TCWSITD – Chapter 54.1

Chapter 54 has 2 parts; 54.2 will be uploaded today at 20:30 EST.

***
Chapter 54.1 – Total Annihilation

#TGCollapse

That very day, it shot to the trending topics.

Public opinion instantly exploded, and the entire industry was in an uproar.

In the hearts of Chinese fans, although TG was the second seed, everyone believed they had rich tournament experience and were overall stronger than OT and YIG. They carried the greatest hopes.

Who could’ve predicted this veteran team would suffer such a monumental upset at Worlds?

Lost to a European team, knocked out in the quarterfinals!

And that wasn’t even the most infuriating part. What really drove people crazy was that yesterday, YIG kept pulling off miracle plays and almost dragged the Korean team down with them—just one step away from advancing—already had netizens fuming!

Now TG’s shocking loss to Europe sent viewers into complete meltdown.

Two strong teams were both eliminated, not a single one advanced. Fans anticipating domestic matchups were left stunned, eyes going dark, unable to believe the result.

What kind of hellish joke is this?!

Adding to that, SNG didn’t even make it out of the group stage. Out of the four LPL teams, three are already gone. The only one left is OT, who has no big-stage experience, struggling helplessly in the dirt…!

[Asking for opinions: what are the chances of OT winning the championship?]

[No need to ask—zero chance. Let them win the quarterfinals first, then we’ll talk.]

[OT might make quarterfinals.]

[The “first region” where everyone stops at quarterfinal?]

[Hahaha, LPL should drop the “first region” title—call it the wildcard region instead.]

[Enough. Just end it all. Burn everything down!]

Even outsiders were baffled: Wasn’t this supposed to be LPL’s most promising year?

[Most laughable year!!!]

[TG, are you kidding me?]

[YIG’s loss was understandable—they fought hard. But TG? HOW?!]

[Aaaaah I’m going crazy! You *** actually fell here!]

[While watching I kept explaining to my non-esports friends, telling them TG could never lose. I even listed out tons of examples to prove it. And then you actually lost!!!]

[Yesterday my mom asked me what was wrong. I didn’t even cry this hard over a breakup. I told her my youth has finally come to an end!]

TG’s official Weibo account didn’t dare post the match results until three hours after the game. The comment section was instantly flooded, with the number of comments nearing a million by the end of the day.

The most heartbreaking part was that after the initial outburst of anger, there were hardly any outright insults. Instead, the comments were filled with long, tearful essay—each one painful to read.

Everyone knew it was truly over.

People used to criticize them because they wanted them to improve. But now, they didn’t even bother, because they knew there was no chance left.

[You had so many opportunities to win, but it felt like you didn’t even care! I refuse to believe this is all you’re capable of. I’m sure you prepared so much before the match. So why didn’t you show it? Were you saving it for the finals? How can you even reach the finals when you couldn’t even win the quarterfinals?]

[When I saw yesterday’s lineup, I actually laughed. Then, I just felt sad. I believed in you until the very last game… never thought I’d end up losing everything.]

[…]

[The top laner played fine this time, though nothing outstanding. Mid lacked dominance—maybe take some notes from river. The support was too aggressive—same old issue, gotta fix that. And please, stop giving the jungler Kha’Zix. Nocturne suits him better. He thrives on tempo-based champions. Lastly… goodbye, TG. I’ve been a fan for seven years. I’m sorry, but I can’t walk this road with you anymore.]

One long comment after another, each filled with the endless sorrow of LPL fans. Even through the screen, you could feel their passion slowly dying.

“There is no greater sorrow than a heart that has died.[mfn]哀莫大于心死 (āi mò dà yú xīn sǐ) – idiom; signifies the deepest despair, when even hope is gone.[/mfn]” — perhaps that’s the only way to describe it.

When the last thread of passion snapped, and there was no longer any reason to hold on, countless people began uninstalling the game—unplanned, uncoordinated—and naturally, a wave of players quitting the game began.

According to official data, over a million uninstalls happened in a single night, shocking the developers into launching discount events and stepping in to control the backlash.

But the comment section wasn’t having it.

[You think I care about a few skins?]

[With LPL’s level of play, what’s the point of free skins?]

[Uninstalled. Never touching this game again.]

[If I keep playing, people will laugh at me.]

[LMAO, same. Consider my youth eaten by dogs!]

[Goodbye, trash game…]

[So many people around me are uninstalling. One more won’t make a difference.]

[At this point, only OT winning the championship could save this game.]

[OT? Win the championship? That’s pure fantasy.]

[…]

It’s not just the fans online; even many streamers have become disheartened and stopped streaming.

Only Old Mao remained persistent, though his spirits weren’t high either. “Even though I’m an OT fan, deep down I still think TG is really strong. Now that they have been sent home, I’m really worried about OT’s situation.”

