Against the Algorithm

Chapter 31: Orbit

Sicheng threw him a look, then typed another message.

To: Hierophant [Delivered]
Touch the claw machine plush again and I will put you through a scrim so brutal, your mouse will file for emotional damages.

Then he pocketed his phone and walked right back over to where Yao stood, blinked once at her completely innocent expression—and tugged the fridge door closed gently. "Mine," he said calmly.

The phone buzzed once.And the moment Lu Sicheng saw the contact name flash across the screen, Lee Kun Hyeok with a raccoon emoji he never bothered to remove, his eyes narrowed. He unlocked the message with the air of a man bracing himself for a storm.

Hierophant: Yah, hyung, don't be so dramatic. Your girlfriend is polite. It's not my fault she has the social gravity of a k-drama female lead. I'm just a friendly satellite. 😇

Sicheng's jaw tightened.

Buzz.

Another message.

Hierophant : Speaking of... you should probably brace yourself. Hang Suk noticed her during the drawing ceremony. You know how he is.

There was a pause, just long enough to give Sicheng false hope that the message barrage had ended before the third one dropped like a bomb.

Hierophant : One look and he's smitten. Said, and I quote, "She looks like the kind of girl who'd scold me for skipping meals and then bring me ginger tea." He's already planning to ask for her contact next match day. I told him good luck. I'll let you two fight to the death.

Sicheng didn't breathe for a second. Didn't blink. Just stared at the screen with an expression so dark, so utterly unreadable, that the three ZGDX idiots still lurking in the room collectively took a step back like something primal had stirred. Then—slowly, very deliberately—he turned off his phone. Tucked it back into his pocket. Cracked his neck. And muttered beneath his breath, voice low, clipped, and very, very dangerous. "...I'm going to kill him."

Yue, from across the room, blinked. "Kun Hyeok?"

"No, Hang Suk. " Sicheng said, voice devoid of inflection.

Lao Mao, already backing up, held up both hands. "Captain, remember your blood pressure—"

Pang whistled. "Wow, vinegar and territorial homicide. Cheng's officially gone full possessive husband mode."

But none of them dared joke too loud. Because Lu Sicheng wasn't just annoyed. He was already planning a scrim so brutal, so psychologically dismantling, that Hang Suk's mouse might actually file for abuse.

Sicheng's eyes slid back to Yao, who was now sitting on the couch, brushing Da Bing's fur and completely unaware of the war brewing in his chest. And that made it worse. Because she didn't know. Didn't know how she looked when she smiled softly at nothing. Didn't know how her voice carried that quiet, gentle cadence when she spoke Korean with that slight Suzhou lilt. Didn't know how other people, rivals, opponents, younger brothers, saw her.

But he did.

And Hang Suk?

Was about to regret ever opening his damn mouth.

Sicheng exhaled slowly, ran a hand down his face, and muttered, "I'm changing all the strat pairings for next week. We're scrimming FNC until they break."