The stream of curses from these players was quite understandable.

Due to the time difference, most viewers who persisted to watch until now had to wake up at 3 AM. After all that arduous night-watching for several hours, only to see this result—anyone would find it hard to accept.

Today’s matches could be said to have recreated the situation from the first day of the group stage.

One team lost like they had diarrhea, while the other lost like they had constipation.

The former was at least cleanly eliminated, finishing 1-3, thankfully not getting a clean sweep and preserving their last shred of dignity. But the latter was more awkward, hanging on until the decisive tiebreaker. They were one win away from advancing. The match seemed evenly matched with back-and-forth victories, appearing to have a great chance, only to ultimately fall short by that final stretch.

A tiny difference led to huge consequences.

Which angered viewers more—having no hope, or being given great hope only to have it cruelly snatched away? That was hard to say.

But without doubt, viewers’ rage needed an outlet.

Both clubs immediately posted apologies on Weibo after their elimination, but to no effect. Angry players completely hijacked the comment sections, with some already planning their routes to “swim back home.”

Pei Qian seemed to see a preview of the online backlash when FV Club gets 3-0’d in the quarterfinals.

Though these two clubs lost, they weren’t top seeds and didn’t represent the highest level of domestic IOI. So while they’d get criticized, it would likely only last about a week.

When FV Club’s quarterfinal match starts next weekend and gets 3-0’d as the top seed, viewers’ fury would definitely concentrate entirely on FV Club. The flaming would surely be ten times worse than now.

Pei Qian felt a bit of anticipation.

Just then, FV Club posted on Weibo.

Wu Yue hadn’t forgotten Mr. Pei’s requirements—always stirring things up!

This new Weibo read: “My Teammates and I,” with an image of someone going out, carrying a large black garbage bag in each hand, walking toward a distant trash bin.

The person’s head bore FV Club’s logo, while the two garbage bags had the logos of the other two clubs.

Seeing this post, Pei Qian couldn’t help but give a thumbs up.

Well done!

Wu Yue followed my instructions perfectly—this hatred-drawing is absolutely on point!

The two domestic clubs had been eliminated barely ten minutes ago, while viewers who stayed up watching were at peak fury with nowhere to vent. FV Club posting this was like giving them the perfect outlet!

Sure enough, comments under the post visibly surged.

“Good stuff! Those two teams are trash! You said exactly what I’m thinking!”

“Great roasting! Suggest intensifying it!”

“FV, you better train hard. If you play all five games in quarters, we won’t flame you.”

“Still acting up? Did you practice the OP champions? Prepared any secret weapons? Monitored players’ mental states? You’re the last hope now. If you get 3-0’d too, it’s all over!”

“Can’t you try harder? Win just one game?”

“Expert at kicking teams when they’re down! Look how happy our eliminated brothers have made you. Mark my words—no matter which foreign team you draw, you’re getting 3-0’d! The higher you jump now, the worse you’ll get flamed later. Just wait!”

Pro and anti factions battled fiercely under the FV Club’s post.

Fans disappointed with the other clubs’ performance found FV’s roasting cathartic, finding an emotional outlet. Meanwhile, fans of the eliminated clubs were crushed, their hatred toward FV hitting new heights.

Some hoped FV would win, others prayed for their loss. Players of all stances were drawn in, creating massive attention for this post.

Pei Qian was very satisfied.

The higher they’re praised, the harder they’ll fall. The more traffic they generate now, the greater the backlash when they lose!

With this thought, Pei Qian messaged Wu Yue: “New drama’s good. Amp it up!”

…

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, at the IOI World Championship venue.

Zhao Xuming scrolled his phone backstage, fuming.

“Is FV Club insane?”

“Don’t they realize how bad it’ll look if they lose, get 3-0’d?”

“Not leaving themselves any way out?”

“Talking trash makes everyone lose face—are they sick?”

Zhao Xuming was livid.

All group stages had concluded. Each group’s winner advanced, with four group winners and four top seeds re-drawing for quarterfinal matchups.

For Zhao Xuming, the situation was doubly devastating.

His ideal scenario: at least one domestic team escaping the group stage, maybe getting lucky draws against FV Club, ensuring domestic teams reached the semifinals to save face.

Instead, both group stage teams were eliminated, and FV Club—the easy pickings—would serve some other region!

Why was FV an easy target? Wasn’t it obvious?

Longyu Group completely neglected the FV Club. They hadn’t practiced high-level ranked games or arranged scrims with Western teams. Their playstyle stuck to old patches—essentially free wins!

Even their constant practice with SUG wouldn’t help, as SUG was terrible too, just getting worse together.

When FV also gets cleaned 3-0’d, the scene would be too ugly.

