Against the Algorithm

Chapter 35: Storm Signals

The lights on stage burned a little brighter than she remembered. The low hum of the crowd beyond the arena doors rolled in like distant thunder, not yet thunderous, but ever present. Yao followed behind Kwon and the team as they stepped into position, her steps careful and composed but she could feel the heat rising beneath her skin as she walked just behind Sicheng, Lao K trailing beside her like a shadow, noticeably closer than usual.

And then the voices started.

The commentators, sharp, practiced, and far too observant.

"Wait—is that ZGDX's Data Analyst? That's Tong Yao, isn't it?"

"She doesn't usually come out for ban and pick. That's a first."

"No official coaching title, but from what we've heard—she's behind several of their recent strategy updates."

The murmur built quickly, amplified by the echo of the stage mics. Yao tried— really tried—not to duck her head or look like she wanted to vanish beneath the floor. She could feel the weight of every camera trained on her like a physical pressure against her spine. Her fingers curled tightly into the sleeves of her jacket, pulling them down over her palms in a futile attempt to ground herself.

Then she glanced toward the other side of the stage.

King's players were already seated, their jerseys crisp, their posture sharp. The youngest members glanced up curiously—mildly interested in the unexpected presence of the quiet figure beside ZGDX's captain. But it was A'Guang, seated at the center, who noticed her first.

His gaze lifted lazily and then locked. There was a flicker of amusement in his expression—confident, dismissive, a shade too smug for someone who'd only won bluster and soundbites so far.

Yao's spine snapped straight. Her eyes narrowed. The glare she shot across the stage wasn't dramatic or staged—it was furious , crackling with every ounce of the scorn she held for his arrogance and his juvenile outburst from earlier. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and before she could catch herself, her foot twitched. Once.

A single, small stomp against the polished floor.

Sicheng, without turning, caught the motion in his peripheral and muttered from the corner of his mouth, voice pitched so low only she could hear it, warm with restrained amusement. "Easy, Xiǎo tùzǐ," he said, his tone calm but edged with fond warning. "No throttling the kid. Yet."

Yao sucked in a breath through her nose, straightened again, and forced her gaze forward as she took her seat behind the pick-and-ban panel. Her hands trembled slightly, but her glare had done its job.

A'Guang was no longer smirking.

And Sicheng?

He didn't glance her way but the smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth was smug enough to rival a trophy.

As soon as the final countdown echoed through the stage speakers, and the unmistakable Victory screen flared across the monitors in ZGDX's signature crimson and silver, the sound of the arena exploded—cheers and astonished exclamations blending together into one massive wave of noise. But Kwon didn't wait for the boys to finish high-fiving or for the analysts to start babbling their disbelief on the broadcast. He had already turned toward her with that rare, pleased smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

"Come on, Tiny Boss Bunny," he said, guiding her gently by the elbow and already moving her offstage. "Let's go let Rui and Yue bask in their collective horror now."