Against the Algorithm

Chapter 47: More Than Enough

Sicheng, lounging back in his chair with his phone in hand, watched the newest message light up the screen.

1:19 PM: PLEASE TELL HER AI JIA LOOKS LIKE A KICKED PUPPY. I'M LOSING MIDLANER MORALE. I'M SORRY. I'M REPENTANT. I WILL NEVER BET AGAIN.

Yao sighed softly, the picture of gentle authority as she finally looked up from her tea and locked eyes with Sicheng. "Baobei," she said sweetly—too sweetly.

Sicheng's eyebrow lifted just slightly.

"Tell your best friend," she continued, her tone deceptively pleasant, "to mind himself if he ever wants dumplings again."

He blinked.

"Ever?"

She raised her mug in a quiet toast. "Ever."

"And if he doesn't?"

Yao's expression didn't change, but her voice turned coolly diplomatic in the way only she could pull off with such polite menace. "Then he can explain to Liang Sheng—his Support and Captain—why he's not just dealing with a sulking Midlaner but a fully spiraling team because he couldn't keep himself in check."

Sicheng's lips twitched. "That a threat?"

"No," she said, utterly composed. "That's a cause-and-effect chain. And I'm a woman of logic."

Da Bing rumbled his approval from his post behind her chair.

Xiao Cong gave a single paw tap to the tuna bowl nearby like he, too, was casting judgment.

Sicheng opened his phone again and calmly typed back.

To: Kun Hyeok:

Yao says: Mind yourself or no dumplings. And if you think dealing with Ai Jia's sulking is bad, try explaining this mess to Liang Sheng. Good luck.

Three seconds later:

1:21 PM: I AM BEHAVING. I AM THE EPITOME OF RESTRAINT. I'M DONATING TO A CAT SANCTUARY RIGHT NOW.

Sicheng smirked. "Handled." he said, glancing toward her with one brow arched.

Yao hummed softly and went back to sipping her tea, wholly satisfied. "Smart man."

Sicheng grinned. "One of us has to be."

As the others drifted back into their usual rhythm, Yue suspiciously eyeing the last dumpling in Pang's container like it owed him rent, Yao glanced down at the array of gift boxes and garment bags still scattered near the lounge.

She sighed. Not in annoyance. Just in that soft, resigned way that came when you were loved a little too loudly by people who didn't understand moderation. Her hazel eyes scanned the collection, then flicked over toward Sicheng, who was already looking at her from his seat with that unreadable calm that always settled around him when he wasn't trying to be smug or sarcastic. "Cheng-ge," she said, soft but sure, "can you please help me carry these up?"

His brow arched. "You finally admitting you need me for something?"

She gave him a flat look.

And he grinned, slowly rising from his seat, walking over without another word. "Alright," he muttered, already grabbing two of the bags in one hand and balancing one of the heavier boxes under his other arm. "But only because you said 'please.'"

Yao huffed, cheeks pink. "I always say please."

He leaned in slightly as he passed her, his voice low enough only she could hear. "Not always," he murmured, "but I like it when you do."