SMS CHAPTER 64

Zhen Ning’s world had always been very quiet.

At that time, the trainees at KYM were a group of undifferentiated teenagers. When someone mentioned the name “Zhen Ning,” most people would pause for a moment, then hesitantly offer their evaluation: “Him? Quiet, keeps to himself, doesn’t talk much, but he plays pretty well.”

Occasionally, someone would add, “But… the noisy one is always hanging around him.”

Zhen Ning never denied these assessments.

His childhood had been nearly soundless. From the moment he was born, it seemed, he had always sat quietly in the villa, gazing silently out the window, waiting patiently for his omega father, Zhen Qing, to come home.

Of course, Zhen Qing rarely did.

Even the housekeeper Zhen Qing had hired was a taciturn beta. She would cook without a word, fold clothes in silence—the only sounds she made were the hum of the range hood or the vacuum cleaner.

As a child, Zhen Ning had wondered why he had only one parent, why it was always the driver who picked him up, while his classmates could walk home hand in hand with their families.

As he grew older, he became a mirror image of Zhen Qing—just as rational and intelligent, just as calm and restrained. He no longer insisted on finding answers to those questions.

He began to enjoy the quiet.

Silence was good. Being alone was good. In tranquility, he could think clearly, make the best and most logical decisions. Every step he took was always under his control.

Until that winter night, when he met Yan Chengfeng.

The noisy, persistent, clingy… loud Yan Chengfeng.

Yan Chengfeng tugged at Zhen Ning’s arm and said, “Just one more game with me, please.”

He slurped loudly on instant noodles flavored with chicken and mushrooms beside Zhen Ning. “You’ve got to try it. Seriously, I’m not being stingy… Instant noodles have to be paired with cheap starch sausages.”

On a winter night lit by brilliant fireworks, he hugged Zhen Ning tightly, his voice trembling, whether from the cold or excitement. “…Zhen Ning, we’re definitely going to make it into KYM.”

So noisy.

So loud.

But he was warm.

From the moment Yan Chengfeng noisily barged into his life, Zhen Ning realized that the temperature and colors of his world had begun to change silently.

Rationality told him he should resist these changes.

But Zhen Ning found that when this “not quiet” person stayed by his side, when his carefully planned trajectory veered off course, and when, for the first time in his life, he made a choice not through deliberation but by following his heart—

It seemed that making a few changes… wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

When you ask professional players what led them to choose gaming as a career, their answers, while different at first glance, often share underlying similarities.

Tao Luo said, “Oh, at the time, I just happened to be playing decently, and I somehow muddled my way into it… But if I’m being honest, I think it’s because I like the feeling of being watched by the whole world.”

Xu Hao’s answer was more pragmatic: “Gotta earn money, gotta make a living.”

And, of course, there was Yan Chengfeng’s textbook-perfect response: “Because I love it. I love the feeling of giving it my all in competition. I just love it.”

But Zhen Ning knew that the reason he played games, or what started it all, was never for himself.

When he first got into gaming, it was out of youthful defiance—a silent rebellion meant to anger Zhen Qing. He deliberately chose a path that deviated from the one Zhen Qing had planned for him, purely for the fleeting satisfaction of revenge.

Later, he found himself sinking deeper and deeper into it, unexpectedly… because of that restless person.

The promise made under the fireworks, his first-ever impulsive decision, and the lingering flutter in his heart.

Zhen Ning was a bit surprised that he could make such a reckless choice because of one person.

But at the same time, he was also deeply curious—how could someone love something so much? How could the light in their eyes shine so brightly that it was almost impossible to look at directly?

Eventually, the results of KYM’s tryouts came out. They were selected and went to sign their contracts together.

It was also on that day that they met Xiong Hao.

KYM was a large club. At the time, Xiong Hao was the general manager of the team. He was busy handling daily affairs and business matters for the main roster, only occasionally stepping in for youth trainee contracts.

That day, Xiong Hao briefly met with them, chatted a little, and casually asked a few questions.

At the time, Yan Chengfeng, whose dream had just come true, was so excited that his answers came out slightly stuttered. In contrast, Zhen Ning remained much calmer, his responses practically flawless.

Xiong Hao stared at the two of them thoughtfully for a moment.

Then, he nodded absentmindedly and told the staff beside him, “Not bad. Their personalities complement each other well. Have Joe train them together. They’ve got potential. With proper development… it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Xiong Hao was indeed praising them.

