Against the Algorithm

Chapter 64: Before the Game Began

Yao's eyes shimmered, but she didn't cry. She hadn't cried—not once.

Ai Jia kept his gaze steady. "I was your friend," he said, voice shaking. "And I broke that. I let someone less get into my head and turn me into someone I hate. I'm sorry, Yao. I truly am."

For a moment, the silence stretched so thin between them it might've broken on the next breath.

Yao didn't move. Her fingers still clutched the edge of her sweater, knuckles pale from how tightly she gripped the fabric. Her hazel eyes were wide, full of hurt that hadn't entirely faded—but not sharp. Not accusing. Just... quietly watching. Taking in the apology not as something to test or challenge, but something she'd been bracing for and hadn't believed she'd get.

Ai Jia still knelt before her, shoulders heavy with guilt, voice echoing faintly in the quiet space they now occupied alone.

When she finally spoke, her voice came soft. Small. Touched with that familiar breathless quality that had always made people underestimate her—but also made people lean in when it mattered most. "...You hurt me." The words weren't sharp. They weren't meant to wound. But they were honest.

Ai Jia nodded, slowly, jaw tight. "I know."

"I was quiet because that's who I am," she whispered, eyes lowering. "Not because I was weak. I didn't tell anyone because... I didn't want it to become about proving something. I just wanted to play." A pause. Then, quieter—fragile. "And I thought you saw me. Not the version Jian Yang made up, not the one everyone assumes. Just... me."

Ai Jia's eyes closed for a moment. "I did," he said hoarsely. "And I forgot."

Yao inhaled slowly. Then—against all expectation, and with every ounce of gentle grace that lived inside her—she nodded. "It's okay."

His eyes opened fast, disbelieving. "Yao—"

"I forgive you," she whispered. And it wasn't a declaration. It wasn't for drama. It was simply true. Because that's who she was. The girl who saw people not as what they were in a single moment of failure, but as the full shape of what they could still be. "I don't forget easily," she added, voice still soft but sure. "But I forgive. Because I know you didn't mean it. Not really."

Ai Jia lowered his head again, this time not in shame—but in silent gratitude.

Yao stepped back slightly, arms still curled around herself. "But if you ever stand by and let someone else hurt another girl like that again," she added, her voice so quiet it felt like breath, "I won't just walk away."

He nodded.

"I won't."

Yao looked at him a moment longer, then turned—her steps light as she walked toward the door. And just before she reached for the handle, she glanced back once. "...Thank you," she said softly. "For saying it out loud."

The door closed behind Yao with a soft click, leaving the study filled only with the faintest remnants of tea steam and unspoken tension that no longer belonged to anyone still in the room.

From the far end of the hall, Kaya stepped out of the shadows without a sound, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. Kazime joined her, falling into step beside her with the easy grace of a man who'd long since learned how to disappear into the quiet. They didn't speak for several paces. Not until they reached the sunken lounge just outside the atrium, where Jinyang stood with her arms folded tight and a storm still written all over her face, pacing like a general denied a battlefield.