The Brave White Flag

The remaining three members of the Purple Crystal were running as fast as they could.

The beeping audio signal from the drone was so piercing that hearing it meant your teammate had been eliminated, a hopeless situation with all six points lost.

The second attacker, as captain, decided to take a desperate gamble and try to eliminate Hao and JK before the White-Clad Gang members could regroup, hoping to turn the tide.

Based on previous squad communications, it's inferred that the enemy's breacher used twelve bullets to inflict maximum damage before finally taking down Fiego and Tarantula. Let's do a simple elementary school math problem.

The JK magazine can hold a maximum of fifteen bullets, which has limited lethality.

This means that the two vanguard members of the White-Clad Gang will have no chance to catch their breath; they will immediately face the fierce offensive of the second wave.

Li Zhiwen summoned the director and asked him to focus the camera on the young heroes on the field and stop paying attention to the washed-up idol, the gunsmith.

"These are the crucial twenty seconds that will decide the outcome. Hao has lost his last cover. He's out of ammunition. If he tries to take a few rounds from the sentry's magazine, he'll probably be riddled with bullets before he can even reload."

"So now it's one gun against three guns," Teacher Ke emphasized. "The Purple Crystal's second attacking force and the public kitchen are still 21 meters apart. Their number three and number five, support, and medic are sticking close to the captain. The other members of the White-Clad Gang are still climbing the stairs. This is Purple Crystal's only chance to turn the tide—Hao has already gained the upper hand. If he can repel this attack, he can hold victory in his grasp and completely extinguish Purple Crystal's last breath."

Meanwhile, A Hao's mind had gone blank. He was immersed in the joy of victory and seemed to think the match was over. He lowered his gun and even forgot that there were still three enemies.

Kaycee was still performing surgery on her ankle. She was half-squatting by the kitchen counter, diluting the scalding hot White Lady's medicine with cold water, and then pouring it onto the torn and bleeding wound.

For a moment, the girl was in so much pain that she could barely speak, while the team's voice chat began to produce chaotic sounds.

Qi Ji: "Hao! It's not over yet!"

Hao Bro was still posing for the drone, showing the audience his most handsome and perfect side, when he suddenly became irritated when he heard the reprimand.

"What? The coach told me! As long as I beat Fiego Sebasti, we win! Isn't that right?"

Daniel: "That idiot. He doesn't seem to have read the rules at all."

Xiao Min: "He studied at school for six years and never took the school rules to heart."

Qi Ji shouted in a booming voice, "No! No! No! No! It's not over yet! Get back into battle mode, stay focused! Stay focused!"

"That's what the coach told me." Hao Bro's mind went blank for a moment. He pointed at Fiego Sebasti at the opposite door and argued with the captain in the earpiece, causing Qi Ji's already unhealthy blood pressure to soar.

"Should we listen to the coach or you, Qi Ji? You've confused me so much. Isn't the match over yet? There are still three opponents? Why didn't you tell me this from the beginning?"

Xiao Min screamed in alarm, "Has he never taken any opponents other than Fiego seriously?!"

Daniel: "I have no clue either."

There's no time to argue anymore.

--Fiego Sebasti leaned against the door frame, slumped helplessly on the porch, and heard A Hao's lines becoming more and more outrageous, suddenly giving him a feeling of absurdity and inexplicable strangeness.

I've been defeated by this guy?

Just like that, six bullets dealt maximum damage? And he's eliminated?

I'm not reconciled.

Real

Are you kidding me?!

The unspeakable shame was driving Fiego almost insane. He stared at A Hao with red eyes, but he couldn't do anything. He had suffered a lot of damage in the main competition. When the drone's elimination flag fell, he had to stop all actions. Players who violated the rules would receive a yellow card warning from the referee. If the circumstances were serious, they could also be suspended by a red card or even go to jail for breaking the law.

"Hey, little brother Fiego."

Tarantula is a seasoned veteran on the field. After being ejected from the game, he just lay slumped on the floor, giving his teammates the shooting range, like a lazy bum.

"You must be incredibly frustrated, losing to someone like that. You must be furious, absolutely livid."

"However, there's something that bothers me."

At this point, the tarantula turned its head, pressed its cheek to the floor, and its gaze became aggressive.

"Fiego Sebastião, you're right-handed, why did you suddenly switch to your left hand when you broke through?"

