The team’s sniper tried to lighten the pre-match mood, but unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at it and blurted out exactly what shouldn’t be mentioned: “J-just now, that really was Whisper! Wow, he’s changed so much! I’m even half a fan of his, but I didn’t recognize him at all just now. Only Mr. Clark has such sharp eyes.”

The medic shot the sniper a terrified glare and tried to smooth things over: “…Of course, Henry Clark used to be on the same team as Whisper, so he’s definitely more familiar than the rest of us.”

The sniper nodded. “Yeah, yeah, after all, they were teammates.”

Henry Clark had been tense, but now, listening to his teammates’ awkward probing through his headset, he couldn’t help but let out a self-deprecating laugh. Others probably saw him as a lunatic right now.

It was just being teammates, just two years apart, just a recent reunion.

There were plenty of pro players who transferred teams or even regions; coming together and parting ways was routine. Like today’s opponent, NSN—Henry Clark’s old team. Running into former teammates on the field was nothing unusual.

Was it really worth losing composure over?

Henry Clark finally managed to get his peripherals set up. He launched the client and logged into his account. There were about ten minutes left before the official match started, and all the players were warming up. Henry Clark fired off a burst of bullets, but his performance was so bad he couldn’t bear to look.

When emotions ran high, his hands would stiffen and grow cold from poor circulation—a physiological issue, nothing he could do about it, even though Henry Clark was already trying his best to control it.

Henry Clark let go of the keyboard and gently rubbed his stiff hands, exhaling. This wouldn’t do.

Staring at the screen, Henry Clark was silent for a while, then spoke quietly into the mic: “He and I weren’t just teammates.”

His teammates were all startled by Henry Clark’s voice in their headsets, not knowing what he was getting at. The medic awkwardly chimed in: “Uh… Manager Wright mentioned something to us before, like Whisper was the one who brought you into the scene.”

Henry Clark said, “Not just that.”

The teammates exchanged glances, and even the referee monitoring IAC’s team comms glanced over at Henry Clark. No one understood what was up with him. Henry Clark was always quiet, and he never talked about Whisper. What had gotten into him today?

“My relationship with Whisper…” Henry Clark tried to keep his tone calm. “Let’s put it this way: back then, I almost gave him my life.”

The medic choked, glancing around nervously and lowering his voice to remind him, “Mr. Clark, you do remember that all match comms are recorded, right? Be careful what you say…”

Henry Clark alternated squeezing his arms, and said bluntly, “Of course I know.”

“The first time I learned about this was during my first pro match—Whisper told me.” Henry Clark rubbed his gradually warming hands as he spoke slowly. “I’d just joined the team, and there was only one regular season match left. If I wanted to go to the playoffs with the team, I had to play that match.”

The FOG League’s rules clearly stated that a pro player had to play at least one full BO3 for their team during the regular season to be eligible for the playoffs, either as a starter or a substitute.

“At the time, our team was ranked first in the league and already guaranteed a playoff spot, so letting me play didn’t matter—it was just to get me a playoff slot.” Henry Clark interlaced his fingers, flexing his joints. “The team wasn’t under any pressure, but for me, it was like being thrown in at the deep end. I wasn’t prepared at all, and suddenly I was on stage.”

“I hadn’t even watched a match before, and now I had to start as a main player. I was totally lost, just doing whatever Whisper told me.” Henry Clark put his hands back on the keyboard and mouse. “He told me to test the mic before the match, so I did. He said the best way to test was to sing, so I sang. I thought it was pretty damn stupid, but figured I should listen to the captain, so I did it. I really sang a couple of lines, and the next day, my song ended up in the match comms highlight reel.”

The three teammates gasped, looking at Henry Clark with sympathy, unable to imagine how mortifying that must have been.

“I was so young then, even a year younger than Wawa, just seventeen, didn’t know anything…” Henry Clark gave a bitter laugh. “Such an idiot.”

The medic tried to comfort him: “No, no, it’s not that you were stupid, you were just a rookie. Whisper shouldn’t have picked on you.”

“Picked on me?” Henry Clark reloaded his gun, speaking unhurriedly. “It was a regular season match that didn’t affect the rankings. They could’ve sent a dog to play and no one would’ve cared, no one was paying attention to me or that match.”

“He was a medic, and so was I. I could’ve just gone up and filled in for him, but…”

Henry Clark finished reloading, took aim, and continued, “But he just couldn’t relax. He was afraid I had no experience, afraid I’d freeze up, afraid no one would look after me, afraid the team’s assault players wouldn’t cooperate with a rookie. So, as a medic, he played assault for the first time in that match.”

The teammates stared at Henry Clark in shock. “Whisper played assault?!”

Another assault player on the team asked weakly, “I think I remember Whisper saying in an interview that he didn’t like playing other roles.”