Chapter 1 — Guess, MVP Heiress Has Returned

The distant sound of an ambulance siren wafted through the broken glass, then died out. Luc Yen Chi opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was not the light but the smell. The smell of hospital disinfectant was gone, replaced by the familiar smell of a slightly damp cotton mattress, the peppermint essential oil she still sprayed on her pillow before practice, and the team dormitory where she had lived for four years.

She lay still for a long time, her heart beating rapidly not because of fear but because of an empty feeling that was slowly being filled with memories. Memories of another life. Of a twenty-four-year-old Luc Yen Chi, who was declared permanently banned from competition by the tournament's disciplinary council for the crime of "using illegal support software" — a crime she did not commit. Of the months that followed, when her phone number was blocked from all group chats, when her parents looked at her with the eyes of strangers, when she sat alone in a shabby motel room, had a high fever for three days without anyone noticing, and finally collapsed on the cold floor when complications from pneumonia silently ravaged her body, exhausted from insomnia, depression, and being turned away by the whole world.

She had died. She remembered that feeling clearly — no pain, just a strange lightness as consciousness evaporated like smoke.

And now she was lying there, in the bunk bed of the Bach Ung Gaming team's dormitory room, the light in the hallway shining through the door just like the night she remembered - the night before the family meeting to decide "the matter of yielding".

Yen Chi sat up, clutching the thin blanket with both hands. She looked around the room: the mechanical keyboard she bought herself with last year's tournament prize money, the silver medal hanging askew on the wall, the notebook detailing each team fight of her opponents that she always carried with her. Everything was as it had been four years earlier. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, and the lock screen showed the date — that day, the day she remembered like a scar that would never heal: exactly twelve hours until the family meeting would take place at home, where her parents would place a piece of paper in front of her titled "Application to cede position as main player", and wait for her to sign.

In her previous life, she signed. Not because she had been forced, but because for twenty years of her life, she was taught according to a model: as an older sister, you must yield to your younger siblings. Her younger sister was born prematurely and weakly, and from a young age was surrounded by her parents like fragile porcelain, while she - a healthy, independent, talented child - was always reminded that "you are stronger than me, you must understand me". Yen Chi believed that to be true. She was so confident that when the coaching staff announced that Luc Y Nhi - her younger sister, also a mid laner at the same academy - wanted to compete for an official spot, she voluntarily stepped back, telling herself that it was okay to give up a season, she needed a chance to be more confident.

What is the result of that concession? La Y Nhi played poorly for half of the season, dragging the whole team downhill. When fans and management began to ask questions, Y Nhi - instead of admitting weakness - turned to blame her sister, spreading the news that out of jealousy, Yen Chi deliberately sabotaged team spirit, even secretly revealing the strategy to her opponent. When Yen Chi came forward to explain herself, no one believed her - including her parents. The elaborately orchestrated false evidence that followed was just the final blow that ended what was left of her career.

Yen Chi clenched the phone in her hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She took a deep breath, feeling the air fill her chest — a strangely vivid feeling, as if this body had never known the exhaustion of a dying person.

She got a second chance. And she won't repeat the same mistake.

It's not because she hates her sister. Memories of the past life are still intact, the afternoons the two sisters practiced together, ate instant noodles at midnight after arduous practice, and giggled when watching clips of clumsy competitions when they first started their careers. That sisterly love is real. But that doesn't mean it's immune to jealousy, and the bitterest truth that Yen Chi has to face is: love is not the reason for her to trade her career, her honor, and her life.

She stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the city lights were still on even though it was nearly three in the morning — the area near the training center always had several late-night eateries serving office workers and esports players who stayed up late to practice. Yen Chi looked down and saw herself reflected faintly on the glass: her twenty-year-old face, without the wrinkles of lingering anxiety, her eyes still glowing with the fire that had been extinguished in her previous life long before she actually died.

"This time," she said quietly to herself, her voice loud enough to steel her resolve, "I won't sign."

She went back to bed, opened her laptop, and found her own replays from the previous season - the matches she had played in her previous life before giving up the spot, the matches that proved her performance was at its peak and not at a decline like what her family would later use as an excuse to convince her to withdraw. She carefully backed up all that data on a removable hard drive, stored it in a locked drawer - in her previous life, she never thought about having to protect evidence for herself, because she never imagined that one day her loved ones would turn their backs.

In this life, she won't be so naive anymore.

At three o'clock in the morning, Yen Chi tiptoed out of the room and walked along the team's dark dormitory hallway. She stood in front of the practice room, looking through the glass window at the high-end computer system with the screen turned off, the light blue LED light of the power supply still blinking in the darkness like waking eyes. This is where she spent most of her youth, where she once — and will again — prove her worth not with words but with every mouse move, every millisecond-precise skill combo.

She pushed the door open, sat down in her familiar chair, and turned on the computer. The screen lights up and the game login interface appears. Yen Chi typed in her account, looked at the rank number displayed in the upper corner - the highest rank on the server, the result of countless sleepless nights.

She opened a solo queue match, not to practice in the traditional sense, but to remind herself of something: her value lies here, in these numbers, in this skill — not in whether she is willing to sacrifice for someone or not.

The match lasted two minutes. Yen Chi plays with an almost ruthless focus, not letting any emotional turmoil — about her family, about her sister, about past life memories — creep into every decision on the map. She won, with such excellent stats that the system automatically gave her the title "Best of the Match".

Closing the phone, looking at the clock, it was after five o'clock in the morning. Yen Chi felt unusually calm. Not the calmness of someone who had let go, but the calmness of someone who had made a clear decision and had nothing left to hesitate.

The family meeting will take place this afternoon. Her father — Luc Thanh Nam, a man who believes absolutely in the order "older brother gives way to younger brother" — will definitely bring out that form again. Her mother - Hoang Thi Nga - will sit next to her, her worried eyes focused on her youngest child. And Y Nhi, her younger sister, would sit there with a familiar face of self-pity, the look that once made Yen Chi voluntarily nod without hesitation.

This time will be different.

Yen Chi stood up, stretched, feeling every muscle tense after a long sleepless night but her mind was strangely alert. She looked out the gym window, the first sunrise was dyeing the high-rise buildings in the distance pink - where in a few hours, Thien Truong gymnasium would be filled with spectators for the qualifying round of the new VCC season.

She will be there. As an official player. Not because anyone gave it to her, but because it was a position she had won with her own hands.

"In this life," Yen Chi whispered, her hard eyes reflected in the window glass, "I will keep what belongs to me. Everything."

She left the practice room, walked with steady steps back to her bedroom, preparing for a day when she would rewrite her entire fate - not only her own, but also those of those who thought her honesty was something they could take advantage of.