Summary: What starts as harmless teasing spirals into chaos when Tong Yao pulls the one card none of them expected—and wins. But laughter fades quickly as reality steps in, and a routine team check-up turns into something far more personal. Quiet truths surface, comfort is redefined, and Lu Sicheng is forced to confront more than just the consequences of habit. Because some battles aren't fought on stage, and some victories start with knowing when you've let someone down—and what you're willing to do to fix it.
Chapter Fifteen
The moment Sicheng and Yao stepped back into the ZGDX base, it was blatantly obvious they had been expected.
The team was already gathered in the common area—not scattered, not distracted, but waiting, like wolves circling the edge of a scent trail. Their gazes snapped toward the door the second it opened, and from the looks of mild anticipation and barely suppressed smirks, Yao didn't even need to hear the first words to know—they had questions.
Ming, ever the one to cut straight through pretense, leaned forward slightly in his seat, his arms resting on his knees, his sharp eyes scanning over both of them before he spoke in that deceptively calm tone. "So? How did it go?"
Lao K, draped casually against the couch, let his smirk curl into something more amused as he added, "Yeah, we all know how those board meetings can get. Anything we should know? Anyone still standing?"
Pang, halfway through crunching on a snack, looked up without missing a beat, his tone dry and perfectly Pang. "Did they survive Yao's existence, or did she accidentally overthrow the entire power structure of ZGDX?"
Yao, still clutching her notepad to her chest, looked mildly exhausted, her steps slower than usual and her face still slightly pink from the tail-end of the elevator interrogation. But before she could even begin to answer, Rui—who had been watching her like a hawk the moment she stepped in—was already on the move.
His eyes narrowed, expression shifting into something immediately protective, his arms crossing and sleeves pulling taut as he took a half-step forward like he was preparing for war.
"You're flushed."
"I—" Yao blinked, startled by the sudden diagnosis.
"Do I need to march down there and give them a piece of my mind?" Rui's voice dropped, no longer Manager Mode but full-on Overbearing Mother Hen, as his brows knit together in growing irritation.
Before Yao could even stammer out a response, Sicheng stepped in, clearly having waited for this exact moment. With a snort that was far too pleased with itself, he tossed his keys lazily onto the counter and leaned one hip against the edge. His tone was dry, but entirely too amused. "The entire goddamn board?" he said, eyes gleaming faintly as he looked at them over his shoulder. "Utterly in love. Smitten. Completely taken with our Data Analyst."
The room detonated.
Lao Mao choked mid-sip of his drink, slapping a hand to his chest as he gaped at them both.
Pang blinked once—just once—before he let out a bark of laughter, nearly dropping his snack bag. "Oh, you're kidding me."
Yue, who had been lazily draped across the back of the couch like a smug housecat, sat up with purpose, a grin already curling on his face. "Oh, this is gonna be good."
Ming, who had likely already prepared himself for some form of chaos, exhaled slowly, tilting his head. "Explain."
Sicheng didn't even hesitate. "Even CEO Bao."
"Damn." Lao K gave a low whistle, one eyebrow raised as he shook his head.
"And," Sicheng continued smoothly, eyes flicking toward Yao like he was thoroughly enjoying this, "she got the CFO to fucking smile."
Dead silence.
Pang, mouth slightly ajar, stared at Yao as if she'd just casually declared she'd solved cold fusion on the way home. "Wait—wait—THE CFO? That guy hasn't smiled since before you owned the team."
Lao Mao leaned forward, grinning like a man about to hear his favorite bedtime story. "Oh, I have to hear this."
Yao, already pink in the cheeks and now transitioning to alarming levels of red, began fidgeting furiously with the hem of her blazer, eyes darting anywhere but at the team. "I-It wasn't a big deal!" she insisted, her voice cracking under the pressure.
Yue, grinning wide, shook his head. "Oh, we're never letting her live this down."
Ming, who had been listening quietly, finally muttered, "Unbelievable. The board is weak."
Yao, who had been progressively turning redder and redder with every word Sicheng spoke, finally hit her limit. With an audible whimper of distress, she whirled around, her entire face burning as she stammered out a series of protests.
Sicheng, watching her fluster herself into oblivion, didn't even bother hiding his smirk as he crossed his arms, his amber gaze utterly pleased. "Mm."
Yao whipped toward him, sputtering. "Don't 'mm' me!"
Sicheng simply raised a brow, entirely unaffected. "But you did exactly what you always do, Xiǎo Tùzǐ. You wrecked them without even realizing it."
Yao groaned, burying her face into her hands. This was never going away. And she knew it.
Yao, still thoroughly flustered and mortified, let out a sharp huff that rattled through her chest, her entire body practically vibrating with pent-up frustration as she stomped her foot against the hardwood floor with all the force her tiny frame could muster. The sound echoed with a clean, crisp thud , but it did little more than jostle the air and remind everyone how small she really was.
The effect, however, was immediate.
The entire team froze.
Lao K, halfway through a smirk, stiffened.
Pang dropped a single popcorn kernel in stunned reverence.
Yue's eyes gleamed with untamed mischief, his lips twitching violently as he fought to keep his laughter contained.
Even Rui, halfway to telling someone to leave her alone, paused mid-scowl.
