The spectacular registration of 127,000 teams was like a digital tsunami sweeping across the nation, pushing the popularity of the league of legends National City Hero Championship to an unprecedented peak.
The registration data chart released by the official was frantically shared on social media, and related terms firmly occupied the top spots on the trending searches.
This flame, personally ignited by Qin Feng, had already burned into a prairie fire that was almost impossible for anyone to ignore.
However, just like any event at the center of a storm, beneath the mainstream praise and player frenzy, there were inevitably various differing voices, professional scrutiny, and even sharp criticism.
The magnifying glass effect of the internet exposed every detail of this event to the scrutiny of hundreds of millions of eyes.
As groups closely tied to the game's ecosystem, streamers on major live broadcast platforms naturally wouldn't miss this feast of traffic.
Their live streams and social media accounts became important public opinion forums for commenting on the event.
Former professional player-turned-streamer "A-Yi," known for his professionalism and sharp tongue, incisively pointed out potential problems when reviewing the registration data during a live stream:
"Brothers, 120,000 teams, it sounds awesome, but there's definitely a lot of fluff in there.
I dare say at least half of them signed up with the mentality of 'joining the fun' or 'what if I make it?'.
In the early stages of the online qualifiers, it will probably be a disaster zone of noobs clashing, and the viewing experience might be compromised.
The official has certainly maxed out the hype, but how to ensure the quality of the early matches and filter out the truly strong teams is a big test.
Don't let it turn out that there are only a few exciting matches, and the rest are all compilations of 'feeding' (referring to mistakes) plays."
His comments resonated with many veteran players, while also causing some discomfort among players who signed up for entertainment.
Another entertainment streamer, "Sao Tu," known for his humorous and witty style, focused more on the gossip and fun aspects of the event:
"Hahaha, did you guys see that post on the forum? There's a team called 'The Boss Said It's All Right,' and their player IDs are 'Boss,''Said It's,' 'All,' 'Right,' 'Huh?'
I'm dying of laughter!
And that 'Five Squirrels Team,' are they going to play matches or sell snacks?
I think the most interesting part of the qualifiers isn't the plays, it's these bizarre team names and IDs!
Can the official hold a 'Most Bizarre Team Name' selection?"
His perspective added a lot of lightheartedness to the intense competition atmosphere and allowed more outsiders to experience the unique vitality of the esports community.
Of course, many streamers also keenly seized this wave of traffic dividends and started their "eating" (commercial cooperation) mode.
Some capable technical streamers began to organize "event analysis columns," deeply interpreting potential strong teams and tactical trends; some popular streamers cooperated with officials or sponsors to launch "betting activities," "watching qualifier OB (spectating) specials," etc., effectively converting the event's popularity into audience stickiness and commercial revenue for themselves.
Compared to the relatively restrained comments of the streamers, the official forums and tieba (online communities) where players gathered became a battlefield where various emotions and opinions directly clashed.
In addition to the overwhelming tactical discussions and team cheer posts, some discordant voices also began to emerge and quickly formed a heated "tall building" (popular thread).
"Unfair Tournament System! Why do we small cities have the same number of qualification spots as first-tier cities?"
The poster claimed to be from a remote city with a relatively small player base.
He argued: "Our city might only have a few hundred teams registered in total, and the champion can advance to the regional competition.
But in esports strongholds like Magic City and Goat City, there are tens of thousands of registered teams, and their champions also advance directly.
Is this fair?
This means that our champion here might not even be at the level of a top eight team in their city, yet they occupy the same qualification spot!
This is unfair to teams from esports-developed regions!
Qualification spots should be allocated based on the registration base!"
This post sparked a fierce debate.
Supporters believed it was indeed unfair, and stronger teams should have more opportunities.
Opponents retorted that the original intention of the event was to give opportunities to players from all regions, and if allocated by base, remote regions might never have a chance to shine, which went against the original intention of a "national" competition.
