Against the Algorithm

Chapter 35: Storm Signals

Out on stage beneath the bright lights and roaring energy of the crowd, Coach Kwon stood with his arms folded as the team sat behind their screens preparing for the match—Lao K idly spinning his mouse, Ming already clicking through warm-ups, and Sicheng leaning back with that familiar lazy posture that always belied just how sharp and calculating his mind was.

But then both Kwon and Sicheng's phones buzzed at almost the same time, the soft vibrations drowned by the surrounding noise but sharp enough to draw their attention. In eerie sync, they reached into their pockets and pulled out their phones, each glancing down at the glowing notifications.

They didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

Because the moment they read the message from Rui, the reaction was instant.

Kwon's brow arched slowly upward, a twitch of resigned amusement slipping across his usually stern features as he muttered, "Of course she is."

Meanwhile, Sicheng's unreadable expression shifted—barely. A tick at the corner of his mouth, an amused exhale through his nose, and then his gaze lifted to glance in the direction of the lounge, despite the walls between them.

He could already picture it.

Her cheeks flushed, hazel eyes wide with outrage, arms flailing slightly in that helpless way she did when flustered logic collided with an emotional reaction she hadn't quite prepared for. Probably pointing at the screen like it owed her an apology. Probably ready to storm out and lecture that brat of a Jungler on how experience trumped arrogance every single time.

He didn't need the footage.

He knew.

Sicheng didn't even bother replying to Rui's message. He just smirked to himself, leaned forward slightly, and said in a low voice that only his teammates could hear, "If she walks in here mid-match, it's A'Guang's funeral. Not ours."

Lao K snorted. "So we don't need to focus bot?"

"No," Sicheng replied coolly, "just clear a path. The Bunny's coming."

And behind them, Kwon chuckled under his breath and shook his head. "Hell hath no fury," he muttered, "like a flustered Tiny Boss Bunny with a bone to pick."

By the time the first round ended, the scoreboard wasn't just leaning in ZGDX's favor—it was practically bowing in surrender.

It hadn't even been a contest.

From the moment the match began, everything had gone like clockwork. Lao K and Ming's mid-jungle synergy flowed seamlessly with surgical precision, setting traps that A'Guang walked into again and again with the predictable arrogance of someone too young to realize experience wasn't just a number—it was a weapon. Sicheng didn't even have to carry this round. He just held his lane like a blade to the throat, calm and utterly cold, as if to say, This is the price of disrespect.

The crowd roared, the casters were breathless, and by the time the game was called, the only question anyone had left was: how much worse could it get for King?

Kwon didn't wait for post-game stats.

He stood, collected his clipboard, and without even looking at the celebrating crowd, made a beeline for the lounge with a calm, measured pace—though anyone who knew him could see the gleam of quiet satisfaction in his eyes.

And when he opened the door?

He found chaos.

Not in the physical sense—the lounge was intact, untouched—but it was the emotional chaos that hit first.