Because while her stomp was far from intimidating, it was so adorably ineffective—so earnestly done—that it only made them all want to tease her more. But then—before anyone could react, before Yue could launch a teasing remark or Pang could let out a fresh round of wheezing laughter.
Yao whirled on Sicheng like a storm given form, her hazel eyes bright with righteous fury. Her hand snapped up with the precision of a trained archer and she pointed her finger directly at his face, the gesture so sharp and sudden that even Sicheng, relaxed against the counter, tilted his head slightly in surprise.
The smirk on his face remained, but now it was tempered with something else—amusement tinged with a flicker of curiosity as he watched her.
Yao inhaled sharply, her chest rising with the effort, her free hand gripping her notepad like it might anchor her in this moment of sheer nerve. "You—" she sputtered, her voice high but clear, "you had better be nice to me for the rest of the evening—"
Sicheng arched one brow, not moving, clearly waiting to see where this was going.
Yao, undeterred, narrowed her eyes. She inhaled deeply again, shoulders rising, and then with all the self-righteous authority she could summon from the very core of her soul, she delivered her final blow: "Or I'm telling your mother."
Silence.
The room—for the first time all evening—went completely still. Even the background hum of someone's phone charging seemed to fade out of existence.
Yao stood with her arm extended, finger still pointed with unwavering judgment, her eyes locked onto Sicheng's like she had just fired the world's deadliest arrow and was daring him to dodge.
And for a heartbeat—just one—he didn't.
Sicheng blinked. Slowly.
Then—
Pure, unfiltered chaos.
Lao Mao choked so hard on his drink that Pang had to slap his back.
Yue howled in laughter, clutching his stomach and gasping, "She used the mother card! Ge's gonna die! "
Pang slid halfway off the couch, wheezing, "That's it, I'm done—Sicheng's weakness has been found!"
Ming muttered in reverent awe, "Brutal. Efficient. She doesn't miss."
Even Rui was doubled over laughing, glasses askew, a hand over his mouth as if trying to remain composed but failing spectacularly.
Sicheng, who had until now remained poised and unbothered, was now visibly stunned, his smirk faltering for the first time that evening as he stared down at the finger pointed in his face. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then let out a long, quiet exhale. "…That's low, Xiǎo Tùzǐ."
Yao, who was now blushing fiercely again but holding her ground, sniffed primly. "So is teasing someone who just wanted to help."
Sicheng's jaw shifted slightly, and then he exhaled through his nose, turning toward the kitchen without a word. But not before tossing over his shoulder, "…Fine. I'll be nice."
Yue, still recovering, collapsed back onto the couch. "She actually won."
Pang, dazed, whispered, "We're living in a new era."
Yao crossed her arms triumphantly, cheeks still pink, but now glowing with the power of having tamed the beast.
And Sicheng, reaching for a glass of water, muttered lowly under his breath, "…She really said she was gonna tell my mom." He didn't even sound mad. Just...defeated.
The next morning, Sicheng sat at his desk, the morning light filtering through the blinds casting sharp, slanted lines across his workspace. His fingers moved with practiced efficiency over the keyboard as he skimmed through the wave of unread emails that had collected in his inbox overnight, sponsorship proposals, scheduling confirmations, performance breakdowns, and the usual mountain of business clutter that came with owning and managing one of the top e-sports organizations in the league.
Most of it was routine. Most of it he barely had to read. But then—he saw it. The subject line was simple. The sender was not.
Subject: Medical Check-Ups for the Team
From: #OneHarpy
His jaw tightened immediately, his finger pausing over the mouse before clicking the message open without another moment of hesitation. He already knew what it was about. She had warned him—twice. Once in person, and now in writing, because when his mother was serious, she didn't rely on conversation alone. She documented it. She followed through. She left no excuses.
The message was short. But it landed like a stone.
Sicheng,
The team's medical check-ups have already been scheduled. Make sure you're all on time. And before you roll your eyes, I already told you why I arranged them. This isn't just for you or the others. This is for Tong Yao. I saw it when I met her. You did too. She's not eating enough—whether by habit or because she simply doesn't think about it, it's clear she's underweight for her age. Her fatigue is visible, even when she tries to hide it. And most concerning of all? She doesn't know how to handle being touched. That isn't just discomfort, Sicheng. That's unfamiliarity. That's someone who hasn't had consistent physical contact in her life. That's someone who doesn't know what it means to be held. And that concerns me.
You've always had an instinct for these things. Don't ignore it now.
– Mother
Sicheng didn't move. His fingers hovered lightly over the keyboard, his expression unreadable, his sharp amber eyes locked on the screen even though he was no longer truly seeing it. Because he didn't need to read the words again. He already knew.
His mother had pulled him aside the night of the restaurant meeting, when Yao had gone to the bathroom. She had spoken in that calm, lethal tone she reserved for things that mattered, her eyes hard with truth and concern as she laid it all out—Yao was touch-starved. It wasn't just about shyness or reserved manners. It was about a life that had lacked consistent, healthy physical connection.
And Sicheng had known. He had already felt it in the way Yao froze just a little too long before leaning into someone. In the way she flinched when surprised, but not in fear—in uncertainty. In the way she relaxed when he was nearby, but didn't yet understand why. He had already seen it. Already felt the weight of it in his gut. Already decided—he was going to do something about it. His hand slowly curled into a fist on the desk, knuckles pressing hard against the wood, the echo of his mother's words sharp in his head. She doesn't know how to be held.
