they can pull off the win.”

ACE had scrimmed against TKR multiple times with an even split. If TKR managed to punch their ticket to the finals, ACE’s odds of winning the championship would actually be slightly higher.

Nibbling slowly on a chip, Shen Man noticed everyone turning to look at him and murmured, “Not fifty-fifty. More like forty-sixty.”

Everyone: “…”

“What about us against 3B?” Zhao Rui asked.

“Forty-sixty as well,” Shen Man said. “Probabilities are just numbers to glance at.”

Pre-match predictions had some value, but not much. In-game form and on-stage execution always altered the math. That was the beauty of competitive sports: until the very last second, nobody knew what would unfold.

After half an hour of pre-game warm-up, the match finally began, entering the pick-ban phase.

The broadcast camera cut to Qin Yixing’s face. He was discussing Hero picks with his teammates, wearing a neutral expression.

Zhao Rui rubbed his chin, sighing wistfully: “If only we could meet TKR in the grand finals… that would be amazing.”

Yet things in this world rarely went as desired.

Several hours later, accompanied by the announcement of “WINNER,” TKR’s Nexus exploded into a glittering shower of digital fireworks.

The final score was 2-3. TKR fell narrowly to 3B.

The analysis room fell dead silent, with only the casters’ sorrowful regrets echoing from the stream: “What a pity, truly such a pity… they were just that close! Let us congratulate Team BBB on advancing to the grand finals!”

The comments on screen shifted from fury, grief, and regret to a synchronized flood of [Congratulations BBB].

Shen Man finished the last potato chip, looking at the stunned, blank faces around the room, brushing the leftover seasoning dust from his fingertips: “The funeral faces you’re wearing make me suspect you all bet your life savings on TKR to win.”

Match-fixing scandals occasionally surfaced in the pro scene, so whenever players showed unusually devastated reactions, people often joked about whether they had placed bets.

“Isn’t this just feeling sorrow for the death of a fellow competitor?” Zhao Rui suddenly found his vocabulary.

Liu Shishi snapped: “Sorrow my ass. When he was beating you down in lane, he didn’t hold back either.”

Zhao Rui said, “Fair point.”

“Stop worrying about how TKR is going to swim back. Start thinking about our match tomorrow instead,” the coach said. “If you lose to GC, the fans won’t be nearly this gentle.”

BBB’s pedigree was unquestionable. TKR had traded blows back and forth with them, so even in defeat, fans wouldn’t be overly vicious. But ACE’s situation was entirely different; dropping a series to GC would see them drowned in a tidal wave of public fury.

“Ever since Weibo rolled out one-click harassment protection, I have zero fear of losing matches,” Zhao Rui declared fearlessly.

Shen Man let out a dry laugh: “Don’t worry. They’ll just bring megaphones to shout outside the base gates.”

Everyone: “…”

Having joined only this year, Xu Zhouye was unfamiliar with the history, stunned by their grim expressions: “Wait, they actually do that?”

Liu Shishi looked up at the ceiling, sighing, “Zhouye, you have no idea what kind of days we used to live through back then.”

Shen Man remained the most composed, remarking that if they wanted to shout, let them shout. Standing out in the wind and sun just to voice their rage—was that not its own form of esports passion?

Xu Zhouye didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Their match against GC was scheduled for tomorrow at six in the evening, midnight domestic time.

Fortunately, it fell on a weekend, meaning fans back home didn’t have to work the next day and could stay up late to watch.

That night, fearing everyone would be too anxious to sleep, the coach dismissed the squad early, telling them to get proper rest.

Stepping out from washing up, Shen Man found Xu Zhouye lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Nervous?” Shen Man asked.

Xu Zhouye sat up, crossing his legs: “A little.”

Claiming not to be nervous was definitely a lie. They were living, breathing humans, not machines; reaching the top four in his very first international tournament, who wouldn’t feel the weight? “Ge, were you nervous the first time you went to Worlds?”

Shen Man said, “Of course.”

Xu Zhouye smiled, “Couldn’t tell at all.”

Shen Man had striking looks, naturally making him the favorite of broadcast observers who loved lingering on his face. Back then, when Shen Man piloted his signature Hero to dismantle 3B and seize the championship on foreign soil, his expression had barely shifted. Xu Zhouye still vividly remembered the scene of Shen Man calmly taking off his headset, walking serenely behind his seniors to the center of the stage, and hoisting the trophy. He hadn’t even shown much wild joy, looking entirely out of place amidst the fanatical fervor surrounding him.

“Nobody isn’t nervous,” Shen Man said. “During the first game, my hands were shaking.”

Xu Zhouye asked, “For real?”

“Completely real,” Shen Man said. “I wiped my hands multiple times. The mouse was slick with sweat.”

Xu Zhouye listened with rapt attention: “So ge gets nervous too…”

Shen Man said, “Being nervous is normal. Just don’t let it crush you.”

For some people, nerves acted like poison, crippling their mechanics. But for others, nerves were pure adrenaline: the more anxious they were, the sharper their focus became, unleashing their absolute peak form.

