Summary: After a quiet conversation changes everything, adjustments begin behind the scenes—some deliberate, some instinctive. The team shifts. Habits change. Tong Yao finds herself surrounded by unexpected support, even if she doesn't fully understand it yet. But as balance returns, something else begins to take root—teasing becomes territory, and the battle lines blur. Especially when Lu Sicheng realizes his greatest opponent might not be on the leaderboard, but in the form of one fluffy, judgmental cat who has decided he's not welcome near her without a fight.
Chapter Sixteen
Sicheng sat there for a long moment after the doctor had finished speaking, his silence not from doubt or confusion but from the weight of what had just been confirmed. His thoughts—sharp, fast, always moving three steps ahead—were already adjusting, reorienting, building plans. He would need to talk to the team. Quietly. Carefully. He would need to make certain accommodations feel natural so she didn't feel singled out. He would need to observe her more closely than he already did. And he already did. But even through the forming checklist in his mind, one thought continued to pull at him—something that had been there since the day he met her, something that had never quite settled. So he asked.
"What about the way she reacts to things?"
The doctor looked up.
"The way she gets flustered so easily?" he clarified, voice low but steady, gaze steady as amber glass.
She tilted her head, considering. "You mean her shyness?"
"Do you think she's just naturally like that, or is it something else?"
The doctor exhaled, the shift in her posture subtle as she leaned back in her chair, folding her hands again with careful precision. "Both."
His brow lifted slightly, expression unreadable, but his eyes never left her.
"For the most part, I truly believe that's just who she is," the doctor began, her tone steady, grounded in both empathy and experience. "She's naturally shy. Naturally reserved. And she's someone who gets flustered easily when attention is directed at her in ways she's unfamiliar with. That's not unusual, and it's not a flaw. It's part of her personality." She paused, her gaze thoughtful. "That kind of temperament has both its strengths and vulnerabilities. It makes her gentle. It makes her thoughtful. It makes her someone people gravitate toward without even realizing why."
And Sicheng understood immediately—because he had seen it. He'd seen it in the way people leaned in a little closer when she spoke. He'd seen it in the way strangers softened their tones around her, in the way even hardened professionals and battle-hardened players subconsciously adjusted their posture in her presence. He had seen the way her softness created comfort and the way it invited danger. Because she didn't always realize when she was being watched. Didn't always notice when attention wasn't harmless. Didn't always catch the undertones of certain jokes, or the edge in someone's voice. He had seen it. He had already been stepping in without even thinking about it. Redirecting conversations. Changing the subject. Shifting his stance when someone's gaze lingered too long.
The doctor must've noticed something flicker across his face because her voice softened—but not out of mercy. Out of understanding. "Don't try to change her, Lu Sicheng."
His gaze snapped back to her instantly—sharp, defensive. "I wasn't planning to."
She nodded, calm. "Good. Because there's nothing wrong with who she is. But—" Her voice lowered, firm again. "You need to be mindful. Protective. Watchful." There was a long pause. Then—carefully, deliberately— "Because she might not pick up on social cues the way you do. If someone cracks a dirty joke or makes a suggestive comment, she might not catch it. If someone's looking at her in a way she should be wary of, she might not realize it until it's too late."
Sicheng's jaw tightened. His fingers flexed once against the chair's arm. Because yes—he had already known that too. He had seen it when Yue teased her and she tilted her head, trying to puzzle through the implication. He had seen it when Pang threw out a joke layered with innuendo and she blinked, completely lost. He had seen it when a rival player had gotten too close during a post-game interview, and she hadn't even registered the way the man's eyes had drifted. She didn't see it. But he did. And now? Now it was confirmed. Validated.
"She's not naive," the doctor added gently. "She's not unintelligent. But she is… inexperienced. And when you pair that with her personality, it means she won't always recognize danger. Or intent. Not right away." She looked at him, her voice steady. "That's where you come in."
Sicheng exhaled through his nose. Low. Controlled. A sound that carried weight but no frustration—just acceptance. "I understand." Because if she wasn't going to see it, then he would. If she didn't know when to pull away, then he'd step between. If she didn't realize the moment something turned wrong, then he'd already be there, ensuring it never got that far. He wasn't going to protect her because she was weak. He was going to protect her because she didn't realize just how much strength she gave away—simply by existing as she was. And that?
