Against the Algorithm

Chapter 54: Given, Not Owed

The front door opened with a quiet click.

"Please tell me you didn't try to propose to Yao-er again," came Ai Jia's dry voice as he stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder.

Jinyang didn't even lift her head. "She gave me a Corvette, Ai Jia. A candy apple red, '57 XP-64. With chrome trim. And a note. What was I supposed to do? Sit quietly and reflect? I'm not you."

"That's not a car, that's a declaration of war on subtlety." Ai Jia sighed long and deep, like a man used to this level of daily melodrama. Right behind him came Lee Kun Hyeok, trailing in with an expression that could only be described as a rich boy pout.

"She gave everyone a car," Kun Hyeok muttered under his breath. "Everyone got something shiny. Something rare. Even Yue got a Jag. And I get nothing."

"Here we go." Yue muttered from his perch on the arm of the couch.

Kun Hyeok planted himself in the center of the room, arms crossed, and pointed dramatically at Yao like a betrayed heir. "I am the only one who did not receive a vehicle. Not even a vintage bicycle. And I like vintage bicycles!"

"I— I wasn't finished yet..." Yao blinked, startled, caught mid-sip of her now-cold tea.

"What does that mean?" he gasped as he eyed her closely.

"I mean I had a list," she stammered, looking down at the mug she was clutching, "and I was going to ask Jinyang what you liked best before I sent anything because I didn't want to pick wrong, and I know you like speed and style and—you mentioned butterfly doors once—and I was just being careful—"

Ai Jia moved past the coffee table, setting his bag down. "And she means it."

Jinyang, finally lifting her head, groaned, "Yao, you sweet disaster, you're going to make everyone else's girlfriends look bad."

Sicheng let out a slow exhale beside Yao, his hand gently brushing down her arm. "This is what happens when you give luxury cars to people who treat affection like a competitive sport."

Yao lowered her gaze, flustered and small beside him. "I wasn't trying to make a statement..."

"You made one anyway," Kun Hyeok said, visibly sulking but no longer genuinely angry. Then, in a quieter voice, "I'd like mine in midnight blue."

Sicheng's eyes narrowed. "She said she was asking Jinyang."

"I have taste," Kun Hyeok defended.

"You have a wishlist that changes every week."

"I know what I want when I see it."

Jinyang waved her hand as if ending a business meeting. "I'll curate a shortlist. But I'm putting a cap on how dramatic you're allowed to be when it arrives."

"You're one to talk," Ai Jia muttered.

And in the middle of it all, Yao just curled in a little closer to Sicheng, cheeks still red, heart full, and utterly, completely overwhelmed—just as she always was when her kindness turned into a spectacle. But this time... she didn't regret it. Not one bit.

The room had finally started to settle again, the noise tapering off into low conversation, quiet laughter, and halfhearted teasing. Yao was seated now, her teacup cradled gently between her palms, the rim resting near her lip though she hadn't taken another sip. Sicheng sat beside her on the couch, one leg bent lazily, his fingers loosely curled against the back of her shoulder, grounding her without pressure.