Against the Algorithm

Chapter 16: Countermeasures

Yue straightened from his slouch, phone forgotten in his lap. Pang paused mid-step, abandoning whatever snack he was eyeing. Lao Mao turned fully from the kitchen counter, arms uncrossing Ming pushed off the armrest of the couch with a quiet sigh, eyes already narrowing with anticipation. Even Lao K stepped in without a word, his usual stillness shifting into readiness.

And Sicheng spoke. "We're having a team meeting. Now."

There was no room for delay.

Pang, still reaching toward the pantry, groaned. "Cheng, can we at least sit down first—"

"No."

Pang shut up. Instantly.

Ming exhaled. "What's going on?"

Sicheng's gaze swept over them, sharp and unflinching. "Everything we were informed of today will be followed. No exceptions." His jaw clenched. "That includes me." The room went silent. There was a flicker of hesitation—a moment where the team expected Yue to break the tension, to lighten it with something offbeat or ridiculous. But before he could say anything, Sicheng cut him off. "It's for Yao." And the shift was immediate. The weight of it settled over the group like a stone dropped into still water. Lao Mao's back straightened. Ming's brow furrowed slightly. Pang's arms dropped to his sides, forgotten snack now irrelevant. Yue didn't say a word. Because this wasn't about orders anymore. This was personal.

"What do you mean?" Lao Mao asked, the question low, serious.

Sicheng didn't give them everything. He didn't have to. And he wouldn't—not with Yao's trust on the line. But they needed to know enough. So he told them. Told them her weight was too low, her eating habits inconsistent. That her iron levels were a problem, that her energy levels were worse than she let on. That her discomfort with physical touch wasn't just a quirk, wasn't just shyness—it was unfamiliarity.

He told them that Yao didn't always understand certain social cues. That she didn't always realize when someone was being inappropriate, or manipulative, or dangerous. That she might not always know when to pull away. That she'd freeze instead of flinch. That she'd smile instead of question. That she would endure before she would ever ask for help. He didn't say the words trauma or neglect or isolation . But the silence that followed said it for him. Because they understood. Yao wasn't just their Data Analyst. She wasn't just the girl who sat cross-legged in hoodies and talked about numbers like they were poetry. She wasn't just the one who blushed when teased, or got flustered at interviews, or made them takoyaki when they won. She was the one who quietly carried everything alone. And now they knew.

"Damn," Lao K muttered, running a hand through his hair. His voice was low, the kind of voice someone used when they didn't know how to make it better—but wanted to.

"That's... a lot," Lao Mao said after a moment, his tone unusually subdued.

Pang didn't say anything. His usual commentary gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and clenched jaw.

And Yue, for once, was completely silent.

Until Ming spoke. Quiet. Certain. "What do we do?"

And Sicheng didn't hesitate. "We make sure she never feels like she has to do this alone again." It wasn't a command. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a vow. And without needing to say it aloud, they all agreed. Because Yao was theirs now. Their Data Analyst. Their friend. Their little sister.

(Not the Captain's, obviously. Everyone else's. We know the truth there.)

And they were going to protect her. From herself. From others. From everything. Because she didn't know how to ask for help. But they sure as hell knew how to give it.