Against the Algorithm

Chapter 21: Lines No Longer Imagined

Without fanfare.

He leaned in, close—just enough to cross that invisible line, that fine thread of space that had always separated 'almost' from 'undeniable'—and pressed a kiss against her cheek.

Light.

Brief.

Unhurried.

But final.

And then—just like that—he pulled back, turned, and walked out of the room, his movements effortless, his composure unshaken, his retreat perfectly timed to leave nothing behind but silence.

Stunned silence.

Because he had done it so casually, so confidently, so completely that for a few seconds, no one breathed.

Chopsticks hovered mid-air. Mouths hung slightly open. Expressions were frozen somewhere between disbelief and slow, creeping realization.

And at the epicenter of it all—Tong Yao.

Frozen.

Blinking.

Malfunctioning in real time.

Her hands gripped the sleeves of her hoodie like they were the only things anchoring her to reality, her hazel eyes blown wide with shock, her entire face painted in shades of red so deep they seemed to radiate heat, and for a full three seconds, she didn't move—didn't blink, didn't breathe, didn't speak.

And then—

Yue, dragging a hand down his face with exaggerated despair, broke the silence. "Oh, so we're just doing that now? Right in front of us?"

Ming, ever the calmest of them, didn't even look up from his bowl. "He's not even being subtle anymore."

Lao Mao, who was already smirking, nudged Pang with the full force of someone who had seen this coming. "Think it's time we started placing bets?"

Pang, still looking back and forth between the doorway and Yao like he had just witnessed a crime scene, finally muttered, "I'm just impressed she's still conscious."

Lao K, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, lips twitching with amusement, added helpfully, "You could fry an egg on her face right now."

And Yao?

Yao didn't respond. Didn't even attempt to defend herself. Because she couldn't. She was still sitting there, completely shell-shocked, her mind clearly still short-circuited from the soft, searing press of his mouth against her skin, from the weight of that kiss, from the certainty in it, from what it meant, what it promised. She was, in every way that mattered, completely and utterly done.

And somewhere seated at his desk, booting up the files he needed to review, knowing full well the chaos he had left behind, knowing exactly what he had done and how effective it had been... Sicheng smirked. Because that? That had been entirely intentional. And it was only the beginning.

The moment Lu Sicheng stepped out of his office, the first thing that greeted him was not the quiet hum of the base nor the distant sound of keys clacking from someone working downstairs—it was the very distinct, very unmistakable, very high-pitched squeak of a certain flustered girl who had clearly not anticipated running into him this early in the day, a sound so sharp and so immediately revealing that it made him pause, arch one brow in quiet amusement as he shifted his weight and let his eyes scan the room.

And there she was.

Tong Yao, frozen mid-step, her silver hair catching the light as she ducked her head in a motion that might've looked casual to someone who didn't know her but to him—to him, who had spent the past few months watching and memorizing every tiny tic and twitch of her nervous tells—was as obvious as a billboard. She wasn't just flustered—she was panicking, and the moment their eyes almost met, the second she registered that he had spotted her, she turned, sharply, comically, retreating like a startled rabbit darting for cover, practically disappearing into the nearest corner of safety as if his presence alone had short-circuited her nervous system.