Shen Man belonged to the latter group, and he hoped Xu Zhouye was the same.

Yet he couldn’t quite pin down which category Xu Zhouye fell into. If you said he didn’t get nervous, he had gotten slapped to death by a jungle creep in his very first official match; if you said he did, he had played with breathtaking dominance ever since…

Shen Man stared at Xu Zhouye.

Xu Zhouye felt a bit self-conscious: “Ge, why are you staring at me? I’m definitely going to be nervous…”

Amused by his expression, Shen Man said, “Be as nervous as you want. It’s not like I’m going to scold you.”

Finding no comfortable way to sit on the bed, Xu Zhouye slouched back down awkwardly: “Then if I get nervous tomorrow, you have to comfort me.”

Hearing those words, Shen Man’s immediate instinct was to ask how do you want me to comfort you? He parted his lips, just about to voice the question, when a certain short story he had seen in that Weibo Super Topic flashed unbidden into his mind. The plot had roughly been: Xu Zhouye feeling anxious before a match, and how Shen Man used his own body to soothe him thoroughly.

The memory struck with such sudden force that the fictional scenes merged instantly with the reality before his eyes.

Shen Man’s mouth opened and closed for several seconds, completely unable to squeeze the question out. Not only could he not ask, but facing Xu Zhouye’s expectant gaze, a burning heat began crawling up his cheeks.

He swore to himself—he was never, ever clicking into that Super Topic again.

Xu Zhouye watched in sheer bafflement as Shen Man suddenly flushed red, before awkwardly looking away, tossing out a stiff remark: “Going to sleep.”

Xu Zhouye: “Ah??” We were chatting just fine, why the sudden urge to sleep? What on earth happened in those few seconds?

Ignoring Xu Zhouye’s bewildered face, Shen Man crawled into bed and lay down, turning his back entirely toward Xu Zhouye.

Staring at his back, Xu Zhouye thought to himself: Ge, did I say something wrong and offend you? Not daring to ask, he obediently switched off the light, figuring he would untangle this after tomorrow’s match was won.

A dreamless night.

The next day, the team set off right on schedule.

Everyone looked to be in prime condition, sharp, focused, and ready for battle.

A ring of fans was already waiting outside the arena. After exchanging brief greetings, Shen Man and the squad headed down the hallway toward their waiting room.

Both teams’ waiting rooms shared the same corridor. Just yesterday, Zhao Rui had joked about whether they would bump into GC on their way in, never expecting those words to come true today.

Several figures were standing in the hallway.

The passage was somewhat narrow. Shen Man walked past them.

Whether by accident or design, the moment they brushed shoulders, someone abruptly tripped, slamming heavily right into Shen Man’s injured right arm. The force was substantial, knocking an unguarded Shen Man straight against the concrete wall.

A sharp gasp of pain escaped Shen Man’s lips.

The sudden accident shocked everyone present.

Xu Zhouye reacted fastest, instantly stepping in to shield Shen Man.

“Ge, ge, are you okay? Ge!” With the accident unfolding, Xu Zhouye trembled harder than the injured Shen Man. He saw a dark patch of red seeping through Shen Man’s sleeve; clearly, the wound had torn open again. A rush of blood surged into Xu Zhouye’s eyes, dyeing the rims crimson. He reached out to touch Shen Man, yet felt as though Shen Man were made of delicate glass that would shatter at the slightest contact, his trembling hand freezing mid-air.

Drawing in a long, shuddering breath, Shen Man forced his shaking body to steady itself, murmuring in a low voice, “Ask the staff if there’s a medical room. Clean the wound first.”

“Okay,” Xu Zhouye choked out.

They questioned the flustered staff member nearby. Fortunately, temporary medical personnel were stationed on-site to handle basic emergencies.

The organizers hadn’t anticipated this scene either, their response lagging behind. By the time security arrived, the ACE players—bursting with rage—had already been held back by the coach. The person who had crashed into Shen Man was babbling rapidly in Korean. Nobody understood a single word, though he seemed to be offering an apology.

Zhao Rui looked ready to jump him for a beatdown, cursing his lack of English skills, reduced to pointing at the guy’s nose and hurling furious Chinese profanities, having no idea if the other party understood.

Once security intervened, the chaos was finally brought under control.

Only then did the rest of the team realize Shen Man and Xu Zhouye were gone.

“Where’s the Captain? Where did he go?!” Liu Shishi asked frantically.

“To the medical room. Xu Zhouye took him to the medical room,” the manager panted, beads of cold sweat dotting his forehead. “I’ll coordinate with the organizers first. Don’t panic.”

Inside the room, Shen Man sat in a chair, letting the temporary medical staff dress his wound.

Sitting beside him, Xu Zhouye clenched his fists so tightly that thick blue veins bulged across his skin. If Shen Man’s arm didn’t need immediate attention, he would have charged back out to land several punches on that guy’s face. His eyes were rimmed with red, whether from panic, fury, or a chaotic mix of both.

Shen Man, however, appeared remarkably serene. His face showed little emotion, though his complexion was so terrifyingly pale it looked as though he might fade away into thin air.