Against the Algorithm

Chapter 15: Undone by the Smallest Things

The message was short. But it landed like a stone.

Sicheng,

The team's medical check-ups have already been scheduled. Make sure you're all on time. And before you roll your eyes, I already told you why I arranged them. This isn't just for you or the others. This is for Tong Yao. I saw it when I met her. You did too. She's not eating enough—whether by habit or because she simply doesn't think about it, it's clear she's underweight for her age. Her fatigue is visible, even when she tries to hide it. And most concerning of all? She doesn't know how to handle being touched. That isn't just discomfort, Sicheng. That's unfamiliarity. That's someone who hasn't had consistent physical contact in her life. That's someone who doesn't know what it means to be held. And that concerns me.

You've always had an instinct for these things. Don't ignore it now.

– Mother

Sicheng didn't move. His fingers hovered lightly over the keyboard, his expression unreadable, his sharp amber eyes locked on the screen even though he was no longer truly seeing it. Because he didn't need to read the words again. He already knew.

His mother had pulled him aside the night of the restaurant meeting, when Yao had gone to the bathroom. She had spoken in that calm, lethal tone she reserved for things that mattered, her eyes hard with truth and concern as she laid it all out—Yao was touch-starved. It wasn't just about shyness or reserved manners. It was about a life that had lacked consistent, healthy physical connection.

And Sicheng had known. He had already felt it in the way Yao froze just a little too long before leaning into someone. In the way she flinched when surprised, but not in fear—in uncertainty. In the way she relaxed when he was nearby, but didn't yet understand why. He had already seen it. Already felt the weight of it in his gut. Already decided—he was going to do something about it. His hand slowly curled into a fist on the desk, knuckles pressing hard against the wood, the echo of his mother's words sharp in his head. She doesn't know how to be held.

The thought made his chest tighten. She had leaned into him once. Briefly. Barely there. But it had happened. It had been instinctive, soft, and so fleeting that anyone else might have missed it. He hadn't. Because he felt everything when it came to her. And that one moment had told him more than any conversation ever could. It meant there was a way forward. It meant that if she was given the chance, if she was shown gently, carefully, consistently— She could learn. Not just to endure touch, but to accept it. To find comfort in it. To want it.

He exhaled slowly, closed the email, and leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling for a brief moment before narrowing with focus. He made a mental note to pull the team's medical staff aside during the check-up. He was going to ask. Quietly. Professionally. But directly. How do you help someone who is touch-starved? What is the right way to reintroduce healthy, reassuring physical contact into someone's life?

And after that—

He made another note. One that pressed harder, deeper, colder. When they returned to the base and Yao was safely upstairs, settled for the night, he was going to call a meeting. Not with the board. Not with sponsors. With the team. Because this wasn't something he could do alone. This was something they were all going to handle. Together. They were going to look out for her—not just in training, not just on stage, but in the quiet ways. In the way they made space for her. The way they supported her when she didn't know how to ask. The way they would remind her, over and over, that she wasn't an outsider. That she wasn't a temporary fixture. That she was family. That she belonged here and anyone—anyone—who tried to make her feel otherwise would learn what it meant to go against Lu Sicheng's protection. Because she was one of them now. And he would burn the league to the ground before he let anyone forget that.