FSGOR Ch100 – Extra Anchor

Jiang Tian could no longer stay calm.

Though he had been recovering at home for a month and his leg injury had mostly healed—he could move around just fine recently—he still felt like something was wrong with his body. Even his breathing felt a little strained.

He didn’t reply to the messages. Instead, he called Lu Qiao. He knew his childhood friend had the personality of a beagle—if he didn’t clear up his doubts, that guy could very well run the five kilometers from the villa district straight to his house.

“I knew it!”

“There are too many perverts on the internet!”

Lu Qiao claimed he was so shocked he broke into a cold sweat.

“Tian-Ge, you absolutely can’t fall for it. That top gifter definitely wants to hit on you!”

Compared to Lu Qiao, who was a veteran of the streaming world and had gone through a whirlwind online romance, Jiang Tian was like someone who had wandered into the wrong part of the internet. He relied entirely on second-hand knowledge. The more he heard, the more his brow furrowed.

Jiang Tian: “Why do you think he wants to hear my voice?”

Lu Qiao: “Isn’t it obvious? He probably also wants to lie in bed after a shower and listen to your voice while he—”

Jiang Tian: “Stop!”

“…”

Lu Qiao coughed awkwardly.

“Looks like you’re pretty innocent, Tian-Ge.”

Jiang Tian paused.
“What do you mean ‘also’?”

Lu Qiao coughed again.

“N-Nothing. Just forget I said anything. Anyway, just don’t do anything stupid with him—don’t… don’t start voice chatting!”

Jiang Tian: “?”

Was he about to say “don’t start video sex” or something?

But before Jiang Tian could press further, Lu Qiao fled the conversation like a criminal escaping the scene, leaving Jiang Tian in a daze. Only the hum of the air conditioner accompanied his spiraling thoughts, as his suspicions solidified—

That top gifter definitely didn’t have pure intentions.

At this point, there was no use contacting Simon, the matchmaker—after all, that guy was clearly in the same boat as the gifter.

Jiang Tian could only switch back to the chat interface. The most recent message, sent three minutes ago, was a question mark from the man—perhaps asking if he planned to back out.

Honestly, Jiang Tian did want to back out.

He even considered refunding the money through the chat platform.

As a student with a spotless record, he didn’t want to be involved in any shady online entanglements that could tarnish his life.

But then he remembered: the platform had transfer limits for regular users.

The max per transaction was 200 yuan.

He’d have to do it 2,500 times to return all 500,000.

And even if he did, the other party could just refuse to accept the transfer. It would be refunded after 24 hours, and he’d have to start over again.

At this rate, he’d end up with carpal tunnel syndrome.

Jiang Tian: “…………”

Forget it.

Better to just call and explain things.

Jiang Tian steadied himself emotionally and prepared for the worst:
Even if he’d stumbled into a situation with a creepy gay guy who wanted some twisted long-distance online relationship, he’d make it clear—he wasn’t interested, and the money had to go back.
Maybe he’d even quit streaming entirely after this.

***

Meanwhile.

Chu Xuyu had returned to the company and was busy until evening, nearly forgetting about the little streamer.

The man glanced at the time—it was exactly 7:30 p.m. Still early. He could have dinner while checking out the stream.

He opened the platform. As the top supporter, his glowing aura lit up the screen.
Anyone would notice it.

But there was no welcome message from the sweet little streamer.

Not only that, the stream was different from usual—it was outdoors.

Normally, the boy would stream from his bedroom, showing only his hand on the mouse and the game screen. A true gaming streamer.

But now, he was wandering alone through Ningcheng’s old neighborhood.

The camera paused on a crabapple tree shedding its petals.

The streetlight’s glow was dim and dreamy—romantic in its haze.

“Just taking a walk because I was feeling a little bored.”

The boy’s voice was cool and magnetic.

“I’ll head home in about thirty minutes.”

The streamer had recently injured his leg.

Mobility had been difficult, so he streamed to relax and help keep his friend focused on studying.

He almost never showed real life on stream—this was an exception.

His stream title read: No gaming tonight, as explanation for being outside.

Now, fans finally got a glimpse of the real him—vivid and present.

In truth, this was just his way of coping with stress.

Chu Xuyu’s lips curled into a smile.

He hadn’t expected his request to turn the boy into such an adorably anxious little puppy.

【KIRA’s leg is all better now?!】

【Awwww sweetie be careful TT no more injuries】

【Why isn’t the sweet streamer gaming tonight?】

【He said he’s going to confront Top Gifter Ge hhh】

【HAHAHAHA WHAT??】

【Wait! Candy Rocket Bro is here! Sweetie said he wants to return the money!】
【Pffft—】

The crowd kept fanning the flames, making things even messier.

It didn’t help that they all assumed the streamer was already an adult—at least someone who’d just finished college entrance exams.

Every time he tutored Lu Qiao on-stream, his logic and manner were more poised than a top university student’s.

His aura was unusually mature.

Who would’ve guessed that the streamer wasn’t even eighteen yet?

If those fans knew the truth, even eight hundred of them wouldn’t dare to joke about the sweetie and Top Gifter Bro.

