[Today’s Hot Topic on the Forum]: The entire Grilled Corn team just went live to queue together. Is anyone watching right now? I feel like the vibe between their bot lane duo is… kind of strange.
[Top Comment 1]: Damn, don’t even mention it. It’s straight-up weird.
[Top Comment 2]: Hmm? I just checked out Carrot’s stream for a bit, and everything seemed fine. She’s already finished two bowls of cherries in ten minutes.
[Top Comment 3]: While I also love watching Ms. Tao Luo’s mukbang streams, she’s not the focus tonight. Go check out Neither or Chef’s streams for a moment. You’ll see what I mean. The vibe between those two is… really bizarre. 🚬
…
[Comment 128]: Fck, I just went to check it out. It’s seriously weird. Back before Spring Festival, when they played against ZC, weren’t these two fine? How did things get so awkward after just a short holiday break?
The offseason lasted only two weeks, but for KYM’s devoted fans, every day without matches felt unbearably long.
After the Spring Festival break, Li Feng tallied up the team’s annual streaming hours and immediately felt a headache coming on.
For esports players, matches were always the top priority, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to fall short of their streaming requirements. At worst, they’d just have to pay a fine.
Li Feng worried that forum trolls would accuse them of slacking off in training, so he spent the morning earnestly persuading everyone. In the end, the team couldn’t take it anymore and had no choice but to go live together that evening.
Naturally, KYM’s fans were thrilled and flooded the streams.
Typically, during streams, they queued separately. After all, professional players forming a five-stack would be too unfair to regular players. Yet fans noticed that Yan Chengfeng and Zhen Ning still chose to duo queue.
This wasn’t unusual in other teams’ streams either; synergy and coordination between a bot lane duo required countless matches to build.
As a new player, Zhen Ning’s popularity was understandably lower than the others’. However, strangely, his stream’s viewer count was shockingly high.
Even though he had already made a name for himself on the competitive stage, this low-profile omega player still remained a mystery to most casual viewers.
Cold and quiet, skilled in gameplay—a young and beautiful omega who just so happened to play the AD position, a role that demands top-tier awareness and mechanics.
On top of that, Zhen Ning was extremely low-key, with no gossip about his private life, creating a rare sense of distance in the esports scene. The less accessible he seemed, the more he intrigued the audience.
However, when fans excitedly clicked into Zhen Ning and Yan Chengfeng’s streams, they quickly sensed that something was off.
It was just an ordinary King-tier ranked match in a 1000-point game. Zhen Ning was playing Star Lion, while Yan Chengfeng had picked the newly released support—a very standard draft and a perfectly normal start.
The only abnormal thing… was the atmosphere between them.
Because neither of them was talking.
[Did they forget to turn on their microphones, or am I deaf?]
[They’re on, all right. I can hear Carrot’s loud voice in the background. The problem is the two streamers themselves seem a bit…]
[I can understand Neither not talking—he’s always been like that. But isn’t Head Chef’s sudden shyness kind of scary?]
[And the key point is they’re duo queuing! Why isn’t anyone talking? It’s been ten minutes. Are they playing some kind of game where whoever speaks first loses?]
Finally, fifteen minutes into the match, they had their first actual conversation.
Yan Chengfeng stiffly spat out one word. “Red?”
Zhen Ning paused for a moment. “Take.”
Five minutes later.
“Dragon?”
“Secure.”
Ten minutes later.
“Push?”
“Retreat.”
Their exchange was so painfully minimalistic that the chat couldn’t hold it together anymore, flooding the screen with comments.
[Are they exchanging secret codes or something???]
[Will speaking an extra word to each other cause physical pain? The vibe between these two is way too off. What on earth happened?]
[I mean, it’s always felt a little like a divorced couple dynamic, but it wasn’t this bad before. Honestly, if someone told me they got together and then broke up over the Spring Festival, I’d believe it.]
[Things are this awkward, and y’all are still shipping them? LMAO.]
[It’s not funny. It’s really not. Didn’t one of them put a jacket over the other not long ago? How did it come to this, where they don’t even want to talk? They must’ve had a major fight.]
The atmosphere was as weird as it could get, yet their in-game coordination remained flawless. They secured a team wipe and took down the crystal.
Still, Zhen Ning stayed calm and composed, while Yan Chengfeng kept a stiff expression and remained silent.
It was really strange.
