Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 89

And no one could’ve predicted that Sheng Quan would be the one to take over.

Sheng Quan was more than satisfied with the outcome. After returning to Xingmang, she leisurely strolled to the break room, poured herself a glass of juice, and flopped onto her favorite beanbag chair with a contented sigh.

"After all these days of work, it’s finally done," she said to Gu Zhao.

In the past, rewards from the lottery system had been handled by 006, requiring little effort on her part. But mission funds were a different story—everything had to be managed personally.

Once she’d gathered all the necessary information, she sent a delegation to negotiate with DE.

The key reason the deal succeeded? Sheng Quan wasn’t desperate for DE, but DE had no other buyers as wealthy and willing to "jump into the pit" as she was.

Back when esports was booming, DE had been riding high. They’d not only bought land to build their club facilities but also splurged on constructing buildings tailored specifically for esports.

Ironically, the very excellence of these facilities meant that the only viable buyers were those looking to break into esports. Otherwise, the flashy, purpose-built structures would have to be completely renovated—a costly endeavor.

Even if a buyer was willing, how many could actually fork over billions in cash?

DE could’ve held out for a better offer, but they simply didn’t have the time.

Esports was notoriously expensive. Forget the facilities—just maintaining the teams, substitutes, trainees, and highly paid coaches was a massive drain.

Then there were the behind-the-scenes costs: operations, data analysts, team doctors, esports agents, psychologists, and so on. The bigger the club, the more people it had to support. It was a lot like film production—once things got rolling, money burned by the second.

Despite hemorrhaging funds daily, DE hadn’t originally planned to sell. They’d even invested heavily in new competition-grade equipment after the global tournament rules changed this year.

"They waited too long to bow out," Gu Zhao remarked, sipping his coffee at the counter. "But your timing couldn’t be better."

Gu Zhao had been involved in the acquisition from the start. He’d always believed buying DE would be easy—ironically, their attempts at "reform" had only hastened their downfall.

Even though Gu Zhao never watched esports, he knew one thing: the heart of it was the players. DE’s obsession with flashy equipment was pointless.

Without victories, all those expensive gadgets did was drive costs higher.

Sheng Quan agreed. "If they hadn’t sabotaged themselves, I wouldn’t have picked them."

Her motto was "go big or go home," but she wouldn’t have bought the country’s top club if it hadn’t been the perfect fit.

And yet, here it was—snagged at the perfect price. Sheng Quan took a satisfied sip of juice.

DE’s past recklessness—treating talented players as disposable cash cows and destabilizing the market—had finally come back to bite them.

There was no reviving DE now. If they didn’t want to drown in debt, they had no choice but to sign Sheng Quan’s acquisition offer.

Of course, they were still relieved. In a collapsing market, having a deep-pocketed buyer like Sheng Quan step in was a last-minute lifeline.

This year’s global tournament looked grim. If China’s esports scene continued its downward spiral, escaping unscathed would be impossible.

Cutting their losses now was painful, but better than total ruin.

In short, they had zero faith in Chinese teams winning this year. To them, Sheng Quan was a heaven-sent sucker.

President Sheng’s response? "Thanks, I think you’re the suckers here."

With both sides convinced the other was getting scammed, negotiations dragged on for over a month before finally settling.

When the news hit the hot searches, outsiders saw it as just another spectacle. But within the esports world, clubs were green with envy.

Executives envied DE’s last-minute escape.

Everyone else marveled at the sweeping changes underway at the newly rebranded [Riptide Club], where President Sheng’s spending made even DE’s old extravagance look tame.

During this esports winter, times were tough for everyone.

DE had repeatedly slashed player salaries and staff pay due to financial struggles.

But under Sheng Quan? Not only were cuts reversed—salaries rose by 5%.

"And that’s not all. Rumor has it President Sheng bought DE because she’s a fan of some no-name team. She bought the whole club just for them."

"That sounds like her. Remember when she threw money at a drama adaptation just to cast her favorite novel character?"

"Oh yeah, Yan Hui! My little sister adores him!"

While outsiders gawked, insiders were already gossiping.

And the juiciest rumor of all? "President Sheng drops billions for a tiny team."

"A tiny team? Wait, is this about Riptide?"

"Is Sheng Quan really a Riptide fan?"

"No way! Wasn’t Riptide dirt poor? If it’s them, this is like a phoenix rising from ashes!"

DE’s rebrand to Riptide instantly linked them to the obscure Riptide team.

With team names being unique, China only had one "Riptide." Add in the rumors, and speculation ran wild.

Not only were the players buzzing, but the esports fans were also in an uproar.

Especially the fans of the Breaking Waves team—they were downright ecstatic.

