Other professional players had started to distance themselves from him deliberately.
Those, to whom he was closer, had started to persuade him to give in. At the very least, he had still been able to provide guidance at clubs.
At the time, he had stood at the entrance with a floor filled with cigarette butts.
His fingers had been numb from the cold, but someone had still been laughing. "Hey, isn't that Almighty Yin? Why are you here? Are you perhaps here to game? Or are you here to provide guidance? Didn't you disapprove of the way we play, preaching on how skills are important? But in the end, aren't you here to provide us with guidance? I guess you could fill in as an assistant as well."
In this world, who wouldn't feel disgusted by this sort of anguish?
Those unworthy people were dishonoring the sport he loved so passionately.
Yin Wuyao couldn't tolerate such disgusting behavior.
If this was his passion, he would rather leave.
