Against the Algorithm

Chapter 19: The Cost of Chaos

And then—

The death sentence.

"Pay. Docked."

The room groaned in collective agony.

Yue collapsed onto the floor dramatically. "It wasn't supposed to end like this..."

Pang threw his head back. "We didn't even do anything!"

"Exactly, you didn't do anything. That's the problem." Rui called over his shoulder as he turned and walked away, already scribbling on his clipboard.

And just like that—he was gone. Leaving behind carnage. Defeated men. Groaning. Mourning their losses. And at the center of it all?

Tong Yao. Still slightly ruffled, arms crossed, hair a little tousled from the flurry of war, but victorious. Radiating unbothered satisfaction like a queen who had just conquered her kingdom with nothing more than a pout and well-timed accusations.

Sicheng, still lounging in his chair, watched her with quiet amusement, taking in the way she stood there with her brows still pinched and her mouth still slightly pursed, completely unaware that she had just orchestrated their demise with surgical precision.

And then—

He smirked.

Because damn.

His Xiǎo Tùzǐ had sharper teeth than anyone gave her credit for. And she had no idea just how powerful she really was.

The lesson, as it turned out, was not just learned quickly—it was absorbed like a hard slap to the face, like a cold bucket of water dumped over a man who'd thought he was untouchable, like a collective moment of brutal clarity shared between four grown men who had never once, in all their years of team bonding and e-sports wars and shared living chaos, realized just how terrifyingly effective their Data Analyst could be when pushed to her limit.

Because Tong Yao—shy, soft-spoken, politely awkward Tong Yao—was not the type to raise her voice, not the type to throw her weight around, not the type to lean into confrontation unless absolutely necessary. But apparently, when necessary? She had absolutely no mercy. Not when it came to wasted effort. And especially not when it came to paychecks . Because unlike Yue or Sicheng, who could afford the financial equivalent of a slap on the wrist, who had the kind of family resources and investment portfolios that could laugh off Rui's clipboard-induced doom, the rest of them—Ming, Lao K, Lao Mao, and Pang—were in a very different boat.

A very tight, very paycheck-dependent, very don't you dare dock my wages kind of boat.

Every single yuan mattered.

Every expense was calculated.

And now?

Now they had been mercilessly sliced across the financial throat, their gaming wallets drained without hesitation, their meager luxuries obliterated by a five-foot-tall girl in an oversized hoodie who had smiled at them two days ago and then financially executed them without blinking.

They had no recourse.

No protection.

No appeal.

Unless.

Unless they could appeal to her . Convince her to talk to Rui. Convince her to soften the blow. Convince her to be merciful. And truly— truly —how hard could that possibly be?