Chapter Fourteen: Practice Makes Perfect

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I don’t get it.
Shen Ming’s face turned pale, inexplicably caught up in an unforeseen disaster, wishing he could slap himself a few times.
Knowing that Lin Ruo belonged to the abstract faction, he shouldn’t have openly declared their friendship in front of Uzi from the start.
It would have been better to just keep their friendship under the radar instead of exposing it and suffering for it.
Now it’s ruined—anyone connected to Lin Ruo will inevitably ask, “Hey, Xiao Ming, how come your friend is this kind of person?”
Is it still possible to say we’re not that close at this point...?
“Maybe... I can ask again for you,” Shen Ming said helplessly, picking up his phone and pretending to send a message.
Uzi, feeling stifled with anger, casually closed the livestream, then opened the Zhanqi platform, registered a new account, and searched for Lin Ruo’s livestream room.
He wanted to see what kind of so-called fans she had.
If you didn’t know better, you’d think he had dug up Lin Ruo’s family grave in a past life, given how viciously he was targeting her.
Lin Ruo’s livestream was pinned right on the homepage of the streaming zone, and due to the previous game’s traffic boost, her current popularity was steadily rising.
This only made Uzi angrier.
Damn it! So she’s just riding on my popularity, huh?
He opened the livestream and nearly rolled his eyes out of his head, watching Lin Ruo engage in a fiery back-and-forth with the chat.
“Seriously, you haters must have miserable lives if all you do is pick on Uzi every day. Did he dig up your family graves or squat in your outhouse? Why are you so obsessed with targeting him?”
“Uzi didn’t play badly last game—he played well. The reason he didn’t perform was because I’ve been targeting him. The bottom lane turned into a three-man lane; if it were you, could you carry?”
From start to finish, Lin Ruo was cursing and arguing, fully immersed in the battle with the haters: “Uzi really gave it his all this game. Compared to before, he didn’t AFK or throw; he just put in pure effort, okay?”
“If anyone’s to blame, it’s his teammates. Honestly, if Red Team’s four players were human, I’d devour them myself. Uzi has sacrificed so much, desperately dragging three people to create space for them to farm. I even gave up a lot of jungle camps just to catch Uzi. We controlled only one dragon the whole game, and still, the opponents couldn’t win.”
“What more do you want Uzi to sacrifice? Should he just hand over money on the spot?” Lin Ruo slammed the table in frustration.
“Uzi’s had it rough, running into brain-dead teammates every match. If I were him, I’d punch these awful teammates to death and get their accounts banned one by one to vent my anger.”
Ahem...
Lin Ruo’s voice was hoarse from all the commentary. She quickly took a sip of water and then closed the League of Legends client.
The chat was filled with question marks.
[Not playing anymore?]
[Was it intentional or accidental?]
[Don’t be like that. The stream is entertaining; play a few more games.]

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“Play more? No way.”
Lin Ruo opened the Overwatch client, logged in, and shook her head heavily. “I can’t play anymore, guys. Uzi is ridiculously strong. I already exhausted all my energy trying to counter him last game. I just can’t continue.”
Then she smiled brightly: “So I’m going to play a couple of Overwatch games to relax, hope that’s okay.”
[If you want to throw, just say it. Stop making excuses.]
[Playing three games then quitting—that’s still godlike.]
[Streamer, your professional ethics have slipped. Pick them back up.]
“What did you say? Winning three games isn’t enough? Some people play all morning and only win three games,” Lin Ruo muttered softly.
The little elf nearby overheard and frowned, feeling offended.
“Besides, if I keep playing, you’ll just keep trash-talking Uzi again. No way, I won’t give you the chance to pick on Uzi, or I’ll feel guilty—I’m culpable.”
Uzi, who was secretly watching the livestream, suddenly felt his eyes well up.
His moist eyes turned red.
“Damn, why is this person so protective of me?”
Originally thinking it was a troll, after some observation, it seemed to be a genuine fan.
So it wasn’t deliberate targeting—just pure determination to win.
With someone like that, it’s unfair to blame him; that’s just heartless.
Uzi couldn’t help but feel guilty.
“You okay, Puppy?” Shen Ming noticed something odd and looked over.
Uzi wore pink headphones all the way through, so no audio leaked out. Although Shen Ming knew he was watching Lin Ruo’s stream, he had no idea about the content.
“I’m fine, just got some sand in my eyes.”
Uzi waved it off, grabbed a tissue to wipe his nose, then rushed to recharge his account in the mall to buy gold coins. After that, he generously sent ten legendary swords in the livestream chat.
“Thanks to Zhanqi user 131216 for sending ten…”
Lin Ruo read halfway and suddenly stopped.
The IDs are automatically filtered by the platform; this was clearly a new account.
What the hell? Have the haters gotten this brazen now?
Downloading the livestream app overnight just to top up and send gifts to troll God Uzi?
Unbelievable, utterly insane...
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But I like it.
After getting up to use the restroom and returning, the livestream’s heat had dropped significantly, but Lin Ruo didn’t mind.
She glanced at her current ranking in Overwatch’s ladder—already in the top fifty nationwide. With a bit more time, breaking into the top ten in China didn’t seem impossible.
Though, it seemed she didn’t really have that kind of time.
Choosing the Japanese samurai Genji, she began her Overwatch ranked journey.
Another simple, delicate game.
The previously quiet chat came alive again.
[666.]
[Why does this Genji play so differently from mine?]
[Where did this come from? Jumping from a LoL pro’s stream to an Overwatch pro’s stream.]
[No wonder the streamer’s professional attitude is lacking; guess she already had a backup plan. If LoL doesn’t work out, she can switch to Overwatch.]
[Oh no, top fifty in China—this is a true dual pro. No point trash-talking.]
Just finishing a match, the little elf glanced over involuntarily.
Genji on screen wielded his sword and threw shurikens with mastery—leaping, dashing, deftly dodging attacks, striking from unexpected angles, maxing out mobility.
Holy crap, so strong.
How many games must she have played to reach such mastery?
The little elf felt a mix of envy, jealousy, and admiration—this was exactly the Genji she imagined.
Without turning her head, Lin Ruo knew who was trying to copy her moves and smiled, murmuring: “Want to learn? I’ll teach you.”
The little elf immediately ducked her head, hesitated a moment, then sneaked back, whispering softly:
“Okay, you teach me, and from now on, I’ll call you the Genji God.”
“Are you talking about that Genshin Impact?” Lin Ruo rolled her eyes, sighed, and straightforwardly shared her four-character mantra, patting her jungler’s back with earnest advice: “Little Ai, don’t blame me for being blunt—there’s only one way to get good at games: if you’re bad, practice more.”
Realizing she’d been played again, the little elf gritted her teeth.
Meanwhile, outside RNG’s training room, Xiaohu, having taken a stroll and returned, leaned against the door to inspect. Seeing Uzi’s long-lost calm expression, he breathed a sigh of relief, adjusted his collar, and then boldly entered.
“Kids, I’m back.”