Summary: Match day begins with precision and ends with steam—both from the hotpot and a certain captain's relentless smirk. As plans are tested and lines are drawn, Yao doesn't just hold the team accountable, she holds her ground. And when an old shadow reappears, it isn't strength or noise that defines the moment. It's a choice. Quiet, steady, and hers alone.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Thursday morning.
Match day.
The ZGDX base stirred with the low hum of movement, early but purposeful. The light outside was soft, filtered through a pale sky as the sun struggled past the early haze.
In the kitchen, the overhead light cast a warm glow as Yao stood quietly at the counter, stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea. The steam rose in slow, delicate ribbons as she reached for the thick folder beside her, a neatly organized printout of LAN's draft behavior, rotation pacing, and timing breakdowns she'd prepared over the last three nights. She sat at the table, cross-legged in the chair, her laptop already open beside the folder. A smaller tablet flickered with player movement overlays as she scrolled through, double-checking the final sync between LAN's vision placement and jungle shift windows.
Near her chair, Da Bing lounged silently, his thick white tail brushing against the leg of her chair with slow, deliberate movements. His head was up, posture regal, ears flicking only once in acknowledgment when the fridge clicked softly behind them. On the other side of the kitchen, Xiao Cong pawed dramatically at the leg of the dining table, then gave a chirp of disapproval when his antics went ignored.
The soft rhythm of footsteps approached.
Sicheng stepped into view, already in uniform, ZGDX jacket half-zipped, phone in hand, the sharp focus of match day already on him. His gaze swept the room once, resting first on her, then the cats, before he crossed the space toward the table. "You've been up long?" he asked, voice low, still edged with sleep.
Yao shook her head, eyes still on the screen. "Not long. I just wanted to tighten the vision counterframes for their support. If they're still defaulting to a mirrored map split, they'll tilt if we force the same collapse twice."
Sicheng gave a short hum of agreement, leaned slightly, and picked up the open folder she'd annotated. His eyes skimmed it quickly, midlane hover patterns, bot-side aggression, support roam windows. "No holes?" he asked.
"None that I can see," Yao replied, fingers brushing over the tablet. "I've got contingency notes loaded on my drive. Just in case."
He set the folder back down and reached for her mug without asking, taking a sip before setting it in front of her again. "I told the others to be packed before seven," he said. "Coach is already downstairs."
Yao nodded and stood, smoothing her sleeves as she slipped the tablet into her bag. She reached down, brushing her fingers over Da Bing's thick fur. He leaned into her hand once, then let her go with a soft chuff. Xiao Cong stretched like he'd been summoned, tail high, trotting after her toward the hallway.
Sicheng watched as she moved to grab her jacket and backpack, still silent as she zipped it. The quiet wasn't heavy. It was steady. Focused. This wasn't nerves. It was preparation. They were ready. The team would head to the arena. And Yao, carrying her notes, her calm, and her watchful eyes, would be right there—just behind them, exactly where she was needed.
The low buzz of the arena's crowd didn't quite reach into the ZGDX team lounge, but the pulse of it was still there, behind the walls. It hummed through the floor if you listened for it.
Yao sat quietly in the far corner of the room, a soft folder in her lap, tablet slipped inside, fingers curled loosely around the edge. Her posture was relaxed but small—shoulders slightly in, head slightly down, not out of discomfort, just instinct. Her place wasn't with the others at the center of the room. It never had been. Across from her, the rest of the team was getting into position—not for stage yet, just mentally aligning. The air had gone quieter as they'd neared walkout time. Focus replaced the scattered, early-morning chatter.
Sicheng stood near the far wall, arms folded, eyes unreadable as he watched the room. The captain hadn't said much since arrival. He didn't need to. His presence was steady enough on its own. Ming sat with his elbows on his knees, gaze angled toward the floor, not blinking much. Lao Mao leaned against the back wall, silently rolling his neck and shoulders out. Lao K stood near the door, listening to Coach Kwon's last words while adjusting his sleeves. Pang, more subdued than usual, flicked a stray string off his uniform cuff and looked at nothing in particular.
Yue lounged near Rui, one leg up, arms crossed, unusually quiet for him. His eyes were sharp, though, flicking every so often toward the lounge TV monitor where the countdown clock had already ticked below ten minutes. Kwon stood near the center of the group, speaking low, clipped—delivering the last strategic touchpoints before stage walkout. Rui was next to him, checking his messages, coordinating with production through one earpiece.
