Peng Xiaoxiao had already been completely won over by the club.

Shu Yuxin wasn’t the least bit surprised—truth be told, she’d guessed it the moment they stepped into that room.

All day long, Peng Xiaoxiao hadn’t left the activity room, gaming intensely until closing time, then reluctantly heading back to her dorm. She’d even filled out the Esports and Entertainment Club application while eating lunch.

Shu Yuxin and Jiang Zixuan weren’t rushing to submit theirs. At Zixuan’s suggestion, they’d wait two days to decide.

Honestly, Shu Yuxin had reservations, but since Yan Zhikai said there was no hurry, she gave in.

By evening, the weekend was winding down. In their rented apartment, dinner was underway. Shu Yuxin finally decided to try cooking the chicken breast she’d been saving. Jiang Zixuan was genuinely curious.

After all, last night was her first time cooking. By noon today, her stir-fried potato slices already tasted pretty good. Either passion for her favorite food gave her a mystical boost, or she just had real talent. Zixuan leaned toward the latter.

A comedy show played on TV. Zixuan sprawled across the sofa, leisurely cracking sunflower seeds. Listening to kitchen sounds, a fleeting illusion crossed his mind—they felt uncannily like a long-married couple.

It lasted one second. Then he went back to his seeds.

“Zixuan,” Shu Yuxin called from the kitchen, “Hey, what do you think of that esports club?”

“That club? Hmm… fine on the surface.”

“‘On the surface’? Tsk, so perceptive. You think it’s some secret evil org?”

“Who knows?” Zixuan chuckled. “My roommate joined this ‘English Intensive Training Team’—not a club, just a student group. Wake at 5:20 AM for fifty minutes of morning reading on the field, again at 9:30 PM. Tardiness logged, punishments after limits… tons of rules. On campus forums, it’s jokingly called one of Ming University’s ‘Three Great Cults,’ alongside the Flag-Raising Team and Student Union Propaganda Dept. He had to shout English then rush to military drills. Quit after three days.”

A pause. Then her voice floated out: “If he couldn’t handle it, why not quit?”

“Not that simple. Withdrawal needs piles of reasons, forms, approvals… fastest takes half a month—and he’d still have to keep attending, weekends included. He was nearly broken. Club withdrawal’s probably easier, but still messy. Club records go into academic files. Multiple approvals. Takes days.”

“That troublesome…”

“I don’t know your school’s rules. Ours is like this.” *Crack.* Another sunflower seed. “Wait—you never looked into your school’s policies?”

“Nope,” Shu Yuxin replied, utterly unbothered. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“…You’ve got nerve.”

After a beat, she asked: “If the club’s legit… would you join?”

“Sure. If you do, I’ll follow.” Zixuan grinned. “Free games? Why not?”

“It’s not about the games…” She hesitated, then continued: “That competition Yan Zhikai mentioned—I checked. Annual event. Teams are mostly students from nearby unis. We could enter. Rumor says big companies scout talent there. Get noticed, maybe break into esports.”

Zixuan froze mid-crack. “You’re not actually aiming for that scene?”

“Of course not! That’s no lifelong career!” She rushed to add, “I just… ahem. Top three teams get serious cash. Last year’s champs got 50,000 yuan each. Doesn’t that sound like a lot?”

“Not really.”

“…I’m talking as an average college student, not some trust-fund kid.”

“Haha, okay, okay—50k *is* decent,” Zixuan laughed, getting it. “So you want to compete for the prize?”

“Why not? Yan’s team got third once. And if we play seriously? We’re not bad. Tens of thousands… solid side cash.”

Zixuan nodded slowly. “Alright. We’ll see later. No rush now.”

“Mm.” Shu Yuxin’s voice buzzed with excitement. “Seriously—if we snag first place, I’d cover *years* of tuition! It’s just… whoa—!”

True to the old saying—joy peaks, mishap strikes. A clatter-clank erupted from the kitchen. Her slightly flustered voice drifted out: “Uh… Zixuan?”

“Huh?” He glanced over, stood up puzzled, and walked toward the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Tiny issue,” she laughed it off, then suddenly: “Quick question.”

“What?”

“How well-done do you like your grilled meat?”

“…”