Against the Algorithm

Chapter 35: Storm Signals

Yao blinked.

Once.

Twice.

And then her entire face flushed a deep pink, her expression contorting with flustered indignation as she whipped around to face him fully. "No!" she squeaked, her voice sharp with scandalized offense. "I—I did not make him cry!"

Her foot stomped hard against the tile, a sharp little sound of emphasis that made A'Guang nearly jump and Sicheng's mouth twitch upward into the beginnings of a smirk.

"You sure?" he asked mildly, tone infuriatingly casual. "Because he looks a little emotionally traumatized."

"I was scolding him," Yao huffed, cheeks red now as she jabbed a finger toward the boy still sitting there like he was caught between guilt and confusion. "Because he acted like a brat and embarrassed his whole team with that ridiculous video and someone had to say something because clearly no one else was going to and it needed to be said!" She puffed slightly at the end, eyes narrowed, chest rising with breathless irritation as she turned a fiery glare up at her Captain.

Sicheng just stared at her, blinking once, twice—and then, calmly, smoothly, the smirk returned full force as he tilted his head ever so slightly. "So," he said, letting the word drag with barely concealed amusement, "you did make him cry."

"You are impossible !" Yao groaned, nearly vibrating with frustration now.

"Mm, but you love me." he murmured, clearly enjoying every second of her outrage.

And that—well, that shut her up fast. She made a sound, some mortified little noise in the back of her throat as her hands flailed slightly before she spun on her heel, muttering about immature Captains and hopeless men and how he was absolutely not allowed to say things like that in front of people.

Sicheng didn't chase her. But the gleam in his eyes as he watched her storm out—flustered, stomping, and adorable in a way only she could be—lingered long after the door swung shut behind her.

And behind him, A'Guang blinked up, a little dazed, and muttered with something close to awe, "She really is terrifying."

Sicheng's smirk deepened. "You have no idea."

Sicheng didn't follow after Yao—not yet. Instead, he pushed off the door-frame and stepped further into the room, slow and deliberate, until he stood just a few feet in front of A'Guang. The younger player, still visibly rattled from both the loss and the unexpected scolding, looked up at him warily, shoulders tensing the way rookies often did when they realized they were no longer dealing with equals, but with the weight of someone who had earned every ounce of his name.

Lu Sicheng's tone shifted—still calm, still measured—but gone was the teasing warmth he reserved for the girl who'd just stomped out. What remained was the cold, quiet gravity of a Captain addressing a player. A warning wrapped in wisdom. "You've got fire," he said, eyes narrowed slightly, not unkind but not soft either. "That much is obvious. And talent? Maybe. Can't deny you've got potential."

A'Guang didn't move, just swallowed hard.

"But," Sicheng continued, voice dipping low, smooth like a blade across silk, "trash talk without weight behind it isn't confidence. It's cowardice. When you talk big and fall short, you don't just embarrass yourself. You embarrass your team. You paint a target on your back, one you're not ready to carry."