Against the Algorithm

Chapter 55: Terms of Offense

Yao's fingers moved fluidly across her keyboard, adjusting timestamps and attaching brief notes to review later. She spoke softly. "Their Jungler breaks brush priority on second clear. It's an early flag. If you force him to top by three minutes, their mid will have to overstep for control."

Kwon's head inclined faintly. "Mark it. We'll test it in round two."

Da Bing huffed softly under the desk. Xiao Cong stretched—back legs extended, one paw dangling elegantly off the edge of the shelf—and let out a princely little chirp as if to say, Proceed, mortals. I approve. Training resumed. No distractions. No downtime. This wasn't the team's flashy form. This was the grind. And behind every movement, every sharp play call, every adjustment. Was a team sharpening itself together. And Yao, sitting just off to the side, taking it all in, quietly supporting. Watching her boys grow sharper by the hour.

Wednesday. The day before the match against LAN.

Yao sat at her desk, not even two meters from them. Close enough to see each frame. Close enough to hear every in-game adjustment, every timing cue. Her screen was split between rotation tracking, cooldown sync data, and a set of cleanly color-coded timestamps that outlined LAN's aggression zones across six scrims. She didn't interrupt. She didn't micromanage. But when she did speak, it was brief. Surgical. Behind her chair, Da Bing lay sprawled on his side like the emperor of the floor, his tail flicking in time with the keystrokes as if silently judging how clean each command was. His presence alone seemed to impose silence on the room when someone started getting too loud. Perched across the top of the side equipment rack near her desk, Xiao Cong sat like a tiny, gray-striped monarch, his gray eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room with all the judgment and none of the subtlety. Occasionally, he chirped at the players when their rotations were late, or tapped at a cord with one paw in silent protest of being ignored.

Kwon stood near the board, arms crossed, one foot planted forward as he ran the team through final prep. "Ming. Hold second cooldowns unless you're at outer edge. He likes to pull aggression to bait your mobility, then crash support in after you respond."

"Understood," Ming replied calmly, his posture straight and voice clear.

"Lao K, you stick to your own timer unless she"—he jerked his head toward Yao without looking—"tells you otherwise."

Lao K gave a simple grunt of confirmation.

"Bot lane," Kwon continued, "you'll see pressure collapse at 4:10. LAN's Support rotates blind if they see jungle pressure. Pang, you rotate only if ADC follows you. You don't go in blind. Let them walk into you."

Pang smirked faintly. "I don't go blind, coach. I bait leashes."

Sicheng didn't look up. "Bait them harder. Make them commit before you give them vision."

Yue, seated just beside Yao with a notebook and his headset around his neck, muttered, "And then collapse with timing punish. He always resets wide when he thinks we've committed."

Yao, eyes still on her screen, spoke softly. "LAN's midlane has a half-second lag on cast bait during jungle hover. If Ming doesn't shift in the first cycle, the support panics and overcommits. You can draw him into terrain if you delay movement by a half-beat."

"Mark it." Kwon said.

Yao was already highlighting the pattern and logging the timestamp.

Rui, stood at the base kitchen counter with a tablet in hand, reviewing confirmation protocols. "Team bus leaves tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. sharp," he said evenly. "No delays, no caffeine excuses."