Just as the atmosphere in the livestream was lighthearted and full of teasing—

The next second, the screen suddenly shifted. An unexpected event occurred.
A loud noise rang out—just like a car crash.

【What just happened?!】

【That scared me! Was that an accident?!】

【Holy—A guy on a bicycle just fell! Is he okay?!】

【Why is the screen black?!】

【I think… Sweetie went to help him!!!】

From his top-floor office, Chu Xuyu, like every viewer in the stream, couldn’t see any image on the screen—only darkness.

But the boy’s voice came through clearly, speaking to the injured boy.

It sounded like Jiang Tian knew the boy.

The other even called him “senior” and explained that he’d been in too much of a rush and accidentally crashed into a utility pole.

The background was noisy, full of chattering voices and a growing crowd.
Even without a picture, the chaos was evident.

The stream remained live, despite the black screen, with muffled rustling noises as if the phone had been stuffed in a pocket—yet it still picked up the conversation.

“How did this student get so badly hurt?!”

“Aiya, there’s blood on the ground—someone help him to the hospital!”

“Did he hit the back of his head? Auntie’s calling 120 right now!”

Compared to the concerned crowd, the younger student’s voice was weak.
He kept saying he was fine, that his head didn’t hurt, and that going to the hospital would be too expensive—asking the kind-hearted aunties not to call an ambulance.

Jiang Tian, knowing the boy’s family situation, lowered his voice: “Let’s go to the hospital first.”

“No need, Senior… you know my family’s situation…”

“Health comes first,” Jiang Tian said gently.

“I can pay the medical bills for now. Pay me back whenever—it doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t feel pressured.”

That last sentence, soft and careful, was carried clearly to every listener’s ear.

The comment section was instantly filled with rows of “QAQ” emojis.

Even the CEO—his chin propped against his hand, long eyes lowered—gazed at the black screen with an unusual glint of interest.

To him, this “prey” was adorable and kindhearted—someone he wanted to cradle in his palms and toy with gently, yet also protect from the storms of life.

Chu Xuyu switched over to the chat app, typed a few words, and hit send.

Buzz—

The phone in Jiang Tian’s sweatpants pocket vibrated.

But he didn’t check it.

He stayed beside the junior until the ambulance arrived, carefully helping him onto the stretcher.

A glance at his smartwatch made him realize—it was almost time for his scheduled call with Top Gifter Ge.

The boy on the stretcher gave him a grateful, slightly pitiful smile.

Jiang Tian knew his background too well—a left-behind child, who’d missed an important competition recently while caring for his ill grandmother.

There was no way Jiang Tian could leave him now.

It wasn’t until he sat in the companion seat of the ambulance that he finally pulled out his phone, glanced at the livestream interface—

And froze in place.

What…?

He clearly remembered turning the stream off.

In fact, when he’d recognized the junior and rushed over, he had hit “end stream” before shoving his phone into his pocket.

But by some freak accident, he must’ve tapped “cancel end stream” instead.

【Is the junior okay???】

【Sweetie is seriously gorgeous and kind TT】
【Even though the streamer hasn’t revealed his face, I swear he’s definitely drop-dead handsome!】

【I think… I might recognize who the streamer is…】

【AAAAHHH me too! He’s totally school-heartthrob material!!!】

Of course, there were also some clueless onlookers who didn’t know what was going on and barely knew anything about the streamer, accusing him of faking drama for views.

But others quickly explained that the streamer was KIRA—the one who had donated all his gift earnings to charity.

No way was his character in question.

Even those who had been skeptical a moment ago now typed apologies in a flurry.

But Jiang Tian was too busy and overwhelmed to care.

He quickly typed an explanation in the chat, saying it wasn’t intentional, that he’d accidentally kept the stream on, and that he had to accompany someone to the hospital—then he logged off in a hurry.

Just before he exited, he noticed that the ID whhc—Top Gifter Bro—was indeed in the chat, and their message had floated across the top of the screen.

Jiang Tian took a deep breath, preparing what he would say.

Their scheduled call would have to be delayed—that was unavoidable.

But—

He never expected the man to be so understanding.

Afternoon Tea: I’m not busy.

Afternoon Tea: We can chat when you’re free.

KIRA: Thank you.

KIRA: Sorry—I’m not used to voice calls. I just wanted to go for a walk and relax.

Afternoon Tea: Mm.

Afternoon Tea: I figured.

Afternoon Tea: You’re pretty sweet.

KIRA: Hm?

Afternoon Tea: Do you like when fans call you Sweetie?

KIRA: …It’s okay.

Afternoon Tea: Then can I call you baby?

KIRA: ……

He wanted to say “No,”

But after delaying their call, the fault was on his side.

It made the rejection harder to voice.

Maybe… being the top gifter came with an unspoken kind of magic.

Jiang Tian’s ears were burning.

He typed furiously with both hands, then sneakily hid his phone like he was hiding contraband—worried someone might see the screen.

KIRA: That might not be a good idea.

KIRA: Can you call me something else?

It wasn’t an outright rejection.

But it still gave Top Gifter Ge a bit of privilege.

Wasn’t that the perfect example of a clever little honor student?