What frustrated Zhao Xuming and Finger Company even more, beyond domestic team failures, upsets occurred elsewhere!

The other two groups saw intense, back-and-forth matches reaching tiebreakers, thrilling for viewers with high online engagement. Everything looked great.

Except for the upsets!

An established club, Finger Company, forced into contract termination, got eliminated, while an underdog everyone dismissed and didn’t force made the quarterfinals!

Zhao counted and found that among the eight quarterfinalists, one team still had GOG logos on their uniforms!

FV Club’s jerseys lacked GOG logos, but everyone knew this was Pei’s investment—logo or not, it made no difference.

This stung badly.

The difference between zero and one—between nothing and something—wasn’t severe, just annoying.

Watching quarterfinal drawings, Zhao grew increasingly irritated.

At this critical moment, FV Club unleashed multiple dramas, roasting both domestic teams and all foreign quarterfinalists, going full offensive mode.

Zhao was furious.

But roasting domestic teams especially wounded Zhao’s pride!

Officially, despite team failures, one couldn’t join the bashing—it’d damage the image of officials, the region, and the game itself for players.

No matter how poorly teams performed, officials had to offer regret and encouragement, maintaining dignity.

Therefore, Longyu Group’s press releases would emphasize: both teams trained hard, tried many approaches, but due to a lack of understanding and fundamental weaknesses, couldn’t achieve good results. They should regroup while fans offer support and encouragement, etc.

But FV Club mocking them seemed to oppose the officials, looking terrible.

Moreover, Zhao had brought both teams to LA with Longyu’s money for pre-training. Spending without results meant difficult explanations to Longyu executives.

However, considered a complete loss!

Zhao frowned deeply, contemplating how to reverse this unfavorable situation.

Suddenly, seeing the draw results on the screen, his eyes lit up.

There it was!

Drawing rules: the four top seeds drew the four group winners randomly—no regional avoidance.

FV Club drew the European team that had crushed domestic teams!

Meanwhile, veteran powerhouse FRY Club drew the American team that barely won their deciding match against the other domestic team.

Based on current strength assessments, both quarterfinals would likely be one-sided crushes with poor entertainment value.

But for Zhao, these matchups offered precious opportunities to manipulate public opinion.

His assistant sat beside him, monitoring online reactions.

Zhao focused on domestic feedback while the assistant tracked foreign player comments on Twitter.

“Mr. Zhao, FV Club’s image went viral on Twitter, too.”

“Many people are spamming ‘cn ioi noob’ already, with remixed versions targeting all domestic IOI teams…”

“What should we do?”

Zhao took the assistant’s phone.

FV’s “My Teammates and I” image was posted on both Weibo and Twitter, gaining massive attention.

But reactions differed regionally. Domestic players split—some bashing the eliminated clubs, others FV. Foreign players were unified in mockery.

The tweet overflowed with “cn ioi noob” comments—claiming domestic IOI was garbage, rookie-level.

The most upvoted showed a remixed version: where the original man carried garbage bags to bins, this showed him headfirst in the bin with bags scattered aside.

The message was clear: FV Club, stop mocking others—you’re trash too!

Such reactions were typical. Group stage results showed: two domestic teams eliminated, leaving only their seeded FV trembling, while Western regions’ teams advanced through groups to join their seeds in quarters, surrounding FV.

Most foreigners loved rubbing victories in faces. With perceived victory secured, such comments were unsurprising.

Zhao sighed helplessly: “No choice. Esports relies on strength. Their teams won; we can’t complain about mockery.”

“We started with terrible cards—losing’s inevitable. But we must play our hand well, minimizing losses.”

His assistant nodded: “So what’s our plan?”

After a thought, Zhao answered: “Attention, traffic, narrative control!”

“With high-hope domestic teams eliminated and FV unreliable, positive publicity via results is impossible.”

“If FV achieves good results, that’s bad news for us. Though that’s unlikely anyway.”

The assistant nodded, understanding.

Everyone knew the FV Club belonged to Mr. Pei. With both domestic teams eliminated in groups, FV’s advancement would be seen as “Mr. Pei’s success” rather than “Longyu Group’s.”

If FV lost, though Longyu would still face primary blame, at least it wouldn’t generate more publicity for Mr. Pei.

Zhao’s thinking: temporarily ignore criticism, focus attention on IOI’s domestic server and Longyu Group!

Zhao explained: “Next week, GPL spring season begins—an extremely sensitive timing. That’s when quarters start, too.”

“FV will likely get 3-0’d that day too.”

“Our biggest threat: domestic team IOI World Championship failures will crush IOI players’ enthusiasm, damaging their regional pride and belonging.”

