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Sometimes Han Wenqing regretted accepting Ye Xiu’s offer to join Excellent Era. Sure, he’d won quite a few championships with Excellent Era, but he wasn’t exactly lacking in prospects back then—in fact, he’d gotten solid offers from teams with better success forecasts than Excellent Era did. He could have gone to somewhere like Tyranny. He could have been the captain of his own team, free to train in peace, and he wouldn’t have had to deal with madness like this.
“You have got to be kidding me.” He muttered to himself.
He was in Ye Xiu’s room, rummaging through Ye Xiu’s drawers for the training plan they drew up in a burst of exhaustion-induced inspiration three nights ago, when he saw Ye Xiu’s renewal contract. He made a mental note to bully Ye Xiu into keeping it in a secure place instead of a random drawer, and started looking for a place to set it aside, when the number highlighted in the contract caught his eye. The number had such a pitifully small digit count that it barely took a split second to read it.
Who in the world would get paid minimum wage after winning 3 straight championships in the biggest esports league in the country? As the captain, no less? The answer, obviously, should be: no one. Unfortunately, if this piece of paper was to be believed, then sadly the reality was: Ye Xiu.
“Have you found it yet? Ye Xiu asked as he walked in, stopping short when he saw Han Wenqing’s thunderous expression. “Or did you find it, except it turns out we were actually hallucinating from exhaustion, and the ideas we wrote down were shit?”
Wordlessly, Han Wenqing thrust the contract forward.
“Ah.”
Han Wenqing stayed quiet, staring at Ye Xiu expectantly.
Ye Xiu shrugged. “I don’t really spend much, and it’s true that I don’t bring in much sponsorship money. It’s fine.”
Han Wenqing let out an exasperated sigh. “No. Winning games gets the team sponsorship money all on its own. Our team doesn’t need you for your face, we need you for your skill. Stop talking shit, You know all this already.”
Ye Xiu didn’t answer, and Han Wenqing ran his hand down his face tiredly. “I know you love this team, Ye Xiu, and that you have all these complicated feelings about Tao Xuan, but you don’t even trust him enough to tell him your real name. Stop punishing yourself for his greed.”
Ye Xiu sighed and wrapped his arms around Han Wenqing’s waist, putting his chin on Han Wenqing’s shoulder and pettily making sure to lean at least half his weight onto Han Wenqing’s body. “I did this with my eyes wide open. I know you don’t really like him, but he gave us a home and hope when we most needed it. I can’t help but try whatever I can to try to fix things between us. Besides, it’s done now. I’m under that contract for the next three years. Hopefully things will have improved by the next renewal.”
“You know I’m not letting this stand.” Han Wenqing asked, returning Ye Xiu’s hug.
“What are you planning?”
“I haven’t signed my renewal yet. Tao Xuan won’t know it’s a bluff if I tell him I won’t sign it unless he changes your contract.” Han Wenqing answered firmly. Luckily, even if Tao Xuan understood Han Wenqing well enough to call the bluff (doubtful as that may be), the man probably wasn’t stupid enough to not realise how much of a PR nightmare it would be if Ye Xiu’s contract got leaked.
Ye Xiu stiffened.
“You know as well as I do that we can’t let this stand. I know you don’t like thinking about it, but we both know this isn’t an isolated incident. If you don’t fight back, then Tao Xuan will keep pushing the boundaries, and the team will suffer. You keep saying ‘Glory isn't meant to be played alone,’ and this is part of that. Let me be part of your team, Ye Xiu.”
They stood there quietly for a few moments, before Ye Xiu sighed, disentangled himself, and nodded.
“Alright. I trust you.”
Han Wenqing smiled.
In the end, Tao Xuan gave in fairly easily when Han Wenqing demanded for Ye Xiu’s contract to be renegotiated before he even considered signing his own. Maybe a little too easily. It seemed that despite their current strained relationship, some part of Tao Xuan still cared enough about Ye Xiu to regret his actions. Han Wenqing hoped this was a herald for a better future, but even if it wasn’t, he’d make sure he and Ye Xiu would always have options.
Sure, sometimes Han Wenqing thought wistfully of a universe where he’d chosen a nice, stress-free life in Tyranny. But if he had gone there, then his self-sacrificing idiot of a boyfriend would probably have just let his “old friend” walk all over him until he got kicked out of the team he built up from nothing, or something dumb like that. So, Han Wenqing couldn’t bring himself to actually regret the path he’d chosen.
For one thing, winning so many championships was definitely nice, especially since he’d gotten to win them with Ye Xiu. For another, he didn’t have to do the bulk of team welfare and training—he just had to offer support to Ye Xiu, who was surprisingly great at it (and enjoyed it, unlike Han Wenqing who would really rather not).
Most importantly though, being part of Excellent Era meant that he could put the fear of god into greedy idiots who wasted their days justifying their stupidity instead of just doing their goddamn jobs.
In the end, Han Wenqing was just where he was meant to be.