That was a kind of innocence the world didn't deserve. But he'd make damn sure the world never got the chance to take it from her.
Back at the base, the usual buzz of banter and low conversation was absent, replaced by a quiet that felt too heavy to be coincidence. The day had stretched them all thinner than they wanted to admit—between the medical check-ups, the unexpected revelations, and the subtle fractures in dynamics none of them were ready for, it was a lot.
Yao stood near the edge of the room, her body half-turned as if unsure whether to stay or go. She shifted her weight subtly, fingers tugging lightly at the hem of her oversized hoodie, the fabric bunched in her grip the same way it always was when her thoughts were spiraling beneath the surface. Her voice, when it came, was soft. Measured. Quiet but certain. "I'm going to feed Da Bing and shower."
The words were mundane. Simple. A normal part of her day. But the hesitance that ghosted behind them—the way she didn't quite look at anyone when she said it, the way her shoulders tensed like she was waiting for someone to question her, to follow, to probe deeper—made it anything but.
Sicheng's response came immediately, and though his voice remained steady, something in it was heavier than usual. "Go on."
No argument. No teasing. No resistance.
Yao lingered for a second longer, then gave a small nod and quietly turned toward the stairs, her steps careful, her presence retreating into her sanctuary before anyone else could stop her.
And the second she disappeared—Sicheng moved. His posture shifted, the calm arrogance he wore like a second skin giving way to something harder. More controlled. The others felt it instantly.This wasn't just exhaustion. This was intent. Without needing to be told, they began to gather.
Yue straightened from his slouch, phone forgotten in his lap. Pang paused mid-step, abandoning whatever snack he was eyeing. Lao Mao turned fully from the kitchen counter, arms uncrossing Ming pushed off the armrest of the couch with a quiet sigh, eyes already narrowing with anticipation. Even Lao K stepped in without a word, his usual stillness shifting into readiness.
And Sicheng spoke. "We're having a team meeting. Now."
There was no room for delay.
Pang, still reaching toward the pantry, groaned. "Cheng, can we at least sit down first—"
"No."
Pang shut up. Instantly.
Ming exhaled. "What's going on?"
Sicheng's gaze swept over them, sharp and unflinching. "Everything we were informed of today will be followed. No exceptions." His jaw clenched. "That includes me." The room went silent. There was a flicker of hesitation—a moment where the team expected Yue to break the tension, to lighten it with something offbeat or ridiculous. But before he could say anything, Sicheng cut him off. "It's for Yao." And the shift was immediate. The weight of it settled over the group like a stone dropped into still water. Lao Mao's back straightened. Ming's brow furrowed slightly. Pang's arms dropped to his sides, forgotten snack now irrelevant. Yue didn't say a word. Because this wasn't about orders anymore. This was personal.
"What do you mean?" Lao Mao asked, the question low, serious.
Sicheng didn't give them everything. He didn't have to. And he wouldn't—not with Yao's trust on the line. But they needed to know enough. So he told them. Told them her weight was too low, her eating habits inconsistent. That her iron levels were a problem, that her energy levels were worse than she let on. That her discomfort with physical touch wasn't just a quirk, wasn't just shyness—it was unfamiliarity.
He told them that Yao didn't always understand certain social cues. That she didn't always realize when someone was being inappropriate, or manipulative, or dangerous. That she might not always know when to pull away. That she'd freeze instead of flinch. That she'd smile instead of question. That she would endure before she would ever ask for help. He didn't say the words trauma or neglect or isolation . But the silence that followed said it for him. Because they understood. Yao wasn't just their Data Analyst. She wasn't just the girl who sat cross-legged in hoodies and talked about numbers like they were poetry. She wasn't just the one who blushed when teased, or got flustered at interviews, or made them takoyaki when they won. She was the one who quietly carried everything alone. And now they knew.
"Damn," Lao K muttered, running a hand through his hair. His voice was low, the kind of voice someone used when they didn't know how to make it better—but wanted to.
"That's… a lot," Lao Mao said after a moment, his tone unusually subdued.
Pang didn't say anything. His usual commentary gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and clenched jaw.
And Yue, for once, was completely silent.
Until Ming spoke. Quiet. Certain. "What do we do?"
And Sicheng didn't hesitate. "We make sure she never feels like she has to do this alone again." It wasn't a command. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a vow. And without needing to say it aloud, they all agreed. Because Yao was theirs now. Their Data Analyst. Their friend. Their little sister.
