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One day at Excellent Era, Ye Xiu looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and discovered that his eyes, typically a very ordinary hue of dark brown, had suddenly turned into striking, gleaming gold.
“Huh,” he said. “That’s weird.” Then he went back to playing Glory.
Because it didn’t hinder his playing or otherwise demonstrate any adverse effects, Ye Xiu was perfectly content to let it be. If anyone ever asked, he was prepared to say his eyes were always like this and maybe it was just the lighting. Of course that didn’t fly with Han Wenqing, who immediately confronted him about it the next time they met.
“It’s because of Glory,” he said. “Your One Autumn Leaf has the same golden eyes.”
It took Ye Xiu a while to recall, because Glory was first-person POV so he didn’t actually look at his avatar that often. “Oh,” he said. “I guess, maybe?” Then, “Wait, that’s such a weird conclusion to leap to. What makes you say that?”
“It’s happening to me. I imagined that if this really was a Glory thing, then you would be the most likely person to also experience this, whatever this is.”
“But you still look the same,” said Ye Xiu, giving him a once-over. Han Wenqing’s eyes were still their usual dark brown, nor had he spontaneously grown teeth or horns or something. “What happened to you? What, you got Desert Dust’s rock-hard abs?”
Han Wenqing said nothing.
Ye Xiu’s eyes went wide. “Wait actually? Holy-”
“Shut. Up.”
It turned out that there was a metal-like band growing from the back of Han Wenqing’s head, along with twin tails of red ribbon. It was very strange, and maybe a little more alarming than what Ye Xiu had experienced—but there was no pain or anything, and no one else that Han Wenqing had asked seemed to be able to see or feel it.
“It’s like that little crown-headband thing that Desert Dust has,” Ye Xiu said, tracing its shape with his fingers. “Isn’t that just armor? Can’t you take it off in-game? Maybe then this will go away.”
Han Wenqing gave him a look like he was stupid. “It’s Silver equipment, I can’t lose that stat boost.”
“Yeah, fair.”
So, over time, the metal grew along the two sides of Han Wenqing’s head until it curled at his temples, and the ribbons grew until they reached the middle of his back. It was very thin, and very light, and somehow didn’t interfere with his headphones even though logically, physically it should. Really, it was like clipping in a video game. Very odd.
(Ye Xiu still pestered him later on, but Han Wenqing refused to comment on whether his abs and general physique were “natural” or “Glory-grown.”)
Wang Jiexi was growing crystals over his left eye.
“It doesn’t hurt? You can still see?” Ye Xiu said, waving a hand in front of him. “This is so funny. You’re really committing to the big-eye motif, huh?”
“Why are you even here? Don’t you have anything better to do?” snapped a voice from the side. Fang Shiqian was shooting a glare at him with—hilariously—his own set of mismatched eyes. For him, heterochromia, and his hair was turning two different colors on the left and right. Judging from the color scheme, it was the result of his dual account mains.
“Do you know what this is about, Captain Ye?” asked Wang Jiexi, ignoring the bristling of his vice-captain beside him.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Ye Xiu shrugged. “Well, you’ve got an interesting test subject right here,” he nodded toward Fang Shiqian, “so feel free to let me know if you figure anything out! Work hard, kid.”
Ye Xiu had to make a quick exit after that. Ah, too bad these changes didn’t seem to improve one’s temper. Some people could probably use it.
It was Sun Zheping who started the inevitable group chat, for mutual support and theorycrafting. It began with only a handful of people, the earliest greats of their field. But the months passed, and the little community grew.
And although these Glory traits seemed to be invisible at first, more and more people were starting to be able to see them. At first it was just their fellow pros, then various staff of the clubs like the guild workers, R&D, and management. Then rumors started spreading on the Glory forums.
Two years after the earliest pros started manifesting, a reporter asked the first questions. The phenomenon had moved into the public eye.
“This is so dumb, this is so unfair,” Huang Shaotian whined, “Everyone else looks sick as fuck with their superhuman traits and I get nothing? This is so boring what the fuck! If I known it’d be like this I would’ve given Troubling Rain horns or something! At least give me a sword!”
