Volume One: The Lost King Returns!

Chapter 1: Being an Amateur Player Isn’t So Bad

At the DOTA Esports Tournament in London, UK

Inside the arena, neon lights flashed brilliantly, and various colored LED halos of glory shone down on the awards podium!

On stage, five British players, faces beaming with excitement, raised the trophy high, while a long-legged lady beside them popped open a bottle of champagne, showering them with a victorious blessing!

Standing in the very center was a handsome, brown-haired British youth. He flashed a dazzling smile that made the girls swoon, his gaze fixed on another young man in the audience.

He was the undisputed core of the champion team, only 17 years old—the true “Little Prince” of British esports!

“I learned a Chinese idiom,” the champion, instead of giving a victory speech, stared at someone in the audience and said, “It’s called ‘a promise is worth nine tripods.’ Please keep your promise after losing, and quit DOTA from now on!”

The young man in the audience had black hair and black eyes, his frame a bit thin.

Facing the aggressive smile of this esports prince, he could only nod silently.

“Come on, genius player Eagle, give us a smile for the camera, leave us a memento.” The photographer walked up to the black-haired youth and spoke in standard Chinese.

The black-haired youth faced the camera and forced a smile.

But that smile felt like it was tearing him apart inside!

At that moment, he understood.

Most of the time, there is no reward for second place.

Just like on the battlefield.

In his eyes, esports was a battlefield—no smoke, no blood, but once you lose, it’s like a corpse buried in the yellow sand, left only to slowly rot away...

Esports is like this, and so is any fiercely competitive field—few people remember who came in second.

His name was Jason Bennett, game ID: Eagle.

But he had to leave the DOTA pro stage he loved most, not just because of the bet with this British prodigy...

...

One year later

...

On the balcony of an ordinary apartment building, lush evergreens swayed gently in the river breeze. If only the wind didn’t carry the stench of sewage, it would have been a perfect, bright morning for Jason Bennett.

Short black hair, white tank top, baggy basketball shorts, a pair of flip-flops—the standard “loser” look.

Fortunately, his face was still quite handsome, and with his deliberately melancholy expression—hmm, a decadent kind of cool!

Jason Bennett was holding an English book, slowly memorizing vocabulary.

Actually, his English grades were pretty good, especially when it came to phrases and words for greeting the other person’s family—he had a real talent for that.

What could he do? In England, if you wanted to curse someone, you couldn’t use Chinese swear words, right?

“I told you, Little Jason would definitely catch up with his studies. Look, he’s already in the top 30 in the mock exam. Little Jason is a genius, a genius in every way!” A woman’s voice came from the kitchen, full of relief and pride.

“Hmph, if you hadn’t supported him playing that stupid game, his grades would be even better. Getting into Tsinghua or Peking University wouldn’t be a problem. Top 30? Still far from Tsinghua or Peking. If he dares to only get into an ordinary key university, just watch me smash his computer!” A middle-aged man’s voice came through.

“If you dare smash it, I’ll throw all your cigarettes and booze in the trash! What’s wrong with games? At least he went abroad on a scholarship. Have you ever been abroad?” The woman immediately exploded!

“You... it’s all because you spoil him. If he has no future, it’s all your fault. What kind of future is there in games!” the man said angrily.

“So what if it’s my fault? What are you going to do about it?”

“I can’t be bothered to argue with you!”

The bickering of this old couple still rang in his ears. Jason Bennett was rarely woken by an alarm clock; most mornings, it was their endless arguing that got him up.

This apartment was only about 80 square meters—nowhere to hide from their voices.

The woman was, of course, Jason Bennett’s mother, Grace Thompson, a classic doting mom, spoiling her son rotten.

The middle-aged man was Jason Bennett’s father, Brian Bennett. Though his tone was harsh and angry, he was a real dad—every real dad is like that.

“Dad, Mom, I’m off to school.” Putting away his English book, Jason Bennett changed into his ugly school uniform, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and went to the door to put on his shoes.

“Okay, be careful on the way.” Grace Thompson poked her head out of the kitchen, watched her son leave, and then went back to washing the dishes.