The thought made his chest tighten. She had leaned into him once. Briefly. Barely there. But it had happened. It had been instinctive, soft, and so fleeting that anyone else might have missed it. He hadn't. Because he felt everything when it came to her. And that one moment had told him more than any conversation ever could. It meant there was a way forward. It meant that if she was given the chance, if she was shown gently, carefully, consistently— She could learn. Not just to endure touch, but to accept it. To find comfort in it. To want it.
He exhaled slowly, closed the email, and leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling for a brief moment before narrowing with focus. He made a mental note to pull the team's medical staff aside during the check-up. He was going to ask. Quietly. Professionally. But directly. How do you help someone who is touch-starved? What is the right way to reintroduce healthy, reassuring physical contact into someone's life?
And after that—
He made another note. One that pressed harder, deeper, colder. When they returned to the base and Yao was safely upstairs, settled for the night, he was going to call a meeting. Not with the board. Not with sponsors. With the team. Because this wasn't something he could do alone. This was something they were all going to handle. Together. They were going to look out for her—not just in training, not just on stage, but in the quiet ways. In the way they made space for her. The way they supported her when she didn't know how to ask. The way they would remind her, over and over, that she wasn't an outsider. That she wasn't a temporary fixture. That she was family. That she belonged here and anyone—anyone—who tried to make her feel otherwise would learn what it meant to go against Lu Sicheng's protection. Because she was one of them now. And he would burn the league to the ground before he let anyone forget that.
Sicheng didn't waste a single second. The moment he closed his laptop—his mother's message still fresh in his mind, still echoing in the back of his skull like a silent bell toll—he was already on the move. There was no hesitation. No pause to consider alternatives or excuses. The medical check-ups were happening today, and they were not optional.
Not for any of them.
And certainly not for Tong Yao.
He knew how she operated. She wouldn't argue directly. That wasn't her style. Instead, she would brush it off, downplay it, say she was fine while her stomach rumbled quietly and her shoulders sagged a little more with every late night. She'd act like skipping a meal wasn't worth mentioning, like being constantly tired was just part of her routine.
But not today.
Not under his watch.
His strides were long and deliberate, boots striking the floor with quiet finality as he moved through the base, already mapping out where each of them would be. And like clockwork, they were exactly where he expected.
Pang and Lao Mao were in the common area, sprawled across opposite ends of the couch—Pang, predictably, with snacks in hand, while Lao Mao scrolled lazily through his phone, half-awake and half-annoyed.
Lao K and Ming were near the training stations, standing over their PCs, voices low but familiar—talking strategy in that half-serious tone that meant the conversation would devolve into sarcasm and sarcasm would devolve into bickering in under ten minutes.
And Yue?
Yue was... somewhere. Likely pretending to be productive while actively avoiding anything remotely close to responsibility.
But Yao—he knew exactly where she was. The analysis room was quiet save for the gentle clack of keys. Yao was at her station, completely immersed in her work. Her brows were drawn tight, her lips faintly parted in concentration as she scanned through statistics and data reports, one hand lazily tugging at the oversized sleeve of her ZGDX hoodie.
She looked peaceful. Comfortable.
Too bad for her.
Sicheng didn't break stride as he stepped into the center of the base's common area. He stopped only when he was sure his voice would carry to every corner, and then—with all the force of unchallengeable command—he delivered the verdict, "Be ready in an hour. We have medical check-ups."
The reaction was instant.
Pang, mid-chew, froze like a man who had just been informed of his own execution.
Lao Mao blinked once—slow, deliberate—before groaning dramatically. "Oh, come on. Seriously?"
Lao K immediately turned toward Ming with the world's most obvious 'You're hearing this too, right?' expression.
Ming sighed. The long, heavy sigh of a man who had lived through every form of nonsense this team had ever invented. "And if we refuse?" he asked dryly.
Right on cue, Yue materialized like a summoned spirit, appearing from the staircase with the timing of a professional comic. "Yeah, Ge, what happens if we say no?"
And then—
A hesitant voice. Soft.
From the analysis room.
"…Do I have to?"
Every single head turned.
Yao was peeking from around the doorway, her fingers gripping the edge of her sleeve like a child about to be called into the principal's office. Her eyes were wide, uncertain, and full of hope.
And for a moment—just a moment—it looked like Sicheng might let her off the hook. But he didn't. He met her gaze directly. His voice cut clean through the room. "Yes."
She squeaked. Actually squeaked.
Before she could recover, Yue's grin exploded across his face. "Oh, this is fantastic. Turns out Yao doesn't like check-ups either."
Pang, clearly recovering from the initial blow, laughed loudly. "See? Even Yao agrees. Maybe we should all just skip it."
"Exactly," Lao Mao added smoothly. "She's the voice of reason. Who are we to argue?"
Yao, eyes wide with horror, immediately waved her hands. "Wait—no! I didn't mean it like that! I just—I wasn't expecting—"
But it was too late. Because at that exact moment, Sicheng shifted, one foot planting slightly ahead of the other, his arms folding slowly across his chest as his gaze turned cold. Sharp. And then came the glare.