Yu Feng, who got the super cool-looking dark sclera of an enraged Berserker and therefore had no right to talk, said, “You grew hair.”
“YEAH, LIKE WHAT NORMALLY HAPPENS TO NORMAL ASS PEOPLE?”
Huang Shaotian angrily tugged on his hair for emphasis, which was a bright blond color. Okay, so it wasn’t totally normal. A thin ponytail extended down past his waist, and it kept immediately regrowing no matter how he cut it. Just like Troubling Rain’s look. And it was so annoying! At least Rapunzel’s long-ass hair was actually useful for something!
“Shaotian…”
Ah, fuck. Reluctantly he looked over at Yu Wenzhou, who merely smiled at him. It had always been a somewhat ominous smile, but the effect was only amplified by the red fang-like markings on his pale cheeks and the gemstone set in his forehead. Huang Shaotian swore his captain had figured out how to make them glow.
He stopped talking, but not without giving Yu Wenzhou the most pitiful look he could muster.
Not everyone was changed. There was no clear pattern as to what kind of traits were possible or which pros manifested them. Factors ranging from class to team to age to zodiac sign were thrown around, without much luck. Pros of the same team or class could have different features; some pros with nothing in common could manifest similarly. Partly the issue was that there just weren’t enough of them to tell for sure.
But there seemed to be at least some kind of logic at play. Take Void’s Ghostblade duo—there was Li Xuan, who’d grown a dark blue half-mask over his left eye, and Wu Yuce, who’d grown a similar half-mask, but red, over his right eye. Like an inverted mirror image, though the shapes were complementary rather than identical. What did it mean? It was hard to say. Regardless, it was certainly intimidating to look into the glowing eyes of those masks.
The more fantastical theories proposed it was all the will of the very accounts themselves.
Of course, whenever there was speculation on the meaning of the marks, the tragedy of the Blossom Duo was at the forefront of everyone’s minds. Sun Zheping had his fangs, Zhang Jiale had his pink hair, but what people looked at were those matching tattoos of thick blossoms that bloomed along their cheeks and down their necks—everyone knew , yes, they were fated partners.
So when Sun Zheping injured his hand, when Sun Zheping met his untimely retirement, when Sun Zheping disappeared from Glory, everyone was watching when those tattoos faded from Zhang Jiale’s skin.
(Zhang Jiale’s hair remained pink, at least for the two years after. But that link of bloody blossoms was no more, and never would be.)
Even as the traits became more common, most pros still never manifested. It was, however, more common among the players commonly regarded as the strongest—the All-Stars, the captains, the aces. So the Glory traits became a mark of pride, a sign of dedication to their sport. And yes, certain players who paid too much attention to public perception did go to lengths to alter their physical appearances.
Of course, Ye Xiu was never one to care about things like this. He just played Glory like he always had. So it was easy enough, when the time inevitably came, for Excellent Era to paint their captain as a fallen player. How could he be great, when Glory hadn’t even deigned to mark him?
His eyes? Why, they had always been like that. They even began to believe it themselves.
“Take care of it.”
Ye Xiu’s hand released the card. His eyes stayed gold.
(To the bitter and jealous of Excellent Era, it was just further proof that their old captain had never been anything special.
They didn’t know that when Ye Xiu sat down in the little storage room of Happy Internet café, finally alone, he took off his shirt and examined his bare chest. His skin, which had once sported thick bands of gold markings that matched the gilding of One Autumn Leaf’s armor, was now as blank as the day he’d run away from home.
Of course the loss of his oldest partner would affect him.
Ye Xiu exhaled softly. It was alright. Just a new start.)
Qiao Yifan looked at his best friend and couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest. Despite having just debuted this season, despite not having played an official match yet, Gao Yingjie had already grown a mark of his own—a five-pointed star beneath his left eye. Glory-touched, a worthy successor.
Every new pro daydreamed of what they could become, and sometimes, Qiao Yifan couldn’t help but get swept up in it too. What traits would his Assassin give him? Pointed ears? Glowing eyes?
Nothing at all, most likely. He always caught himself before he got too carried away in those daydreams; even thinking about it twisted his stomach into knots. That kind of Glory, he knew, it had nothing to do with him. He could only keep his head down and keep working hard.
