Against the Algorithm

Chapter 42: When the Storm Brings Family

Yao looked between them in pure bafflement. "I'm not even playing this match! I'm not a player, I'm just the Data Analysis! Why is some random Jungler dedicating anything to me?"

"You're not random to him." Sicheng muttered, thumbs already flying.

Yue leaned toward Pang and whispered, "Welp. There goes FNC's lineup. Moment of silence for Hang Suk."

Then, before anyone could stop him, Sicheng hit send.

To: Hierophant From: Chessman

Control your little brother. Or I will. If he so much as steps within five feet of my Xiǎo tùzǐ, you'll be brotherless before the match even starts. I'm not joking. Fix it.

He hit send.

Then set the phone down with care, turned back toward Yao, and reached out to tuck a strand of her platinum hair behind her ear with a gentleness that barely concealed the dark storm now simmering behind his eyes.

Yao blinked up at him. "You're not... mad at me, right?"

His gaze softened just slightly, thumb brushing the side of her neck. "Of course not," he murmured. "But someone clearly mistook silence for permission."

Da Bing growled again, eyes narrowed in feline judgment.

"Is this normal?" Yao asked, looking around as if someone might offer her reason.

"Yup," Yue muttered, already typing something into his notes app. "Gonna call this one: 'Death by Brother Complex.' " Yue looked across the room at Pang and muttered, "Well. Hang Suk's funeral arrangements will be tasteful, I'm sure."

And somewhere in China, Lee Kun Hyeok opened his phone, read the message from his best friend, and let out the longest, most exhausted sigh of his life. " Why is my brother such a pain in the ass... "

It was late Friday afternoon, and the base was unusually quiet—mostly because Sicheng had banished the others to the training room after Yue nearly spilled hot ramen across his keyboard. Now, alone in the main lounge, headset around his neck and mouse clicking with controlled precision, he was deep into a ranked match, golden eyes locked onto the screen as his fingers danced fluidly across the keys.

Da Bing was curled near the window, sunbathing. Xiao Cong was somewhere under the couch attacking an old sock like it had personally offended him. Yao, still under strict rest orders, was upstairs napping, and all was, for once, calm.

Until his phone vibrated beside his keyboard. He glanced at it once, saw Mother, and smirked. Without hesitation, he pressed speaker and kept playing. "Ma."

There was silence on the line for exactly half a second.

Then—

"You absolute little bastard," came Lan's voice, sharp and vibrating with fury. "Do you know what you've done?"

Sicheng leaned back slightly in his chair, still effortlessly controlling his champion with one hand as he spoke. "No, but judging by your tone, it's something excellent."

"He's home."

"Who?"

"Your father."

"Ah." Sicheng smirked again, lazily dragging his cursor across the map.

"You told him someone flirted with me in a board meeting, Lu Sicheng!"