Chapter Twenty-One: Holding the Lady Hostage to Command...
Commentary Desk.
At this moment, Zhao Junri, the player responsible for carrying the entire match, sensed the surging undercurrents deep within the canyon.
From the God’s-eye view.
The positioning of V5’s team was nearly transparent—anyone could see the scheme brewing in their midst. The key was that FPX on the opposing side had indeed foolishly fallen for it.
“V5 seems to have some tricks up their sleeve here.”
“What about FPX? FPX has given them an opening; Ruier has initiated the fight, and the Caitlyn has used her ultimate.”
“This is a trap. V5’s decision is bold, but will FPX really fall for it?”
“They will! They’ve taken the bait. AKL and the Kha’Zix are moving toward Caitlyn’s position. Caitlyn has retracted her ultimate and is heading toward the Dragon Pit. Are they really going to commit? Shouldn’t they reconsider?”
“Here it comes! FPX has completely walked into V5’s trap.”
“Mebius has entered! Mebius unleashed an almost flawless ‘Thunderclap’!”
On screen.
When Kennen’s ‘Thunderclap’ erupted, raining evenly down upon FPX’s top, mid, and jungle, the faint glimmer of hope FPX had so painstakingly clung to was once again reduced to ashes beneath the overwhelming storm.
They’ve been tricked again!
Elsewhere.
Veteran player LWX, sitting at the player bench, had his fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard after three of his teammates were caught in AoE control.
Because this match was effectively over.
From his understanding of Rookie and Karsa, V5’s playstyle did not seem to originate from them at all.
As for PPGOD?
If his command decisions had any spark of brilliance, V5 wouldn’t have only just acquired him now. Although LPL has many supports, very few are truly reliable. Any with even a hint of potential wouldn’t lack trial invitations from clubs.
So...
Could it be those two rookies?
[Welcome to one of League of Legends’ four legendary moments—the Thunderclap!]
[Where on earth did this V5 rookie come from? From the start of the Demacia Cup until now, every round has had either legendary or disastrous moments. It’s hilarious.]
[He’s called Mebius—how could he not be fierce? The last famous one like this borrowed everyone’s light when playing Galio, plunging you all into darkness ever since.]
[Indeed, a radiant giant top lane and a fiery emperor bottom lane—this team definitely has style.]
Though it was a Thunderclap,
due to somewhat modest equipment, it only offered visual spectacle rather than the gut-wrenching devastation of a full health wipe.
Nevertheless, after this crowd control and AoE burst, FPX’s frontline team fight was utterly shattered.
“Why did you come to save me so late?!”
“I was almost dead just now!”
“If you’d been any later, those two assassins would have instantly deleted me! Speak up, say something! Say something, damn it!”
Faced with Xiao Yan’s wails, his teammates chose silence and then all turned their gaze toward Luo Ji.
The message was clear: you caused this mess, you handle it.
Their current situation mirrored that of friends playing games together:
[Early game: You and I, brothers, can conquer the world.]
[Mid game: Time to forget our roots.]
[Late game: Brother, have you forgotten our friendship?]
[Endgame: Show some face, help your brother out, help your brother out.]
What could he do?
When it came to blame, silence was the default. When something went wrong, they passed the buck.
Sure enough.
This hot water was too scalding for him to drink; the coldness of human hearts too chilling to touch.
Yet, it remained a minor issue.
“Xiao Yan, let’s be honest—didn’t we just barely save you this round?” Luo Ji looked directly into Xiao Yan’s eyes, asking resolutely.
“Yes, but...” Xiao Yan opened his mouth, as if wanting to say more.
“But what? Don’t you trust my timing? Or is it that your teammates truly aren’t worth your trust? Although I proposed the four-sell-one tactic, the execution was on you, and the heartache on me. When you went out as bait, I was constantly blaming myself inside, and you... sigh.”
“My bad, I’m sorry.”
Here, the advantage of his age showed itself once more.
Imagine.
When an eighteen-year-old rookie suddenly tearfully accuses you of distrust, who the hell can stand that scene?
Xiao Yan immediately knelt.
This tactic is straight out of the “Toilet Argument Guide,” rule number one: never fall into someone else’s trap of self-justification but instead lure them into proving their own innocence.
The effect was surprisingly effective.
The other three on V5: ...
No way!
You can actually talk your way out like that?