“Think about it. Four teams, and three were eliminated right away. OT is left fighting alone, and that’s a huge mental blow. Besides, apart from Lin Jiang, the entire OT roster has no major tournament experience. It’s going to be tough.”

Old Mao’s words nearly brought fans to tears.

[Wuwuwu, this is so heartbreaking. Lin Jiang must be under so much pressure.]

[It would have been better if even one team had stayed, but who knew both would be sent home.]

[I’ve never encountered such a hopeless situation before.]

Beyond this, Old Mao had one more major concern.

He usually avoided discussing such heavy topics with them, but today, he couldn’t hold back. “Their situation is far more difficult than you can imagine. Everyone’s overlooking one crucial issue. With TG and YIG gone, how will OT get training matches? Even if they keep winning all the way to the finals, going half a month without training matches would cripple even a god like Lin Jiang.”

Old Mao rarely spoke so grimly, and his words instantly woke everyone up.

It was true. LCK outright refused to scrim against them. OT’s only training partners were TG and YIG. Now that they were gone, OT had no one left to practice against!

As the last remaining hope for LPL, the other teams were all eyeing them like predators. There was no way they’d agree to scrim either!

This was the entire region’s last hope.

And yet, they have no training matches to play!

[Ahhh, I can’t take this anymore!]

[Damn, my heart literally hurt just now!]

[Is it really this hard? Is there even any hope left?]

[I don’t want to admit it, but I think this year is hopeless.]

[We’re going to be mocked by the other regions for a whole year.]

Countless OT fans, risking online harassment, begged and pleaded for teams that hadn’t gone on break yet to arrange training matches with OT. They even reached out to the league officials.

But the officials stayed silent, pretending not to hear.

Were they afraid OT would fall in the quarterfinals too?

Meanwhile, Duren was under immense pressure, nodding and bowing before the officials, repeating “Yes, yes, yes” while wiping cold sweat. He had been answering calls nonstop since last night, his heart pounding wildly.

After TG’s shocking upset, OT’s performance no longer just affected them—it impacted the entire league’s interests. He didn’t even dare imagine what would happen if OT lost.

The whole industry would freeze over. The fallout wouldn’t just hit LPL; other regions would suffer too. Hundreds of billions—even trillions—of yuan in stakes were all resting on OT’s shoulders. Duren already felt like he couldn’t breathe.

As soon as he hung up, his phone rang again. After a sleepless night, he jolted upright and resumed his “Yes, yes, yes”

No matter what, this pressure couldn’t be passed on to the players. Rubbing his temples, Duren instructed the team manager and staff to keep this under wraps and ensure the players’ morale stayed intact.

Ryan hesitated, unsure if she should speak up. “I-I saw Captain Lin smoking downstairs late last night. He didn’t seem to be in a good mood. He told me not to mention it to anyone.”

After TG’s unexpected loss yesterday, Duren sensed something was off with Lin Jiang’s mood. He even took the initiative to talk to him about it. At the time, Lin Jiang smiled and said he was fine, so Duren thought everything was really okay.

Thinking back on this now, Duren’s heart ached again. Lin Jiang was their last hope. Please, don’t let him break down!

The afternoon match started quickly. As the last remaining seed, OT drew intense attention from fans across all regions. Topics about Lin Jiang’s poor form repeatedly trended.

Lin Jiang did look unwell. From taking the stage, sitting down, adjusting his equipment, to putting on his headphones, he didn’t say a word or crack a smile the entire time.

Then, his equipment connection had issues again and he had to switch to a backup keyboard. Lin Jiang’s face grew even darker.

This small incident immediately tightened the audience’s nerves.

[Shouldn’t they have checked the equipment before switching venues? Why is the connection still failing?]

[Is the backup keyboard’s feel the same as the original? I’m so anxious. Someone explain!]

[Of course it’s different, otherwise why would Lin Jiang look so upset?]

[Is the universe determined to wipe out LPL?]

[GG, total annihilation.]

But Old Mao remained firm. “Lin Jiang will be fine. He’s seen it all. His expression isn’t because of this. Everyone, stay calm.”

Indeed, Lin Jiang’s grim expression wasn’t due to the equipment.

Switching gear wasn’t a big deal for a professional player, especially one as experienced as him.

What bothered him was that in his previous life, during the quarterfinals, his equipment had also failed. He was subbed out after just one game, replaced by Alike. When he returned, his form had clearly deteriorated.

The events of both timelines kept overlapping in his mind.

Lin Jiang forced himself to focus, but the mental fog refused to lift.

He couldn’t tell what was real anymore. Was it really the equipment? His ears started ringing, and he repeatedly raised the issue with the referees, only to be told his headphones were functioning normally.

