"You've got some nerve, Lu Xiqing!" Howie snarled, his voice brimming with rage. "The bet was between you and me. What right do you have dragging my brother into this? Fine, I'll say it here and now—in front of everyone. If I lose, I'll kneel and call you grandpa a hundred times if that's what it takes. But don't you dare pull my bro into it. Doug has nothing to do with this!"
Howie took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling as he clenched his fists. The truth was, he already knew he was toast. F-Da was a world-class CS:GO player. The guy's reflexes were legendary—like he was half man, half aimbot. There was no way Howie could win. Still, he was a man of his word. If he lost, he'd take the L with dignity—even if it meant getting on his knees.
But Lu Xiqing? That smug bastard just spread his arms innocently. "Whoa there, don't go throwing accusations. I didn't force anyone. Your buddy volunteered. Everyone here heard it. I didn't say a word. He offered to step in himself. And hey, he's free to back out now if he's scared. I won't stop him."
Then he smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "But man, what a day! I came in with one grandson and walked out with two. Not bad, huh?"
"You son of a—!"
Howie was halfway across the room, ready to throw hands, when Doug Feng blocked him with one arm and said coolly, "Relax, bro. Trust me. Let me handle this. I'll make him call you grandpa by the end of it."
"Doug, come on, don't mess around now," Howie hissed, panic flickering in his eyes. "You're up against F-Da! That guy's not just some casual gamer. He's world-ranked!"
Doug just grinned, calm as ever. "Even the strongest warrior can fall to a lucky brick. And besides, you weren't gonna win anyway, right? Might as well let me take a crack at it."
With that, he leaned in and shoved Howie off the gaming chair with casual ease, plopping himself down like he owned the place.
Mouse. Keyboard. Headset. Doug slid them on with practiced fluidity. Everything clicked into place.
"Alright then," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's do this. Hey, F-Da, hope you're ready. It's been a while since I got to pop some heads."
As soon as his fingers wrapped around the mouse, something shifted. Doug Feng wasn't just playing the game anymore. He became the game. His movements were fluid, instinctive, like his hands were extensions of his mind. The moment the background music of Counter-Strike kicked in through his headset, the room disappeared. All that remained was the battlefield—and he, its reigning war god.
"Wait… what did he say? Did he just claim he's gonna headshot F-Da?"
"He's either got a death wish or a major screw loose. No way he's walking out of this one."
"Pfft, the kid's delusional. Let's enjoy the show."
Around them, Lu Xiqing's posse cracked open cans of herbal tea, lounging comfortably as they laughed and pointed fingers. To them, this was over before it began.
After all, F-Da wasn't just a top-tier player. He was a legend, known across China as one of the "Three Sniper Gods." He had ice in his veins and aim so precise it could give real-life sharpshooters an inferiority complex.
But Doug? He wasn't flinching. If anything, he looked thrilled.
Game on.
Same map. Same layout. The air was tense with anticipation. Howie hovered behind Doug, holding his breath. He didn't have much hope, but deep down, a tiny voice whispered—what if?
Doug entered the match. No wasted movement. No flashy nonsense. Just cold, calculated motion. He crouch-walked silently, footsteps whisper-quiet, hugging the corners like a ghost.
BANG!
A gunshot rang out from the shadows.
It was F-Da, sniping from his usual ambush spot. That shot had ended countless matches with a single bullet.
But not this time.
Doug had already moved. Before the shot was even fired, his body twisted, jumping sideways out of its deadly path with uncanny precision.
"What the hell?!"
F-Da's voice cracked through the mic—his first word of the game. That move had been impossible. No one should've seen that shot coming, let alone dodged it. The timing, the angle—everything was perfect.
Except Doug had reacted before perfection.
RATATAT!
Doug leapt upward, spinning mid-air, and fired toward a ventilation shaft above the left barricade.
HEADSHOT.
Gasps exploded across the room.
F-Da had been sniping from that very shaft.
In the blink of an eye, the hunter had become the hunted.
"He… he jumped and shot?"
"From that distance?"
"And hit a headshot?"
"Against F-Da?"
Silence fell like a bomb.
Even the most skeptical spectators stared slack-jawed at the screen. Doug had pulled off what should've been a one-in-a-million shot—no, more than that. A hundred-meter kill with a submachine gun? In mid-air?
It wasn't just a lucky shot.
It was art.
"How… did we just… win?"
Howie blinked rapidly, as if the scoreboard might vanish if he stared too long. But the truth was right there: F-Da. Eliminated. Match over.
Doug stood up slowly, stretching like he'd just finished a light workout.
Howie, tears in his eyes, tackled him into a hug. "Doug! Bro! You freaking beast! That was insane! You're a legend! I almost kissed you just now!"
Doug chuckled sheepishly. "Heh… luck of the draw, I guess."
"Luck, my ass!" someone muttered from the crowd. "You dodged a sniper bullet before it was fired!"
"Yeah, and you shot upwards and nailed a headshot from across the map!"
"If that's luck, I'm uninstalling right now."
Even F-Da stood slowly, quiet and solemn. He pulled off his signature black baseball cap and bowed low.
"You won," he said simply, voice calm but sincere. "That move… that wasn't something any normal player could pull off. Honestly, I don't think there's a single player in China who can match you."
The crowd, finally registering what had happened, exploded into applause and chaos. Even Lu Xiqing sat frozen, his smug smirk gone without a trace.
Because the truth was undeniable: Doug Feng didn't just win.
He annihilated.
And somewhere, deep in the gaming world, a new legend had just been born.