"When you shifted the firing line, you reached out your right hand to help adjust the firing angle. But when that right hand approached the grip, the recoil momentum of the entire gun didn't change much. I saw all of that clearly."

Upon hearing these cold words, Fiego's expression turned extremely pale.

The tarantula lay on the ground with its paws, its index finger pointing towards Fiego's face.

"--I suspect you're throwing the match, Fiego Sebasti."

"What the head coach valued most about you when you became a rookie for Purple Crystal was your shooting ability."

"In such an important match, you actually made such a basic mistake. At first, I didn't think much of it. But..."

"But the cheers from the audience reminded me that although the sandbox was soundproofed and we couldn't hear what the audience was shouting, we could still analyze some useful clues from their lip movements."

"They are calling for [the gunsmith] -- and you, Fiego Sebasti."

"The person you admire and idolize the most is the gunsmith, isn't he?"

"What nonsense are you spouting!" Fiego roared angrily.

The tarantula pursed its lips and shrugged, appearing indifferent.

"No, no, no, don't be angry. Our voice chat is offline, no one can hear this whisper—I'm just curious, was it because of money, or because of the gunsmith, that you willingly gave up victory?"

"No! No!" Fiego tried to explain, but he couldn't.

--If his right arm hadn't been injured, he certainly would have been able to go toe-to-toe with A Hao.

Fiego only sees weaknesses, only heads; like his idol, the Gunsmith, this penetrator prioritizes efficiency. Hao Bro, on the other hand, only targets the torso, seeking a steady, reliable approach.

These two shooting methods are almost two extremes, representing the difference between being down-to-earth and achieving instant success.

Fiego could not utter a single word in rebuttal to the speculation about the tarantula.

The pre-game trash-talking tactic was instructed by the coach; if you didn't execute it properly, then you have to take responsibility for the mistake.

--But he never expected that this arm would betray him completely at the most crucial moment. And at a moment that would determine success or failure, it slapped him hard in the face.

If he gets treatment from the team doctor before the game, and there are substitutes eyeing his position as a penetrator who finally got a starting spot, he will definitely not let this opportunity slip by.

"If it's about money," the tarantula interrupted Fiego's thoughts, asking with a grin, "How much money would you like?"

Fiego looked at the sentry in surprise; he had assumed the outpost was the most reliable one in the group.

The tarantula, feigning ignorance, explained, "Don't misunderstand me, I'm just curious. How much did Sharks Chili pay you to influence the outcome of this match?"

Fiego hurriedly explained, "No! It's not what you think! No!"

More frightening than suspicion and distrust is the tarantula's attitude.

--The kind older brother who trained with him for six months, who gave him directions every day, was actually someone who was willing to give up victory for money.

This created a rift within Fiego.

The tarantula asked doubtfully, "Really not?"

Fiego: "No, no, no, no."

The rules of the Moon God Cup stipulate the highest penalty for match-fixing.

--Its intensity is extremely high, and the latter half of the competition will involve live ammunition. Even poisoned bullets could potentially damage brain tissue, causing short-term amnesia or even death to the competitors.

If match-fixing has serious consequences, the athlete could spend the rest of their life in prison, or even have their sewing machine catch fire from being stepped on.

Just then, the second wave of Purple Crystal's troops arrived at the public kitchen. Fiego finally breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that his captain and other teammates could turn the tide.

Surprisingly, the remaining three team members strolled over leisurely, without any warning or precautions, appearing quite relaxed.

Fiego sensed something was wrong. The drone following the captain lit up with flashing red and yellow lights, indicating that the coach had thrown out the towel, killing all the players' will to win and ending the game prematurely.

The intense sense of loss left Fiego feeling like he couldn't grasp anything; for a moment, he felt as if the sky had fallen.

As usual, just like in the training match, Tarantula slowly got up, waiting for the team's medic to lend a hand, tear open his light purple uniform, revealing his scars, and grinning as he waited for the shrapnel and wire to be pulled out of his flesh.

The older man shook hands and Hao Bro a high five, without saying anything extra, just smiled.

"Well done!"

Hao Bro, still pooping on Fiego's head, said, "I knew it! As long as I beat this guy, we'll win!"

