After finishing their meal, the managers of both clubs led their team members to check out the internet café they had scoped out earlier, to inspect the training facilities.

Zhao Xuming didn’t join them. He remained in the hotel lounge, working on his laptop computer.

Of course, work was only part of the reason—another part was that Zhao Xuming couldn’t be bothered with these trivial matters. In his view, he’d already gone above and beyond his duty. He nearly had a breakdown over this whole situation, and now he just wanted to visit corporate headquarters without getting involved with these esports clubs anymore.

The internet café was a moderate distance from the hotel—about a fifteen-minute walk.

The two managers thought this distance wasn’t bad. A walk would let the players stretch their legs and see some of the Los Angeles cityscape, so they decided to go on foot.

With full stomachs, walking on foreign soil, the players’ mood gradually improved from being upset by FV Club’s Weibo posts.

Although this was downtown, it didn’t have that suffocating feeling of being cramped between towering skyscrapers, so walking the streets felt quite pleasant.

“Just up ahead, we’re almost there,” the translator said, checking his phone’s map before pointing forward.

The players all looked toward where he pointed, their first impression being: “This internet café is huge!”

In China, finding an internet café that occupied this much space wasn’t very common.

Their second impression was: “The minibus parked at the entrance—why does it look so familiar?”

The two club managers exchanged glances, both feeling a sense of foreboding.

Are you kidding me? How is FV Club everywhere!

They both wanted to turn around and leave immediately, but then reconsidered—nearby, this was the only internet café with decent conditions. What if going elsewhere meant encountering poor computer configurations or bad internet?

So after hesitating, they steeled themselves and went in.

Pushing open the door revealed a massive hall with rows upon rows of computers.

The internet cafés here clearly differed from those back home. First, the decoration style was much rougher, with exposed pipes crisscrossing the ceiling and all computer towers placed on shelves over two meters high. Second, there was no concept of private rooms—the entire first floor was just one enormous hall.

The two managers looked around. Quite a few people were playing games in the hall—some playing IOI, others playing GOG. A quick estimate showed roughly a 50-50 split, with many people also playing FPS games.

There were plenty of empty seats available.

The computer configurations were decent, and the chairs were all famous brand gaming chairs. The only downside might be that the keyboards and mice were somewhat worn and a bit dirty, but since the players had brought their peripherals, this wasn’t an issue.

Both managers were fairly satisfied with the environment, so they went to the front desk with the translator to inquire about prices.

“So expensive… ten dollars an hour, but booking the whole machine for a full day is only twenty dollars? Going with the full-day booking.”

“Hey, I don’t see any FV Club people. Maybe we identified that minibus wrong.”

The two managers quickly agreed that booking by the day was more cost-effective, but the key question became which specific area to book.

The translator wanted to negotiate with the owner to see if booking so many machines together could get them any discount. Meanwhile, the two managers split up to explore the hall and find the most suitable spot.

Unfortunately, the hall was so large that no matter which area they picked, they’d inevitably face some disturbances.

Suddenly, one manager’s eyes lit up: “Hey, there’s a second floor?”

He spotted a staircase and thought about checking upstairs—if the second floor had a better, more private environment, paying a bit more would be worth it.

But as soon as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, four burly men in black suits stood in a line, extending their hands to stop him.

“SORRY, @#￥%&*…”

The four black-suited bodyguards rapidly fired off a long string of English, leaving the manager completely confused.

Still, their intimidating presence startled him—four bodyguards all in black suits, wearing earpieces, with sunglasses tucked in their chest pockets, muscles bulging beneath their clothes, looking like the gangster enforcers from Western movies.

The manager’s English was poor; he couldn’t understand what they were saying. Fortunately, the translator quickly caught up and, after conversing with the four bodyguards, soon understood the situation.

“They’re saying the entire second floor has been booked,” the translator explained.

The manager frowned with suspicion. He desperately stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck to see past these nearly six-and-a-half-foot-tall musclemen. Sure enough, he spotted FV Club members.

“Damn it!”

The manager couldn’t help but curse. His bad premonition had come true!

Most of the upstairs machines were occupied. FV Club’s main team, reserve team, plus SUG Club’s five members totaled fifteen people, but there were also accompanying staff and the data analysis team.

The data analysis team also needed computers to spectate and analyze data, and even those three cameramen were using computers to edit photos and cut video footage.

The manager and translator had no choice but to retreat to the first floor.

“What now? Find another place, or…” the translator asked for the two managers’ opinions.

The manager sighed: “Let’s stay here. We’ll pick a spot in a corner, far from the stairs…”

This internet café had the best combination of configuration and location, so finding another place wouldn’t be ideal. But they needed to maintain distance from the FV Club—otherwise, the situation would become quite awkward.