(Not the Captain's, obviously. Everyone else's. We know the truth there.)
And they were going to protect her. From herself. From others. From everything. Because she didn't know how to ask for help. But they sure as hell knew how to give it.
A few hours had passed since the team meeting—since words had been spoken, decisions made, responsibilities claimed—and yet, the quiet tension that still clung to the air in the base made it clear that not everything had been settled. Not everything had been said. Not yet. And Sicheng? He felt it. Deep in his chest, coiled and pressing like a bruise.
Yao was stubborn in that soft, quiet way of hers. Not with defiance. Not with anger. But once she settled into a feeling, once disappointment rooted itself in her, she didn't shake it off easily. She didn't confront. She just... pulled away. And the way she had looked at him earlier—like she couldn't quite understand how someone she believed in could make such a careless choice—that haunted him.
So he got up. Slowly. Deliberately. No fanfare, no announcement. Just movement. A stretch of his arms, a controlled breath, and then he was climbing the stairs, one step at a time, not hesitant—but careful. Because this wasn't something he could treat the way he treated everything else. This wasn't a match. This wasn't strategy. This was her. And she deserved something he rarely gave. An explanation. When he reached her floor, he lifted his hand and knocked—three clean, firm taps against the door.
And when it opened—
His breath caught for just a second.
There she was. Bare-legged, the edges of her sleeping shorts barely peeking beneath the oversized hoodie—his hoodie. The same one she had refused to return, the same one she curled into whenever she needed comfort. She looked half-distracted, the phone to her ear, her brows slightly furrowed in that soft, familiar way that meant someone on the other end was testing her patience. And then he heard it.
"Yao, come on. You rarely hang out with us anymore. You keep blowing us off. How is that fair?"
Ai Jia. His voice. His tone. That blend of whine and wounded entitlement that made Sicheng's jaw tighten almost immediately.
Yao shifted, clearly uncomfortable, rubbing the back of her neck. "Ai Jia, I'm just busy."
But Ai Jia didn't stop. "Busy doing what? You won't even tell us where you're working. You won't even tell us where you're living now."
Sicheng's gaze sharpened. His fingers flexed.
And then—
"Jinyang just wants you to meet someone. She has this guy she thinks would be a good match for you."
That was it. His entire body went still. Cold. Lethal. No visible reaction, but the shift in his presence was immediate.
"Ai Jia, I already told you, I don't want to be set up with anyone. Why do you guys keep pushing this?" Yao sighed, frustration creeping into her voice.
"Because, Yao, you don't even try to meet people. You never date. We're just trying to help you, okay?"
She rubbed her temples, clearly holding back more than she was saying. "I don't need that kind of help."
And that was when Sicheng reached out. With zero hesitation, he plucked the phone right out of her hand, ignoring the startled squeak that left her lips.
"Sicheng—!"
Her hazel eyes went wide, but he wasn't looking at her. Not yet. He brought the phone to his ear, voice low, smooth, and dangerously calm. "She said no."
The line went silent.
Then—Ai Jia's voice again, uncertain now. "Wait… Lu Sicheng?"
"Mn."
Another pause.
Then—a sharp, deliberate exhale, his jaw tightening just slightly.
"Tell Jinyang to stop pushing men onto her. Tell her to stop interfering. And you—stop whining like she owes you anything. She doesn't."
The silence that followed was thick.
Yao stood frozen beside him, her face now fully flushed, fingers gripping the hem of the hoodie she was drowning in.
Ai Jia's voice came back, but it was quieter now. "…Did she tell you to say this?"
Sicheng's lips curled, his smirk sharp and cold. "No. But you're lucky she didn't. Because I wouldn't have been as polite if she had." And with that, he ended the call. No more words. No parting pleasantries. He flipped the phone once in his hand, then held it out to her.
She took it slowly, still wide-eyed. "You—You just—"
He shrugged casually. "He was annoying me."
"That—That's not the point!" Her voice cracked slightly, flustered and mortified. "I was handling it!"
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. "No, you were tolerating it. There's a difference."
"I would've told him off eventually!" she huffed, puffing up in that way she did when she was desperately trying to reclaim control.
"Sure. Eventually."
