Against the Algorithm

Chapter 19: The Cost of Chaos

Summary: A normal training day unravels in the most unexpected way when frustration collides with affection, and one sharp voice shakes the entire room back into place. What begins as a scolding turns into a war of pillows, paychecks, and pride, forcing the team to reckon with the quiet power they've underestimated—and the storm that follows when Rui makes a call no one asked him to make. By the time silence returns, lines have been redrawn, debts have been paid, and the team learns the hard way just how much weight one quiet girl in an oversized hoodie can carry.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Nineteen

The soft, rhythmic tapping of her keyboard filled the air with a gentle cadence, the kind of background sound that faded into the fabric of the room if one wasn't paying attention—but to those who knew her, who knew what it meant when she worked in silence, who knew what it meant when she chose to sit beside them again instead of locking herself away upstairs—it was a sound that wrapped around the team like a familiar hum, steady and comforting and unmistakably hers. Tong Yao sat at her desk, posture slightly slouched in a way that meant she was focused but not stressed, her hazel eyes narrowed on the screen in front of her as her fingers flew across the keys, and draped over her small frame—soft, oversized, worn in all the places that mattered—was his hoodie.

The one he'd told her to keep. The one she hadn't worn in over a week. The one she had silently folded and placed aside when the world had felt too loud and she had needed to disappear into herself, the one that had gathered dust waiting for her to reclaim it.

And now?

Now it was back where it belonged—wrapped around her body, sleeves too long, fabric bunched at her wrists, the red and black lining catching in the soft light as she absentmindedly tugged at the cuffs between thoughts.

Sicheng saw it. Noticed it immediately. And while he didn't smile— not quite —there was a sharp, unmistakable flicker of satisfaction that curled low in his chest and spread warm through his veins, a quiet, possessive kind of pleasure that didn't ask for attention but rooted itself firmly in place. He was training, headset on, focused—or at least, mostly—but he still kept her in his periphery, still watched the soft weight of the hoodie shift when she moved, still tracked the way her brows furrowed as she concentrated, still listened for the occasional sigh or click that told him she was present, she was engaged, she was here .

And that?

That was enough. Because she wasn't gone. She wasn't withdrawn. She wasn't hiding in her room or fading into the background or letting silence wrap itself around her like armor.

She was here.

Wearing his hoodie.

Typing at her desk.

Back where she belonged.

Da Bing, curled beside her in his bed near the foot of the desk, lifted his head occasionally to cast judgmental glances around the room, his massive tail flicking lazily every so often like he was personally overseeing the entire operation, as if to say I'm watching all of you, don't ruin this.

Everything was as it should be.

Mostly.

Except—

Coach Kwon was struggling.

His voice carried from the other side of the room, sharp with frustration but not yet angry, peppered with reminders and strategic suggestions that were promptly ignored or half-absorbed by the collection of idiots seated before him. Lao Mao and Pang were whispering under their breath, Yue was half-reclined in his chair again pretending to listen, Lao K was staring at the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe, and even Ming, normally the voice of reason, was smothering a yawn behind his fist.