The two managers quickly completed the arrangements and had the players get set up at their stations.

“Come on, everyone, get your peripherals connected. I’ve sent you all the super accounts corporate provided—help yourselves. Today, let’s just play some ranked matches to warm up. In a couple of days, we’ll arrange scrimmages with Western teams.”

Watching the players log into their super accounts and begin training, the two managers sat nearby, finally feeling a bit better.

At least they knew FV Club hadn’t received super accounts, meaning they couldn’t play ranked. And without official connections, they likely had no channels to arrange scrimmages with other Western teams.

“Everyone works hard, trains diligently—we must achieve good results!”

The players answered in unison: “Yes!”

…

December 23rd, Friday.

That morning, Pei Qian was at Slackin’ Internet Café, sipping coffee while browsing his phone.

“FV Club has already reached Los Angeles and posted all these Weibo updates?”

“Holy crap, these accommodations are incredible? I’m kind of regretting not going…”

“Never mind, there’s nothing that great about being abroad.”

“Huh? Looks like they’re getting criticized? I must have missed a ton of drama while I was sleeping.”

When Pei Qian woke up, it was already evening in Los Angeles. FV Club had posted several Weibo updates in succession, from boarding to checking into the hotel to starting training, sharing numerous photos and videos.

After all, three photographers were accompanying them full-time. Since they had nothing else to do besides taking photos and editing clips, they could only work overtime to maintain their presence.

The initial Weibo posts were mainly photos, but later ones even included well-edited short videos.

These were edited during downtime at the internet café.

Among these were photos of gourmet food, high-angle shots of Los Angeles, and the competition venue from the hotel, and even the four bodyguards in black suits had made appearances.

Even Pei Qian felt envious looking at these—one could imagine how others must feel.

Most comments below the Weibo posts were expressions of envy, jealousy, and hatred, but various forums also contained many discordant voices.

“My god, they’re already in Los Angeles? How are there so many people?”

“SUG Club went along too? What’s going on?”

“What about the other two teams?”

“Business class? That must be expensive, right? Corporate is being generous—paying for business class tickets?”

“Holy shit, they’re staying at the Ritz-Carlton? Isn’t that the most expensive hotel in the area?”

“I’m so jealous!”

“What’s with these four bodyguards in black suits… Are they filming a movie? Corporate provides bodyguards, too? Does every team get them?”

“I remember FV Club used to post on Weibo like once every two weeks. How did they suddenly become so prolific?”

“Damn! Someone just exposed that this isn’t the corporation’s arrangement at all! All these expenses—flights, hotels, bodyguards—are paid for by FV Club themselves!”

“Out of their pocket?? That must cost a fortune!”

“So this Weibo is pure showing off?”

“They haven’t even achieved any results yet, and they’re already pulling these fancy stunts! Are they trying to mess with other teams’ mentalities?”

“As everyone knows, the more drama off the field, the worse the results. If they enjoy all these luxuries and then perform poorly, guys, let’s roast them to oblivion!”

“This money probably came from Mr. Pei, right? But isn’t Mr. Pei spoiling these players too much? With such conditions, do they think they’re on vacation?”

Initially, everyone assumed this was the corporation’s standard arrangement, but they quickly discovered that wasn’t the case—other teams didn’t receive this treatment at all!

So many fans of other teams found this unacceptable.

On one hand, they felt “Why does FV Club get so much better treatment than other clubs?”—pure envy. On the other hand, many people instinctively associate good material conditions with taking advantage and being indulgent.

Although the esports industry continues to develop and treatment gradually improves, not only do non-gamers feel this way, but even many players and viewers believe esports players don’t deserve such good treatment.

Many still fondly remember the days when esports players slept on sidewalk curbs and ate cold instant noodles while winning championships.

Of course, some players did become arrogant with improved material conditions, training less seriously, and consequently losing matches. So seeing FV Club members enjoy such excellent conditions made many people instinctively uncomfortable, leading them to post critical comments on forums.

Pei Qian wasn’t angry at all—in fact, he read with great interest.

Great! Haters, step up your efforts!

Criticize the FV Club more, suppress the club’s popularity, and let all my money go down the drain!

The players there have their phones centrally managed—they can’t browse forums. The comments from haters on Weibo and forums shouldn’t affect their mindset, but at least it can hurt FV Club’s image, right?

If they perform poorly in the world tournament, they’ll get roasted. The club won’t attract investments or sell for a good price, Pei Qian’s club shares won’t appreciate, and all the money he spent will have been wasted…

Wouldn’t that be wonderful?