Against the Algorithm

Chapter 15: Undone by the Smallest Things

Yao, blinking, looked up. "Your wife?"

"Yes. I arranged it with Madam Lu. I thought you'd be more comfortable with a female physician."

Yao flushed, touched despite everything. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

The doctor nodded once, then paused again, almost like he'd been saving the final blow. "Also, my wife is a licensed nutritionist. After Miss Tong's check-up, we'll be drafting individual and team-wide health plans. You'll each receive a copy." He let that land before adding— "And Madam Lu will receive one as well. Personally. Via email."

The room froze.

Yue paled. "Ge. You have to stop this. This is how regimes begin."

Pang, clutching his last snack like a lifeline, whispered, "This is the end."

"Oh well," Lao Mao stretched again, "it was fun while it lasted."

And in that moment, as the doctor turned and walked away with the ease of a man who had just detonated a nuclear bomb and left it smoldering—

Sicheng knew this check-up would go down in history. Not because of the tests. Not because of the results. But because it had become very clear—this was only the beginning.

The waiting area of the doctor's office was quiet in that heavy, stifling way—not from tension, but from awareness.

The hum of the overhead light buzzed faintly above them, and the occasional tap of fingers against screens barely broke the silence. Everyone had already finished their exams. Everyone had endured their lectures. Everyone had faced the cold efficiency of the medical staff and the quiet judgment of charts filled with too much caffeine, not enough sleep, and a love affair with junk food.

And now, they were all just... waiting.

Waiting for the doctor's wife to arrive. Waiting for Yao's check-up. But none of them were talking. Not really. Because something was wrong. Not dramatic. Not loud. Not explosive. But undeniably wrong. Because for the first time since any of them had known her, Tong Yao was disappointed. Truly, deeply, and unmistakably disappointed. And she wasn't hiding it. She wasn't pouting, wasn't sulking. She wasn't crossing her arms in frustration or muttering under her breath. She was quiet. Too quiet. She had chosen a seat on the far side of the room—across from Lu Sicheng, when she usually would've settled beside him without a second thought. Her arms were folded gently across her stomach, her body angled away from the rest of them, her eyes focused on a single scuff mark on the floor like it held the secrets of the universe. She wasn't angry. She wasn't sad. She just... wasn't there. Not like she usually was.

Yue was the first to notice, his phone slowly lowering from his hands, his eyes flicking between her and Sicheng. Pang, chewing idly, paused mid-bite. He blinked, looked at Yao, then at Sicheng, then back at Yao, before nudging Lao Mao hard in the side.

Lao Mao followed Pang's line of sight, then let out a low whistle. "Oh shit."

Ming, who had been lounging in silence, tilted his head. "This... is new."

Lao K, quiet but observant, exhaled slowly. "She's actually mad."

But it wasn't anger they were seeing. It was the absence of everything else. The absence of proximity. The absence of her normal soft, unspoken leaning toward him. The absence of the constant thread of subtle connection that always seemed to pull her in Sicheng's direction—no matter where she was in the room. And now? Now that thread had been cut.

Pang furrowed his brow. "Wait—so she doesn't care about when he downs two shots of whiskey after a win? Or raids our ramen stash at 2 a.m.?"

Yue, eyes glinting, grinned like a man who had figured it out. "Nope. Not the scotch. Not the beer. Not the mood swings. But the smoking?" He let out a low whistle. "That's a death sentence."