Finally, at some point, they stopped their one-word exchanges and began talking more normally—except now, they were arguing.
Yan Chengfeng: “Why did you leave me hanging during that high-ground fight?”
Zhen Ning’s eyelashes trembled slightly. “You dove too deep into the tower without communicating first. My health was too low to finish off the Strawberry Man. Following you would’ve just gotten us both killed.”
Yan Chengfeng: “We could’ve killed her. The enemy bot lane was respawning in four seconds, and I hadn’t even used my Ignite. You just didn’t want to go in with me.”
Zhen Ning: “Not enough. Even with Ignite, it wouldn’t have been enough. She’s running Resolve as her secondary rune.[mfn]Resolve is one of the five rune paths that players can choose. It focuses on durability, health, and crowd control.[/mfn] Low health triggers an extra shield.”
Yan Chengfeng: “It was enough.”
Zhen Ning: “It wasn’t.”
Yan Chengfeng: “It was. Definitely enough.”
Zhen Ning fell silent.
The two locked eyes for a moment before looking away at the same time, lapsing into silence.
After a brief pause, Zhen Ning stood up and softly told the audience, “I’m going to grab some water. I’ll be back soon.”
It was clear the conversation had hit a dead end.
Viewers on the stream noticed Yan Chengfeng freeze for a moment.
They watched as he sat there, staring blankly. Suddenly, he stood up as well. Without even turning off his camera, he followed after Zhen Ning.
The chat exploded into chaos.
[Huh??? What’s happening???]
[Don’t fight! Please don’t fight anymore—]
[Am I the only one still obsessing over whether it was ‘enough’ or ‘not enough’ and if they could’ve secured the kill?]
[Holy crap, is Head Chef chasing after him to continue the argument? I’m genuinely worried about that sharp tongue of his. Someone from Grilled Corn, please go break it up!]
Yan Chengfeng had just stepped out of the training room when he spotted Zhen Ning standing by the hallway window, holding a cup of water. Zhen Ning gazed quietly at the scenery outside.
Yan Chengfeng’s footsteps abruptly halted, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
—The timeline shifted back to three days earlier.
At the time, Yan Chengfeng had never expected that the moment he finally acknowledged the feelings he had buried for so long, the other person would say, “We can forget everything that happened.”
It had thrown him into a frenzy of anger and panic.
All he could think about was finding some way to preserve the connection between them. Pretending none of it had happened was absolutely not an option.
“What I mean is, you can’t forget just yet,” he blurted out incoherently. “Because I did the math. We agreed to help each other out, but I’ve given you two temporary marks so far, and you’ve only helped me through one rut.”
“So… so I’m losing out here,” Yan Chengfeng declared righteously. “You owe me one.”
Zhen Ning: “…?”
“And also,” Yan Chengfeng continued rambling, “after going through that once, I realized these ruts… they’re really unpredictable. They could cause a lot of uncertainty in my life and affect future matches.”
“The next one might be far off, or it might happen in a few weeks—no one can predict that. Plus, the offseason is over, and there will be more competitions coming up. So—”
“So, from now on, if you want me to give you a temporary mark,” he said justly, “then, as an equivalent exchange, you have to provide me with… a reasonable amount of comfort.”
Later, when Yan Chengfeng reflected on what he had said, he realized just how utterly stupid it sounded.
He had meant “comfort,” but the way it came out, it sounded more like, “If you don’t kiss me, I won’t mark you.” And what if Zhen Ning had simply replied, “Fine, I won’t need your marks anymore”? Wouldn’t that have been the end of everything?
Realizing this in hindsight, Yan Chengfeng cringed so hard he curled up, even pounding his bed so hard he nearly broke it.
But strangely, despite how illogical even Yan Chengfeng himself found his words, Zhen Ning hadn’t said anything at the time. His expression had turned slightly nuanced, but in the end, he simply met Yan Chengfeng’s gaze and said, “Okay.”
One way or another, Yan Chengfeng had finally come to a painful realization: he had fallen for the one person he was never supposed to.
Like every young alpha falling in love for the first time, he was restless, clumsy, and utterly at a loss.
Why did it have to be Zhen Ning?
Once Yan Chengfeng became fully aware of his feelings, he wanted to wrap himself up tightly, terrified that Zhen Ning might catch even the slightest hint of his emotions.
