"About five days, Master 150 LP," Li Yao replied.
"Climbing pretty fast. What's your ID?" WeiXiao nodded and pulled out his phone.
The speed of the climb didn't particularly surprise him. WeiXiao knew a fair bit about Li Yao's situation; he was well aware that Li Yao had nothing to do all day besides grinding solo queue. Furthermore, he was playing on a "super account" provided by Riot to the clubs, which came with high hidden MMR. While his progress was steady, it wasn't exactly earth-shattering.
As a veteran of the League of Legends esports scene, WeiXiao had seen countless solo queue prodigies. Players who climbed the ladder as easily as drinking water were a dime a dozen, but more than half would be weeded out before they ever reached the professional stage, and those who could actually perform well on the big stage were even rarer.
After looking up Li Yao's super account ID, WeiXiao gave it a quick scan. Having once coached the WE Team, he knew exactly how to evaluate a player's potential from their match history.
"81 games, 57 percent win rate..." WeiXiao shook his head slightly.
For a super account, these numbers weren't particularly impressive. To him, 81 games in five days felt a bit light. There were countless players striving to become professionals, and among them, many possessed excellent talent. But talent was layered. To make it as a pro, there was a quantitative minimum standard, and between that minimum and the top tier, there were countless sub-levels.
In other words, a pro's talent could be divided into "top-tier" and "everything else."
"Top-tier" talent was, quite bluntly, a gift from the heavens—an innate MOBA instinct. If such players put in the work, they were bound to leave a brilliant mark on the esports scene. Even if they weren't that hardworking, a little more effort than the average player was enough to reveal flashes of brilliance that most pros never showed.
Yet, such players were few and far between. The fiercest competition in the pro scene happened among those with "other levels" of talent.
According to the typical schedule of professional players in major clubs, they woke up around 11:00 AM to 12:00 PM. They’d wash up, eat, and then begin their warm-ups. The warm-up phase consisted of solo queue, and depending on when they woke up, they could get in two or three games. Training matches began around 2:00 PM; a BO5 block would last until 5:00 PM at the latest. Everyone’s time was tight, so if they hit a disadvantageous matchup that was hard to turn around, they would often just type "GG" and move on to the next one, or even quit if the laning phase went poorly.
Around 5:00 PM, they’d hit solo queue until seven or eight in the evening, getting in another three or four games. They’d grab a quick dinner while in the queue. Then, the second training block would run until about 10:00 PM. The coach would then lead a review of the day's training and guide the players' thought processes, a process lasting until 11:00 PM.
At 11:00 PM, players would order food and prepare for their late-night solo queue sessions. The less diligent ones would play until 2:00 AM, while the hardworking ones might go until 3:00 or 4:00 AM, or even later. Queue times were fastest then, so they could get in five or six more games. Throughout the day, excluding the two BO5 training blocks, a pro's daily solo queue training amounted to about ten games. The truly disciplined might hit thirteen or fourteen.
Without training blocks, Li Yao was averaging about fifteen games a day. If his goal was to go pro, that number wasn't exactly grueling.
As for his champion pool, WeiXiao couldn't see many highlights. Li Yao’s most-played champion on the super account was Azir. As a fundamental pick that should be mastered in every meta, that was expected. Aside from that, Lissandra and Syndra followed, with a very small number of games on LeBlanc. The LeBlanc win rate was 100 percent, but the sample size was too small to be of any real reference value.
An average champion pool meant average talent. A lack of diligence was another mark against him. As for that time he bullied Dopa while duoing with Xiangguo... that now seemed like an isolated incident. League of Legends wasn't a game where if one player was stronger, the weaker one was destined to be dominated forever. Even a mediocre pro mid-laner wouldn't necessarily lose 100 percent of the time against a top-tier one in solo queue. Lack of focus, underestimating the opponent, practicing new champions, or a "useless jungler"—a series of objective factors could always lead to an upset.
Furthermore, Li Yao didn't have a significant age advantage; he was eighteen and already an adult. In previous years, players at that age already had plenty of competitive experience. Jackeylove had won a world championship at seventeen. Age wasn't an advantage either.
Everything seemed quite ordinary. That was WeiXiao's first impression of Li Yao. Naturally, since Sask was there, WeiXiao didn't voice his preliminary conclusion too bluntly.
"Keep it up. This road isn't easy," WeiXiao said, retracting his phone and offering an encouraging smile, though his words carried a hint of skepticism.
"Okay, I will," Li Yao nodded.