The Lu Sicheng Glare.
The one that had silenced post-match interviews.
The one that had broken opponents mid-game.
The one that had once made a rookie sob.
Dead. Silent. Room.
Pang, mouth open to offer another joke, immediately shut it.
"…I feel like I'm twelve again," Lao Mao muttered, rubbing his face. "That's the principal's office look. That's what that is."
Lao K, who had been halfway through plotting an escape plan, clearly abandoned it. "…Fine."
Ming, unimpressed but not foolish, muttered under his breath, "Could've asked like a human being."
Yue, smirking but not stupid, held up his hands. "Alright, alright. We're going. Don't glare me into the shadow realm."
But the real moment of surrender came from the analysis room.
Yao, still peeking around the doorframe, sighed. A tiny, defeated breath. She clutched the front of her hoodie, looked at the floor, then up at him. "…Okay."
That was all he needed.
Sicheng gave a single, satisfied nod. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smirk, but close. "Good. One hour. Don't be late." And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving behind a trail of groans, muttered curses, and reluctant compliance. Because no matter how dramatic, sarcastic, or unwilling the ZGDX team liked to pretend they were— They were going. Every single one of them.
The medical check-ups were already well underway, each team member being called in one by one with the kind of reluctant energy one might expect from people who were used to high-pressure competition but inexplicably saw routine health exams as some kind of personal assault.
Pang had, of course, been the first to voice his displeasure, muttering darkly about the injustice of being pulled away from food, as if a bowl of ramen were more important than cardiac health. Lao Mao, clearly resigned to his fate, had spent the last several minutes doing slow, dramatic stretches, muttering things like "If I pull a muscle, I swear someone's paying for it" under his breath. Lao K, the most stoic of the group, had planted himself in a chair with his arms folded, radiating a silent kind of resistance, while his twitching brow betrayed just how much he hated this entire experience. Ming had simply taken a seat, leaned back, and adopted the expression of a man observing a zoo enclosure—mildly amused, quietly judging, and above all, unaffected. Yue, naturally, was having the time of his life. Speculating loudly about who would faint first, fake a condition to get out of it, or somehow unleash an international incident during a blood draw.
And then there was Yao.
She had been quiet, seated off to the side with her notepad resting on her knees, her fingers absently playing with the hem of her hoodie sleeve, the motion small but revealing. Her eyes flicked up now and then as another person was called in, watching intently but saying nothing.
Until—
She turned to look at Sicheng.
He felt it before he even registered the words. That feeling —the subtle shift in atmosphere, the air getting thinner, like he was suddenly being pulled into orbit. He glanced down, and sure enough— There it was. That wide-eyed, soft, glassine Bambi look that seemed perfectly innocent and harmless, until it wasn't.
"Sicheng…" Her voice was curious, hesitant, almost too soft, and before he could brace himself, she tilted her head ever so slightly, looking up at him with that expression that shouldn't have had any power, but absolutely, categorically did. "Does this mean you're getting one done too?"
And just like that, the entire room stopped.
Pang paused mid-chew.
Lao Mao stopped mid-stretch.
Lao K actually turned his head.
Ming's hand froze over his tablet.
Yue turned so fast it was almost impressive.
Every one of them was suddenly locked in, waiting.
Because everyone knew, Lu Sicheng didn't do check-ups. He dodged them. Refused them Out-argued Rui, ignored directives, even shredded paperwork at least once, claiming it was "accidentally" mistaken for spam.
But this?
This was different.
Because she had asked. And worse? She didn't even know what she was doing. She had no idea that her wide-eyed question, voiced in all earnestness, was the one thing that Sicheng couldn't stonewall. No idea that saying no to her now—in front of the team—would mean seeing that confused, disappointed look and carrying it for the rest of the day. So he sighed. Long. Slow. Resigned. Dragged a hand down his face. "Yes. Even me."
And the room erupted.
"HOLY SHIT—she got him!" Yue exploded, slapping his knee as if he'd just watched the most satisfying scene in a drama.
"She really just—just looked at him, and he folded like that?" Pang sputtered, caught somewhere between awe and horror.
Lao Mao let out a slow whistle, shaking his head. "I think we just witnessed history."
Lao K, deadpan, muttered, "I need a record of this day. I want it framed."
Even Ming, normally so controlled, let a small smirk ghost across his face. "Incredible. She didn't even have to try."
Yao, still blinking up at Sicheng, gave a small approving nod, completely unaware of the chaos unraveling around her. "Well… that makes sense. You're part of the team as the Captain and ADC, aren't you? That means you shouldn't be left out."
Sicheng stared at her like she had just handed him a checkmate with a smile. He sighed again, muttering, "Yeah. Exactly."
Yue, nearly in tears now, collapsed back into his seat. "That's it. We're doomed. Years of fighting Rui about this and all it took was Yao looking up and asking nicely. "
Right on cue, Rui stepped in from the hallway, having clearly heard just enough to raise a brow. "Wait. He agreed?"
Yue pointed dramatically. "Yup. One look. Folded like a house of cards."
Rui stared at Sicheng.
Sicheng glared back, but even that lacked bite now.
Rui exhaled through his nose, rubbing at his temples. "I hate all of you."
