Chapter 011: Signing with EDG, "Falcon" Is Going Live!

“Zi’ang, this is the sincerity EDG is offering you. To be honest, I believe your data analysis reports from the LDL region have already caught the attention of many clubs.”

“Even RNG might turn back to recruit you, but EDG is the first to officially invite you to join.”

Abu’s face was filled with earnestness. This contract rivaled the salaries of many current EDG starters—it was truly a generous offer.

Moreover, the contract was very flexible. It only imposed standard restrictions on “professional matches” and “daily training,” leaving everything else unrestricted.

For activities like streaming and commercial endorsements, the club would provide legal support and actively assist Zi’ang in negotiating deals, taking only a 15% cut.

The entire contract was balanced and brimming with genuine goodwill. Zi’ang already had a positive impression of EDG, and money was secondary.

The contract also explicitly stated that after the S9 season, EDG would undergo a complete overhaul, removing all foreign players and transforming into a fully Chinese roster.

This prospect deeply moved Zi’ang.

When he initially joined RNG’s youth academy, it was largely because of the allure of an all-Chinese team.

Perhaps EDG’s management had also realized the importance of an all-Chinese team and the immense viewership it could attract. LPL fans naturally felt a strong affinity for such teams.

This inherent advantage was unmatched by teams with foreign players, especially given the clear regional divisions: LPL, LCK, LCS…

Currently, the LCK region was overwhelmingly dominant, practically ruling all professional League of Legends competitions.

Only the Koreans aggressively exported their players, training systems, and even coaches to other regions. No region had ever exported players to the LCK!

Among all the League of Legends regions, only LCK had no foreign players. The Koreans were immensely proud, reaping profits worldwide!

EDG had once compromised with the market by recruiting many foreign players; there was no shame in that.

But now they were determined to change, embedding this plan within the contract. To Zi’ang, this was admirable.

“Is the all-Chinese team really true?” Zi’ang looked intently at Abu.

The other’s expression was serious and resolute. “It’s true. The management has unanimously decided this. From the coaching staff to the players, we are committed to this reform.”

“If the LPL region wants to rise, changes must be made. EDG did achieve some success relying on Korean players, but those achievements weren’t entirely pure.”

“The LCK region is indeed strong, and their training system has merits worth learning. But we are a great nation—we cannot rely on them forever,” Abu said firmly. “Starting from the S9 season, EDG will present a brand-new face. So once again, I sincerely invite you to join EDG!”

Chen Dong had analyzed that throughout the LPL region, and even globally, few ADCs suited EDG better than Zi’ang.

That was why EDG was willing to offer a seven-figure contract to a rookie.

“Alright.”

“Coach Abu, I am willing to join EDG,” Zi’ang said.

“Welcome aboard, Zi’ang. EDG will be reborn and create new glory with your arrival,” Abu said, feeling a heavy weight lift from his heart.

They then proceeded to sign the contract. EDG even gave Zi’ang a 200,000 signing bonus, with a salary of 1.2 million stipulated in the contract, paid at 100,000 per month for 14 months.

Breaking it down, Zi’ang was now earning 100,000 monthly and over a million annually.

This was a stark contrast to the fixed 3,500 monthly salary he earned at RNG’s youth academy. EDG also provided room and board, with better accommodations as a starter.

He lived in a luxurious single apartment, 45 square meters, fully equipped with appliances. Meals were traditional Chinese cuisine, carefully prepared by a chef and arranged by a nutritionist.

The training base had dedicated, exclusive spaces with brand-new computers, top-tier configurations, monitors, keyboards, mice, headsets, and gaming chairs.

Zi’ang was very satisfied with the environment.

After completing all the formalities, he received a personalized ID badge with his name and three sets of customized team uniforms.

Such was the efficiency of a major club. By afternoon, Zi’ang had completed all procedures, including those for the LPL.

He was now officially a professional player for EDG.

His former professional ID was “SUn.” To welcome this new chapter, he changed it to “FalCOn”—meaning “Falcon,” an aggressive and sharp ID.

By evening, Zi’ang was already in EDG’s training room, sitting at the ADC position. The previous starter ADC was “ibOy,” a well-known and talented player in the LPL.

But with Zi’ang’s arrival, the rotation system began—soon the S8 season would end, and the S9 season would start in less than two months.

During these two months, EDG would finalize all player changes, including who would start and who would substitute for the ADC role.

It all depended on individual skill—a healthy internal competition any player must face, unless they were truly exceptional, like Uzi in RNG.

EDG also had a player with a status similar to Uzi’s in RNG—their support, meikO.

A genius support who debuted at his peak, meikO was a veteran of EDG and the team’s in-game commander. He was second only in popularity to their star player.

“Zi’ang, seeing you in person surpasses your reputation—you’re really handsome.”

Zi’ang took his seat next to meikO, who smiled warmly.

“God meikO, you’re handsome too,” Zi’ang responded with a nod. As a star player, he certainly recognized him.

At that moment, meikO seemed to be in the middle of a ranked match. After a brief greeting with Zi’ang, he focused intently on the game.

The training room held about seven or eight players, each busy with their own tasks. Zi’ang’s arrival didn’t disrupt the atmosphere.

Abu had told him earlier that EDG didn’t tolerate flashy antics—everything was about skill. There was no scheming or exclusion here.

If you played well, you held your position. If not, be prepared to sit on the bench.

In esports, being bad was the original sin.

A pro player’s life was endless training and competing—seemingly dull and monotonous. Both talent and effort were indispensable, and few could endure such solitude.

Playing casual games at home was an entirely different matter.

Everyone wore headphones, deeply focused, not even noticing Zi’ang’s arrival.

…