In a single team fight,
V5 secured a devastating 4-for-0 exchange.
The weakness of a double-assassin lineup lies in its extremely low margin for error. Putting aside their high burst damage, they are essentially as fragile as glass.
What?
Fragile glass AD players?
Who else but the AD?
Even on the professional stage, ADs are the only ones who retain a sliver of composure. In casual ranked play, ADs are like moving dummies used to measure damage.
After that team fight,
V5’s frontline members had mostly completed their build. With some more skirmishing, everyone could even get a Stopwatch to increase survivability.
With such overwhelming advantages in economy, vision, level, morale, and gear, FPX retreated step by step, ultimately falling before V5.
2–1.
V5 secured the first match point!
After winning the third game, backstage, both Nofe and Zero breathed a sigh of relief simultaneously. For others, it might not have been so crucial, but for V5, this victory was monumental.
Yes.
They acknowledged LWX’s current strength, but in esports, age significantly impacts performance—even a prodigy like “Old Li” could only deliver godlike bursts in the fifth game after some quieter matches.
The AD role was different.
Anyone who’s played AD knows that after five or six consecutive games, hands start burning, and fatigue and soreness inevitably follow. At a professional level, this effect intensifies.
Back in Season 6,
Only Crystal was completely drained after a full day of BO10 matches, which says it all.
So...
In the fourth game, when V5 picked Malphite for Luo Ji, cleaned up the bottom lane with a utility AD, and assigned a jungle-mid duo with strong engage to pressure the carry’s reaction and focus, LWX realized it.
The Demacia Cup was slipping away.
However,
Despite knowing the odds were against them, Captain Xiang burned with determination, leading the team through extreme plays to take the fourth game.
Until the fifth game, when completely drained, he transformed from the team’s mainstay into its biggest vulnerability.
He was spent.
In the fifth match,
Before Luo Ji could even make a mark in the top lane, the kill notifications from the bottom lane had already sounded.
In the end,
3–2.
Using the “Endurance Old Man” tactic targeted at FPX, V5 triumphed over FPX and advanced to the Demacia Cup finals!
“Not easy, this might be LWX’s best form in over a year?”
“About time. Haven’t seen him play this well in a long while.”
At the moment the match ended,
Even Rookie and Karsa needed to stretch properly as they got up.
The “Endurance Old Man” tactic,
Though aimed at LWX, still managed to affect others to some extent.
Fortunately, both side lanes were young enough. They only needed to control the early game tempo with experience and then unleash their two barking “Huskies” to bite.
Otherwise,
Everyone would have to carry, and sooner or later, they’d enter “brain overload” mode.
On one side, V5’s mood was fairly good thanks to the win; on the other, the losing FPX players were somewhat downcast.
In a BO5,
Losing 3–0 or 3–1 isn’t feared because it reflects a clear skill gap, and defeat is understandable.
But 3–2—
a score so tantalizingly close yet worlds apart from victory—was hard for many to swallow.
Except for LWX.
He just stood, hands on hips, gazing toward V5’s bench.
He still remembered that, at the end of the match, FPX’s team chat had fallen into complete silence. Years ago, there might have been a monkey-like noisy voice urging everyone not to give up.
But that was just a mirage now.
“Brother Xiang...”
After a brief moment of sorrow, FPX’s players finally realized that the saddest player in this round wasn’t themselves but the elder brother who had carried the team this far.
The scene was poignantly somber.
It was as if a female voice whispered incessantly in your ear: “Do you hear the minions’ lament? Do you sense the crystal crumbling? Have you noticed that one day heroes cease to be heroes, and teammates cease to be teammates...”
“Enough. It’s just the Demacia Cup. Don’t make it seem like we lost the world championship this year.”
Soon,
LWX, noticing his downcast teammates, spoke up.
At the same time,
He fixed his gaze again on V5, looking at their new AD and new top laner, before settling mainly on Luo Ji and patting the young tiger’s shoulder:
“Did you see that rookie top laner on the other side?”
The young tiger blinked, then looked over.
He rarely watched the opposing top laner.
Because that guy was just too darn handsome—like a celebrity acting in an esports drama.
The last time he felt this way was Season 7 with WE’s Mystic, famously known as a pretty boy in the scene, though with a reputation for being a bit green around the edges.
LWX paid no mind to this and continued:
“I really like his eyes.”
