On the eve of the Major.
When G2’s official Twitter account set off an uproar in the CS esports scene, Meng Lang, at the center of the public-opinion storm, remained as steady as a mountain.
After posting on Weibo, he quietly waited for emotions to ferment and turn into GOAT points.
Just as usual, Meng Lang sat down in front of the computer in the training room.
In two days, all of G2 would be leaving Berlin, Germany, for Antwerp, Belgium. In truth, the club’s two-week boot camp had already ended today.
The players had all begun packing their luggage, preparing for this Major trip.
However, the natural laid-back tendencies of Westerners made them accustomed to going to places like bars to relax before a match. Word was that Young Master Ni would be picking up the tab tonight.
At eight in the evening, Hunter had tidied up his outfit. Just as he was about to head out, he happened to see Meng Lang holding a bottle of happy water, drinking as he walked toward the training room.
“Bro, aren’t you changing?”
“Why would I change?”
“To go to Lebua Sky. Niko already booked a table.”
“I’m not going. I still need to play ladder.”
“Huh?”
Hunter froze.
For the past two days before the trial, Meng Lang had been practicing like mad.
His intensity was maxed out.
Hunter could understand that much.
With his future uncertain, training like a lunatic was a way to relieve pressure.
He himself had once gone through a period like that.
Yes.
In order to keep up with his younger cousin.
But now G2 had already officially announced the roster, and Meng Lang had ultimately become a starter.
Yet he was still grinding just as hard.
Hunter did not understand.
CS was a typical hardcore FPS that was easy to pick up but difficult to master. It relied far too heavily on talent.
You could painstakingly practice a hundred times, only to get onto the stage and be kicked around like a stray dog by those genius star players. At that point, your Dao heart would truly shatter.
“Bro, there’s no need to practice like this. It won’t have any effect,” Hunter advised.
“My hands itch if I don’t play.”
Meng Lang smiled and turned into the training room.
“Uh… all right, then.”
Hunter gave a wry smile and turned to leave the club.
When he walked into the training room, Meng Lang unexpectedly discovered that he was not the only one staying behind tonight—the kid was also sitting in front of a computer, head lowered as he played with his phone.
“Bro, you didn’t go either?”
Meng Lang pulled out the chair beside the kid and sat down.
“I’m feeling a little unwell.”
The kid raised a hand and pointed at his nose. When he spoke, there was a slight nasal tone.
Meng Lang was taken aback, then smiled. “Got it! Sick Ilya! Want to Solo?”
His tone was utterly natural, without the slightest awareness that he was bullying a sick Ilya.
The kid had originally wanted to refuse.
But then the scene from today’s scrim surfaced in his mind, when Old Ni, Little Li, and the others had all been full of praise for Meng Lang. That damned desire to win between peers immediately rose up.
“Sure.”
He agreed very decisively.
The two soon entered the Duel Solo mode. They did not choose a single weapon, but instead went with three categories: pistol USP, rifle AK, and sniper AWP Solo.
It had to be said, Solo was indeed the best way to quickly improve aim. It could train position control, counter-strafing, pre-aiming, and the ability to take frontal gunfights!
However, because both sides knew each other’s positions, victory depended to a large extent on whose fundamentals were more solid and whose reactions were faster. Under these circumstances, Meng Lang’s Spider Sense could not play much of a role.
In the pistol round’s 10 rounds, Meng Lang took 4 points, while the kid took 6.
6:4!
The kid raised his brows at Meng Lang smugly!
A little tsundere!
“You’re pretty good.”
Meng Lang did not mind at all. He rubbed his hands together. “Next is the rifle round. Time for me to perform!”
“Come on, come on,” the kid said with a grin.
In the rifle segment of the three Solo categories, there were a total of 28 rounds.
Once Meng Lang got the AK, he immediately regained his former glory. In the following 28 rounds, there were all kinds of wide peeks and instant one-taps, as well as terrifying long-range spray transfers that were as straight as a line.
