Chapter 6: Dream Shattered in Busan, Sun Dayong Resigns Taking Responsibility

The S8 World Championship had not yet concluded, but this year, G2 was set to advance to the semifinals. This, however, had nothing to do with RNG.

What awaited them next was a torrent of insults and criticism across the entire internet.

Immediately after the match ended, the official RNG Weibo account issued an apology, almost as if bracing itself to take the blame.

When it came to apologies, RNG Esports Club was quite experienced. But the level of attention this match received was unprecedented in the entire esports world.

At its peak, the cumulative viewership across all live streaming platforms for the event even surpassed 400 million!

The moment RNG lost the match, countless male dormitories, internet cafes, and other venues erupted in anguished cries.

Many people even chose to uninstall “League of Legends” altogether.

For many longtime fans, RNG had almost embodied their entire experience of watching professional LoL matches.

From the early days of Royal Club to today’s RNG, this year’s team had raised expectations to the highest level:

LPL Spring Split Champions!

MSI Mid-Season Invitational Champions!

The first all-Chinese roster to claim a title second only to the World Championship. The Demacia Cup Champions!

LPL Summer Regular Season Champions!

RNG’s performance leading up to this moment had been stellar, so much so that many believed they might sweep the grand slam.

Such terrifying expectations, only to fall at the quarterfinals against G2—one can imagine the crushing disappointment.

The players’ social media accounts were instantly overwhelmed with attacks.

After the apology announcement, the official account received over 10,000 comments in an instant.

Of those, 99% were insults and criticisms... while the remaining 1% praised Lu Ziang’s performance, claiming he was far better than Uzi.

The coaching staff, seeing the online backlash, were horrified and their scalps tingled, especially since many of the scathing remarks targeted them.

Sun Dayong had thought pushing Lu Ziang forward would divert some of the fire.

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Instead, not only did Lu Ziang fail to bear the brunt of the blame, but the public opinion turned against Sun Dayong himself. Though he didn’t understand Chinese, the management was already pressuring him, their intentions clear.

“Heh heh heh... so in the end, it’s me who has to take the fall? Hahaha...”

Sun Dayong found it laughable; the last time someone resigned under public pressure was Fox, the notorious S7 five-man Galio player.

“Coach Dayong, your chances of staying with the club now are slim to none. The management has to sacrifice someone to calm the storm!”

The team translator kindly reminded him, as a veteran of RNG, that this was not the first time such a situation had arisen.

RNG was indeed an all-Chinese roster, but the coaching staff were mostly Korean, and nearly every season saw a shakeup in the coaches.

Rarely did a coach stay with RNG beyond a year. Sun Dayong was no exception, despite leading RNG to so many honors this year and making significant contributions.

But in the eyes of the management, without a World Championship title, all else was mere fleeting glory.

Fifteen minutes after the match, Sun Dayong posted a brief statement on his personal social media, explaining that due to special personal reasons, he could no longer remain with RNG.

The comments below were filled with praise:

“Traitor!”

“Good riddance, go back to Korea!!”

“I won’t comment on anything else, but tonight’s draft was absolutely terrible, and substituting the ADC was just disgraceful.”

“Goodbye, Coach Dayong! RNG can keep you in Incheon.”

…

At this moment, Lu Ziang was also watching the drama unfold online.

Seeing the extreme, venomous comments flooding the internet left him with mixed feelings.

The domestic esports public opinion environment was abysmal.

If you played well, you'd be praised like a god.

If you played poorly, you'd be trashed like a dog. There was no middle ground.

Many professional players retired at their peak simply because they couldn’t endure the endless abuse.

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Some even chose to quit and sell snacks instead.

Yet, Lu Ziang also came across some glowing posts about himself, which secretly pleased him. Such is the miserable nature of humanity!

Though he often dominated in the LDL, the secondary league under the LPL, the viewership there was minimal—a mere training ground for academy players.

The competitive intensity and popularity didn’t even compare to the LPL, let alone a phenomenal event like tonight’s.

Scrolling through the news, Lu Ziang found his professional ID and photo featured frequently, all accompanied by positive comments.

This was probably the first time in his life he truly felt what it meant to be “famous,” though it was fleeting.

He also saw Sun Dayong’s Weibo, and as an old esports fan, he knew such situations were common.

Had he not secured the Baron in the clutch moments or made frequent mistakes, his fate would have been even worse than Sun Dayong’s.

At least Sun Dayong was the head coach of RNG; Lu Ziang was just an unknown substitute ADC. No one cared about a nobody like him.

Of course, now Lu Ziang had gained some exposure in the esports scene, but it was limited to tonight only. After tomorrow, he’d likely be forgotten.

“Back when Liu Xiang won so many gold medals, breaking records set by black athletes, he was covered in glory. Yet, everyone only remembered his two withdrawals. Whether in traditional sports or esports, no matter what you’ve achieved, people only care about your present.”

Reading the comments under Sun Dayong’s post, Lu Ziang’s thoughts swirled, and he silently vowed, “With system assistance, something like this will never happen to me.”

After the match, the entire RNG team quietly left Busan and returned to their hotel, packing their bags hastily before rushing to catch a flight home.

The whole team was shrouded in gloom, their expressions weary and dispirited.

After tonight’s ordeal, Lu Ziang had already made up his mind. He had signed a two-year academy contract with RNG, which had expired two weeks ago.

The academy contract paid very little—less than a restaurant server’s salary.

His skill level was undoubtedly worthy of a new “player contract,” but the coaching staff had been dragging their feet on the contract process, meaning Lu Ziang was currently a “free agent.”

…