Against the Algorithm

Chapter 16: Countermeasures

So he moved.

And the second he got close enough—right when his hand started to lift, fingers just about to make contact—

He got swatted.

Hard.

Right on the hand.

Not by Yao.

No.

By something much furrier.

A large, white paw.

A very large, very white paw.

Sicheng froze instantly, blinking down as Da Bing, who had been perched in Yao's lap completely unnoticed, smacked his hand away with an aggressive but controlled swipe.

A direct hit.

A solid rejection.

And worst of all?

Yao hadn't even noticed. She was still typing, still absorbed in her screen, still oblivious to the fact that her damn cat had just physically denied him access.

The team?

Lost it.

Pang collapsed onto the couch, howling. "HE GOT BLOCKED AGAIN!"

Yue, gasping between laughs, pointed dramatically. "OH MY GOD, DA BING IS HER BODYGUARD!"

Lao Mao wiped at his eyes, grinning. "Two for two. Damn."

Ming simply shook his head. "I did warn you."

Sicheng stood there, staring down at the fluff ball who had just smacked him like he was an unruly peasant.

Da Bing stared right back, unmoving, completely unfazed. There was no growling, no hissing, no aggression. Just pure, calm judgment.

"I'm starting to think you have a personal problem with me." Sicheng exhaled slowly, his amber gaze narrowing.

Da Bing blinked.

Then, with the ultimate show of arrogance, the damn cat stretched lazily, turned slightly in Yao's lap, and curled himself further into her as if to say, 'She's mine. Keep walking.'

Sicheng's eye twitched.

And right then, as if the universe had conspired against him, Yao finally looked up. "Oh, Sicheng, did you need something?" She was completely innocent, completely oblivious to the absolute humiliation that had just occurred.

Behind him, Yue was gasping for breath, barely keeping it together.

Sicheng rubbed his temple. He needed to rethink his strategy. Because at this rate? He wasn't just fighting against Yao anymore. He was fighting a goddamn cat.

It started subtly, small battles, minor inconveniences, little acts of defiance that Sicheng had been willing to ignore. Da Bing blocking his path, swatting at his hand, judging him with those damn blue eyes every time he got near Yao.

But now?

Now it was personal. Because this morning, as Sicheng went through his usual routine, stretching slightly as he swung his legs over the bed, he reached down, slipping his foot into his waiting house slipper. And immediately froze. Because the second his foot made contact, he felt it. Something wet. Something sticky. Something furry. A slow, creeping sense of dread settled over him as his face went blank, his brain immediately rejecting the reality of what had just occurred. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, he pulled his foot back, looking down.

And there it was.

A hairball.

Sitting innocently in the depths of his slipper, as if it had been placed there deliberately. As if it had been left as a warning.

Sicheng just stared at it, completely still. He wasn't a man who was easily shaken. He had endured high-stakes matches, infuriating interviews, insufferable opponents, board meetings full of old men trying to challenge him. He had survived years in this industry, built himself from the ground up, outplayed some of the smartest players in the league.

But this?

This was different. Because this wasn't just bad luck. This wasn't just an accident. This was an attack and it was personal. He slowly turned his head, gaze sharp, expression unreadable as he scanned the room. And there, sitting right outside his bedroom door, staring at him with the same smug, unreadable judgment as always.

Was Da Bing.

The fluff ball himself.

Calm.

Unbothered.

Victorious.

Sicheng exhaled slowly. "So that's how it is."

Da Bing didn't move. Didn't blink. Just flicked his tail ever so slightly, like he knew. Like he was daring him to do something about it. And that's when Sicheng realized something. He was at war. And his opponent? Was a goddamn cat.

Sicheng dragged a hand through his hair as he finally leaned back, tearing his eyes away from Da Bing's smug, heavy-lidded gaze as if admitting a temporary loss, though he'd never say it aloud. His fingers flexed slightly against his thigh, the irritation still simmering beneath the surface, but it dulled the moment his attention shifted—fully and entirely—to her.

Yao was still standing a few paces away, holding the papers to her chest like a fragile shield, her expression drawn into the soft confusion that always accompanied moments where logic and reality weren't aligning, and she couldn't understand why. She blinked once, her hazel eyes flicking back to Da Bing, who had now started grooming his paw with pointed indifference, then back to Sicheng. "Were you... arguing with my cat?"

He didn't dignify it with a verbal response. Just narrowed his eyes at Da Bing once more—who flicked his tail with obnoxious grace and sprawled deeper into the cushion like he had just claimed the throne.

Yao's lips parted slightly in disbelief, then closed again, and she shook her head softly like she was chalking it up to something she'd ask him about later—or possibly not at all, to preserve both of their dignity.

Notes:

Author's Note: The Muse would like to say that all comments, even small ones, are very much welcomed and they very much enjoy reading them!