But God Ye Qiu told him, there was more in him.
When the time came, Qiao Yifan set out for Happy. That first practice session, he found himself among players who saw him, finally, for who he truly was. He logged out of his Ghostblade, rubbed his eyes, and suddenly felt little nubs on his forehead, just above his hairline. The beginnings of One Inch Ash’s horns.
He could be forgiven for crying, then.
After the Challenger League ended, when Ye Xiu walked into Excellent Era’s building for the final time, the last thing he expected to see was Qiu Fei, still training.
Qiu Fei, with his hair now wreathed in flame.
It was the first time someone who hadn’t yet made their professional debut had manifested. But all Ye Xiu could think was, it was about time. Because this was never about being a “pro” in the strictest sense, was it? It was something more pure and raw than that. It was something Qiu Fei had always had.
“You look well,” Ye Xiu told him.
“Thank you, Senior.”
As for the other stars of Challenger League’s Excellent Era?
After losing the jagged tattoos of Cross Knife with his transfer, Sun Xiang actually manifested from One Autumn Leaf quite soon after his arrival in Season 8. It was different from Ye Xiu’s—a black tattoo down the center of his forehead, in an angular spiral. For Excellent Era fans, it was like One Autumn Leaf had accepted its new master—it was a sign of hope.
(“It has to be fake,” Chen Guo scoffed, but Ye Xiu only shrugged. Personally, he didn’t think so. But of course it didn’t really matter either way.
In truth, Ye Xiu had never manifested anything from Lord Grim. All he had were the eyes that had turned gold all those years ago. But he knew that if he brought this up to the boss lady, she would find some other explanation to justify his supposedly obvious superiority over that upstart punk.
Well. It was nice to have someone who was so firmly on your side, even in the face of reason.)
Xiao Shiqin never lost the mechanical headpiece that wound across his left ear and eye. He returned to Thunderclap the same, yet improved.
Su Mucheng, in fact, never had a marking to lose. For this, she had always seemed weaker to the public eye—especially when compared to fellow female player Chu Yunxiu, who’d grown feathers behind her ears, or the rest of the Golden Generation. Of course, like Ye Xiu, Su Mucheng easily ignored all of that nonsense.
Seven years after her debut, in the middle of Season 10, she manifested.
The day after Fang Rui left everything behind, he woke up, looked at himself in the mirror, and saw an ordinary human for the first time in years.
Doubtful Demon’s in-game appearance had always been one of the more inhuman ones, and Fang Rui had inherited more traits than most players did—pointed ears, colored sclera, tinted skin, longer hair, fangs. Those changes had come on gradually, so he’d had time to get used to it. But now, overnight, the face in the mirror had become a stranger.
“How are you feeling?” Ye Xiu asked him, quietly.
“Great,” said Fang Rui. The grin he flashed didn’t have the same sharpness as before, and maybe it would take some time to adjust. But he’d come here knowing that, accepting that. “I trust you’ll make this worth my while?”
“Of course.”
(Fang Rui found himself again. It took half the season, but Boundless Sea eventually granted him the recognition it had once bestowed upon Zhao Yang, tracing Fang Rui’s brow with silvery-white markings that flowed and swirled like qi. The same lines appeared across his right hand, down to his fingertips.
Fang Rui was absolutely insufferable for the week following this development. But no one on the team could begrudge him it.)
Team Happy, champions of Season 10. The impossible had come to pass, in six and a half seconds that would be forever ingrained in Glory history.
Ye Xiu, at last, stepped out of the competitor booth. The spotlights flashed down upon him. The cheers turned to gasps. And then the stadium truly exploded in uproar.
Behind Ye Xiu unfurled new wings, stretching nearly as long as he was tall. White membrane, gold ribs, red markings, the appearance was immediately recognizable to every single person watching.
(Ye Xiu tilted his head back and savored this moment. His fourth championship, but the first one he had ever gotten to truly experience.
Catching a glimpse of his wings, he could only smile.
“Well, you’ve always been with me, haven’t you?”)
These players, you see, they gave themselves to Glory. It was only returning the favor.