And with that, the check-ups continued, each team member dragging their feet, offering their complaints—but none of it mattered. Because the story had already been sealed in team legend:
Lu Sicheng had been brought to his knees. By a girl in an oversized hoodie. Armed with nothing more than a question and a pair of Bambi eyes. And not a single one of them was ever going to let him forget it.
The atmosphere had shifted.
What began as a routine check-up had now descended into a full-blown reckoning, led by a doctor who had clearly seen one too many e-sports teams run themselves into the ground with caffeine, processed sugar, and sheer hubris. Standing before the group with his arms crossed, his white coat crisp and expression positively unimpressed, the doctor surveyed them with the grim authority of a man who knew he was about to deliver unpopular truths.
"Alright, listen up."
The room stilled.
Every ZGDX member, regardless of their previous posture, settled. It wasn't fear exactly—it was more like mutual dread, the sense that they were all about to be dragged, read, and reshaped whether they wanted it or not.
He pointed to Lao K first.
"You need to work out more. Your current muscle mass is too low for someone in your position. You're not fueling your body enough for long-term endurance."
Lao K, already bracing for judgment, sighed in resignation. "Figures."
Next came Lao Mao.
"You, on the other hand, need to cut back. You're overtraining, which is throwing your physical balance off. Ease up on the protein bars, and for the love of your kidneys, cut back on the shakes."
Lao Mao, mid-sip of his protein drink, paused, raised a brow, and lowered the cup slowly. "…So what you're saying is my dedication is too strong."
The doctor stared at him flatly. "I'm saying your body's not a competition prize. You're gaming, not wrestling bears."
Then his eyes snapped to Pang.
"Cut the fast food. Reduce the sodium and switch to clean carbs. Your metabolism's slowing, and if you don't start adjusting now, you'll lose your edge in stamina and reaction time."
Pang, mid-bite, looked down at his snack. Then at the doctor. Then back at the snack. He chewed slowly and muttered, "…You're asking a lot."
The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose like he was trying not to lose hope entirely.
Ming, who had been sitting off to the side watching this unfold with his usual dry amusement, tensed only slightly as the attention shifted.
"You're holding too much tension in your wrists," the doctor said simply. "If you don't start massaging and conditioning them, you're going to develop long-term strain. Use proper supports when practicing."
Ming nodded once. "Noted."
And then—
"You."
Yue blinked, grinning like he was waiting for the punchline.
"Stop living off energy drinks. And for god's sake, eat real food. Your glucose levels aren't a game."
Yue held up his hands. "What am I supposed to run on? Hope? Dreams?"
"Water and nutrients," the doctor shot back without hesitation.
Yue recoiled like he'd been insulted. "Disgusting."
The doctor turned to Rui.
"You need to cut back on caffeine, sleep more, and stop internalizing your stress. Your vitals are all high, and the fact that you drink coffee like it's oxygen is not helping."
Rui, who had been quietly sipping his travel mug like it contained liquid salvation, stared. "You don't understand. I live with them."
The doctor gestured to the team like a disappointed parent. "And yet you're still alive. Let's try to keep it that way."
Then—finally—he turned to Sicheng.
The man had been standing in the back, arms crossed, completely unbothered, like none of this applied to him. Until now.
"You."
Sicheng lifted a brow, nonchalant. "Me."
The doctor's tone went flat.
"Stop smoking."
Silence.
And then—
"WHAT?!"
It wasn't Pang.
It wasn't Yue.
It was Yao.
The team collectively flinched at the volume of her voice. She stared at Sicheng like he'd just confessed to war crimes, her hazel eyes wide, her mouth parting again like she needed confirmation this wasn't some joke. "Since when?! How—how have I never noticed—how—"
Sicheng remained mostly composed, though his eye twitched ever so slightly. "Since before I met you."
Yue leaned back, hands behind his head. "Oh this is good. Ge, you're so dead."
"He's been hiding it all this time?" Pang added, still recovering from his food mourning. "The betrayal."
Lao Mao, shaking his head, took another long sip from his shake. "She's actually mad. This is amazing."
The doctor, unfazed by the reaction, continued. "Also, you need to cut back on sugar, massage your wrists properly, and yes—less caffeine."
Sicheng sighed. "So basically… stop living."
"Basically, start acting like an adult who doesn't want to crash by thirty-five," the doctor replied bluntly.
Yao, arms crossed now, muttered, "You should listen to him."
Sicheng gave her a look. "Are you going to make me?"
She blinked, chin lifting just slightly. "…If I have to."
The room exploded again.
Pang nearly collapsed, sliding off the couch.
Yue couldn't breathe, pointing at his brother like this was the final nail in the coffin. "She's going to make you," he gasped between laughs.
"Finally. Someone who can control him." Rui muttered, still bitter from the caffeine call-out.
Sicheng pressed his fingers to his temple, muttering something about why he ever agreed to this in the first place.
And just when it felt like it couldn't get worse—
The doctor added calmly, "It'll be a few more minutes before the next check-up. My wife will be handling Miss Tong's exam."
Yao, blinking, looked up. "Your wife?"
"Yes. I arranged it with Madam Lu. I thought you'd be more comfortable with a female physician."
Yao flushed, touched despite everything. "Thank you. I appreciate that."
