As the smoke of the tryouts gradually dissipated, the lists of city finalists from various major competition zones were successively released, and an unavoidable reality was laid bare before everyone: out of over 120,000 registered teams, only a little over a hundred would ultimately win the city championship and qualify for the regional competition.
This meant that for over 99.9% of the teams, more than 600,000 players, their journey in the inaugural National City Hero Championship had come to an end.
After the initial wave of congratulations following the crowning of city champions, the official forums and major gaming communities inevitably began to be shrouded in a sense of loss, regret, and even a touch of bitterness.
Those eliminated players, in their respective corners, processed the failure in different ways:
The captain of "Lingyun Team" stared at the grey "Defeat" text on his computer screen, not exiting the game for a long time. He scrolled through the team member list, recalling the moments of training together with his roommates, strategizing, and discussing BP in the late-night cafeteria. In the end, he simply sent a silent message in the team chat: "Brothers, you've worked hard."
The members of "Sunset Red Team," several office workers, found the atmosphere a bit somber at their post-match barbecue gathering. The ADC chugged a mouthful of beer and laughed self-deprecatingly, "Damn, I'm still old. My reaction speed can't keep up with those youngsters." The support patted his shoulder, "It's okay, bro. Just being able to play together is fun. Next year, we'll come again!"
More numerous were the unknown teams that couldn't even leave their names on the forums. They might have played only one or two matches before bidding a hasty farewell, or perhaps in an unknown server room, experienced a game where they gave their all but still lost. They had no audience, no cheers, only themselves and their teammates knew that they too had fought for this stage.
On the internet, some voices began to appear:
"Prepared for so long, and out in the first round. Feels like all the effort was wasted."
"I truly wish others who advanced well, but I still feel a bit sour inside."
"The esports dream, after all, belongs to only a few."
"That's it, that's it. Let's go back to playing ranked seriously."
These emotions were real and understandable. In any competitive sport, the glory at the pinnacle of the pyramid always belongs to a very small number of people, while the base of this pyramid is supported by countless ordinary dreams that never reached the top.
Inside Riot Games, the public opinion monitoring team compiled these pervasive feelings of loss in the community into a report and placed it on Qin Feng's desk. Xiao Zhang looked at the report and suggested, "President Qin, we need to do some public relations guidance to prevent these negative emotions from spreading and affecting the overall positive image of the event."
Qin Feng carefully read through the report, which contained players' self-deprecating, emotional, or encouraging comments. He was silent for a moment, then shook his head.
"No, these are not negative emotions; these are the most genuine emotional feedbacks. We cannot simply use 'public relations' to cover them up." He stood up and walked to the window, looking at the endless stream of traffic below. "These more than 600,000 players are also an indispensable part of this event. Without their participation, where would our 120,000 teams come from? Without their attention, how would we maintain our popularity? They are not failures; they are participants and witnesses of this grand carnival."
His eyes gleamed with a light that transcended commercial considerations.
"What we need to do is not to guide, but to thank and affirm."
He immediately gathered the operations and planning teams and issued a clear directive: "In the official name, create a special content piece, not to congratulate the winners, but dedicated to all Summoners who failed to advance. The tone should be sincere and warm, affirming their efforts, thanking them for their companionship, and telling them that the value of a dream lies not in whether it reaches the finish line, but in the pursuit itself. At the same time, announce a feedback plan for all participating players."
The team quickly sprang into action. The copywriting team meticulously chose every word, striving to resonate with the feelings of those disappointed players; the art team abandoned its usual passionate and exciting style, adopting softer, more healing colors and illustrations.
Two days later, just as city finals were about to kick off across the board and public attention was entirely focused on the advancing teams, the official league of legends channels simultaneously released a long article across all platforms titled "To All Unfinished Dreams: Thank You for Your Companionship, The Road is Still Long."
The article began without flowery language, but with a heartfelt greeting that went straight to the soul:
"Dear Summoner, as you read this article, perhaps your National Championship journey has temporarily concluded. First, please allow us to sincerely say: You've worked hard, thank you."
The article continued:
"We saw it, saw you arguing with your teammates until your faces turned red over a single ward;
Saw you repeatedly watching match replays, regretting those few seconds of mistakes;
Saw you high-fiving teammates you'd never met before, cheering for a brilliant play;
And also saw your helpless sigh and unwilling silence after the screen went dark... Each of these over 127,000 dreams is equally precious. Whether you were eliminated in the first round or fell at the doorstep of the city finals, the moment you decided to register, the moment you and your teammates stepped into Summoners Rift to fight for a common goal, you had already earned our respect.
Winners deserve applause, but those who strive also deserve flowers.
This magnificent esports pyramid stands tall, pointing to the stars, precisely because of you, these more than 600,000 solid cornerstones."
The article affirmed the cruelty of competition but emphasized the value of participation even more:
"Esports, like all competitive sports, has a narrow path to the top. But please remember, the meaning of a dream is never solely about that ultimate throne. It lies in those nights spent together, in the trust of fighting side-by-side, in the self that gave everything for a goal.
This experience, these companions who walked with you, this passion that was poured out regardless of the outcome, are the most precious treasures the competition leaves you with."
Finally, the article offered warm encouragement and tangible rewards:
"So, please do not be discouraged, do not doubt. Treat this experience as a valuable training, and let the unwillingness it brings become the driving force for continued progress. Whether you return to ranked play to hone your skills or embrace new challenges in life, please carry with you the focus, teamwork, and never-give-up spirit that esports has taught you.
To thank all participating Summoners for their companionship and effort, we will issue an exclusive [Unyielding Heart] in-game icon and a series of victory IP cards and experience cards as a token of our appreciation to all players who fully participated in at least one official match. This small gift is our humble gesture, thanking you for forming the profound backdrop of this epic beginning.
Competitions have an end, but passion does not.
Summoners Rift will always welcome you home.
The arena of life is equally vast and boundless.
— Riot Games, respectfully."
This heartfelt official long article, like a warm current, instantly flowed into countless slightly disappointed hearts.
The public opinion on forums and communities quietly shifted.
"I cried... The official really is so gentle."
"Thank you, official. I feel much better."
"Yeah, even though we lost, the process of fighting with my brothers was really awesome!"
"[Unyielding Heart] icon claimed! Next year, we will definitely be stronger!"
"Live well, play well! Brothers, let's go ranked!"
The disappointment and regret that had once permeated were largely replaced by understanding, relief, and renewed fighting spirit. The official did not shy away from the emotions of the defeated but, in an extremely respectful and empathetic way, gave them the affirmation and comfort they most needed.
Qin Feng looked at the rapidly growing, positive comments below the long article, a relieved smile on his face. He knew deeply that a healthy esports ecosystem not only crowns the winners but also understands how to embrace those temporarily disappointed participants. Only by making everyone feel respected and valued can this ecosystem continue to flourish and possess a truly deep mass base.
He successfully injected a human touch into the cold outcome of this brutal elimination round. This was not merely a crisis public relations move, but a profound interpretation of the core spirit of esports—it's about victory, but even more about passion, growth, and companionship.