【Breaking Waves!!! Is it really our Breaking Waves?!】

【I think this rumor is a bit far-fetched. No matter how rich someone is, it’s unlikely they’d spend billions just because they like a small team, right? This is the biggest club in the country we’re talking about.】

【To the comment above: If it were anyone else, I’d agree. But if it’s Sheng Quan… I kinda believe it.】

【Checked out Breaking Waves’ past records—this team is actually pretty solid. No idea why they only gained fame this year, though.】

【If I remember correctly, Bai Xiangyuan just left Breaking Waves, right? I thought this tiny team with no substitutes would be forced to withdraw, but wow, talk about a plot twist.】

Bai Xiangyuan stared at the flood of new comments on his screen, his expression shifting constantly.

“Bai Xiangyuan.”

Someone called him from the doorway. He looked up to see Zhang Heng, the star bot laner Sky Battle Club was grooming, standing there with another player, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. They smirked at him.

“You just left Breaking Waves, right? So, is it true Sheng Quan bought DE just for them? Is she really a fan of Breaking Waves?”

Bai Xiangyuan’s already dark expression grew even stormier.

“How many times do I have to say it? There’s no way. Their fan club doesn’t even have a minor sponsor—how could they attract someone like Sheng Quan?”

“You never know,” Zhang Heng chuckled. “Maybe she showed up after you left. Seen the latest news online? Someone dug up that Sheng Quan was in Fangcheng and even attended the offline event for Stellar War.”

The younger player beside him grinned. “Sheng Quan’s a big name in the entertainment industry. She probably knows directors or producers from that show. One thing leads to another, and boom—she gets familiar with Breaking Waves.”

Though they didn’t say it outright, every word felt like a jab at him: You missed out on a tycoon.

Regret flickered across Bai Xiangyuan’s face, but he stubbornly insisted, “Impossible. A small team like Breaking Waves would never catch Sheng Quan’s eye.”

“Breaking Waves isn’t small. If they weren’t so impressive, why would Sky Battle poach you in the first place?”

Before leaving, Zhang Heng added, “Oh, by the way, all the training equipment’s booked today. If you want to use it, you’ll have to wait and see if you can squeeze in a session tomorrow or the day after.”

Bai Xiangyuan frowned in disbelief. In Breaking Waves, as the team’s primary attacker, he’d always had priority access to equipment. “I’m an attacker. Don’t I get priority?”

“Wait, you haven’t checked the official updates, have you? Sky Battle has eight attackers. Whether it’s experience or skill, you’re at the bottom of the priority list.”

Zhang Heng smirked. “But don’t worry. Heard you kept complaining that Tan Chen was sidelining you in Breaking Waves, not letting you play in loan matches. Well, at Sky Battle, you’ll definitely get loaned out.”

“As for equipment… if you’re lucky, you might get a Series-1 setup. The Series-3 rigs? Sky Battle barely has any. You probably won’t touch one this year.”

The words dripped with sarcasm.

And honestly, it was deserved. The pro players at Sky Battle didn’t like Bai Xiangyuan much.

Before he joined, they’d been indifferent. Most of them were young and didn’t know much about Breaking Waves, a minor team.

But Bai Xiangyuan couldn’t stop talking.

No loan matches. No arena battles. Training cut off strictly on schedule.

It was like listening to an employee who’d been overworked, underpaid, and gaslit by their boss suddenly whine:

My old boss only let me work seven hours a day, wouldn’t let me overtime, gave me transport, meal, and housing allowances—but I think he was just stifling my talent!

Zhang Heng and the other young players, all victims of Sky Battle’s grind: Go to hell!

As they scrolled through their phones, seeing the flood of updates about the Breaking Waves Club’s player benefits, a thought began to take root.

If Sheng Quan really signed Tan Chen… didn’t that mean she shared his philosophy?

What if they could join Breaking Waves…

Meanwhile, ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‍Bai Xiangyuan, oblivious to his teammates’ growing desire to defect to his old team, kept refreshing Breaking Waves’ official page.

He saw countless comments asking if Sheng Quan naming the club “Breaking Waves” had anything to do with them.

It can’t be.

No way.

No way they hit the jackpot right after I left.

Even if Breaking Waves was absorbed into the club, with so many teams out there, they’d never be prioritized, right?

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Finally, a new post appeared.

It was a repost—Breaking Waves didn’t say much, just two heart-eyed emojis.

The key was the original post, from the newly registered Breaking Waves Esports Club, complete with a photo.

Bai Xiangyuan’s gaze locked onto Tan Chen standing in front of the most expensive E3 rig in the shot.

His name was even prominently displayed: 【No Chase—Tan Chen】

Breaking Waves Esports Club:

【Main team Breaking Waves has arrived. Elite players deserve elite gear—personal E3 setups for each! @BreakingWavesTeam】