Chapter 12 — Guess, MVP Heiress Has Returned

The car took Y Nhi to a private apartment on the top floor of a luxury apartment building, a place Lam Dac Uy often used as a meeting place for partners who needed to keep their identities hidden. Bui Dac Long was already sitting in the living room waiting, in front of him was an open laptop, the screen displaying a complex data editing interface.

"Did you watch the match?" Long asked, his voice somewhat sarcastic when he saw Y Nhi's gloomy face. "Your sister is really getting more and more difficult."

"Don't say those things anymore," Y Nhi snapped, sitting down on the sofa. "Do you have any plans? Uncle Dac Uy said you are preparing something."

Long glanced at Lam Dac Uy, waiting for a nod of confirmation before opening his mouth. "I have a relationship in the technology industry that specializes in processing match log data for esports tournaments. With the right tools, I can edit match log files to create fake traces that indicate the intervention of unauthorized support software — what is known in the world as 'aimbot' or 'wallhack' — in certain Yen Chi matches."

Y Nhi frowned. "Are you sure it won't be discovered as fake? If the organizers investigate carefully and discover traces of editing, this will backfire immediately."

"That's why I need time to prepare thoroughly," Long replied, his voice confident. "I will not create crudely fake evidence. I will exploit a small flaw in the official competition software's logging system — a flaw that very few technicians are aware of — to insert unusual code that looks exactly like the use of supporting software, sophisticated enough to bypass most conventional testing experts."

Lam Dac Uy, sitting in the opposite chair, spoke up, his voice cautious. "I repeat, this must be done very discreetly. If it is discovered that it is related to the corporation, the consequences will be extremely serious, not only for your career, Y Nhi, but also for my entire corporation."

"I understand," Y Nhi replied, her eyes flashing with a cold determination. "But I have no other choice. If I let her keep winning like this, by the end of the season, no one will remember my name anymore."

Long nodded and continued to present the detailed plan. "I'll target the most recent group stage match — the one she just won impressively. I'll create a doctored copy of the match log, showing unusually fast reaction times that are unrealistic for human abilities, along with some simulated code connecting to an unknown third-party software. We'll then send this 'finding' to the tournament organizers through an anonymous account, posing as an observant spectator. abnormality detected."

"So when can it be done?" Y Nhi asked, her voice impatient.

"I need about two weeks to complete and check thoroughly, making sure there are no loopholes," Long replied. "During that time, she continued to build her image on social networks, so that when 'evidence' appeared, the public would already have a backstory to believe it."

Y Nhi nodded, a cold smile flashed across her lips. She remembered the proud eyes of the audience for her sister tonight, remembered the feeling of being left in the dark while Yen Chi bathed in the spotlight. That feeling, instead of making her question her own abilities, only fueled the resentment that had been simmering since childhood.

She remembered when she was ten years old, the first time she stood and watched Yen Chi receive the school's excellent student award while she herself, despite trying equally, only received the comfort of "you're still young, slowly you'll be as good as me". She remembered countless similar times throughout her twenty years of life, every time her sister shined, she was pushed into the darkness of comparison. Gradually, a distorted belief formed in her mind: all of Yen Chi's success was an injustice to her, and the only way to balance that "injustice" was to take what her sister had, at any cost.

"Okay," Y Nhi said, her voice decisive. "Just proceed as planned. I'll wait to hear from you two."

On the way back to the team dormitory that night, Y Nhi sat in the car, looking out the window, the streetlight passing by her face beat by beat. She didn't feel guilty at all when thinking about the plan she had just discussed — in her mind, this was not an act of harming an innocent person, but a "request for justice" that she believed she had long deserved.

But in some deep corner of her heart, when the image of the two sisters' childhood days practicing together and laughing together appeared in her mind, Y Nhi could not help but hesitate for a moment. She closed her eyes, trying to push away that feeling, telling herself that she had come to this point, there was no way back. If she did not act, she would forever be a pale shadow behind her sister's glory — and that was something she could never accept.

The car stopped in front of the dormitory gate, Y Nhi got out, adjusted her familiar tired, resigned face before stepping inside. No one on the team knew, behind that appearance, a dangerous plot was being woven in the darkness, just waiting for the right moment to strike a fatal blow to the career and honor of her own blood sister.

At the same time, at the team management office, Bach Khang was still working late, reviewing the entire team's competition data security system after receiving a warning message from Yen Chi a few days ago about the phrases "match data" and "ensuring safety" that Dinh Quoc Bao overheard. He contacted the technical department of the tournament organizing committee, requesting to re-examine the process of storing and authenticating competition logs, citing the reason of preventing common cybersecurity risks for the entire tournament.

The feedback he received made him worried: the tournament's current logging system, even though it had been tested, still had a few small technical flaws that a qualified expert could exploit to edit data without leaving obvious traces for conventional testing tools. This was what Bach Khang fears the most — if someone really had bad intentions, they had the technical ability to turn a clean match into fake "proof of cheating".

He called Yen Chi that night, even though it was quite late. "Sorry for calling at this hour," he said when she answered, his voice sounding somewhat urgent. "But I think you need to know right away. The tournament's tournament log system has security holes, and if someone has bad intentions with enough technical skills, they can create fake evidence of unauthorized use of support software."

Yen Chi sat up in bed, her heart beating fast. "So what should we do to prevent it?"

"I asked the organizers to increase security checks, but that is only a general measure, it cannot completely prevent a targeted attack," Bach Khang explained. "As for you, I advise you to save a complete, unedited recording of every official match you participate in from now on, with time confirmation from multiple independent sources if possible — for example, recordings from the stands, from third-party live channels. If someone tries to create false evidence based on system logs, we need objective evidence to counter it."

"I understand," Yen Chi replied, her voice regaining composure, although there was still an echo of worry in her heart. "I will start storing carefully from the next match."

Hanging up the phone, Yen Chi sat quietly in the darkness, feeling like she was standing in front of a storm that was gradually forming far offshore but she couldn't see the shape clearly, only felt the air pressure changing. She remembered the moment she was sentenced to a ban from competition in her previous life, the feeling of helplessness when faced with "evidence" that she knew was definitely fake but had no way to prove it. This time, she was determined not to let herself fall into the same situation without any preparation.

She opened her laptop, immediately began setting up her own personal storage system, backing up all match records in parallel to many different places - a separate hard drive stored in a separate room, a backup on an encrypted cloud service, and asked Gia Linh to keep an additional backup copy for her without disclosing the specific reason. She worked until dawn, as cautious as someone building a defensive fortress against an attack that she knew was coming, but the timing was unknown.