She groaned again, burying her face in her hands before trying to retreat into her apartment—but his voice stopped her.
"I came to talk to you."
She froze.
Her hands stilled. Her shoulders tensed. Slowly, she turned back toward him. "…About what?"
"My smoking."
Her throat tightened. Her fingers curled.
And when he met her eyes, there was no teasing in his gaze. No smirk. Just steady, firm truth. "I figured we should clear the air."
That… That stopped her in her tracks. Because she knew what that meant. He wasn't here to brush it off. He wasn't here to defend himself. He wasn't here to charm his way out of it. He was here to talk. And for Yao, who had spent years being dismissed, sidestepped, overlooked—that was enough. So she nodded. Small. Careful. And stepped aside. Letting him in.
Sicheng stepped inside, his presence filling the space with the same quiet dominance it always carried—not heavy, not demanding, just there, like a weight she couldn't ignore even if she wanted to. He didn't move to sit. He didn't lean on furniture. He simply stood by the entrance, watching her with an unreadable gaze as Yao shifted slightly, almost unconsciously pulling the oversized hoodie tighter around herself, retreating into the safety of familiar fabric and muted comfort. She didn't speak. Didn't ask why he was there. But her posture—tense, hesitant, bracing—said everything. And he wasn't here to fight. Wasn't here to deflect or dismiss. He was here to say what needed to be said—because that look she'd given him earlier, the one threaded through with disbelief and disappointment, had stayed with him.
He exhaled slowly, fingers tapping once against the doorframe before he spoke, his voice even. "I know you don't like it."
Yao blinked, surprised by the bluntness, her eyes flicking up to meet his for the first time since he entered. She didn't respond, not verbally, but her silence wasn't defiant. She was listening.
Sicheng continued. "I also know you probably don't understand why I do it."
Still, she said nothing, but her expression shifted—lips pressing into a thin line, a subtle frown forming, the quiet kind that meant she was trying to understand even though she didn't like the answer she was expecting.
"It's not because I think it makes me look cool. Not because I like the taste." His voice was calm, smooth. No edge. Just honesty. "It's a habit. One I picked up a long time ago. One I never really had a reason to stop."
Yao's brows furrowed as she crossed her arms beneath the hoodie, sleeves hiding her hands. "That's not a good reason," she said quietly.
"I didn't say it was." That response—plain, without defense—made her pause again. Because she expected him to argue. To justify. But he didn't. And that, somehow, made it harder to stay angry. Before she could say anything else, her phone lit up on the table beside her.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Her name flashing over and over on the screen.
Jinyang.
Sicheng's eyes flicked toward the phone, watching as her expression soured immediately.
Yao stared at it for a moment, visibly torn. Then, with a soft breath, she reached out and silenced it. Just like that. No anger. No frustration. Just quiet, tired resignation.
"You're going to pay for that later," Sicheng muttered.
"I know." She rubbed at her temple, the exhaustion in her voice making it clear she already knew what was coming.
Sicheng tilted his head, studying her. "And yet, you still did it."
Another small sigh. "I just… don't want to deal with her right now."
That caught him. Because Yao didn't avoid people. She didn't dodge hard conversations. She confronted things—even when it made her anxious. So the fact that she was silencing Jinyang… meant something. And he could tell—it wasn't just about the phone call. It was everything. The pressure. The setup. The relentless pushing from people who claimed to care but refused to listen. And she was tired.
So he said the only thing that made sense. "We'll deal with that later." And that was a promise. He let out another breath, his gaze still lingering on the phone before flicking back to her. And then—he said it. "I'm going to stop."
"…Stop?" Yao blinked, clearly caught off guard.
"Smoking. I'll stop." His tone was steady. Certain. Final.
Yao stood still, her eyes searching his face—looking for a crack, a sign that this was performative, that he was just saying it to end the conversation. But she found none. "You don't have to say that just because—"
"I'm not saying it for you."
That stopped her cold.
"I'm saying it because I've been meaning to stop anyway." A pause. His eyes softened just slightly. "You just gave me the reason I needed."
Yao felt her chest tighten. That warmth—that heavy, confusing, frustrating warmth—settled somewhere beneath her ribs, curling in on itself in ways she didn't know how to process. Because she hadn't expected this. Not from him. "Are you really going to?"
"I said I would."
She hesitated. "…But what if you don't?"