The kid, who had been grinning after winning the pistol round,
was beaten until he could no longer grin.
24:4!
When the rifle round ended, out of 28 rounds, Meng Lang had directly taken 24 points, while the kid only took 4. And among those 4 points, 1 was a bit of care Meng Lang had gifted him.
After they finished, the kid’s face had turned a little green.
“How did you practice that AK?”
“Just practiced it like that?”
Meng Lang was vague.
It was not convenient to say that inside the endlessly rewinding “cyber cage,” he had held an AK and madly taken frontal 1v5 breakthroughs against a top-ten professional team in the world.
Death!
Rewind!
Death again!
Rewind again!
An infinite loop!
A loop so long that time had almost blurred for him!
The kid’s expression, however, was a little ugly.
He could only comfort himself inwardly: he was a sniper. What the hell was a sniper doing comparing AKs with a rifler? Why was this guy’s AK so变态?!
Next came the AWP round.
Meng Lang’s AWP was actually the same style as the kid’s.
Two words: fast and flick.
In the past, he might not have feared the kid. But after his hand injury, once his AWP began missing shots, he switched to rifler. Having not sniped for so long, he was somewhat rusty.
On top of that, the kid was one of the very top snipers of the new generation to begin with.
After 13 rounds,
Meng Lang took 5 points, and the kid took 8.
8:5!
The kid let out a long breath.
He knew Meng Lang was a sniper turned rifler. He had been afraid that if he lost even the sniper duel, the dignity of being the team’s main AWPer would truly be gone.
In the end, adding up the total scores of the three categories, Meng Lang’s 33:18 was obviously superior.
The system’s judgment was also that Meng Lang had won.
There was no helping it. In the rifle round, Meng Lang’s AK had scored far too many points.
The kid sighed inwardly.
But when he recalled the oppressive feeling of Meng Lang’s AK, he still felt a lingering fear.
Still, he had won the pistol and the AWP out of the three categories. From a certain angle, that did not really count as losing, right? Thinking this, he raised his hand and was about to drag the mouse to exit Duel Solo.
In the next second, a hand pressed down on his.
“One more time!”
“Huh?”
“Kid God! Your pistol and AWP are too insane. I’m not even exaggerating—personally, I feel like you’re even better than Brother Zai! I want to properly learn from you!”
“Uh… all right, then.”
It was hard to refuse such enthusiasm.
Meng Lang’s words were pleasant to hear too.
Most importantly!
He called me Kid God!
Secretly delighted, the kid nodded reservedly.
Four hours later.
The kid glanced at the wall clock. The hands were already almost pointing to midnight. The corner of his eye twitched slightly. When he turned back, Meng Lang was still gripping his right hand with a face full of sincerity.
“Kid God!”
“One last game!”
“Really! The last one!!”
The corner of the kid’s mouth twitched. He could no longer feel any secret delight in his heart.
Fuck!
At first, he had only thought that since he had won two out of the three Solo categories, Meng Lang felt unconvinced, so he wanted another round.
That was fine.
If he wanted another, then another it was!
But was this just “another round”?
After four hours of monotonous, tedious Solo, even the kid, who was famously an internet-addicted youth within G2, was starting to feel like throwing up.
More importantly, he discovered that Meng Lang, whose hand was wrapped in bandages, seemed to be gradually finding his feeling with the AWP again!
What had originally been a seventy-thirty matchup was gradually being forced into sixty-forty by the other side, and there was even a faint trend toward fifty-fifty.
Bro, this isn’t right!
The kid felt that if they kept practicing like this,
he might really lose.
Then where would the dignity of G2’s main AWPer be?
They were both genius youths!
This was his last shred of dignity in front of Meng Lang.
“Bro, your AK is already really strong. There’s no need to obsess over the AWP.”
“That won’t do.”
“Why?”
“TOP1 represents domination and all-round ability!”
“…”
Meng Lang said it as if it were only natural!
