Against the Algorithm

Chapter 43: Off-Script

"You," Yao said, eyes blazing now as she continued her approach, "are the one who spent three days mother-hening me like some overbearing broody rooster. I so much as sniffled and you had Da Bing on patrol like he was my personal butler and Xiao Cong getting monitored for his hourly nap schedule."

Da Bing immediately got up from his resting spot and walked over to sit beside her, tail flicking in solemn agreement as he looked at Sicheng with narrowed blue eyes.

"And you ," she jabbed again, "called your father on your mother like a tattling teenager. A fully grown man calling in parental reinforcements because she was teasing you."

Xiao Cong squeaked once from the confines of her hoodie, poking his head out and letting out a tiny huff before disappearing again—clearly voicing his agreement.

Yao didn't even pause. And let's not forget the whole stamp collecting accusation. Accusing me— me! —of collecting dangerous connections like they were trading cards when I have done absolutely nothing but politely exist in the presence of people who just so happen to be a little overprotective of me!"

Sicheng blinked.

Once.

But before he could get a word in, her voice turned sharper, her expression tinged with that signature pointed clarity that could cut through any defense.

"And then— then —you tried to say I made A'guang cry at the arena! I didn't even raise my voice! I gave him constructive feedback, a few key stats, and encouraged him to improve! If anything, I was motivational! "

Yue let out a low whistle from across the room. "She's really going down the list."

Pang whispered, "She kept receipts."

Lao Mao muttered, "She might be more terrifying than Sicheng."

Da Bing shifted, his entire massive frame settling closer to her ankle, placing himself at her side as though to silently announce whose team he was on.

Yao folded her arms over her chest, her cheeks flushed, but her posture straight and unrelenting as she stared him down, defiance written in every inch of her frame. "Well?" she challenged.

Sicheng let out a slow breath and leaned back slightly, one arm draping over the back of the couch. His amber eyes flicked from her, to Da Bing, then briefly to the tiny traitor peeking out of her hoodie. His lips twitched. "Are you finished, beautiful?"

"No," she snapped. "But I'm pausing so you can explain how exactly you're not dramatic."

Sicheng tilted his head, his voice low and calm and far too pleased with himself. "You brought a feline entourage to your defense."

"They agree with me!"

"I can see that."

She narrowed her eyes again.

Da Bing let out a low, approving rumble.

And Xiao Cong gave a dramatic yawn like the matter had been decided.

Yao lifted her chin. "So?"

Sicheng held her gaze for a long moment.

Then, with a soft sigh and a shake of his head, he murmured, "Fine. Maybe the dramatics run on both sides."