Against the Algorithm

Chapter 35: Storm Signals

The boy's jaw twitched.

Sicheng didn't stop. "You think this game is about ego? About acting bigger than you are? You'll burn out fast if that's your angle. Respect is earned in this league. You don't see me, Kun Hyeok, or even that brat Ai Jia running our mouths before a match because we don't need to. We let our gameplay do it for us." He leaned down slightly, amber eyes sharp and unwavering. "And next time you decide to take a swing at my team? You better make damn sure you can land it."

The words hung in the air like smoke—final, cutting, undeniable.

Then, with a short glance toward the hallway Yao had disappeared into, Sicheng straightened and turned without another word, his long strides taking him out the door and down the hall. Because the conversation was over. And the lesson? Delivered.

Sicheng had almost cleared the hallway, the cool click of his boot sole echoing down the polished corridor, when the voice called after him—tentative, young, but no longer sulking.

"Chessman."

He didn't stop immediately. Just paused, his back still to the room, a muscle in his jaw ticking once before he slowly turned his head, brows lifting just slightly in that aloof, practiced way that made even veteran players second-guess their words.

A'Guang, still wiping faint remnants of frustration from his eyes, straightened just enough to meet the Captain's gaze. His voice was softer now, stripped of bravado and bluster, the honest tone of a rookie who had been thoroughly humbled. "Could you... could you thank Miss Tong for me?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean it. What she said—I appreciated it."

The words weren't smooth. They weren't polished. But they were real.

And Sicheng?

He stared.

Because there it was again.

That look.

That stupid, shy, completely smitten look.

And he felt it.

That faint, barely restrained twitch in the corner of his eye. The one that only ever surfaced when he realized, with startling clarity, that his girlfriend—his fiercely brilliant, socially anxious, soft-spoken, terrifying-when-riled-up girlfriend—had somehow managed to add yet another damn one to her collection.

Ai Jia.

Him.

The rest of ZGDX.

His best friend, who'd spent the last few weeks smugly amused.

His best friend's little brother, who hadn't even met her and was already sighing over her like a lovesick schoolboy.

The entirety of YQCB at this point.

And now— this punk.

His eye twitched again.

Stamp. Stamp. Stamp. Stamp.

"She's not collecting fanboys," he muttered under his breath, voice low and annoyed as he turned back toward the hallway, "She's collecting goddamn stamps."

The bus rumbled along the highway, the warm hum of post-match exhaustion settling over the team like a thick, contented fog. Seats were reclined, headphones were on, a few half-hearted conversations trickled between teammates while the rest either scrolled their phones or drifted toward sleep. The overhead lights were dim, the windows tinted with the golden tint of a late afternoon sun beginning its descent—but beside Tong Yao, Lu Sicheng was twitching.

Not dramatically.

Not in a way anyone else would notice.

But she did.

Of course she did.

His arm, resting on the back of their shared seat, kept shifting ever so slightly. His other hand was clenched just tight enough on his phone to make the leather of his case creak. And every once in a while, his lips would move—quietly, subtly—but she could tell he was muttering .

Yao blinked.

Puzzled.

She tilted her head slightly, noting the faint crease between his brows, the way his jaw was tight even though his posture looked relaxed. It wasn't anger. No. That wasn't it. This was...something else. Tentatively, she reached out, her fingers brushing gently against the sleeve of his jacket, just above the bend of his shoulder.

"Cheng-ge?" she asked softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, "Are you... okay?"

He turned.

And she immediately regretted asking.

Because his gaze swung to her with an intensity that had her spine stiffening and her breath catching—eyes narrow, mouth tugging into a sharp frown, and then—

"You," he said, voice low and accusing, "need to stop collecting stamps."

Yao blinked.

Once.

Twice.

"...Huh?"

Sicheng glared at her like she was the one making no sense. "Stamps, Yao. You're collecting them."

Her eyes widened further, expression fully confused now, her voice high and flustered. "Stamps? I—I don't collect stamps! I don't even like stamps! They're—they're small and sticky and paper and—what?!"

His jaw ticked. "Ai Jia. Kun Hyeok. Hang Suk. The entirety of YQCB. And now A'Guang? Who asked me to thank you like you'd personally saved his puppy from a burning building. That's a whole damn binder's worth."

Yao stared, stunned, cheeks blooming with rapid pink as she gaped at him. "I—I wasn't doing anything!" she sputtered. "I was just talking! And he was crying! I didn't invite him to look at me like that!"

"You scolded him and made him cry," Sicheng grumbled, dragging a hand through his hair. "And then he looked at you like he was ready to defect from his team and sign his soul over to ZGDX's Tiny Boss Bunny regime."

"Oh my god. I didn't—Cheng-ge!" Yao made a sound like a kettle whistling, hands flying up to cover her face.

But he wasn't done.

He leaned closer, dropping his voice just enough so the others wouldn't hear, but not enough that she could miss the low, simmering edge in his words. "I'm not joking, Yao-er. You walk into rooms like sunshine, say two words, and they fall like dominoes. You don't even notice , but I do. And now? Now I've got a kid calling me to thank you. "

"I didn't tell him to do that!" she squeaked, utterly mortified. "I didn't do anything!"

"You existed," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "That's the problem."

She stared.

He sighed, leaning back against the seat with all the frustrated weight of a man absolutely, devastatingly besotted and not even a little bit okay about it. "Next time? Just stomp your foot once and let me handle the rest."

Yao, still pink and flustered, peeked at him through her fingers.

And even though he was grumbling, and twitching, and muttering about stamps and sunshine and rookie Junglers with heart eyes.

She couldn't stop the small, helpless smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. Because she'd never seen him jealous before. And maybe—just maybe—it was her favorite thing.

Notes:

Author's Note: The Muse would like to say that all comments, even small ones, are very much welcomed and they very much enjoy reading them!