Yao remained where she always did—close, but never in the middle. Her role wasn't onstage. It was behind them. Around them. Not loud. Never visible. Just present. She waited for the pause between notes, then stood gently, brushing her fingers along the folder's edge as she approached Coach Kwon and quietly passed him a single clipped sheet. He didn't speak, just took it and scanned. "Support rotation during second push window," she said softly, eyes not lifting. "If they crash early, we can trap with a wide peel. They won't have cooldowns."
Coach Kwon gave a quiet grunt of approval.
Yao stepped back, folding her arms again over the tablet. She didn't look toward the others. But Sicheng, near the wall, let his gaze slide over to her. He didn't say a word—just met her eyes for a single breath. She dipped her head in acknowledgment and returned to her seat.
Rui straightened. "One minute."
Kwon stepped forward. "Move."
No theatrics. No last rally.
Just trust.
The team lined up, white-red-black silhouettes in the dim corridor lighting as the staff called them forward.
Yao remained seated.
Watching.
Quiet.
Still.
And when the door closed behind them, she pulled her knees back in, folded her hands, and waited.
The lounge had gone still the moment ZGDX's team walkout lit up the screen.
The arena crowd roared across the monitors. White uniforms—crisp, clean, sharp lines of red and black—flooded the camera's frame as the casters announced the headliner of the day: ZGDX vs. LAN.
Yao sat alone on the far corner of the couch, her tablet closed beside her, hands gently folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the center monitor as the camera cut to the loading screen. She didn't lean forward. She didn't pace. But her shoulders were stiff. She knew the game plan. She'd spent the last three days refining that bot-side rotation window. Final jungle route pressure from LAN wasn't new. They'd anticipated it. Built around it. She'd timed it to the second.
And then—
They went off script.
She blinked once.
Then twice.
Ming rotated early.
Pang pulled too wide on the flank.
And K?
He committed first.
By the time they got to minute eight, it was already slipping.
No one died.
No towers were lost.
But they abandoned her prep. She didn't shout. She didn't gasp. She just exhaled slowly and picked up the stylus next to her and started writing.
When the match was over, the hallway outside filled quickly—shouts from crew, movement from production, footsteps quickening with the shuffle of stage breakdown.
The door to the ZGDX lounge opened.
Sicheng walked in first, white and red jacket slung over one shoulder, expression unreadable. Behind him came Lao Mao, Pang, Ming, and Lao K in sequence, sweat still fresh at their temples, laughter low and mixed with leftover adrenaline. They were ahead. But not by much. Not by enough to justify what they had pulled. And waiting in the center of the lounge, hands firmly planted on her hips, one foot tapping the floor with the kind of pointed rhythm that only meant one thing—
Yao.
Not the quiet, blushing girl who sat in corners. Not the soft-spoken analyst who passed notes and avoided the center of the room.
No—
This was Tiny Boss Bunny.
Eyes sharp.
Cheeks pink with frustration.
And expression screaming "Explain yourselves."
The boys froze.
Sicheng came to a slow stop, blinking.
Lao K muttered under his breath, "…We're dead."
Yue, from his spot on the other couch, lifted a single hand in farewell. "It was nice knowing you."
Yao didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. She fixed her gaze on Kwon, who had just walked in behind them, then turned her attention back to the team. Her voice came quiet, measured. "You were supposed to force the hover delay," she said, eyes locked on Ming. "I gave you the timing for the cut."
Ming opened his mouth, then shut it.
Yao turned to Pang. "You were supposed to be on standby, not diving wide into brush with no vision. Twice."
Pang scratched the back of his head.
Lao K coughed and looked away.
"Do you know how many hours I spent mapping the counter-flank pattern?" she asked, arms now crossing as her foot tapped faster. "Do you?"
Silence.
Then:
"We were adapting," Sicheng said finally, voice low as he was trying to cover his ass before he got banned from her apartment…again.
Her eyes snapped to him. "I gave you room to adapt. I wrote it in," she said. "You were supposed to adapt after the collapse."
Sicheng paused.
Yao stepped forward.
Still small.
Still quiet.
But with every ounce of fire she kept tucked behind her soft voice lit up now. "You all said you'd follow the plan for round one. You all looked me in the eye and said, 'Got it, Yao.' And then you ignored everything I gave you, and I—" She choked slightly and looked away, collecting herself, voice tightening. "I don't care that we won the round. I care that we blew the prep."
