The air conditioner in the training room always had a musty smell, mixed with the smell of smoke between Lao Lin's fingers and drifted to Su Mu's nose. The scarlet font of "Defeat" on the screen has not faded yet, and "0/5/2" in the jungle position is like a tattoo, branded on the score board he just cut out.
"I'll take you up." Lao Lin put out his cigarette in the Coke can full of cigarette butts, his voice was as hoarse as sandpaper rubbing against iron. Su Mu clenched the hand of the mouse and paused - this was the first time he heard the coach say these words after three years in the BLG youth training.
