Against the Algorithm

Chapter 15: Undone by the Smallest Things

And for a moment—just a moment—it looked like Sicheng might let her off the hook. But he didn't. He met her gaze directly. His voice cut clean through the room. "Yes."

She squeaked. Actually squeaked.

Before she could recover, Yue's grin exploded across his face. "Oh, this is fantastic. Turns out Yao doesn't like check-ups either."

Pang, clearly recovering from the initial blow, laughed loudly. "See? Even Yao agrees. Maybe we should all just skip it."

"Exactly," Lao Mao added smoothly. "She's the voice of reason. Who are we to argue?"

Yao, eyes wide with horror, immediately waved her hands. "Wait—no! I didn't mean it like that! I just—I wasn't expecting—"

But it was too late. Because at that exact moment, Sicheng shifted, one foot planting slightly ahead of the other, his arms folding slowly across his chest as his gaze turned cold. Sharp. And then came the glare.

The Lu Sicheng Glare.

The one that had silenced post-match interviews.

The one that had broken opponents mid-game.

The one that had once made a rookie sob.

Dead. Silent. Room.

Pang, mouth open to offer another joke, immediately shut it.

"...I feel like I'm twelve again," Lao Mao muttered, rubbing his face. "That's the principal's office look. That's what that is."

Lao K, who had been halfway through plotting an escape plan, clearly abandoned it. "...Fine."

Ming, unimpressed but not foolish, muttered under his breath, "Could've asked like a human being."

Yue, smirking but not stupid, held up his hands. "Alright, alright. We're going. Don't glare me into the shadow realm."

But the real moment of surrender came from the analysis room.

Yao, still peeking around the doorframe, sighed. A tiny, defeated breath. She clutched the front of her hoodie, looked at the floor, then up at him. "...Okay."

That was all he needed.

Sicheng gave a single, satisfied nod. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smirk, but close. "Good. One hour. Don't be late." And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving behind a trail of groans, muttered curses, and reluctant compliance. Because no matter how dramatic, sarcastic, or unwilling the ZGDX team liked to pretend they were— They were going. Every single one of them.

The medical check-ups were already well underway, each team member being called in one by one with the kind of reluctant energy one might expect from people who were used to high-pressure competition but inexplicably saw routine health exams as some kind of personal assault.

Pang had, of course, been the first to voice his displeasure, muttering darkly about the injustice of being pulled away from food, as if a bowl of ramen were more important than cardiac health. Lao Mao, clearly resigned to his fate, had spent the last several minutes doing slow, dramatic stretches, muttering things like "If I pull a muscle, I swear someone's paying for it" under his breath. Lao K, the most stoic of the group, had planted himself in a chair with his arms folded, radiating a silent kind of resistance, while his twitching brow betrayed just how much he hated this entire experience. Ming had simply taken a seat, leaned back, and adopted the expression of a man observing a zoo enclosure—mildly amused, quietly judging, and above all, unaffected. Yue, naturally, was having the time of his life. Speculating loudly about who would faint first, fake a condition to get out of it, or somehow unleash an international incident during a blood draw.