The match between IAC and NSN, already highly anticipated, saw its buzz skyrocket with the addition of William Harris. In just two days, fans of both teams and William Harris's local supporters drove the price of pre-match tickets up more than tenfold. On the day of the match, the venue was completely surrounded by fans, with Henry Clark's and William Harris's fans even competing to outdo each other—their support banners growing bigger and bigger.

In the IAC team van, manager David Wright glanced out the front passenger window and clicked his tongue. "Wow... Henry Clark, your fangirls are acting out of character today, not so gentle at all—it's really tense out there."

Henry Clark said nothing, eyes closed as he leaned back in his seat, headphones on, blowing his gum with loud pops.

David Wright looked back at Henry Clark and said, "Headphones again, can you even hear me? Sigh... To be honest, the boss is watching the live stream today. He's really paying attention—he was just messaging me on WeChat. Give it to me straight, what do you think our chances are of winning today?"

Chewing his gum, Henry Clark took off one side of his headphones. After a moment, he replied, "Twenty percent."

David Wright's face fell at that, but the other team members instantly relaxed. If even Henry Clark says the chances of winning aren't high, then losing is normal! No need to take the blame, no need to get scolded!

The other three teammates visibly loosened up and started joking around. David Wright, still unwilling to give up, said, "Come on, don't boost their morale! NSN's sniper is just average, and their team hasn't even gelled yet. I think we've still got a good shot. And... like I said, the boss is watching."

"Whether the boss watches or not, it's still twenty percent," Henry Clark had no intention of making any bold promises just to please the club owner. "Our win rate against NSN used to be fifty-fifty. Now..."

Henry Clark paused for a moment, then continued, "Now they've changed their medic and patched up their team's weakness. Our chances are definitely lower. Isn't that just the truth?"

David Wright understood the logic, of course. He chuckled, "There's always the chance for an extraordinary performance on stage. Alright, alright, no pressure—just do your best out there."

The cheers from the fans faded as the van drove into the underground garage. Henry Clark put on his team uniform, ready to get out. "Of course we'll do our best."

Led by the venue staff, the IAC players and their entourage headed to their own lounge. As they walked down the long corridor and passed the NSN team lounge marked with their logo, Henry Clark paused, glancing sideways at NSN's tightly closed door.

Manager David Wright's heart leapt into his throat.

Although Henry Clark had seemed normal these past two days, after working together for two years, David Wright could clearly sense that the young master had been suppressing his anger ever since learning that William Harris had returned to the country—and it was no small anger.

He was genuinely worried that Henry Clark might suddenly kick open the NSN lounge door and cause a scene.

Luckily, Henry Clark just glanced at it.

Wearing his headphones, Henry Clark blew a huge bubble with his gum, expressionless, and slung his gear bag over his shoulder as he entered the IAC team lounge.

The IAC coach quickly went over the key points with each player, adjusting everyone's pre-match mindset. He usually had nothing to remind Henry Clark about and wouldn't waste time on small talk, but today, breaking from routine, he asked, "Henry Clark, any thoughts?"

Henry Clark had been looking down at his phone the whole time. At the question, he looked up. "Thoughts?"

The coach, less cautious and meticulous than David Wright, got straight to the point: "Our team is all rookies—only you know Whisper well. Anything we should be aware of? Anything to watch out for?"

The coach said, "You should know Whisper's playstyle best, right?"

Henry Clark put away his phone.

No one could know better than him.

Back in the day, Henry Clark's medic skills were taught by William Harris himself, step by step, detail by detail. Henry Clark was once called "Little Whisper," not just because he played medic well, but because his entire playstyle was almost a complete copy of William Harris's.

No one understood William Harris's habits and tactics better than Henry Clark.

Henry Clark nodded. "Of course."

The coach was reassured. "That's a big advantage for us. In the early game, everyone follow Henry Clark's lead. Pay special attention to Whisper—absolutely do not treat him as just a medic. He can kill. Don't let him get any kills, and ideally, don't even let him get any assist points early on. If he gets access to shared resources, he becomes terrifying. If he manages to buy three Photon Shields in the late game, it's basically unwinnable. So be extra careful, Henry Clark..."

Henry Clark looked up, and the coach emphasized, "Today, when playing NSN, don't focus all your attention on Edward Grant anymore. Keep an eye on their medic—target Whisper. Got it?"

David Wright watched the coach, heart pounding, with a look that said, "Aren't you afraid to keep bringing up Whisper?"

To David Wright's surprise, Henry Clark remained calm and said, "Target Whisper. No problem."

The coach reiterated a few more key points. With just ten minutes left before they had to go on stage, the venue staff came by one last time to confirm the players' information, then announced, "For NSN's starting lineup this match: sniper ROD, assault Edward Grant, assault Brian Reed, medic Evelyn."

Henry Clark turned his head. "What?"