“Of course, I hope one day, you’ll have them too.”
With that, he began signaling for everyone to leave.
From the moment the crystal exploded, this stage was no longer his. The upcoming Demacia Cup final seemed destined to be a battle between V5 and the newly reassembled, setting-sail Galactic Battleship TES.
Unexplainably,
He found himself feeling a little hopeful.
…
Backstage after the match.
This post-game interview was given to mid laner Rookie. Although Luo Ji’s performance was still outstanding, in an era where KDA stats decide interview selections, his numbers simply didn’t make the cut.
Which was fine.
He never wanted to do interviews anyway; they always felt like a waste of his time.
“So, our next opponent is TES?”
Luo Ji flipped through his phone and then looked at Karsa.
“Coffee, I trust you against TES. After all, you were just kicked out by TES. But what about Chicken? Given how much he likes JKL, I seriously doubt his loyalty.”
“How about we ask the club to install an electric chair?”
“Every time he acts up, we flip the switch. Or we could assign it to Sister Yuu—leverage the wife to control the husband, wouldn’t that be great!?”
Hearing this wild talk,
Xiao Yan and PPGOD immediately distanced themselves from Luo Ji’s seat, terrified of getting splattered by flying blood someday.
This guy was way too crazy.
Way too violent.
How could he say such things!?
Luo Ji expected Karsa to rebuke him sternly, but instead, Karsa actually looked thoughtful and replied:
“The electric chair won’t work. What if he develops some weird kink? That would just please him! How about an ice bucket challenge instead? We can livestream it and scam some gifts.”
Xiao Yan and PPGOD: “!!!”
Are you guys demons!?
Nofe said nothing.
He just quietly watched the chaotic scene unfolding in the room.
He had seen provocations before, but this “chicken provocation” was a first. Fortunately, Karsa responded swiftly enough to keep Xiao Yan from getting affected.
Indeed.
For Karsa and Rookie, facing TES was just another match after years as pros—no grudges or hatred.
But Xiao Yan was different. Strictly speaking, he held no grudge against TES either. It was purely because JKL was there—no AD could rise from substitute to starter on TES with JKL in the lineup.
Not a matter of skill, but economics.
Such desire would ignite a player’s fighting spirit, but excessive longing could also destroy reason.
On the night the match ended,
News of V5’s victory over FPX and advancement spread rapidly—not because many watched the match, but because many heard the Demacia Cup finals were coming, and traced the semifinals to see which four teams were competing.
As always,
The Demacia Cup was merely a casual entertainment event, so low in prestige that many viewers preferred not to watch it at all.
Of course, the finals were a different story.
Along with this,
Luo Ji’s livestream exploded. Always a man who chased money first, even with the Demacia Cup finals approaching, he didn’t stop streaming.
Who the hell would refuse money?
Meanwhile,
He was playing ranked and selectively answering chat questions:
“How do you see the finals against TES? Xiao Yan is JKL’s substitute, Rookie his former teammate, and Karsa even more so—given their complicated relationships, does what I think really matter?”
“What do you mean I’m a slacker with no MVP in the Demacia Cup?”
“Did you even watch the games? Anyone who tries hard, anyone who screws up, whose playstyle is uncooperative, who lacks empathy—can’t you tell?”
“Wait, what? We won? Damn, you still complain so much?”
It must be said,
Using memes from later eras early on in S11 was like a cross-era dimension reduction strike on the chat, akin to the “Two-Dimensional Foil” from The Three-Body Problem.
One move left the audience stunned and speechless.
[Awesome!]
[With talent like this, why settle for being a streamer? Climb higher than that and make a name for yourself!]
[Best episode yet.]
[Hurry up, retire right after the Demacia Cup, then start a “Don’t Laugh Challenge” livestream—punch the streamers, stomp the seafood, rise to the top, all tonight!]
Watching the chat, Luo Ji’s mouth twitched hard.
However...
When it was late and he was about to sign off, he still earnestly responded to questions about their view of the finals:
“Just wait.”
“Though the team is newly formed, every one of our five has outstanding skills, each with unique tricks. Our fighting spirit and endurance will surely bring you incredible surprises!”
“Of course, if we lose,”
“then excuses are meaningless. When people reach critical moments, they draw their own conclusions. Ultimately, there is only one explanation.”
“Being bad is the original sin.”