No one said a word. Even Rui paused mid-text, blinking over the rim of his glasses. Kwon coughed softly into his hand. Yao didn't cry. She didn't yell. She just stood there, shoulders stiff, foot still tapping.
And Sicheng?
He looked at her for a long moment. Then stepped forward. Stopped just a pace in front of her. "I won't let them ignore it next round," he said quietly.
Her eyes lifted to meet his. "I'm serious." she uttered with a frown.
"I know," he said. "I'd be scared too, if I were them."
Yao blinked once.
"Can we get her a plush sword or something—so we know when she's about to go off?" Pang let out a small whimper behind them.
"It's not the sword. It's the bunny wrath." Yue answered from the couch.
Ming, voice quiet, added, "We'll fix it next round."
Yao crossed her arms tighter. Then nodded once. Still pink. Still flustered. But not backing down. Because sometimes? A quiet girl with a bunny face and a brain full of timing maps? Was the scariest person in the room.
As Yao stood there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, shoulders stiff and cheeks flushed in frustrated pink, she let out a sharp, breathy huff that came straight from the middle of her chest. Then…. She reached into the inner pocket of her ZGDX team jacket. And pulled out her Miniature Shikigami erasers. Each one a different tiny spirit animal with stubby limbs and very pointy foam heads.
Yue immediately ducked behind Rui. "Oh no. She's escalating."
"She brought out the erasers," Pang whispered, clutching the front of his shirt. "That's her version of a sniper rifle."
Without a word, Yao lifted one—
A fox—with its little red markings sharpened from years of being handled.
And she threw it.
It hit Pang right in the forehead.
Ping!
"Ack!" Pang squeaked. "That one's always aimed at me first!"
She didn't stop.
The second flew across the room.
Ping! Right off Lao K's shoulder.
He didn't even try to dodge. "I deserved that."
The third?
She turned slightly, narrowed her eyes, and pinged it straight at Ming's sleeve.
It bounced off his arm and hit the floor.
Ming gave a single nod. "Accepted."
And the fourth—
She turned directly to Sicheng.
Her Intended.
Her Captain.
The one who had looked her in the eye that morning and promised he would follow the prep. Her foot stomped, hard against the floor. Not loud. But final. She pointed at him, eyes burning now, lips pressed together in a tight line.
Then—
Ping!
The little dragon-shaped eraser nailed him in the chest, bounced off, and hit the ground with a pitiful little flop.
Sicheng slowly bent down, picked it up, and turned it in his fingers once before sliding it into his pocket. "I'll hold onto that one." he murmured.
"You better." Yao muttered under her breath, stomping her foot again as she turned back toward her seat. "And you're not off the hook." she added without looking back.
Pang flopped into the couch. "This is why I'm never dating an analyst."
"You're not dating anyone," Yue said, already leaning toward Rui for protection. "Let's keep the delusions minimal today."
Rui sighed. "All of you shut up and hydrate."
Yao sat, still pink-cheeked, still fuming quietly but with her little eraser case back in her lap, the lid shut with finality. And even as the team slowly relaxed again, not a single one of them dared question the order that had just been reestablished.
The match officials were calling them to staging.
Rui was already at the door, waving a hand for the team to fall in. Kwon stood by the open lounge door, quiet as ever, arms folded, his silence making it clear that Yao's earlier scolding had required no follow-up from him.
Sicheng was the first to move, jacket crisp, steps slow as always but his eyes flicked briefly toward the corner of the room where Yao remained seated, arms folded, folder now tucked beneath one elbow like a disciplinary tool she could and would weaponize again.
The rest of the team moved with just enough stiffness that it was clear they were absolutely aware of the consequences of deviating again.
Yao stood, chin tucked, but voice clear. "Stick to the script," she said quietly. "Unless you absolutely have no choice, unless it is critical—don't go off it again." Her eyes flicked toward Ming. Then K. Then Pang. And finally—Sicheng. Her gaze narrowed. He arched a brow—barely. "You," she said, tone soft but firm, "are not exempt." The others immediately paused, hovering near the door, sensing something more was coming. "If you go off plan again," she continued, cheeks burning now but not backing down, "you will be banned from my apartment for three full days."
Lao K snorted on how badly this woman had their Captain wrapped around her little finger. Pang whistled under his breath. Lao Mao choked back a laugh and muttered something under his breath about collateral damage.
