Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

"!!!!!"

In the Golden Orange broadcasting room, the commentator was still excitedly showering praise: "From the first five minutes, Breaking Waves was at a disadvantage, but they managed to turn the tables!! They turned weakness into strength! What kind of..."

Outside, the station manager was so exhilarated he nearly fainted, gripping his chair to steady himself.

"Champions…

…They actually won the championship!!!"

Beside him, the entire management team was equally ecstatic. Their full support for Breaking Waves, along with the hefty investment in securing the broadcast rights, had finally paid off!

At the Sky Battle Club, Bai Xiangyuan stared at the live broadcast, barely able to catch his breath.

In one of Sky Battle's offices, Manager Ma—as the club's players usually called him—was also watching the broadcast.

Almost the second the words "Breaking Waves Wins" flashed on the screen, his phone rang.

Manager Ma pulled it out, glanced at the caller ID, and quickly answered: "Director Qian, yes, I saw the match too… Selling players? But this…"

"No 'buts.' Breaking Waves was already a formidable force, and now they’ve won the global championship. With them blocking the way, how are we supposed to compete?"

It was no exaggeration to say that the owners of major clubs were even more invested in Breaking Waves' performance than the fans.

The esports scene had been stagnant for a long time until Sheng Quan barged in like a force of nature—not only staying but also splashing cash everywhere with her deep pockets.

Clubs that had always treated their players well weren’t affected; in fact, they rode the wave of her influence. Those that had been mediocre could still benefit by improving conditions for their players. But for Sky Battle, which had always treated players as expendable, there was no point in continuing.

Clearly, the boss had decided to "cut losses while they still could."

"Sell off as much as possible in the shortest time. Cash in on the hype while it lasts."

"As for Bai Xiangyuan…"

The boss, clearly keeping up with gossip, only hesitated for a second before deciding: "Sheng Quan is famously protective. Who knows if she holds a grudge against this guy?"

Even if Sheng Quan didn’t remember him, he wasn’t about to risk offending her over some insignificant player.

"Leave him be. Let him fend for himself—we’re not getting involved."

Outside the arena, reactions varied wildly.

But inside the venue…

The audience hadn’t even processed what had happened before the match was over.

Everything had happened so fast.

But that was how the game worked—sometimes battles dragged on forever, and other times, the tide could turn in seconds.

Gasps of disbelief, cheers, and whistles erupted across the stadium.

Somewhere in the crowd, a voice screamed: "No way!!!"

Understandable—that was a fan of the opposing team. Most of the audience was too busy shouting their lungs out to care.

The Chinese fans were celebrating.

The rival team’s supporters were wailing.

The rest… were just caught up in the excitement, yelling because it felt right.

Someone ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍roared: "Eagle was across the river!!! How could he get hit?! That’s impossible!"

Plenty shared his disbelief. The river in the Arctic map was impassable—only a few characters could cross using their skills, making it a common tactic for players to use the water as cover for clutch plays.

Many viral streamers loved pulling off "escaping with a sliver of health while the enemy can’t do a thing" stunts, much to the audience’s delight.

One reason everyone had assumed [Mountain Snow] had the upper hand in this team fight was that one of their players had this exact skill, while [Breaking Waves] didn’t.

In the final clash, everyone expected him to fly across the river and turn the tide—only for him to get wiped out in the blink of an eye.

The organizers weren’t about to leave the audience guessing. They were supposed to show a slow-motion replay, but Breaking Waves had ended the game before the replay could even load.

Luckily, they weren’t sticklers for timing. As the players removed their headsets and took a drink, the big screen started playing the replay.

The on-site commentator was already hyping it up.

But Golden Orange couldn’t just borrow their script—otherwise, they’d have hired a translator instead of a dedicated esports commentator.

The guest commentator, brought in from the gaming scene, kept up a breathless, electrifying narration alongside the replay:

"Alright, everything happened way too fast, so let’s break it down! Here, we see Eagle hiding across the river, probably setting up an ambush to wipe Breaking Waves—clearly aiming for a team kill!!"

"From Breaking Waves’ map, he’s invisible! His teammates are crouched behind him, waiting for Eagle to strike first. Porridge is moving in! Porridge enters attack range!"