But he just couldn’t stop himself from trying to get closer, stumbling over countless awkward words built on flimsy excuses, only realizing how clumsy he sounded the moment they left his mouth.
That was why, during their joint stream, Yan Chengfeng had been so tense that he couldn’t even manage a normal sentence.
He was terrified that others might pick up on even the smallest clue, so he tried his best to act calm and composed. But in overcompensating, he ended up being far too conspicuous.
When he saw Zhen Ning step out of the training room, Yan Chengfeng panicked instantly.
For a moment, silence hung in the air—a quiet standoff between them.
After a pause, Zhen Ning finally asked, “Why did you come out too?”
There was no way Yan Chengfeng could admit, “I thought my careless words upset you, so I freaked out and ran after you.” Instead, he blurted out a random excuse. “It’s stuffy inside. I came out for some fresh air.”
A moment later, he saw Zhen Ning nod.
Then, Yan Chengfeng suddenly blurted out, “You haven’t… asked me for a temporary mark in a while.”
Zhen Ning turned his head and looked directly at him.
Yan Chengfeng’s throat tightened. He tried to feign nonchalance. “I was just… asking casually.”
“That’s true,” Zhen Ning said. “I might need one again tomorrow.”
Yan Chengfeng let out a dry “Oh,” and said, “Then I’ll head back first. You—”
But before he could finish, Zhen Ning interrupted. “What about you?”
Yan Chengfeng froze. “What?”
Zhen Ning’s gaze was calm. “Didn’t you say earlier that I owe you one?”
“If you want it, then tilt your head down a little.” Zhen Ning stepped closer, his voice gentle. “You’re too tall. Every time I kiss you… my neck gets sore.”
Yan Chengfeng’s heart skipped a beat.
How could anyone talk about kissing so casually, without even a flicker of emotion, as if it were as simple as making in-game picks and bans?
His breathing became unsteady, and for a long moment, he couldn’t find any words to say.
But his actions were honest enough—his expression shifted through a myriad of emotions before he finally lowered his head, obediently leaning down to Zhen Ning’s level.
Their noses were almost touching. After a moment, Yan Chengfeng, unable to contain himself, leaned in even closer. By then, the distance between them was nearly nonexistent—close enough that he could see the faint flutter of Zhen Ning’s eyelashes.
But in the next second, Zhen Ning pulled back slightly, creating a small gap between them. He looked up and softly asked, “So, was it enough?”
Yan Chengfeng was stunned.
For a moment, he couldn’t even process what Zhen Ning was referring to. Then it hit him—he was talking about their earlier argument. About whether the damage had been enough.
They were on the brink of a kiss, and now he was forcing this conversation to a halt at such a crucial moment? Yan Chengfeng couldn’t believe it.
But Zhen Ning’s expression was clear and calm, and Yan Chengfeng understood. If he didn’t give Zhen Ning the answer he wanted, they’d be stuck in this deadlock forever.
…How unfair.
This was outright blackmail!
Yan Chengfeng had never backed down in a game-related argument. He firmly believed his judgment was infallible.
And he was still certain that the damage had been enough. If Zhen Ning had followed him, they would’ve secured the kill. Zhen Ning was just overly cautious in his playstyle. That was simply who he was…
But—
“…Not enough.”
Yan Chengfeng’s ears turned slightly red. Gritting his teeth, he leaned in again, muttering under his breath, “If you say it wasn’t enough, then it wasn’t enough… Are you satisfied now?”
[Today’s Hot Topic on the Forum] [New]:
KYM’s bot lane duo might really be falling apart… It’s been feeling off for a while, but after tonight’s stream, it’s honestly way too obvious.
The first half of the stream was almost completely silent, with no communication between them. Then, in the second half, they got into a full-on argument over a minor mistake in their coordination.
Even though they won the match in the end, Neither got up and left immediately after the game, and Chef followed shortly after, looking stormy. It seems like they continued their argument outside for a while.
Sure enough, when they came back, both of their faces were bright red. Chef’s temper is no surprise, but even Neither, who’s usually emotionally composed, was acting this way. It must’ve been a really heated fight.
Sigh. The bot lane duo is such a crucial part of the team.
They worked so well together in the earlier games, but in this state, they’re going to be a major liability later on. Does our Grilled Corn… even stand a chance against the Americans this year? 🙈😭
Author’s note:
“A Really Heated Fight”