Fiego Sebastié was bewildered, unsure of what to say, and a terrifying shadow loomed over him—he even suspected that the coach had taken money from Sharks Chili.

Why surrender at such a crucial moment?!

Why?!

Why does the captain never have a temper?

Does the captain not care at all? He could clearly decide the outcome with his gun!

Why do attackers, support players, and medics still have a chance to turn the tide?

Why did the head coach throw away the towel?! Why?

It was my misjudgment that led to this terrible situation; I made all the mistakes. But won't you even give me a chance to pull myself together?

"Tauson, Tauson, Teacher," Fiego murmured. After his voice came back online, he softly called out his coach's name, "Tauson, Teacher, why? Why did you surrender without firing a single shot! Why!"

He struggled to his feet from the floor, not leaving the field immediately, as if the game were still going on.

The young man leaned against the wall beside the corridor. When the medic in the team came to remove the steel wire and sheet metal from his waist and abdomen, he rudely shook his arms and tried to push his teammate away.

He was waiting for an explanation.

--Without a reasonable answer, this experience will become a mental burden for Fiego.

Tauson Grumman: "Get your treatment first, then come back to the lounge."

Fiego: "Coach! Why?!"

Tauson: "Come back, kid, the game is over."

Fiego: "Not yet! Not yet!"

The coach's voice signal was offline on the team channel; only Fiego's hysterical roars echoed in the corridor.

He pointed at A Hao's nose, and suddenly couldn't control his emotions, so he burst into tears.

"Why did I lose to such an idiot! Why?! I'm so unwilling to accept this! Why?!"

"You clearly had a chance! Professor Tauson! Are you senile?"

Please give me a chance, I beg you.

"Don't make me leave Purple Crystal. I just want to keep fighting. I've waited over 180 days, just for this moment."

"I"

A strange hand approached Fiego; that hand belonged to Hao Bro.

A Hao gripped Fiego's injured hand.

"--You lecherous hussy, do you think losing to me is shameful?"

Fiego suddenly raised his head, his expression a mixture of surprise, anger, shame, and repression. These emotions were intertwined, like the rambling lyric poems he had written in his youth—easily broken and easily tangled.

He stared in astonishment at the arm, which had been severely injured. The pain in his wrist had caused him to lose his balance, and he dared not swing his arm forcefully even when running or sprinting.

Of the six bullets A Hao fired at him, three were aimed at the wound. Now it looks a little better, but only a little. After receiving treatment, the swelling has stopped, the skin has turned blood red, and the bruises are gradually disappearing.

"Hey!" A Hao patted Fiego's face. "A Hao beat Fiego Sebasti to a pulp! Still not satisfied?"

Fiego did not reply.

"--Looks like you don't like to talk." Hao Bro chuckled and released the loser's shoulder. "If you're not satisfied, come and fight me again! I'll defeat you when you're completely unharmed, so don't say I'm bullying a disabled person!"

All resentment seemed to dissipate, and following Shao Jinghao's footsteps, they slowly descended the stairs.

Fiego slowly got up, unbuttoned his shirt, and saw the team emblem torn in two by a bullet. The medic, a seemingly caring and understanding figure, clearly showed that the breakthrough player's mind wasn't working too well.

"--It's alright, you're fine. Just get it done quickly, and then come with me to see the coach, okay?"

Fiego called out the doctor's code name, "Polar Bear".

While performing surgery on Fiego, the Polar Bear responded, "Yes."

Fiego: "I want to win."

Polar Bear: "The coach told us that your only flaw is that you want to win too much."

Fiego: "What's wrong with wanting to win? What's wrong with that?"

As he said this, Fiego then looked at the captain, who was acting as an attacker—

"--Captain Tamiya."

"Don't speak, you're bleeding." Captain Tamiya was thirty-one years old, a very mature adult. "I won't question the coach's decision, we lost."

Before Fiego could even ask the aid workers a question—

The team's strongest supporter immediately burst into laughter, quickly ran downstairs, and didn't even want to say a word.

"Where did he go? Does he hate me? Because I'm useless?" asked Fiego curiously.

The Polar Bear immediately replied, "Asking the two ladies from the White-Clad Gang for their WeChat contacts is shameful."

Fiego couldn't understand; it seemed that the child's life revolved solely around the Moon God Cup.

When he returned to the lounge, he was completely dejected and depressed, as if a dark cloud was hanging over him.

