FOG [e-sport]

Chapter 56

Shi Luo returned to his seat. He was still logged into his side account in the game client. Shi Luo quickly clicked to queue for a match and the game started immediately.

He was afraid Yu Sui would have seen something if had been even one second late.

Shi Luo played his side account uneasily. Actually, he didn’t have the least bit confidence that he hadn’t been seen.

The “E” had already hit the chat window. Yu Sui had probably already been upstairs at the time. There’s every possibility that he had seen it.

Of course, even if he’d been seen, Shi Luo could explain it away. He’d say that he actually wanted to type “en”, but he accidentally pressed the uppercase key.

It made sense — barely.

Shi Luo shook his head. He’d almost lost his head. He returned behind the bunker and loaded some bullets, taking a deep breath.

But the problem was, right now, the frightening thing was how does he explain it to Yu Sui?

Under his thin T-shirt, Shi Luo’s chest was pounding nonstop.

No, that’s not it.

Right now, this wasn’t the most frightening thing for Shi Luo.

For professional players, especially those who’ve been playing for many years, the name they respond the most to was no longer their given names but rather the name that they see everyday in the game, the name that accompanies their registered player ID.

For Shi Luo, he is more responsive to “Evil” than “Shi Luo”.

Shi Luo knew very well that just then, for some unexplainable reason, he had been about to type out “Evil.”

Shi Luo has always admitted that he was partial towards Yu Sui. Just now, his emotions had indeed been agitated when his passerby teammate had mentioned that small-time anchor. He instinctively wanted to stake his claim. But using Whisper’s main account to tell this to a random stranger was simply going too far.

This went far, far beyond just staking his claim.

Shi Luo’s head wasn’t in the game and he was killed. While waiting to be resurrected, Shi Luo carefully tilted his head and snuck a peek at Yu Sui.

Yu Sui though looked completely the same as usual. His next game was already in progress, and his expression was no different than the one he usually wore.

Shi Luo looked at Yu Sui.

In their entire team, Yu Sui was the quietest when playing.

Chen Huo was the noisiest. When things weren’t going his way, he’d spray. When things were going his way, he’d still spray. When he played like sh*t, he’d curse and when he played wonderfully, he’d shout it out for everyone to know. So long as he was in his seat, Chen Huo could rarely be quiet for more than three minutes.

Shi Luo, himself, often threw insults but he’d usually type it out. He didn’t often yell out verbal abuse but he typed quite furiously on his keyboard. Strikers had the most keyboard operations. What’s more, he used blue switch keys. When playing, he often seemed to be abusing his keyboard judging from the nonstop clacking and rattling.

Puppy played a sniper, crawling in the underbrush, targeting his opponents. There weren’t a lot of keyboard operations. However, after years of watching the confusing play of passers-by teammates, he has cultivated the habit of making deliberately ambiguous insults. From time to time, he’d let out some truly acidic comments.

Only Yu Sui could go on for an entire night without talking.

Unless they are in the same matches, his other teammates, even when in the same training room, wouldn’t ever know whether Yu Sui was on a winning or losing streak. Whether he played well or not, his expressions were almost exactly the same.