“Captain, what’s wrong?”

Yeah, what was wrong with him?

Why did it feel like he’d never truly been reborn, like he was still stuck on that substitute bench from years ago?

The familiar stage looked exactly the same—dark tones on one side, bright on the other, flickering in his vision. It wasn’t just the ringing in his ears—now, spots of light danced before his eyes.

Could it be… he’d never actually been reborn?

Was everything here just a hallucination?

Lin Jiang’s face grew paler, his condition sinking further.

***

The match officially began. This time, the coach on stage was Li Qian. Sharp-eyed viewers recognized him as Lin Jiang’s former coach from KUG. At that time, Lin Jiang had even praised him, but after Li Qian left the team, Lin Jiang never mentioned him again.

Later, it was heard that he went to South Korea to develop his career and even declared he would never return to the LPL. KUG’s social media posts at the time dragged him through the mud, causing quite a stir.

Damn, this guy’s a tainted coach!

Fans went crazy, bombarding with questions about how this person got into OT. Old Mao simply said it was Lin Jiang’s recommendation.

When asked about the incident back then, Old Mao didn’t hesitate to mock: “Everyone knows how KUG’s contracts are. Talented people tend to be prideful—Li Qian definitely couldn’t stand that crap. Lin Jiang heard he was back in the country and went through a lot of trouble to recruit him. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s coaching this match. If we lose, his reputation’s gone.”

With this shared interest laid bare, fans finally relaxed. They’d long felt OT’s coaching was lacking, and that Lin Jiang basically carrying the team. A new coach might just bring a miracle.

As fans scrolled further, they spotted another highlight: [Wait, isn’t SPG the team Li Qian used to be on?]

When dealing with an old acquaintance, you have to strike hard, right?

Although SPG was Korea’s third-seed, their strength actually surpassed the second-seed, making this match highly anticipated. Everyone wanted to see what level OT was really at.

After OT changed coaches, their draft strategy became unpredictable. Li Qian pulled off a bait-and-switch in his debut, picking Azir as the hyper-carry and turning an early-game comp into a late-game one, catching the opponents off guard.

The change brought a spark of hope to the fans—finally, something promising!

Once the game started, Lin Jiang’s Azir became the focal point. Fans watched with bated breath, but… was it their imagination, or did Lin Jiang seem off?

This wasn’t his usual Azir at all. There wasn’t a trace of his signature aggression. If you covered the ID, no one would guess it was Lin Jiang.

The opponents sensed his poor form and targeted him relentlessly, forcing A’Deng to hover mid and ruining his own rhythm.

Without early-game pressure, OT couldn’t hold back SPG’s mid-game push. Although they fought back a few times, they lost just before their items could develop.

Losing the first game sent everyone’s morale plummeting.

This lineup wasn’t supposed to play like this!

How could it end up this way?

Even if Lin Jiang’s state was poor, he still had the ability to stabilize the situation. Playing steadily into the late-game should definitely have led to a win!

Amid the heated discussions, A’Deng was singled out. His over-focus on Lin Jiang’s lane had fractured his own tempo, letting SPG dictate the late-game.

Realizing his mistake, A’Deng’s hands trembled. He knew the loss was on him. Lin Jiang had told him to play his own game, but he couldn’t help going mid to assist Lin Jiang.

If Zhang Mingying was playing instead, he would definitely stick to his own style, right?

A-Deng’s hand slightly clenched as he thought about how to talk to Lin Jiang. Then he saw Lin Jiang, despite his own poor state, pat his shoulder to comfort him: “It’s okay, pay more attention next game.”

Finally gathering his courage, A’Deng stammered, “Captain… maybe let Zhang Mingying play? I think I… I might not be keeping up…”

A’Deng started to lose confidence again. The self-blame hidden deep inside him reached its peak at this moment.

He was furious with himself for not being able to hold his own. Why couldn’t he step up when Lin Jiang wasn’t in top form?

Could it really be like what people online say? Maybe he really was just a second-rate jungler—no different from Zeng Yuan back in the day, just another parasite feeding off Lin Jiang’s shine.

A’Deng couldn’t even look up after speaking. He could feel Lin Jiang’s eyes on him, but his own gaze stayed glued to the floor.

Lin Jiang patted his head, cutting off whatever he was about to say. “We’re all players. There’s only so much we can see from our point of view. Let’s trust the coach’s arrangements, okay? He insisted on putting you in, insisted on this lineup. There must be a reason. And you saw it yourself, this strategy worked well against SPG. We were just a little short of winning the last game. Let’s try one more time, alright?”

Even though his own form wasn’t great, he was still doing his best to comfort him. A’Deng couldn’t find any reason to give up. He wiped the corners of his eyes and nodded firmly.

— — — —