But Yao wasn't finished. "And," she said, her voice trembling a little with the weight of what she was about to threaten, "when we fly out Saturday for the Tsinghua trip? If you're still banned, I will personally request a separate room."
Sicheng blinked once.
Yao's eyes locked with his, blazing despite her pink cheeks and curled fists. "And I know your father will make that happen." she added.
That got him.
For half a second, his eyes narrowed—not in irritation, but in something more amused. More startled. Impressed, even. Then his mouth twitched. "I see." he said smoothly.
"You should." Yao replied, shifting her folder higher on her hip like a little general issuing her final terms of surrender.
"I do."
She stomped her foot once for emphasis—her signature punctuation. Then turned away, cheeks red, arms tight at her sides.
Yue ducked behind Rui like he was shielding himself from the emotional blast. "The apartment ban is one thing," he whispered. "But getting Lu Sheng involved? That's... cold."
Pang whispered reverently, "She weaponized the Lu Patriarch. We're all gonna die."
Sicheng's lips curved faintly as he turned back toward the door. "All right," he said low, his voice brushing through the air like it meant more than it sounded. "Let's stick to the plan."
"You better!" Yao called from behind him as the team disappeared through the hallway.
And this time?
Not a single one of them was going to step even one pixel off script.
The second round had been clean.
Crisp rotations.
Perfect pressure timing.
Every trigger hit exactly where it should have.
LAN collapsed by minute twelve, and ZGDX never let them breathe after that. By the time the Nexus exploded, even the commentators had gone quiet in stunned disbelief. No desperate brawls. No fancy tricks. Just cold, clinical dominance.
Exactly like Yao had planned.
Now, back in the ZGDX lounge, the energy was very different.
Pang all but danced into the room, grabbing a water bottle from the table and cracking it open with a flourish. "That," he declared, "was art."
Lao Mao rolled his neck out, dropped into the couch, and muttered, "Feels better when we don't improvise ourselves into a corner."
Ming quietly sat and toweled the sweat from his face, calm but not without the faint hint of pride in his posture. Lao K offered a small nod toward Yao, who was still standing in the same spot she'd been in before the team walked out—folder hugged to her chest, tablet pressed beneath her arm, and an expression that had shifted from intense focus to something far more… pink.
Because Sicheng had just walked back in. His jacket was off now, draped casually over one shoulder, and his walk was slow. Purposeful. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he approached her, and the moment he stopped in front of her, his voice dropped into that low, familiar rumble that always sent heat rushing to her face. "I'd like my reward now," he said.
Yao blinked, caught off guard, backing up half a step until her shoulders brushed the wall. "What—" she sputtered, voice pitching higher, "—what reward?"
"For sticking to the script," he said, tilting his head slightly, eyes gleaming. "I was very well-behaved."
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. "I—I didn't agree to anything—!"
Sicheng leaned in.
Closer.
One hand braced beside her head.
His lips barely a breath from her ear. "You said I'd regret it if I didn't," he murmured, voice thick with amusement, "but you never said what happens if I did everything right."
Yao's face went scarlet. "S-Sicheng—!"
He leaned down just a little more.
And nipped her ear.
Soft.
Teasing.
Gone a second later.
Yao let out an audible squeak, slapped both hands to the sides of her face, and backed straight into the wall, eyes wide. "You—! You Hooligan!"
Sicheng laughed, full and low, stepping back with that self-satisfied air that only made it worse.
The entire team was staring.
Yue coughed violently into his boba.
Pang dropped his seaweed snack. "Did he just—"
"I think he just bit her ear." Lao K confirmed flatly.
Ming didn't even look up from drying his hands. "He warned her."
Rui had walked in just in time to catch it and sighed. "I'm not dealing with this. Handle your feral captain on your own."
Yao was still covering her ears, cheeks burning like wildfire as she tried—failed—to recompose herself.
Sicheng leaned casually against the couch near her, arms folded, smirk intact. "Three-day ban lifted yet?" he asked innocently.
Yao glared at him, still pink. "…Maybe," she mumbled.
He leaned just a little closer. "I'll take that as a yes."
The team exited the arena into the cool evening air, spirits high and shoulders lighter after their 2-0 sweep over LAN. The production crew had already scattered, the buzz of the crowd fading behind them as they made their way to the waiting ZGDX bus at the curb.
The doors hissed open.
