Against the Algorithm

Chapter 43: Off-Script

Sicheng stood, walked over, and crouched beside Yao, peering under the couch with an expression of a man trying to reason with a feline toddler. "Xiao Cong," he said flatly, "if you don't come out in the next five seconds, I'm telling Da Bing you tried to steal his tuna."

From under the couch came a warbling meep.

Sicheng narrowed his eyes. "Three."

Yao giggled softly.

"Two."

A slow, careful movement.

Then—a fuzzy gray head peeked out, ears pinned back, expression a perfect portrait of feline woe.

"One."

With a high-pitched mrowr, Xiao Cong dragged himself out from under the couch as if walking to his doom, his tail flicking like he was on trial for war crimes. Everyone watched, stunned, as he slumped dramatically onto Yao's lap, flopping belly-up in complete surrender.

"I feel like we just watched a soap opera." Yue whispered.

"Starring Xiao Cong," Pang added. "And co-starring his grief."

Yao, unfazed, cooed softly as she administered the vitamin drops with gentle precision. "Good boy. See? Not so bad."

Xiao Cong gave a tired little squeak, licking his nose once like he'd just survived an assassination attempt.

Sicheng stood again and returned to his seat.

Da Bing blinked slowly in judgment from his perch.

And Yao?

She gently kissed Xiao Cong's forehead as he let out one more exhausted mrrrow and flopped dramatically into the safety of her hoodie. "He's just sensitive," she said sweetly.

Yue muttered, "He's a whole damn drama club."

Sicheng had just settled back into his seat, the corners of his mouth tugged upward in that low, amused smirk of his, his hand resting idly across the top of the couch as Xiao Cong, freshly dosed with his salmon-flavored vitamin drop, nestled smugly in Yao's hoodie like he'd survived a great trial. With Da Bing once again assuming his position as the ever-watchful feline guard on the carpet, the chaos seemed to be winding down, laughter still lingering in the air like smoke after fireworks.

And then— He said it. "He inherited the flair for the dramatic from her side."

The moment the words passed his lips, it was as if time briefly froze.

Yao blinked once.

Twice.

Then, in one fluid motion, she stood.

Not abruptly. Not clumsily.

Deliberately.

Her platinum hair shifted over her shoulder like a silken banner, and her hazel eyes narrowed with surgical focus. Her foot came down in a sharp stomp against the floor that echoed with righteous authority and made even Da Bing lift his head and turn toward her. " Excuse me? " she snapped, pointing directly at Sicheng as her voice rose with the kind of incredulous fire that had every male in the room glancing between them like spectators at the beginning of a storm. " My side?" she echoed, her tone climbing just slightly with each word as she marched a step forward, her finger aimed at his chest. " The flair for dramatics came from my side? "

Sicheng raised an eyebrow, not yet saying anything, because he knew better. The rest of the team? They were already leaning back, alert and wide-eyed.