However, his tone didn’t sound like he was evaluating two living individuals. Instead, it felt more like he was assessing the market potential of a product, which made Zhen Ning feel faintly uncomfortable.

But Yan Chengfeng was already on cloud nine. Watching Xiong Hao leave the meeting room, he turned to Zhen Ning, his voice trembling slightly. “Did we… really make it in?”

Zhen Ning nodded. Before he could say a word, Yan Chengfeng hugged him tightly once again.

Just as Xiong Hao had predicted, their progress was rapid.

Yan Chengfeng was bold and decisive, while Zhen Ning was meticulous and composed. They complemented each other perfectly in the game, growing together while also keeping each other from veering too far into extremes.

With professional coaching from Joe, their improvement was astounding.

However, during lunch after training, Zhen Ning still found it hard to interact with too many people.

Unwilling to engage in meaningless conversations, he preferred to sit alone in a corner. Whether others thought he was arrogant or antisocial, he didn’t care.

But Yan Chengfeng thought differently.

Whenever he saw Zhen Ning sitting there alone, he would unhesitatingly leave the group he was with, grab his plate, and happily plop down next to him.

While stuffing his mouth with food, Yan Chengfeng mumbled, “That last game we played together was so good. I feel like our coordination in some areas was even better than Teaser and Logic’s.”

Teaser and Logic were KYM’s bottom lane duo at the time. Although both were preparing for retirement, their skill level and experience were still far above those of Yan Chengfeng and Zhen Ning.

If anyone else heard such a statement, they would only laugh at these two cocky rookies from the youth training team.

But Zhen Ning didn’t refute him.

Yan Chengfeng stared at the last drumstick on his plate. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and though he clearly didn’t want to give it up, he picked it up and placed it on Zhen Ning’s plate.

He pitifully asked, “Can you… stop avoiding me during meals from now on?”

Zhen Ning gazed into his eyes for a moment before responding, “You already have a lot of friends now.”

“How is that the same?” Yan Chengfeng immediately retorted. “We joined together, and we’ve known each other for so long. How could they compare to you?”

“In my heart, I always feel… closest to you.”

As if embarrassed, he hastily picked up his plate, stood up, and said in a stiff tone, “Eat the drumstick if you want; if you don’t, just toss it. I-I’m heading back to the training room.”

Zhen Ning’s hand paused slightly.

In the end, he picked up the drumstick Yan Chengfeng had given him and slowly took a bite.

Yan Chengfeng loved gaming.

Zhen Ning thought he probably liked gaming too, but only on the condition that he was “playing with Yan Chengfeng.”

He wanted to keep seeing the light in Yan Chengfeng’s eyes.

The youth trainees in top teams were all elites from different servers or top-ranked solo players, and the strength of KYM’s youth trainees went without saying.

However, the professional stage was not the same as ranked games. Not everyone could make it to the end. Not everyone could withstand the pressure of competition and public scrutiny. And not everyone could afford to wait for so long.

When something you love turns into your career, it loses its initial excitement and joy, replaced by pressure and the fear of stagnation.

Youth trainees were simply too young. Their ability to handle stress and setbacks was often an issue. One by one, people left—some became streamers, others went back to school. The seats around them emptied one after another, though new faces quickly filled the vacancies.

As time passed, dreams slowly lost their significance. But Zhen Ning knew that Yan Chengfeng had always stayed true to his heart.

Yan Chengfeng cared about appearances. In front of others, he pretended not to mind, saying things like, “Oh, it’s not such a big deal if I don’t get to play. Just practicing like this is pretty good too.”

But with Zhen Ning, he held nothing back.

When training didn’t go well, he would replay games and mutter, “…Why do I always feel like I’m just a little behind them?”

At the time, Zhen Ning was helping him apply medicated patches to his wrists and shoulders.

Yan Chengfeng grimaced in pain, finally unable to hold back his disappointment as he complained, “Zhen Ning, it’s been almost two years. When do you think we’ll finally get to play?”

Most of the time, when they were together, it was Yan Chengfeng talking to himself while Zhen Ning simply listened.

Zhen Ning wasn’t good at offering comforting words. But as he watched Yan Chengfeng sweating profusely from the pain, he paused for a moment before softly saying, “Soon.”