Yao was the first to climb aboard. Still red-cheeked from earlier. Still holding onto the lingering fluster from a certain Captain's ear-nipping antics. And without a single word, she moved straight for the second row, slid into the seat by the window, and dropped her bag firmly onto the inside cushion beside her. She turned. Looked directly at Ming—calm, quiet, slightly surprised Ming.
"Ming-ge," she said softly, a hint of sweetness, a hint of strategy, "will you sit with me?"
Ming blinked, then nodded without hesitation as he snorted as he knew what she was doing to get back at a certain pain in the ass captain. "Sure." He took the seat beside her, already pulling out his phone, entirely aware of the small storm beginning to form behind them.
Sicheng had just stepped onto the bus. He paused. Saw her. Saw Ming. Saw the bag still pressed between them like a line in the sand and narrowed his eyes slightly.
Pang whistled low from behind him. "Oof. She's still mad."
Yue snorted. "That's a 'you sleep in your own room tonight' face if I've ever seen one."
"I think he's pouting," Lao Mao added helpfully.
"I am not pouting," Sicheng muttered, climbing the last step up. He shot Yao a look. She didn't meet it. She was staring out the window, very busy watching the passing streetlights. Sicheng slowly dragged his gaze toward the only open space left…. Yue.
Slouched in the aisle seat. Smirking.
"Hey, brother," Yue drawled. "Want to sit together? I promise not to steal your pillow this time."
Sicheng exhaled.
Long.
Slow.
And dropped into the seat beside him like a man accepting temporary exile.
"Still flustered at you, huh?" Yue added with a grin.
Sicheng didn't answer but his glare toward the back of Ming's head was enough to wither plants.
Yao, still facing the window, said nothing but her ears were pink.
The bus rumbled quietly beneath them, city lights flickering across the windows as Shenzhen passed by in blurred streaks of gold and silver. In the second row, Yao still sat tucked by the window, voice soft and quiet as she showed Ming something on her tablet. He leaned slightly toward her, nodding once, offering a calm reply in that mild, steady tone of his.
Sicheng?
Sicheng was sulking.
Full. On. Brooding.
Arms folded across his chest. Legs stretched out into the aisle. Head tilted slightly toward the window but his eyes? Fixed just left of Ming's head like he could incinerate the man's aura with sheer annoyance.
Yue tried not to laugh. He really did. But every few seconds, he caught another glimpse of his brother's face, sharp jaw clenched, mouth a thin line, one foot tapping like it wanted to kick something expensive and Yue couldn't help the low snort that escaped. "You gonna live?" he asked under his breath.
Sicheng didn't answer.
Pang, sitting two rows behind, leaned forward. "She's still mad?"
"She asked Ming to sit with her," Yue said.
Pang blinked. "Why didn't you just growl at him until he moved?"
"It's Ming," Sicheng muttered, finally speaking. "He doesn't care."
"Oh. Right. Yeah, no—he'd just lean into it."
"He did."
Pang winced.
"Twice."
Lao K, ever the observer, added, "He even shared her cherry candies just now."
Sicheng's foot hit the floor with a dull thud. He stared straight ahead for another ten seconds, jaw flexing, before he pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped once, then leaned forward to the driver's side partition. "Change of plans," he said, tone cool but edged. "Take us to the hotpot place."
The driver blinked, surprised. "Your usual place?"
"Yes and let them know we're bringing the whole team."
Pang turned slightly at the sound of his voice. "Hotpot?"
Sicheng didn't even look at him as he was still sulking. "Celebration. You all did well."
Yue blinked. "Wait. You're treating?"
"You've all been sticking to the new diet," he said dryly. "Even Pang."
"Hey," Pang defended weakly. "That's only because you threw out all my snacks!"
"And replaced them with meal prep," Sicheng said flatly. "So yes. You've earned one cheat night."
Ming turned his head slightly as he was trying to not laugh at the man. "Thank you, Cheng."
Sicheng narrowed his eyes at the back of his head. The calm. The perfect posture. The way he very much knew Yao was still sitting right beside him. Sicheng looked out the window again. Scowled and muttered under his breath, "Next time I'm bringing my own car, she and I will ride in that…"
The warm scent of broth and spice spilled out of the front doors the moment ZGDX stepped off the bus, the neon sign casting a familiar red glow over the sidewalk. Laughter echoed from the second floor. Their usual table was already being prepped in the corner—private, elevated, and tucked just enough out of sight to let the team unwind.
Pang was already half-bouncing ahead, practically glowing at the promise of real food.
