“Come on, there’s no money left. Too many losses in the early game—this is an all-or-nothing gamble.”

“These few Mutalisks aren’t even enough to get stuck in the Pope’s teeth. Sigh, failing at the last moment, that peasant scout was just godlike, like he had map hacks.”

“Who knows, maybe this is god-tier awareness. At this point, even I could win.”

The audience in Jinyang Internet Café whispered among themselves, watching the small, thin figure sitting alone in a private room. They were so close to hope—if they could defeat Luke, it would be something to brag about for a lifetime. It would be like an amateur basketball player beating Kobe one-on-one. But from the looks of it now, it was clearly impossible.

On the battlefield, the Mutalisks took flight, but the opponent’s defense towers and cloaked Wraiths had long been on standby. Microing Mutalisks was, without a doubt, a must for any Zerg expert, but the problem was the opponent was a top-tier Terran. Relying on this alone gave absolutely no hope.

Sure enough, the first group of Mutalisks was microed beautifully, but under the Terran’s perfect defense, they achieved nothing. Peter kept holding back Mutalisks, showing no intention of producing any other units. The only path before him was a dead end—he knew it was a cliff ahead, but he had no choice but to keep going.

Eric Bennett glanced at Peter in the match. The kid still had a slight smile at the corner of his mouth—maybe it was just his imagination, or maybe Peter was already satisfied with this result. That wasn’t good; as a pro player, you need a heart that never gives up on the championship.

“One coffee, please.” Eric Bennett turned to the bar. He was a China expert, with a bit of a Northeastern accent. Eric Bennett believed China’s esports scene would become the world’s largest market, so he’d been preparing actively. Of course, he’d been mocked by his peers in Korea for this for a long time.

The girl at the front desk shot him a glare—was this Korean guy here to watch a joke?

Seeing her puffed-up look, Eric Bennett smiled helplessly. “I’m a fan of Peter.”

“Oh, uncle, your Chinese is pretty good! Here, have a coffee on the house—you’ve got good taste.” The girl instantly brightened, her attitude doing a 180.

No matter what the final result was, Eric Bennett had already decided to bring Peter back to Korea. With proper training, given his age and talent, he could definitely stand up to the Pope, maybe even surpass him.

Talent, intuition, patience, stubbornness—and most importantly, youth. These are all the qualities of an excellent pro player, and he had them all.

Thinking of this, Eric Bennett felt much better, and didn’t care so much about the outcome of the match.

In the arena, Mutalisks versus Wraiths and defense towers was a lost cause. Due to the economic disadvantage, there weren’t enough Mutalisks to make a tactical impact. But Luke still felt something was off. The opponent wasn’t going all-in, but was instead dragging things out, constantly microing the Mutalisks to delay.

But this was pointless—the longer it dragged on, the better his own economy would get, the more units he’d have. Dragging it out would only tip the scales of victory further in his favor. Against any other opponent, Luke would have steamrolled already, but the battles in the first four games had made him wary. The base radar swept over—sure enough, the opponent was still making Mutalisks, no tricks at all.

Was he just overthinking it?

Time ticked by, and the number of Mutalisks grew to two groups. But honestly, that many Mutalisks against a Terran mix of anti-air towers, Marines, and Wraiths was useless. In five minutes, the Terran main force could push out.

Despair finally erupted in the internet café, with sighs all around.

Dear friends, today’s update is a big one. Please give me your first bookmark and first recommendation vote, thank you.

Chapter 3: Uncle, Just Playing Around

“Not watching anymore, my heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys all hurt.”

Many people left—nothing is more suffocating than waiting for death like this.

Far away in Beijing, a little girl with fair skin sat in a wheelchair, staring nervously at the screen. Her small hands were white from gripping too hard. “Can he win? There’s probably no hope, just like me. I knew heaven wouldn’t favor people like us.”

Hearing her mutter to herself, her mother wept outside the door, and her father couldn’t help but sigh. Their daughter had a neurological walking disorder—countless treatments had failed, and as she grew older, she became more withdrawn. The computer became her only companion. They’d finally found out that the latest treatment was available in the US, but she refused to cooperate.

At that moment, on the battlefield, Peter’s two groups of Mutalisks split up—one group harassing head-on, the other circling around to the Terran base’s mineral line.

Adam Bennett took a big gulp of instant coffee—so hard to drink. With so few Mutalisks, and still splitting them up, he’s just asking for death. If Luke couldn’t even defend against this Mutalisk micro, he might as well retire. It’s like showing off three-pointers in front of Curry.

Huh?

Watching the Mutalisks split into two groups, yet still constantly regrouping, not only Eric Bennett but many spectators seemed to realize something. But could this really work?

Yes—dual-pronged Mutalisk micro, a technique that only existed in theory and legend: the Zerg’s “nuclear bomb” technique.

Eric Bennett looked toward Peter’s private room. The sound of keyboard and mouse clicks was like popping beans. The kid’s eyes were sharp as knives, dazzlingly bright. His APM shot up to 490. As his opponent, Luke reacted instantly. Even though he realized what was happening, he still couldn’t believe it.