And then he smirked. Just barely. Just enough to shift the weight in the room. "Are you going to punish me, Xiǎo Tùzǐ?"
Her face immediately flushed. "That's not—I just—!" She sputtered, flustered and bright red as she turned away, trying to recover some dignity.
Sicheng didn't laugh. Not really. His smirk softened, but it was clear in his expression—this wasn't a joke. He meant it. Every word.
And she understood that now. After a moment, she let out a breath, rubbing the back of her neck. "…Okay."
That was all she said. But he knew what it meant. She was accepting it. She was believing him. And that? That mattered more than anything else. He gave a short nod, then stepped back toward the door.
"Get some sleep."
Yao nodded quietly, still holding onto the fabric of his hoodie like it grounded her. And as he stepped out, the door closing behind him, Sicheng knew something had shifted—not just between them, but within himself. This wasn't the end of anything. It was the start. And he was ready for it.
Over the next couple of weeks, the new regime was implemented and strictly followed—there were no exceptions, no complaints, and most importantly, no escape for anyone. Every single one of them—even Sicheng himself—was held to the new health and lifestyle changes laid out by the doctor and his wife.
Lao K? Begrudgingly worked out more, though he grumbled the entire time. Lao Mao? Was under strict orders to cut back on protein shakes, and Pang was suffering the hardest with his newly adjusted healthier carb diet (and the subsequent tragic loss of excessive fast food). Yue? Was going through withdrawal as he cut down his energy drinks and sugar intake, and Rui? Looked dead inside as he swapped out most of his coffee for something "less death-inducing," as he bitterly put it.
Sicheng, as promised, stopped smoking.
And Yao?
Yao had no choice but to go along with all of it. Her meals were monitored, her portions subtly adjusted, and there was always food placed near her at meals, as if to wordlessly remind her to eat more. Her health plan was not forced onto her but she was given zero opportunity to slip back into old habits. And, most importantly? The team had decided—without consulting her, of course—that they were going to work on one other thing as well. Her reaction to touch. It started subtly. Nothing extreme, nothing overbearing—just small, casual moments of contact, slipped into everyday interactions, as if they had always done this. A hand on her shoulder in passing. A gentle nudge when she was distracted. A light pat on the back after a successful strategy discussion. At first, she just flinched slightly, caught off guard—but she didn't recoil. Which meant they got bolder.
Lao Mao was the first to test it further, throwing an arm over her shoulders one evening during a strategy meeting, and though she had frozen like a startled deer for a second, she didn't pull away. Instead, she slowly adjusted, lowering her gaze as if trying to process whether this was okay. So they continued.
And then, of course—someone took it too far.
That someone?
Lu Sicheng.
It happened one afternoon, when she was settled at her station, focused intently on her analysis, too absorbed in her work to notice him approaching. Which was exactly why he did it. With zero hesitation, zero warning, and zero regard for his own safety, he casually reached over…and ruffled her hair.
The reaction?
Immediate.
Yao's entire body locked up, her shoulders snapping stiff as she sucked in a breath. And then—she sputtered violently, whipping around, her entire face going red. "W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
"What does it look like?" Sicheng, completely unaffected, just smirked down at her as he reached for her hair once more.
"I— I— You— You don't just do that!" Yao, still flustered beyond belief, swatted his hand away, her words coming out in high-pitched sputtering.
"Why not?"
"BECAUSE— YOU— THAT'S—"
Words failed her and in her desperate attempt to retaliate, her eyes darted to the closest thing within reach—
A pillow.
And with zero thought, she grabbed it and launched it directly at him. Which, of course, hit its mark. Square in his face.
The room went silent for a beat.
Then—
Yue burst out laughing, slamming his hand against the table. Pang was wheezing, clutching his stomach. Lao K and Ming just exchanged looks, shaking their heads as if to say 'Well, he deserved that.'
Lao Mao, still grinning, muttered, "We finally broke her."
Meanwhile, Sicheng stood there, pillow bouncing off him and landing onto the floor, his expression completely unreadable.
Yao, still fuming, still red-faced, crossed her arms aggressively over her chest. "DON'T DO THAT AGAIN!"
Sicheng's lips curled into a slow smirk. "I make no promises."
And just like that—
It was war.