"Commander Sicheng's Tactical Food War." Yue joked loudly behind him, something about how he deserved extra dessert for surviving
Ming walked at Yao's side, silent as ever, calmly nodding along to something she was saying as she adjusted the strap of her bag.
And then, he stepped into view.
At the far end of the restaurant, near the main doors, a group in dark navy jackets was already standing. Their table was being cleared, laughter still lingering as they reached for their coats and phones. Jian Yang.
Yao didn't even have to fully turn to feel the weight of his stare. He'd frozen mid-step. Mid-conversation. His head lifted, and the second his eyes landed on her. Her entire body tensed. Not visibly. Just enough. Like instinct. And before anyone could speak, before anyone could ask or notice, Yao moved. She turned on her heel, stepped away from Ming without a word, and walked directly to Sicheng's side. Not behind him. Not beside his shoulder. Right next to him. Her hand brushed lightly against the side of his jacket, an anchor, not a grip.
Sicheng paused only for a second. Then looked down at her and without needing to ask why. He slid his hand against her back. His fingers curled gently into the back of her jacket, pulling her the final inch closer, his stance widening just slightly, not aggressive, just there. Unshakeable.
Across the room, Jian Yang's expression twisted, something sharp, something unreadable. But he didn't step closer. Didn't say a word.
Because Lu Sicheng was looking at him now too.
And that stare?
Was lethal in the quietest way possible.
Yao stayed close. She didn't speak. Didn't make a sound. But the way she pressed into Sicheng's side? That was all anyone needed to know.
Sicheng didn't speak. He didn't need to. With Yao tucked quietly at his side, his hand resting protectively at the small of her back, the message was clear: You don't speak to her. You don't even look at her.
Jian Yang, still halfway between the dining area and the front exit, shifted slightly, whether to step forward or to say something, it didn't matter.
Because that's when Lao Mao noticed him. And his face darkened instantly. He didn't speak either. But his eyes locked onto the man like they were tracking a target. Lao K, right behind him, came to a dead stop. Yue, who had just finished laughing at Pang's latest complaint about broth flavor, dropped the expression immediately. His entire mood changed. Gone was the teasing younger brother. What remained? Was cold. Focused. And not friendly.
"Is that—?" Pang started to ask—
But Rui had already noticed as he moved forward quickly, placing a guiding hand on Yao's shoulder with a low, smooth voice. "Our table's ready. Let's go."
Jian Yang didn't move. His teammates were beginning to step out the doors behind him, still loud, still laughing, unaware of the frost settling in the room.
Yao didn't say anything. She hadn't since the moment she saw him. But she leaned closer into Sicheng's side, her shoulder brushing his chest, her face angled slightly away—not hiding. Just choosing not to give Jian Yang anything.
Sicheng moved with her. His hand remained at her lower back, guiding, steady, silent. His body never broke contact—not once—as they walked past the man who had once tried to humiliate and control the girl now clinging quietly to his warmth.
Jian Yang said nothing. He watched and they passed him like he didn't exist.
The others followed.
Yue made sure to walk a little slower, turning his head just enough to look at Jian Yang, expression blank but eyes burning. Lao Mao didn't even glance his way. He just walked like he might break something if he did. Lao K nudged him even though the Jungler was not pleased to run into that ass. Even Ming, who never got involved unless it mattered, kept himself deliberately between Yao and Jian Yang until they were safely around the corner and headed up the steps to the second floor.
Only once they were seated did the tension start to bleed out. Yao had taken the far inside seat. Sicheng sat directly beside her. Close. Unapologetically close.
Yue flopped down across from them and whispered to Pang, "If he had said one word, I would've dumped the hotpot on his shoes."
"I would've helped," Pang replied grimly.
Yao stayed close to Sicheng, hands curled lightly in her lap. She hadn't said a single word since the encounter. But the fact that she'd chosen where to stand, who to stand with. That said everything.
Their private table was set and waiting, tucked into the quietest corner of the second floor. A low curtain helped muffle the noise from the other diners, but they didn't need the separation to know where their boundaries were. Jian Yang had left. And ZGDX? Was firmly back in their space. The broth was already bubbling. The familiar scent of spice and umami comfort drifted through the steam.
