Even after the second game—where both Lacta Lynx and Milkman Maximus had been banned—the impossible still happened.
Team Lacta won.
It wasn’t as flashy this time, no miracle comebacks or clutch dragon steals, but the synergy they had somehow built carried them until the end.
The moment they realized that Zeno was goated, they believed in him and also trusted their own skills.
He picked a third-rate sniper named “Creamer Claire” and proceeded to kill players like he’d been playing for years.
The crowd didn’t care that the last match had been faster than the previous one. In fact, even if it ended at under 20 minutes, the viewership count still remained the same.
2,000,000 live viewers.
That number wasn’t local. It was global. Across forums and platforms, the stream exploded.
People from Brazil, Korea, the Philippines, Germany, and even esports veterans from the U.S. were tuning in to see who the hell Team Lacta was.
A lot of fans were disappointed he won because they wanted him to dress up as Lacta Lynx.
However, he was also being hailed as a gaming genius. Maybe a meme. Or both.
On the stage, the host presented the final winners, and their cash prize was handed to Zeno himself.
“Your prize,” the host said cheerily. “Sponsored by Mr. Kim himself.”
The camera panned to Mr. Kim, who stood beside the booth like a man being forced to give away his kidney.
His left eye twitched slightly as he handed the massive prize envelope to Zeno.
Still, he forced a smile. “Well done.”
Beside him, the players from ToMB applauded.
“Historic,” Crabby muttered.
“Honestly, I’m still convinced this is all a prank,” Knots added.
Zeno stepped down from the booth, laptop slung under one arm. A few fans in the crowd screamed his name.
As the rest of Team Lacta gathered for photos, Real-Faker moved forward, intercepting Zeno gently with a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you… want to play someday?”
Zeno turned to him.
“You’re good,” Real-Faker continued.
There was a second of silence.
Then, Zeno said plainly, “I’m going to give away this laptop after this.”
Real-Faker tilted his head. “What?”
“I’m busy,” Zeno said with a polite shrug. “Thanks, though. I heard you were good.”
It took every ounce of Real-Faker’s professionalism to keep his mouth from hanging open.
Zeno walked past him like he hadn’t just thrown a boulder into esports.
“Wait, wait!” Crabby jogged over. “Sorry to bother you, but we have to ask. Is it really true that you’ve only been playing this game for a week?”
Zeno nodded once. “Yes.”
Crabby clutched his chest. “Okay, now I’m in physical pain. I’ve been grinding for years.”
A second later, he composed himself. “So—what’s your secret? How did you improve so fast?”
Zeno paused.
Then, deadpan as ever, Zeno said, “Use milk heroes.”
***
The backstage area was louder than expected.
Guests chattered beyond the velvet ropes, cameras flashed from every angle, and the tech crew bustled to and fro with headsets and clipboards. Still, in one corner of the exclusive lounge, three figures sat relatively unnoticed.
Eli leaned against the food table, a skewer of honey-glazed meat dangling from his fingers as he chewed in silence. A plate stacked with dumplings, fruit, and a slice of chocolate cake sat beside him, half-eaten. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked around without much focus.
“These dumplings are insane,” he mumbled to no one in particular. “Perks of being the friend of someone famous, huh?”
Doha stood near the water cooler, tapping through his phone, trying to act like he wasn’t attempting to get himself in frame of the interview happening just a few feet away.
Minji, meanwhile, returned from grabbing a drink and made a beeline for the couch where Eli sat. She plopped down beside him with a soft huff, holding a chilled cup in her hand.
Eli gave her a glance, then—almost reflexively—scooted an inch to the right.
Minji noticed.
She frowned slightly, then scooted right back toward him, closer this time. Their shoulders brushed. Eli stiffened but said nothing.
“What’s your problem?” Minji asked, sipping from her cup.
“Nothing,” Eli muttered, eyes still fixed on his food. “Shouldn’t you be congratulating Zeno by now?”
Minji exhaled, leaning back on the couch. “He’s being interviewed,” she said, looking up at the ceiling. “We’re waiting just like everyone else.”
Eli didn’t respond. He stabbed another dumpling with his toothpick.
There was a moment of silence, the kind that always felt heavier between people who used to laugh too easily together.
Then Eli, still not looking at her, asked, “So… are you two together already?”
Minji turned to him, one eyebrow rising slowly. “What are you talking about?”
Eli finally looked at her. “You and Zeno. Didn’t you get together?”
“What?”
“No,” Minji said, groaning as she looked away. “Seriously.”
“But the two of you kissed!” Eli blurted, a little too loudly.
Minji’s head snapped toward him. “What?!”
“That night,” Eli continued, gesturing vaguely. “At the stairs. You were smiling, and he was leaning in. It looked like it.”
Minji’s cheeks reddened. “Oh goodness,” she muttered. Then, she let out a short laugh, not from amusement but disbelief.
“Eli. You thought we kissed that night?”
Eli stared at her, confused.
Minji exhaled. “I wish,” she said quietly.
Eli’s brows furrowed. “What?”
“He doesn’t like me,” she said. “I already confessed. A while ago.”
Eli’s expression shifted. “Huh?”
Minji gave him a small, sideways glance, lips pulling into a small smile. “Yeah. I told him that night you thought we were kissing.”
Eli felt like his heart was a horse in a marathon. “What did he say?” he quietly asked.
“Aren’t you curious?” she teased, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
Eli let out a deep breath. “Can I have a normal conversation with you?”
Minji clicked his tongue and turned to him, hesitating only for a second before saying the next words.
“Can you also confess your feelings to me now?”