Both sides argued endlessly, putting considerable public pressure on the official.
"Will the official OB (spectators) be biased? We demand open spectating permissions for some matches!"
Some players questioned the fairness of the official live broadcast team: "With so many matches in the qualifiers, the official OB can definitely only choose a small number of matches to broadcast live.
How do they choose?
Will they only pick teams with well-known players or those with hot topics?
What's the use if grassroots teams like ours play well but no one sees it?
We demand that the official open up API interfaces, or allow players to independently OB some non-official live matches under certain conditions (such as agreement from both teams)!
We need exposure!"
This proposal received support from a large number of small and medium-sized teams who longed to be seen.
However, this involved complex issues such as technical implementation, data security, and fairness of the competition, and the official was temporarily unable to give a satisfactory answer, leading to continued complaints.
"Student Party Cries! What to do if match times conflict with classes/exams?"
A large number of student players posted to express their troubles.
The qualifiers had a long duration, and match scheduling inevitably conflicted with students' classes, evening self-study, and even important midterm and final exams.
"Do we have to skip classes and fail subjects to play matches?"
"Can the official consider the student group and try to arrange some matches on weekends or evenings?"
These types of posts were full of helplessness and anxiety, also reflecting the contradiction between the younger age of esports players and the pressure of real-life academics.
As the event's influence broke through its initial circles, some criticisms from traditional perspectives and "outsiders" also began to emerge, and although not loud, they were particularly jarring.
A well-known scholar, famous for commenting on social phenomena, posted on his personal Weibo, without directly naming it, but with clear implications:
"Recently, a certain online game held a so-called 'National Competition,' using a million-dollar prize as a gimmick, attracting hundreds of thousands of young people.
I can't help but worry, does this trend foster a 'get rich quick' mentality of lucky (chance)?
What is the meaning of investing a large amount of precious time in virtual combat, for personal growth and social value?
The spirit of competition is indeed valuable, but guiding young people to engage in more constructive real-world activities is the essence of education."
This blog post, with its traditional elite superiority, while drawing a large number of players and esports supporters to refute it, indeed represented a segment of mainstream society, especially parents, and their inherent prejudice and concerns about esports.
In addition, in some non-game-themed online communities, similar discussion posts also appeared:
"I don't understand, why is a game competition so popular?"
"Spending a million to reward playing games, wouldn't that money be better used for something serious?"
"Young people nowadays are really too addicted."
These voices, in stark contrast to the fanaticism of the player community, were like two parallel worlds, highlighting the social cognitive gap that esports faced in its early development.
Inside Riot Games, the public opinion monitoring team compiled these positive and negative evaluations and placed them on Qin Feng's desk.
Xiao Zhang was a little worried: "Mr. Qin, there are more negative voices than expected, especially regarding the fairness of the tournament system and conflicts with student schedules.
Do we need to respond quickly?"
Qin Feng carefully read the report, yet his face showed no great surprise or anxiety.
He put down the report and said calmly: "Controversy and attention, that's normal.
This shows that our event has truly touched a nerve in society.
For reasonable player demands, such as conflicts with student schedules, the operations team can research whether more humane micro-adjustments can be made to the schedule.
Regarding the debate on the fairness of the tournament system, we will not make changes for now.
For the first competition, casting a wide net and giving opportunities is more important than absolute 'fairness.'
As for the skepticism from outside the circle..."
He paused, his tone carrying an undeniable firmness:
"We will respond with the excitement of the competition and the sportsmanship ultimately displayed!
When they see those young people fighting with all their might for their dreams in the Capital Gymnasium, when they see those exquisite team coordinations, and hear the thunderous cheers, they will naturally understand that this is not just a game; this is a competition belonging to a new era, a dream worthy of respect!"
The storm had already arrived, and what Qin Feng had to do was not to avoid it, but to ride this storm, steering this giant ship named league of legends towards a wider ocean.