The doctor nodded once, then paused again, almost like he'd been saving the final blow. "Also, my wife is a licensed nutritionist. After Miss Tong's check-up, we'll be drafting individual and team-wide health plans. You'll each receive a copy." He let that land before adding— "And Madam Lu will receive one as well. Personally. Via email."
The room froze.
Yue paled. "Ge. You have to stop this. This is how regimes begin."
Pang, clutching his last snack like a lifeline, whispered, "This is the end."
"Oh well," Lao Mao stretched again, "it was fun while it lasted."
And in that moment, as the doctor turned and walked away with the ease of a man who had just detonated a nuclear bomb and left it smoldering—
Sicheng knew this check-up would go down in history. Not because of the tests. Not because of the results. But because it had become very clear—this was only the beginning.
The waiting area of the doctor's office was quiet in that heavy, stifling way—not from tension, but from awareness.
The hum of the overhead light buzzed faintly above them, and the occasional tap of fingers against screens barely broke the silence. Everyone had already finished their exams. Everyone had endured their lectures. Everyone had faced the cold efficiency of the medical staff and the quiet judgment of charts filled with too much caffeine, not enough sleep, and a love affair with junk food.
And now, they were all just… waiting.
Waiting for the doctor's wife to arrive. Waiting for Yao's check-up. But none of them were talking. Not really. Because something was wrong. Not dramatic. Not loud. Not explosive. But undeniably wrong. Because for the first time since any of them had known her, Tong Yao was disappointed. Truly, deeply, and unmistakably disappointed. And she wasn't hiding it. She wasn't pouting, wasn't sulking. She wasn't crossing her arms in frustration or muttering under her breath. She was quiet. Too quiet. She had chosen a seat on the far side of the room—across from Lu Sicheng, when she usually would've settled beside him without a second thought. Her arms were folded gently across her stomach, her body angled away from the rest of them, her eyes focused on a single scuff mark on the floor like it held the secrets of the universe. She wasn't angry. She wasn't sad. She just… wasn't there. Not like she usually was.
Yue was the first to notice, his phone slowly lowering from his hands, his eyes flicking between her and Sicheng. Pang, chewing idly, paused mid-bite. He blinked, looked at Yao, then at Sicheng, then back at Yao, before nudging Lao Mao hard in the side.
Lao Mao followed Pang's line of sight, then let out a low whistle. "Oh shit."
Ming, who had been lounging in silence, tilted his head. "This… is new."
Lao K, quiet but observant, exhaled slowly. "She's actually mad."
But it wasn't anger they were seeing. It was the absence of everything else. The absence of proximity. The absence of her normal soft, unspoken leaning toward him. The absence of the constant thread of subtle connection that always seemed to pull her in Sicheng's direction—no matter where she was in the room. And now? Now that thread had been cut.
Pang furrowed his brow. "Wait—so she doesn't care about when he downs two shots of whiskey after a win? Or raids our ramen stash at 2 a.m.?"
Yue, eyes glinting, grinned like a man who had figured it out. "Nope. Not the scotch. Not the beer. Not the mood swings. But the smoking?" He let out a low whistle. "That's a death sentence."
And she hadn't yelled. She hadn't scolded. She had simply moved away. And that—that said everything. Because for people like Yao, distance was a statement.
And Lu Sicheng felt it immediately. His eyes had drifted toward her the moment she chose that seat across the room, had narrowed ever so slightly as he noted how she didn't so much as glance in his direction. It wasn't that she was angry. If she had been angry, he could have handled that. Dealt with it. Fought through it. But this? This quiet disappointment? This shook him. Because it meant she had expected more. Not from a teammate. Not from a captain. From him. She saw him as something more—someone intelligent, someone who lived with logic and sharp precision, someone who didn't make careless decisions.
And yet—he had. He had kept a habit she hadn't known about. A habit that undermined everything he taught. Everything he represented. Everything she admired. And worst of all? He didn't have a good reason for it. He'd started smoking back in the early days, during a time of sleepless nights and burning pressure and sponsors threatening to cut support if they didn't win the next split. It was never addiction. It was never emotion. It was just habit. Control. Or the illusion of it. But Yao didn't see excuses. She saw someone she trusted… choosing to hurt himself. And that? That hurt her. So she didn't argue. She didn't scold. She didn't lecture. She just… moved away.
And Sicheng was left to sit with that. Left to feel the gap. Left to see that empty seat beside him. Left to understand that for the first time ever, she wasn't with him. And he hated it. He could hear the shift in the team.
Could hear Yue's soft whistle as he muttered, "Ge, you screwed up."
Pang nodded solemnly. "That's a 'you disappointed me' face. That's worse than a slap."
Lao Mao, arms folded, simply added, "She doesn't do that with anyone. Not even when we're insufferable."
And she didn't. Yao was the one who forgave first. The one who softened edges. The one who accepted faults without weaponizing them. But this?
This meant something.
And Sicheng knew—he couldn't fix it with charm or excuses. He'd have to fix it the right way. With action. With truth. With effort. Because losing her presence—even just for a little while— Felt like losing his balance. And he wasn't about to let that happen. Not again. Not ever.