Li Yao had indeed been pushing his solo queue intensity to the max recently, especially while playing on two accounts simultaneously. Every day, he summarized his weaknesses and strengths. Within just a few days, his roadmap for himself had become clear.
Li Yao divided his champion pool into three tiers.
The first tier consisted of champions he had mastered when he first started playing in Season 7, which had been his primary means of climbing: assassins like LeBlanc, Fizz, and Zed. He defined this tier as his "specialized comfort zone." These were the champions he was currently most proficient with. The experience of the "him" from his dreams—gained over three years of growth—was easily integrated with his own high proficiency in these three.
The second tier consisted of champions the "dream version" of himself had mastered, but which the real-life Li Yao hadn't touched until recently—champions released or reworked by Riot during his three-year hiatus, such as Sylas, Qiyana, Yone, and Akali. Through his "dream self," Li Yao had already grasped their mechanics, game understanding, and even champion proficiency. It felt like an infusion of power in a martial arts novel; the power was already within him, but it required time and continuous practice to fully refine and make his own. He had to admit, he picked up these second-tier champions incredibly fast. After just a few days, he was already starting to get the feel for Sylas.
The third tier was what the "dream version" of himself had begun to experiment with after his defeat in the finals, attempting to widen his pool: current mainstream mages or late-game hyper-carries, like Azir and Syndra. Even his dream self was still in the exploration phase with these.
Li Yao’s personal account, "killer," had a much lower hidden MMR than his super account. To maintain a winning streak and raise his MMR, he used his own account to practice first and second-tier champions, which occupied about one-third of his daily training. He used the super account for mainstream heroes, as he needed to invest more energy and time into the ones he wasn't yet comfortable with.
After playing for several days, Li Yao felt clear progress. He was gaining insight into Azir—a champion with gap-closing ability who could turn the tide in stagnant team fights—and Lissandra was much the same. Only with Syndra did he feel that while his laning was fine, his impact in team fights was significantly weaker than his laning phase.
Nowadays, Li Yao spent an average of 16 hours a day on solo queue. Though grueling, he could clearly feel himself improving. As for how he knew... even though he rarely faced pro players in real life, his dream experiences provided an excellent reference point.
...
"This game should be in the bag," Sask said, finally relaxing. The game time was 10 minutes, and the kill count was 1-6. Breathe, playing top lane, had already secured three kills. With Lee Sin in his current state, as long as Breathe didn't make any foolish mistakes, a win was only a matter of time.
"Indeed. With this team composition, as long as Zoe or Ezreal secures an advantage in their lane, team fighting will be very easy, and Lee Sin will be much more effective in such a lineup," Li Yao added. "Plus, they don't have room to ban Lee Sin next game. They'll have to take out either Zoe or Ezreal, and even then, they'll only do it in the second ban phase. No matter how they draft, as long as Lee Sin is left open, we can take him."
"You're that sure?" Sask asked, surprised. WeiXiao looked at him searchingly, only to see Sask shake his head. WeiXiao stroked his chin, lost in thought. When Li Yao had mentioned that Mole had been practicing Sett, Sask had been startled, but that could be explained by having encountered him in solo queue. What Li Yao was saying now, however, could not be dismissed as mere "coincidence."
"And the reason?" WeiXiao asked.
"Because TT banned Thresh, Lulu, and Karma in the first three bans," Li Yao said calmly. "TT's roster—top, jungle, and mid—is incapable of carrying against WE. The only carry potential on their team is the bot lane."
"Among Thresh, Lulu, and Karma, they fear Missing's Thresh the most. Lulu and Karma are considered in conjunction with their bot lane duo. Elk’s Aphelios paired with Lulu, or Ezreal with Karma—neither is a combination TT can handle. Their bot lane can't withstand that pressure, so their draft will be extremely difficult."
"Besides, Elk plays Xayah very well; they have to prioritize banning the Xayah-Rakan combo."
His concise analysis left both Sask and WeiXiao speechless. One was the current WE coach, the other a former coach and veteran legend of the team who cared for WE deeply. Both coaches had naturally discussed every opponent on the summer schedule. The TT team was weak—partly due to their roster, but also because their tactical approach was too singular. A team with a one-dimensional strategy rarely went far in the pro scene unless they had an overwhelming individual carry. TT clearly didn't.
Since Sask hadn't revealed any strategies to Li Yao, what did this mean? It meant that these points were all analyzed by Li Yao himself!
WeiXiao suddenly discovered Li Yao's hidden potential. While his talent as a player might be mediocre, with this level of insight and game understanding, he might actually make a decent analyst or coach.