The kid was shocked!
He could not help opening his mouth.
He stared at Meng Lang with wide eyes,
as though he were only meeting this young man for the first time today.
It was hard to imagine that a rifler who had only played in one tier-one event, been kicked from the team right after, and had only just passed G2’s trial today, could actually connect himself with “TOP1,” that title countless tier-one star players were fighting over.
Bro had probably gone crazy!
That was what he thought.
Yet the other party had said it so sincerely, so solemnly, that it astonishingly did not feel out of place at all!
“You want to become TOP1?”
“You don’t?”
The kid was stumped by the counterquestion.
Nonsense!
Of course he did!
But with G2’s current results and form, what was he supposed to use to fight for TOP1?!
Forget it!
Better to dream about it in his sleep!
Thinking this, the kid swiftly put on his shoes, turned off the computer, pushed off the ground with both feet, and sprang up. He picked up his phone, turned, and left.
His movements were extremely agile, smooth and seamless, not Sick at all.
“Bro, um… I’m really sleepy!”
“Next time! We’ll do it again next time!”
Damn!
Why was he running so fast?
Oh, right!
Ilya was still Sick!
Meng Lang nodded in relief. He turned back and called out with concern, “Kid God, rest well,” then closed Solo and continued playing FPL ladder alone.
Although the meditation space after falling asleep could also simulate training, simulation training placed more emphasis on tactical awareness, utility, and map understanding. For real, concrete aim training, it could only partially and slowly feed back into improving the numerical value of his body’s muscle memory.
It was nowhere near as direct as real-life training.
Besides, Meng Lang still had the main quest of reaching the top of FPL.
He was rather looking forward to the reward.
Gotta work hard!
The late-night hours quietly slipped away.
When Old Ni, Hunter, and the others returned, it was two in the morning. Jackz came back with them as well—tonight was said to be pre-match relaxation, but in truth, it was also to send Jackz off.
After G2 informed Jackz that he was allowed to consider offers from other teams, Jackz decided to leave the club and go home for a while, stream a bit, and settle himself.
Tonight was his last night at the club.
Slightly tipsy, Jackz entered the base. As he supported himself against the wall and went upstairs, he happened to run into Meng Lang coming out of the training room.
He stuck his head out and glanced into the training room. In the corner, the computer screen at Meng Lang’s station had just gone dark.
After a moment of silence, Jackz took the initiative to ask:
“Mate, have you been training from morning until now?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you pushing yourself so hard?”
“The Major has prize money.”
“…”
Those words made Jackz fall silent for a moment.
He continued asking:
“You’re pushing yourself so hard because you need money?”
This time, Meng Lang did not answer immediately. After thinking for a moment, he said:
“Yes, but not entirely.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s someone next door who plays League. He won the world championship at 17. I’ll be 18 next month. If I don’t work hard, when am I supposed to make a name for myself?”
Meng Lang answered seriously, sincerity shining in his dark eyes.
This was also what he truly thought in his heart.
In the past, he had relied on talent to charge forward, believing that pure talent could destroy everything. But when his talent ran dry, he realized that he had only just passed the starting point.
Now, the belated “System Bro” had given him a chance—a chance to rebuild his foundation solidly. Meng Lang felt he had no reason not to work hard.
In fact, hard work and persistence were also the only shortcut for ordinary people to make a comeback.
Even becoming an internet celebrity required effort.
Hearing Meng Lang’s answer,
Jackz fell silent.
To be honest, toward this black-eyed, yellow-skinned player who had taken his job, even if it was merely due to the innate arrogance of a white European,
it would have been impossible for Jackz to say he held no resentment in his heart.
And yet at this moment, listening to the other party say, “I’m about to turn 18. If I don’t work hard, when am I supposed to make a name for myself?”
he suddenly felt
that losing to a young man like this
perhaps was not anything too shameful.
The two went upstairs side by side. At the fork in the corridor, they parted, heading down two different passages.