The moment the female doctor entered the waiting area, the atmosphere shifted—subtly but unmistakably. There was no dramatic change, no loud announcement or show of presence. But the stillness that fell across the room was immediate. The team, who just moments before had been exchanging quiet commentary and awkward glances between Yao and Sicheng, instinctively straightened, their focus drawn to the woman who now stood in the doorway with poised confidence and quiet authority.
She wasn't flashy. She wasn't stern. But she commanded the room the way only someone used to dealing with both power and vulnerability could. Her eyes swept the room once—assessing, calm, sharp—until they landed on the figure seated alone across the room, still pointedly distant from the Captain she was usually found beside.
"Miss Tong?"
Yao's head snapped up, startled. She blinked rapidly, the motion shy and precise, as she quickly stood, her hands tugging lightly at the hem of her hoodie. "Yes… that's me."
The doctor gave a warm, professional smile—genuine but measured, reassuring without being patronizing. "Come with me. We'll get your check-up done now."
Yao nodded, glancing briefly at the rest of the team. They were watching, though none of them said a word. The unspoken tension still lingered between her and Sicheng. Without another word, she followed the doctor down the hallway and into the private exam room.
The door closed behind them. And the waiting room fell into a silence thick with things unspoken.
Sicheng didn't move. He sat with his elbow resting on the chair's arm, fingers curled against his chin, his amber gaze fixed on the floor in front of him—expression unreadable. But inside? He already knew. This wasn't going to go well. Every instinct he had—the ones that had won tournaments, turned games around in impossible moments, seen through people's tells before they realized they had them—they were all screaming the same thing. His mother had been right and Yao had been holding it all together on nothing but sheer force of habit.
Inside the private office The check-up began like any other. Vitals. Blood pressure. Reflexes. Pulse.
Yao answered every question politely, her voice soft but clear. She was cooperative, respectful—but the tension in her shoulders and the way her fingers clenched lightly around the fabric of her hoodie never quite disappeared. The doctor noticed. Of course she did. When the physical portion ended, and Yao had changed back into her clothes, she was led to a small private corner of the room where a desk waited. The doctor sat across from her, her posture still composed, her hands folding gently over the closed chart in front of her. That was the first sign something had shifted. The doctor was no longer running through routine steps. Now, she was about to say something important. And Yao felt it.
"Miss Tong," the doctor began, her voice low and even, "before I go over everything, I want you to know—what I'm about to say comes from a place of concern, not criticism. I'm not here to alarm you, but to help. Alright?"
Yao nodded slowly, her fingers curling against the fabric in her lap.
"There are a few things I noticed, and unfortunately… some of them are exactly what Madam Lu feared."
Yao stiffened. Her heart dropped slightly, and she felt her chest tighten—not because she was shocked, but because someone else had already seen what she always dismissed.
"You're underweight," the doctor said gently, her tone clinical but warm. "Not dangerously so, but enough to raise red flags. And your muscle mass is low. That suggests inconsistent eating patterns—likely skipping meals, possibly forgetting to eat altogether. Not starvation, but a lack of nutritional rhythm."
Yao said nothing. Because… she couldn't argue. She knew the truth of it. There were days she forgot. Days she got so lost in numbers and spreadsheets and strategies that hours passed without a single thought of food. Her stomach turned with guilt.
"Your iron levels are also low," the doctor added. "You've likely experienced fatigue, maybe dizziness. Nausea here and there. You've probably brushed it off."
Yao swallowed hard. That was exactly what she had done. Because feeling tired was normal, right? Because people skipped meals sometimes. Because it didn't feel like a real problem.
Until now.
Then, the doctor's expression shifted again. Serious. Direct. "But my biggest concern is how your body responds to touch."
Yao went still. Completely. She didn't look up. Didn't move. Her hands were gripping her hoodie sleeves tightly now.
"You freeze when touched." The doctor's voice didn't hold judgment—just observation. Experience. Care. "Not in a way that says discomfort. Not shyness. But in a way that says unfamiliarity. You stiffen like someone bracing for something. And that concerns me, Miss Tong."
Yao's throat felt tight. Her chest ached a little. She didn't know what to say. Because the doctor wasn't wrong. Because she didn't know how to react to it. Because no one had really… touched her before. Not gently. Not kindly. Not consistently. Not since her parents. Everything after them had been… duty. Responsibility. Tolerance. Never affection. Never comfort. And she hadn't realized just how much she was lacking until she met Sicheng. Until Da Bing started curling against her chest at night. Until someone took her hand gently instead of tugging it. And now someone had put it into words. And she couldn't ignore it anymore.
The doctor didn't push. She just offered understanding. "This isn't something to be ashamed of," she said gently. "But it's something we can work on. And we want to help." She slid a notepad across the table. On it were gentle recommendations. A list. A starting point. "We'll put together a nutrition plan. You'll work with my husband on physical health. I'll provide guided exercises—not just for building strength, but for easing into contact in a safe way. Nothing invasive. Nothing rushed. Just… steps."
Yao's voice was barely a whisper. "Physical therapy?"
The doctor nodded. "Simple things. Controlled exposure. Learning how your body reacts. Giving yourself the chance to re-learn comfort, one step at a time."
Yao stared at the page. At the lines of writing she couldn't quite read through the blur that had risen to her vision. Then came the words that hit hardest.