Yao sat nestled into the booth's corner, her side lightly touching Sicheng's, her hands folded over her lap as she watched the steam curl upward. She hadn't said much since they sat down. No one expected her to. Sicheng, seated right next to her, didn't take his eyes off the pot. He dipped the first batch in, thinly sliced beef, mushrooms, bok choy and didn't say a word as he gently scooped everything into a clean bowl and set it in front of her. When she hesitated, he nudged it slightly closer with the side of his chopsticks, his knee brushing hers beneath the table. She exhaled softly. Picked up her chopsticks. Took a bite. He didn't say good girl. He didn't need to.
Across the table, Pang was halfway through organizing the sauce trays by flavor profile. "If anyone spills sesame oil on me again, I swear I'm walking out."
Lao Mao arched a brow. "You say that every time."
"And I mean it. Every time."
Lao K, folding meat with mechanical precision, muttered, "You'd walk back in for the tofu skin."
"I would," Pang admitted. "I love that stuff."
Yao's lip twitched faintly. On the bench corner, Ming quietly poured himself a second cup of hot tea, nodding once toward her in that soft, steady way he always did, like acknowledging her presence without calling attention to it. She nodded back, grateful.
Yue, seated near the end with Rui, reached forward and plucked a radish slice from Pang's bowl. "You had enough air time already. Let the rest of us eat in peace."
"You didn't even play!" Pang hissed.
"I still endured trauma from the lounge," Yue replied flatly. "She paced. You don't know fear until you see Tiny Boss Bunny pacing."
Rui didn't even lift his head from his phone. "She broke a pencil in half during the first game."
"I didn't mean to." Yao mumbled.
"She snapped it clean and you made her pace, Ge." Yue whispered reverently, then glanced at Sicheng.
Sicheng gave him a long, slow look. Yue immediately grabbed a mushroom and shut up. Dinner continued. No tension now. No pressure. Just warmth. The sound of chopsticks, the steam curling above the pot.
Sicheng never once let his hand drift more than a breath away from the girl at his side. He refilled her bowl before she finished each time. Made sure nothing sat too long in the broth. Passed her sauces without asking. And when she leaned ever so slightly into him halfway through the meal, resting her shoulder against his just a bit longer than before. He didn't move. He didn't even blink. He just adjusted his arm on the back of the booth, letting it rest behind her, a silent shield. Not claiming her. Not crowding her. Just being there. Because she didn't need big gestures. She needed steady presence and Lu Sicheng had never been anything less than that for her.
The base had gone quiet. It always did after match days, once the adrenaline wore off and the last round of laughter settled into softer voices. The team had peeled off to their rooms one by one. Rui had left a list on the kitchen counter for the next morning. The hall lights had dimmed.
Yao stood just inside her apartment, barefoot on the rug, her long braid falling over one shoulder, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her oversized sleep shirt. She heard the soft thud of Sicheng dropping his jacket on the back of her desk chair. He didn't say anything. He rarely did when she was quiet like this. He just waited. Let her set the tone. And after a few seconds, she finally turned toward him, her voice barely more than a whisper. "…Can you…" she paused, then looked down, her fingers twisting tighter into the edge of her sleeve. "Will you… stay?"
Sicheng looked at her from where he was standing near the window, arms loose at his sides. His expression didn't shift much but the silence felt warmer now.
Yao's voice trembled the second time. "I mean… just to sleep. Just… I…" She swallowed, her eyes finally lifting to meet his. "I know today was a lot and I don't want to be a bother but… I'd feel better if you were here." Her cheeks were already flushed, the kind of color that didn't fade easily. Her eyes—so open, so unsure—watched him like she half-expected to be told no.
Sicheng didn't speak right away. He just crossed the room slowly, his steps soft over the rug, and stopped just in front of her.
And when he looked at her—really looked—there was no teasing smirk. No lazy lean or cocky tilt of his mouth. Just a quiet, steady presence. "I wasn't going anywhere." he said, voice low and even. Her shoulders dropped an inch, just enough to show she'd been holding tension there. Her fingers relaxed slightly. He reached out, gently brushing his knuckles over the side of her face, just beneath her cheekbone. "You want pajamas or just your usual over-planning folder for a pillow?" he murmured with a soft teasing tone.
That startled a laugh out of her, soft and breathy. "I already put the folder away."
"Good. Then it's just you and me." She hesitated again, then took a small step closer and pressed her forehead lightly to his chest. Sicheng's arms wrapped around her like it was second nature—because for him, it was. No demands. No questions. Just warmth. Safety. And the quiet heartbeat of a man who had never asked her to change but had always chosen to stay.