Against the Algorithm

Chapter 35: Storm Signals

"Oh." A'Guang looked away again, wiping the back of his wrist against his cheek. "I didn't think anyone would, really. I hid here."

His words made something twist in her, not quite sympathy—but something close to understanding. She didn't know him. Didn't trust him. But she knew what it felt like to want to disappear.

Still, she shifted uncomfortably. She didn't do well with comforting strangers, not when her instinct was to disappear into silence herself. But she cleared her throat and forced herself to at least offer, "Would you like me to get your team for you?"

A'Guang let out a soft, bitter huff, not looking at her. "You're probably getting a laugh out of this," he mumbled. "Since I insulted your team in that hyped-up video."

That was what made her snap upright.

"No," she said sharply, a spark of fire igniting in her voice. "Don't put words in my mouth."

He blinked up at her in surprise.

"I'm not laughing," Yao continued, stepping inside the room fully now, her eyes narrowing. "But I do hope you take this as a lesson." Her words were calm, but they carried weight—blunt, precise, the same way she analyzed data and broke down strategies. But this time, the target wasn't a champion draft. It was his ego. "Trash talk might work on streams," she said, "but you're not on some junior-level stream anymore. You're in the OPL. And that means something." She crossed her arms, standing straighter now, her soft voice hardening. "You didn't just embarrass yourself. You embarrassed your whole team. You're not being mocked because you lost—you're being mocked because you ran your mouth and couldn't back it up."

A'Guang winced.

"Do you see ZGDX doing that?" she asked, voice pointed. "Do you see YQCB, CK, or even DQ-5 trying to rile people up before a match with that kind of posturing?"

He shook his head slightly.

"No. You don't. Because there's nothing to prove by talking. Only winning. And you weren't ready—not as a player, and definitely not as a Captain." Silence followed her words. Not the heavy kind, but the weighted kind—full of truth and consequence. Yao looked away, muttering under her breath as she turned slightly toward the door, mostly to herself now. "Maybe next time, just play the game."

But before she could take a step, she paused.

Because she felt it.

The unmistakable presence behind her. The shift in air. The familiar hum of someone who didn't have to speak to make his presence known.

Lu Sicheng.

Her eyes flicked sideways.

There he was.

Standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable, but those amber eyes locked on her—and then on the boy still sitting there, red-eyed and stunned. She hadn't known he was listening. But from the look on his face, he had heard everything .

Sicheng didn't say anything at first. He just leaned casually against the doorframe, one brow arched, arms still folded across his chest, the weight of his presence settling into the room with quiet authority. His gaze drifted from Yao—still standing with that stubborn, righteous tension in her spine—to A'Guang, who had quickly wiped his eyes again and straightened in a clumsy attempt to save face.

Then, voice low, dry, and utterly infuriating in its amusement, Sicheng finally spoke.

"You make him cry, Xiǎo tùzǐ?"