For youth trainees, the phrase they heard most often was “Soon,” or “It’s just around the corner.” At first, they might genuinely believe it a few times, but eventually, they would come to realize that these were just perfunctory platitudes.

But because it was Zhen Ning who said it, Yan Chengfeng froze for a moment.

He stared at Zhen Ning’s face for a long time, then curved his eyes into a smile. “Mm.”

The light in Yan Chengfeng’s eyes had shone brilliantly and dimmed before, but it had never gone out.

Zhen Ning walked beside him, step by step, witnessing Yan Chengfeng’s persistence and determination, as well as the sweat and effort he put in.

More than anyone else, Zhen Ning hoped Yan Chengfeng would make it onto the stage. He also hoped… that he could be there to join him.

He thought he had finally found the meaning of playing games.

One day, after finishing lunch, they passed through KYM’s lobby and saw a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Yan Chengfeng suddenly stopped and let out a “Huh?”

Before Zhen Ning could react, he heard Yan Chengfeng say with delight, “Zhen Ning, I’m taller than you now!”

They were both growing.

Yan Chengfeng’s changes were reflected in his appetite and height, while Zhen Ning’s changes… were in places invisible to others.

One time, after a training session, Yan Chengfeng happened to look up and noticed Joe and Xiong Hao standing at the door of the youth trainees’ practice room.

Joe raised his hand, pointed toward the two of them, and said something. Xiong Hao followed his gesture, glanced in their direction, and seemed to think for a moment before nodding.

At first, Yan Chengfeng’s expression was blank.

But as soon as Xiong Hao disappeared from the doorway, he hooked an arm around Zhen Ning’s neck and exclaimed excitedly, “Joe was just talking to the manager about us—I’m sure of it!”

Zhen Ning: “…Let go.”

“That’s Xiong Hao! Do you remember? He’s the manager in charge of active players!” Yan Chengfeng didn’t let go; instead, he leaned in closer, his face flushed with excitement. “Joe was just discussing us with him!”

In that instant, their bodies were far too close.

With Yan Chengfeng’s chatter in his ear, Zhen Ning suddenly stiffened.

It was a strange sensation—tingling and electric, originating from deep within him and spreading through his limbs.

For a moment, he almost lost his grip on the mouse in his hand.

At the time, Zhen Ning didn’t know what it meant.

Everyone is told at birth what gender they will differentiate into as adults. When Zhen Ning was a child, Zhen Qing had already told him that he would one day differentiate into an alpha.

Zhen Ning never questioned it.

In fact, no one around him questioned it either. Undifferentiated boys tended to be of similar height, and Zhen Ning’s personality was even colder and tougher than that of many alphas.

At that moment, Yan Chengfeng was entirely immersed in the joy of finally nearing his debut and didn’t notice any change in Zhen Ning’s expression.

His warm breath brushed against Zhen Ning’s ear. “Let’s practice a bit more today, okay? Let’s raise our win rate in ranked matches…”

Undifferentiated youths had a relatively weak sense of gender, and physical contact was often casual and carefree. Yan Chengfeng was practically glued to Zhen Ning.

The subtle sensation within Zhen Ning’s body disappeared in an instant. He silently exhaled, working to steady his voice.

He said, “Okay.”

A month later, they went to watch a movie together for the first time.

By then, Joe had already given them a verbal promise—after their differentiation, their debut was almost certain.

Joe had started arranging for them to participate in small-scale tournaments, where they would face off against secondary teams from various clubs. These matches served as warm-ups for their professional careers.

Although these games were less intense than official competitions, Yan Chengfeng took them very seriously.

He was too nervous, too uncertain. They had agreed to sleep early the night before the movie, but instead, they trained and reviewed their matches until the early hours of the morning.

Yan Chengfeng yawned. “…I feel like my soul is floating up in the sky.”

Zhen Ning suggested, “Cancel tonight’s tickets.”

Yan Chengfeng: “No way, we’re going. I said I’d treat you, and I’m not going back on my word.”

In the end, they went to the movie.

But Yan Chengfeng had been too exhausted lately. He was young, but no one could endure endless exhaustion.

In the dimly lit theater, he fell asleep, leaning against Zhen Ning’s shoulder, clutching a bucket of popcorn, breathing evenly and sleeping soundly.

Zhen Ning, however, couldn’t sit still.

Yan Chengfeng’s breath landed on his neck, scorching and slightly ticklish.