"You're not a burden for needing help."
Her breath hitched. And for the first time in a very, very long time—She felt seen and it didn't hurt. It was just quiet and healing. She nodded slowly, her voice barely audible. "Okay."
The doctor smiled. "Good."
And with that, the check-up came to an end but for Yao, something had just started.
Yao stepped back into the waiting room with the quiet grace she always carried, but this time—something was different. She moved like someone weighed down, her steps deliberate, her movements measured, as if the very act of walking through that door required more effort than she wanted to admit. Her face, while carefully composed, couldn't quite conceal the subtle tension in her frame—the kind that came from someone trying to hold too much inside without showing it. She didn't speak. She didn't look around. She didn't smile. Instead, she simply crossed the room and returned to her seat—the same one she had chosen earlier, still distanced from Sicheng, still keeping space between herself and the others. She sat quietly, her fingers lightly tugging at the hem of her sleeves, her gaze lowered toward the floor. She wasn't ignoring them, not exactly. She just wasn't present—not fully.
Because her mind was still back in that room. Still echoing with words like nutrition plan , physical therapy , touch desensitization . Still trying to process that someone had put everything she had been silently struggling with into a file, into a plan. Still trying to absorb the truth: this wasn't something she could keep brushing aside anymore.
But before anyone could break the silence—before Yue could crack a joke to ease the weight, before Pang could fumble for a snack to distract her, before Rui could swoop in with his usual gentle overbearing concern—
Sicheng stood. The movement was smooth. Immediate. Deliberate. He didn't speak. He didn't glance at her. There was no teasing smirk, no dry remark. He just turned and walked—straight toward the private office.
The rest of the team watched him go.
Yue lowered his phone, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Well, that's interesting."
Ming, ever composed, let out a slow breath, his voice barely above a murmur. "He's going to ask questions."
Lao Mao tilted his head. "Of course he is. Did you see him when she walked back in? He looked like he was two seconds from following her into that room."
Rui didn't even try to mask his sigh, arms crossing tighter over his chest. "It's Cheng. Of course he's going to involve himself. He probably would've barged in earlier if he didn't think she'd hate him for it."
And they were right. Because Lu Sicheng wasn't the kind of man to sit still while someone he cared about was hurting—not when he could do something about it. So when he reached the office door, he knocked once. Firm. Measured. Then opened it and stepped inside. And the door clicked shut behind him.
Inside the Private Office
The energy inside was different the moment he entered. Not tense. Not hostile. But still. Watchful. Measured.
The female doctor sat behind the desk, her posture calm, hands folded. Her eyes met his with direct precision—not defensive, but not deferential either. She spoke first. "Normally, I wouldn't answer any of your questions."
Sicheng's expression didn't shift, but his jaw set subtly, his gaze unreadable.
"Confidentiality exists for a reason. Medical privacy exists for a reason." Her tone was firm, unwavering. "But I'm concerned." The male doctor, standing at her side, nodded silently, letting his wife lead. She didn't wait. "I don't think Miss Tong has many people in her life who've looked out for her—not in the way she needs. And that girl—" her voice softened, but didn't lose strength, "that girl needs help."
The words landed like stone. Heavy. Undeniable.
Sicheng said nothing. But he didn't need to. He already knew. He had felt it in every stilted silence when Yao brushed off concern. In every moment she flinched, not because she was scared, but because she was unaccustomed to being handled gently. He had known and hearing it confirmed? Only made the ache sharper.
The doctor's gaze hardened, her next words cutting clean and straight. "What she doesn't need is scolding. She doesn't need people forcing her to toughen up. She doesn't need to be embarrassed into pretending she's fine." She let that hang. Then continued, gentler now. "She needs patience. Nurturing. She needs space to feel safe. To learn, slowly. To be supported— gently , not loudly." Then, finally, she leaned back slightly, tilting her head toward him. "Now. Ask your questions."
Sicheng remained quiet for a moment longer, eyes focused, fingers tapping once against the armrest of the chair. Then he exhaled. Slow. Heavy. Controlled. "How do I help her?" It was low. Direct. No bravado. No bravely masked demand. Just a man trying to understand how to protect someone who didn't yet know how to ask for it.
The doctor's expression softened. Her answer came immediately. "You already are." But then she added, more thoughtfully— "The best thing you can do for someone like her is be consistent. Don't push. Don't smother. Let her come to you in her own time, but make sure she knows you're always there. That you're not leaving. That she doesn't have to earn your attention, your kindness, or your presence."
Sicheng's jaw flexed again, his shoulders tense but controlled. He nodded slightly, processing every word. "Touch?" he asked, quiet.
The doctor smiled faintly. "It's not that she doesn't want it. It's that she doesn't know what to do with it." She held his gaze, steady. "Start small. Let her set the pace. If she initiates—even just a little—meet her halfway. Don't overreact. Don't freeze. Let her build trust in that contact. Let her learn that touch can mean comfort, not control." There was a pause. Then she added gently— "And don't take it personally if she pulls away. It's not about you. It's about learning something new, and that takes time."
Sicheng nodded once, slower this time. The kind of nod that meant something had locked into place. "Thank you."
The doctor nodded back. "She's worth the effort."
He didn't even have to say it.
He already knew.