"Eagle strikes!! The fight’s on! Porridge loses half his HP in one hit, swings his sword for backup—gets countered! Violin pops out of nowhere, throwing Mountain Snow off, but they stay cool because Eagle’s already drawing his array!"

"He’s almost done it!!! But No Chase appears!!! One hit!! Interrupts Eagle! Sword follows up with a second!!! Eagle’s down to half HP!! Eagle loops around and flies back over the river!"

The commentator was practically spitting fire, every word rapid-fire yet crystal clear, his voice so charged it pulled the entire audience in.

Then, somehow, he cranked the intensity even higher:

"No Chase chains three hits into 145, swaps gear mid-combo with Porridge’s ult, floats into position 32!!! The arrow fires toward the water!!!! What’s he doing?!!!"

At that moment, as the slow-motion replay unfolded, every single viewer—whether in the stadium or at home—was wide-eyed.

Even Sheng Quan was stunned.

The arrow’s range wasn’t enough to hit Eagle across the river. Every pro player at this level knew their weapon ranges down to the pixel.

So Tan Chen’s move wasn’t meant to kill Eagle—even with every buff stacked, that arrow wasn’t reaching the other side.

But it didn’t need to.

The water’s surface split open.

—BOOM!!!

The crowd erupted.

Every commentator, including Golden Orange’s, shouted in unison:

"—IT’S OPEN!!!! The Arctic river can be broken through!!!!"

On the big screen, Tan Chen—under the alias [No Chase]—blinked through the gap in the water, instantly swapping gear to the other side and finishing off the unsuspecting Eagle in one move.

—The stadium exploded with deafening cheers.

"AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

"HOLY CRAP HE BROKE THE WATER!!! THAT’S INSANE!!!"

Many spectators in the audience were so shocked they even stood up, though sitting would have given them the same view.

Inside the Golden Orange TV studio, the commentator nearly shouted with golden intensity:

"Breaking Water!!!! If I’m not mistaken, no one in gaming history has ever pulled off this move!!!"

"Team Breaking Water! They actually achieved the Breaking Water strike! I’m seriously starting to think they named the team Breaking Water just for this moment!!! Let’s chant it together—BREAKING WATER!!!!!!"

By the end, his voice was hoarse, his eyes brimming with tears, forcing him to hand over the mic to the other commentator.

Outside the booth, the station director removed his headphones and watched the scene unfold. Even though he didn’t play games, he couldn’t help but be moved.

At this moment, the glory of Breaking Water had become the glory of Golden Orange TV.

Remembering how Director Sheng Quan had proactively agreed to promote the event, the station director was so excited his hands trembled.

Just as he’d suspected—ever since Strawberry TV made a stunning comeback thanks to Sheng Quan, he knew betting on her was the right move.

Truthfully, he didn’t understand gaming and had only briefly followed esports years ago. But he was willing to gamble, betting that Sheng Quan wouldn’t throw away billions just for fun.

And now, he’d won that bet.

Golden Orange TV was about to ride this wave straight to the top.

The station director was so thrilled he wanted to dance, but he also knew the higher you climb, the more careful you must be.

He immediately turned to his subordinate and ordered:

"Go through our popular variety shows and pick the ones suitable for inviting Starlight Entertainment’s rising stars who need exposure."

The subordinate quickly nodded. "Understood, I’ll arrange it right away."

"And from now on, whenever we have shows that can help newcomers, prioritize talent from Starlight Entertainment."

The subordinate agreed outwardly but inwardly marveled.

Opportunities like these usually required major companies or agents to pull strings and beg for favors.

But he also understood—Golden Orange TV’s collaboration with Breaking Water’s team had gone exceptionally well, and with victory now secured, it made sense for the director to return the favor.

The station director did want to repay the kindness, but more than that, he felt Director Sheng Quan was someone worth aligning with.

From what he’d observed, almost everyone who partnered with her benefited—not just because of her golden touch, but because she operated with fairness. When she feasted, she never forgot to let others sip the broth.

Just look at the commentator she recommended—so emotionally invested that even non-gamers felt the adrenaline. And despite tearing up, his delivery remained flawless.

After a moment of reflection, the director signaled a staff member to bring tissues to the commentator.

Inside, the commentator stepped back briefly, gratefully accepting the tissues before rasping, "Thanks. Could you get me some water too?"

"My voice is wrecked again."

Tears welled up from the strain.

Man, no job’s easy.