“Many will switch to watching GPL, playing GOG. Unacceptable for us!”

“We must prepare to protect these players.”

“We’ll emphasize: IOI’s global popularity makes it the world’s top game; while GOG succeeds domestically, it’s unknown internationally.”

“We have plenty of evidence.”

“IOI Worlds happens in LA’s 20,000-seat arena; GOG in Beijing TV studios. IOI domestic teams failed while GOG teams swept the top three, proving foreigners play IOI with superior skills.”

“For global connectivity and peak competition—IOI’s the choice.”

“This’ll make players view GOG fans as ‘narrow-minded.’ GOG’s invitational sweep only happened because foreigners don’t play. IOI remains the world’s premier esports—players should feel superior…”

“Though it’s mental gymnastics, it should work. Cross-game fan wars create buzz—better than irrelevance.”

“To compete with GPL’s opening matches, this is our only option—a desperate measure.”

His assistant gave a thumbs up: “Amazing, Mr. Zhao! Finding solutions in such adversity!”

Zhao’s tactic amounted to twisting the truth.

Countless netizens had explained: GOG’s international market share nearly matched IOI for PC, dominating mobile gaming.

But the “foreign monks recite better sutras” mentality persisted.

Many believed foreign meant superior, and domestic meant copycat. Since IOI came from abroad, it must exceed GOG somehow.

Despite GOG’s better localization, appealing graphics, and accessible gameplay, some still viewed it as inferior to “foreign” IOI.

These views existed perpetually. Zhao aimed to reinforce them through online messaging, creating “IOI players are more elite than GOG players” feelings.

This reframed everything: domestic IOI teams getting destroyed abroad became evidence of IOI being an international competition where being underdogs was acceptable; GOG crushing foreign teams meant domestic clubs playing house—victories proved nothing.

Instantly reversing unfavorable narratives!

Naturally, these distorted facts.

But in business competition, such rhetoric was common—everyone highlighted advantages. Fair enough.

The assistant immediately implemented Zhao’s plan.

…

…

January 2nd, Monday.

Study room. Pei Qian reviewed.

Though he could study many places—internet cafes, home, office—he’d discovered study rooms offered peak efficiency.

Sometimes focusing requires a proper environment beyond willpower alone.

With exam week starting, particularly closed-book exams, Pei felt pressured, cramming intensely.

Mid-study, habitually checking his phone, browsing forums.

Merely reflexive behavior yielded unexpected gains!

Across major forums, rage about IOI’s crushing defeat continued unabated throughout the day—testimony to player fury.

But surprisingly, opinion seemed subtly shifting!

Hot thread titles revealed this.

In a post titled “Domestic Esports Started Late with Weak Foundations—Must Continue Working,” the author detailed objective reasons for the IOI Worlds’ failure.

Such as: IOI clubs suffered from GOG’s impact, personnel changed, lack of scrims affected form maintenance, etc.

These problems genuinely existed—readily findable.

Not the point, though.

Someone challenged the post: “Since when does IOI represent domestic esports? GOG’s invitational just crushed foreigners months ago! Why doesn’t GOG face these issues?”

Perfect setup for the author.

“A game only Chinese play with minimal global recognition—does discussing success matter? Currently, foreigners play IOI; their clubs prioritize IOI. What does GOG dominance prove?”

Immediate rebuttals followed, noting foreign powerhouses all had GOG divisions at the invitational, simply losing. With such prizes, why wouldn’t they compete?

But the author persisted.

“Those clubs only established GOG teams because Tenda paid them. Getting sponsorship money, they played along for cash. GOG paid foreigners to be punching bags, satisfying Chinese vanity. Don’t seriously think this reflects real competitive levels?”

Each side argued fiercely.

The author’s reasoning deceived many casual observers, amplified by paid commenters.

GOG players patiently explained GOG’s substantial foreign market share nearly equaling IOI, with minimal impact.

IOI die-hards and astroturfers refused rational discussion, repeatedly spamming “echo chamber” and “paying foreigners to play teacher” despite counterarguments.

Repetition reinforces stereotypes. In online debates, truth matters little—most remember repeated labels, however crude or mindless.

Online “discussions” often resembled street brawls—volume over reason.

These users mastered online feuding, achieving optimal impact with minimal numbers.

Many GOG players grew furious, but Pei felt pleased.

Good! Longyu finally worked, paying off!

During the IOI domestic qualifiers, Longyu performed terribly—Pei merely attending matches caused their collapse, deeply disappointing.

But now Longyu started fighting back!

Pei appreciated this, hoping for escalation!

Keep attacking relentlessly. Next weekend, when FV gets demolished in quarters and GPL launches, more “echo chamber” astroturfing would impact GPL’s opening viewership!