The Blue Eagle Stadium welcomed new players and began a new round of competition; it seemed no one remembered the failed dribbler.

Before the start of the next round of matches, head coach Tauson Grumman had to give an interview, as Purple Crystal is a highly regarded seeded team in the Daji Town region.

The team members were packing their bags to return to the club and prepare for a meeting to confront their defeat.

However, when facing reporters, Tauson's head coach simply bowed deeply to the camera.

"I'm so sorry, I apologize."

"It was my incompetence that led to this failure; it's all my fault."

"I am very sorry, folks of Daji Town, as well as the sponsors of the Purple Crystal Club, our boss, our Amethyst Private Equity and Amethyst Precision Industry Group—I have failed to lead the team to victory in this preliminary round."

"These mistakes were all caused by me alone, including the final decision to throw down the towel and surrender, which was made after discussions with the coaching staff."

"The preliminary rounds are a double-elimination tournament, Purple Crystal lost a point in the first round, which is a very dangerous situation—as the head coach, I cannot escape responsibility, so I would like to apologize to all the players and all the staff who fought on and off the field."

Fiego sat on the sidelines, in the spot where the gunsmith had sat.

He was wailing, clutching his luggage and covering his face.

He didn't leave until the interview ended, waiting for Mr. Tauson to return to the lounge so he could shake hands with Sharks Chili.

Tauson gave the little Shasha Thumb: "Wow, little shark, that's awesome!"

Shasha said proudly, "Of course! Be more careful next time you draw lots!"

Tauson then extended his hand to the gunsmith. "Nameless hero, shall we shake hands too?"

The gunsmith expressed his respect without hesitation, taking Mr. Tauson's arm and then embracing him tightly.

Tauson then said, "I have another request, could you do me a favor?"

Jiang Xueming: "Go ahead."

Tauson grabbed the gunsmith's sleeve and led him out of the lounge.

--The drone returned to the arena, and no one noticed what was happening in the corner.

The head coach returned to Fiego's side and sat next to the extremely withdrawn young man.

"The injury on your hand is my fault, don't worry about it too much. Not carefully observing the players' physical condition is also a dereliction of duty on the part of the coach."

Fiego didn't look up; he felt like the sky was about to fall.

Tauson patiently explained, "After you and Tarantula were defeated and eliminated, I didn't let the remaining team members continue the final battle—I ended the competition early. It was a morale booster; you have to cut your losses in time. Raising the white flag takes courage, kid."

"I don't want to see Purple Crystal completely collapse. Your comrades might blame you for everything because of your injured arm. If you can't adjust your mindset, the entire Purple Crystal will fall into a quagmire of low morale, and even bringing in substitutes won't help—I won't allow that to happen."

"And I never intended to give up on you, Fiego Sebastián. You are unique, otherwise I wouldn't have put you in the starting lineup. I believe in you, and you have to believe in me too—there shouldn't be any walls or obstacles between us."

"Do you understand? Can you understand my actions and my intentions?"

Fiego slowly raised his head, his face covered in tears. His already effeminate features made him look like a girl, and snot hung between his lips and teeth, making him look very ugly as he cried.

Until he saw the silent gunsmith, it seemed that all his grievances found an outlet. It was because of the gunsmith's unintentional "handshake" that the opportunity he had been dreaming of to meet his idol turned into a wonderfully unforgettable experience filled with mixed feelings.

Jiang Xueming took off his mask, unsure of what to say, and finally patted Fiego on the shoulder, leaving behind a meaningful remark.

"Kid, go back and get some rest. We'll meet again another time!"

Fiego was screaming and crying madly, as if all the breakout players possessed inexhaustible energy.

The wind swept across the flags of the Blue Eagle Stadium. In the VIP seats at the front of the stadium, there were also fathers and mothers who brought their children to watch the game. People who could come to the VIP seats were usually families of soldiers from Guangling Zhixi.

The baby pointed to the area under the fence where the preliminary round had just ended, and the defeated contestants looked disheveled.

"Is that older brother sick? Is he in a lot of pain? Is he having an epileptic seizure? Why is he so sad?"

The mother hugged her baby, about to give the baby a snack.

The father patiently explained.

"He's fine. He needs some time to heal, and he'll become braver—he just wants to win."