Later that evening, after Yao had stormed off in a flustered huff, leaving the rest of the team still chuckling at her expense, Sicheng had simply shaken his head, smirking to himself before deciding he was going to push his luck even further. Because really, what was she going to do? Block him? Avoid him? It wasn't like she could keep him away. At least, that's what he thought.
Until he found himself physically blocked from entering her space. By none other than her giant, unimpressed, territorial Siberian cat—Da Bing.
Sicheng stood there, arms crossed, as he stared down at the massive fluff ball sitting directly in the doorway to Yao's apartment, body planted like a stone wall, blue eyes narrowed in something that looked far too much like disapproval. "…Seriously?"
Da Bing did not move.
Sicheng's brow twitched slightly as he took a slow step forward.
Da Bing?
Also took a step forward.
Sicheng stopped.
Da Bing stopped.
They stared at each other.
A silent battle of wills.
From inside the apartment, Yao's voice rang out. "Da Bing, is there a problem?"
The cat let out a slow, deep, judgmental meow—one that very clearly translated to 'Yes. Yes, there is.'
Sicheng exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair before muttering. "Unbelievable." He tried again, shifting slightly to step around him, only for Da Bing to immediately stretch out his entire body, effectively barricading the doorway with pure fluff.
The message?
"You. Shall. Not. Pass." (Yes, yes indeed a LOR Moment!)
Sicheng dragged a slow, irritated hand down his face.
From inside, Yao's curious steps approached. "Da Bing, who's there?"
Sicheng lifted his head slightly, his tone utterly unimpressed. "Your bodyguard is preventing my entry."
There was a pause.
Then—Yao peeked her head around the doorframe, blinking rapidly before her gaze flickered downward, and she let out a soft laugh. "Oh."
"Oh?" Sicheng's eyes narrowed slightly.
Yao, still trying to suppress her amusement, covered her mouth. "I think he's mad at you."
"You think?" Sicheng drawled, glancing down at the giant fluff ball still blocking his way.
Da Bing blinked up at him, slow and deliberate, as if to say 'Try me.'
Yao hummed, leaning against the doorframe, her earlier flustered frustration replaced with quiet amusement. "Well, you did mess with me today."
Sicheng arched a brow. "And you threw a pillow at my face."
"You deserved it." Yao shrugged, completely unrepentant.
"Alright, fine. What's it going to take?" Sicheng exhaled slowly, shaking his head before glancing down at the massive cat once more.
Yao tilted her head. "Take?"
Sicheng gestured vaguely at Da Bing. "To get past your overgrown watchdog."
"Hmm… well, he likes tuna." Yao pursed her lips, pretending to think.
Sicheng lifted a brow. "I'm not bribing a cat."
Yao shrugged. "Then I guess you're not getting in."
Another standoff.
Another battle of wills.
Sicheng sighed, shaking his head before stepping back slightly, knowing when to retreat. For now. But next time? Next time, he was going to be ready. And he was not going to be outplayed by a goddamn cat.
The next day, Sicheng decided he was going to push his luck. After his humiliating defeat at the hands of Da Bing the night before, he had spent a good portion of the morning plotting his revenge, nothing serious, nothing drastic. Just a small, casual act of retaliation. Something to remind his stubborn Xiǎo Tùzǐ that he wasn't going to let her get away with flustering him so easily.
So, as she sat at her desk near the training computers, fully immersed in her work, Sicheng approached.
Quietly.
Stealthily.
With the kind of controlled, measured steps that made it clear he had done this before.
The rest of the team, who had been gathered in the common area, immediately noticed.
"He's going for it." Pang nudged Yue, smirking.
"Oh, this is going to be good." Lao Mao, arms crossed, chuckled.
"It won't end well." Ming, barely looking up from his screen, hummed.
Lao K, watching carefully, muttered, "He deserves whatever happens next."
And yet, Sicheng didn't stop. Didn't slow. Didn't hesitate. He had a plan. A simple one. Get close enough to ruffle her hair again, just to prove he could. Just to make her sputter and throw another pillow at him. Just to remind her that if she thought she could outmaneuver him, she was sorely mistaken.
So he moved.
And the second he got close enough—right when his hand started to lift, fingers just about to make contact—
He got swatted.
Hard.
Right on the hand.
Not by Yao.
No.
By something much furrier.
A large, white paw.
A very large, very white paw.
