Chapter 3

To prevent me from taking anything important—and also just to disgust me—Mr. Foster had assigned a newly arrived intern to watch me as I returned to the company to pack up my things.

On the workstation, sheets of A4 paper printed with all kinds of requirements from the clients.

In a disposable paper cup at the corner of the desk was instant coffee that had already gone cold.

Everything testified to a week of working day and night, yet in such a short time, everything had completely changed.

The tip of my nose stung again, so I rubbed it hard and blinked a couple of times.

On the screen, the backend user data was still constantly jumping, with several places flashing error alerts.

I only watched coldly, with no intention whatsoever of stepping in to fix anything.

None of this had anything to do with me anymore.

I packed up my own belongings and counted out each piece of company equipment, lining them up neatly on the desk.

Finally, without the slightest hesitation, I reached out, unplugged a portable hard drive that had been connected to the main unit for fifteen years, and stuffed it into my pocket.

The intern panicked instantly, his whole body going stiff, and he asid with a trembling voice, “Jane...”

I calmly met his gaze.

“This hard drive contains a server that I built and developed myself. It is my personal property and has nothing to do with the company.”

The intern looked utterly stunned. His lips moved slightly, but in the end he lowered his head and did not try to stop me again.

As we brushed past each other, I saw his fingers trembling as he pulled out his phone and logged into the company system. The screen looked like the resignation application page.

I could not help but curve my lips into a smile.

No wonder people said that fresh brains were quick and sharp.

The biggest highlight of our current games company was that it could run high-definition games smoothly and steadily, and all of this relied on the server I had built with my own hands.

No matter how explosively the number of users increased, my server never lagged or crashed and always ran smoothly.

This was something many major game companies found difficult to achieve.

Because my technology provided solid backing, the company’s focus in recent years had been on pursuing more refined visuals in casual games, as well as shooting and combat games that demanded extremely high precision, all in the aim of giving players a more perfect, ultimate experience.

But they had forgotten that all that refinement and sophistication depended on the server platform I had built—that it was me, constantly watching the backend, almost online around the clock, predicting and diverting traffic, applying patches in time, and solving every problem before they happened.

Without me, everything in the company became a castle in the air, a tree without roots.

As I signed the paper resignation certificate with HR, my thoughts wandered off.

In recent years, the company had become bigger and bigger, and was about to go public, yet in the past two events it had been overshadowed by another newly risen company called the Conquest Group.

The Conquest Group’s server technology was far inferior to mine, so they had changed strategies, no longer pursuing high frame rates and graphics but instead innovating in gameplay, which had also attracted countless fans.

The two companies had been secretly competing with each other all along, and when they learned that the Conquest Group was about to launch a new game, our company immediately made a decision to hold an offline selection tournament for its oldest competitive game on the same day.

The company had built up hype months in advance and cranked the graphics to the highest settings, wanting to thoroughly crush the rival company.

Calculating the timing, when I unplugged the server, it should have been right around the time of the finals. If it had been before, I would definitely have watched the entire time, afraid that even the slightest mishap would embarrass the company.

But now, what the hell did it have to do with me?

I shrugged and flung those thoughts out of my head.

After confirming with HR that all compensation would be directly transferred to my account, I logged into my work phone one last time, left all work group chats, and deactivated my work account.

After thinking it over, I simply removed the SIM card from the work phone, snapped it in half, and threw it away.

Since I had resigned, I might as well sever ties completely. The company had better hold on and not come looking for me again.

As I left the company lobby, I took off the badge on my chest and casually tossed it into the trash.

Weren’t they in a hurry to maintain client relations? Well, the CEO could handle things personally now.