After a moment, Zhen Ning subtly tilted his head as well, leaning ever so slightly against Yan Chengfeng.

It was a small movement, unnoticed in the theater’s darkness. Yan Chengfeng, deep in slumber, remained unaware.

But Zhen Ning felt his heartbeat stop for a second.

He remembered every frame of that movie with absolute clarity.

When the lights came back on, Yan Chengfeng frowned slightly as he stirred.

Zhen Ning blinked and quietly straightened up.

Yan Chengfeng woke up.

He paused, then awkwardly wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and said sheepishly, “Sorry, I was just too tired. Once the lights went out… my eyelids just glued themselves shut.”

“You… you’re not mad, are you?” he asked cautiously.

Zhen Ning replied, “It’s fine.”

He truly wasn’t angry.

Still, Yan Chengfeng wasn’t reassured. On their way back to the dormitory, he trailed behind Zhen Ning, endlessly muttering.

“Really, don’t be mad. I’m telling you, I dreamed about you just now. In my dream, we finally made it onto the stage.”

He continued, “We were wearing KYM’s team uniforms, with officially certified accounts. Our IDs had the KYM prefix, and when we played a random game… we were recognized by fans.”

He chuckled foolishly.

“I even dreamed about us being interviewed together.”

The boy vividly described his dream, his voice animated. “I shared the strategy of using Mianli and Velvet Willow for the bot lane with everyone. When the host asked how I came up with this playstyle, I said it was you who helped me research it…”

They walked together until they reached the door to Yan Chengfeng’s dormitory.

At the time, the trainee dormitories were fairly modest. The two of them weren’t assigned to the same room, and Zhen Ning’s dormitory was even farther away. As usual, they prepared to part ways.

Just as Zhen Ning was about to continue walking, he heard Yan Chengfeng suddenly call his name in a low voice from behind. “Zhen Ning.”

Zhen Ning turned around and saw the boy gazing at him with an unusually serious expression.

“Thank you for staying with me all this time.”

Yan Chengfeng smiled, looking slightly embarrassed to say something so heartfelt. But in the end, he raised his voice and said, “This might sound corny, but without you… I really don’t know how I could’ve held on.”

Zhen Ning froze for a moment.

“…Go to sleep,” Zhen Ning said after a pause. “If we lose the match the day after tomorrow, I won’t stay up late training with you again.”

Yan Chengfeng laughed.

“Got it, got it,” he said. “Goodnight.”

Yan Chengfeng closed the door.

Zhen Ning turned back and started walking toward his own dormitory.

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

But the moment he turned, that trembling in his chest and the soft weakness in his limbs returned once again.

Only this time, the sensation didn’t gradually fade like before. Instead, it grew more intense. Zhen Ning felt the weakness in his arms and legs worsening, his breathing becoming labored.

At the same time, a sudden burning sensation began to spread from a place he had never expected—his nape.

His pupils contracted slightly. He raised a hand in disbelief, wanting to touch the back of his neck.

But the next second, the pain intensified, sharp enough to nearly blacken his vision. He barely managed to steady himself against the wall beside him, his body threatening to collapse.

Through his blurred vision, he vaguely saw a figure appear before him.

But he couldn’t make out who it was.

His consciousness was slipping away, bit by bit. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay upright much longer.

Yet in that final moment before losing consciousness, the image in his mind wasn’t the unknown figure—it was Yan Chengfeng’s face.

The boy laughed boldly, calling his name in a loud voice. “Zhen Ning!”

The boy leaned against his shoulder, his hot breath brushing against his ear.

…And at the very last moment, Zhen Ning saw the scene of their first meeting. The boy sat at a desk, grinning as he said, “My AD.”

Later, Zhen Ning would learn that every omega’s differentiation was almost always accompanied by a similar process. The pain he experienced signified the maturation of his glands and the ripening of his pheromones. It meant he had truly grown up.

But no one had ever told him this would happen. No one had told him how to cope. No one had told him that he would become an omega.

The triggers for differentiation varied from person to person. It could be due to age and timing or external stimuli, such as exposure to pheromones.

Of course, it could also be… the first stirrings of a youthful crush.

His world sank into complete darkness.

---

Author’s note:
This is memories from Xiao Ning’s perspective~

I think this part is very important, so I don’t want to rush through it. It won’t all be wrapped up in just one chapter. If you’re eager, I recommend waiting for more chapters. Bows