Sicheng froze instantly, blinking down as Da Bing, who had been perched in Yao's lap completely unnoticed, smacked his hand away with an aggressive but controlled swipe.
A direct hit.
A solid rejection.
And worst of all?
Yao hadn't even noticed. She was still typing, still absorbed in her screen, still oblivious to the fact that her damn cat had just physically denied him access.
The team?
Lost it.
Pang collapsed onto the couch, howling. "HE GOT BLOCKED AGAIN!"
Yue, gasping between laughs, pointed dramatically. "OH MY GOD, DA BING IS HER BODYGUARD!"
Lao Mao wiped at his eyes, grinning. "Two for two. Damn."
Ming simply shook his head. "I did warn you."
Sicheng stood there, staring down at the fluff ball who had just smacked him like he was an unruly peasant.
Da Bing stared right back, unmoving, completely unfazed. There was no growling, no hissing, no aggression. Just pure, calm judgment.
"I'm starting to think you have a personal problem with me." Sicheng exhaled slowly, his amber gaze narrowing.
Da Bing blinked.
Then, with the ultimate show of arrogance, the damn cat stretched lazily, turned slightly in Yao's lap, and curled himself further into her as if to say, 'She's mine. Keep walking.'
Sicheng's eye twitched.
And right then, as if the universe had conspired against him, Yao finally looked up. "Oh, Sicheng, did you need something?" She was completely innocent, completely oblivious to the absolute humiliation that had just occurred.
Behind him, Yue was gasping for breath, barely keeping it together.
Sicheng rubbed his temple. He needed to rethink his strategy. Because at this rate? He wasn't just fighting against Yao anymore. He was fighting a goddamn cat.
It started subtly, small battles, minor inconveniences, little acts of defiance that Sicheng had been willing to ignore. Da Bing blocking his path, swatting at his hand, judging him with those damn blue eyes every time he got near Yao.
But now?
Now it was personal. Because this morning, as Sicheng went through his usual routine, stretching slightly as he swung his legs over the bed, he reached down, slipping his foot into his waiting house slipper. And immediately froze. Because the second his foot made contact, he felt it. Something wet. Something sticky. Something furry. A slow, creeping sense of dread settled over him as his face went blank, his brain immediately rejecting the reality of what had just occurred. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, he pulled his foot back, looking down.
And there it was.
A hairball.
Sitting innocently in the depths of his slipper, as if it had been placed there deliberately. As if it had been left as a warning.
Sicheng just stared at it, completely still. He wasn't a man who was easily shaken. He had endured high-stakes matches, infuriating interviews, insufferable opponents, board meetings full of old men trying to challenge him. He had survived years in this industry, built himself from the ground up, outplayed some of the smartest players in the league.
But this?
This was different. Because this wasn't just bad luck. This wasn't just an accident. This was an attack and it was personal. He slowly turned his head, gaze sharp, expression unreadable as he scanned the room. And there, sitting right outside his bedroom door, staring at him with the same smug, unreadable judgment as always.
Was Da Bing.
The fluff ball himself.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Victorious.
Sicheng exhaled slowly. "So that's how it is."
Da Bing didn't move. Didn't blink. Just flicked his tail ever so slightly, like he knew. Like he was daring him to do something about it. And that's when Sicheng realized something. He was at war. And his opponent? Was a goddamn cat.
Sicheng dragged a hand through his hair as he finally leaned back, tearing his eyes away from Da Bing's smug, heavy-lidded gaze as if admitting a temporary loss, though he'd never say it aloud. His fingers flexed slightly against his thigh, the irritation still simmering beneath the surface, but it dulled the moment his attention shifted—fully and entirely—to her.
Yao was still standing a few paces away, holding the papers to her chest like a fragile shield, her expression drawn into the soft confusion that always accompanied moments where logic and reality weren't aligning, and she couldn't understand why. She blinked once, her hazel eyes flicking back to Da Bing, who had now started grooming his paw with pointed indifference, then back to Sicheng. "Were you… arguing with my cat?"
He didn't dignify it with a verbal response. Just narrowed his eyes at Da Bing once more—who flicked his tail with obnoxious grace and sprawled deeper into the cushion like he had just claimed the throne.
Yao's lips parted slightly in disbelief, then closed again, and she shook her head softly like she was chalking it up to something she'd ask him about later—or possibly not at all, to preserve both of their dignity.