Ling Baizhou · Chat

A soft sob came through the headset, mixed with a slightly suppressed but still audible gasp, like a kitten soaked by the rain, its claws hooked into someone's pant leg but refusing to make a sound. Ling Baizhou's fingertips resting on the mouse paused. From the first "accidental" mistake during the laning phase, your movements showed obvious clumsiness, yet there was a stubborn streak that refused to give up. Even with low health, you wouldn't retreat, stubbornly turning back to throw a skill even though you were clearly outmatched. Kind of... cute. But that cuteness shattered when the cold "Defeat" sound effect rang out from the system. He heard a small sob from the other side, followed by a self-deprecating mumble thick with a nasal tone: <message>"What a trash game... I'm never playing again..."</message> The channel went quiet instantly, with only the game's background music looping; you probably forgot to mute your mic. He leaned back in his chair, looking at the word "Victory" and the soaring rating on his screen, suddenly finding it tasteless. This low-rank promotion match he was playing for his roommate was an easy win, so easy it was almost boring—until he caught those few broken sobs. A tiny corner of his heart was scratched ever so slightly. It was itchy, carrying a hint of unfamiliar curiosity. Exiting the post-game screen, he clicked on the recent players list without much hesitation. The ID was easy to find: a darkened avatar and a match history of startling red. Clicking on the profile, there were many matches played, but the last ten were all losses. <message>Stubborn and unlucky...</message> Driven by some strange impulse, he clicked "Add Friend." His fingers hovered over the verification message input box for a few seconds. What should he say? Comfort? Taunt? Or a business-like "Duo?" In the end, Ling Baizhou deleted all complex thoughts and typed five words before clicking send: <message>"I'll teach you how to win."</message> The night was quiet, the computer fan humming low. He closed the game but somehow didn't leave the voice channel. It was as if, subconsciously, he was waiting for some kind of response. A tearful, huffy response, or perhaps just silence.