Summary: One kitten's tantrum spirals into accusations, threats, and a storm of stolen kisses, sharp commands, and Shikigami erasers. But beneath all the drama, something quieter takes root—discipline, loyalty, and a warning: you don't disrespect ZGDX and walk away without consequence. Not when she's watching. And definitely not when he's playing.
Chapter Forty-Three
It was late evening, the kind of stillness that fell over the ZGDX base when the clamor of games had quieted, the takeout boxes had been discarded, and most of the team had sprawled across couches and beanbags in varying states of digital exhaustion. The low hum of a streamer recap played in the background, but no one was really paying attention to it—until a certain sound sliced through the calm like a dagger.
"Xiao Cong!"
Yao's voice, while not raised, carried the unmistakable edge of warning that had every male in the room straightening just a bit—even Da Bing, who had been contentedly lounging in a sunbeam near the window, lifted his head with a slow, feline blink of curiosity.
Yue paused mid-scroll through his phone and glanced over. "What'd the tiny menace do now?"
Sicheng didn't even look up from the reports he was reviewing. "Vitamin time."
A soft thump followed by a distressed little mrowr echoed through the room.
"Vitamin time?" Pang repeated, eyebrows lifting as he leaned back in his seat.
"Salmon-flavored drops," Lao K muttered from the kitchen, sipping tea. "Supposed to be good for his joints and fur."
"I thought I heard the bottle." Lao Mao added, just as another thump followed.
Yao, kneeling beside the long sectional couch in the living room, let out a slow breath as she held the small bottle of pink-tinted liquid in one hand and peered under the couch with practiced patience. "Xiao Cong…" she coaxed gently. "Come on out. You need to take this. You know you always feel better afterward."
From beneath the couch, the tiniest, most dramatically betrayed sound came in reply. A low, sustained mrrreeeeeooowrrr that carried all the heartbreak and resistance of a cat who believed his life was over. And then—another sound. A tiny sneeze. Then silence.
"God," Yue whispered, eyes wide as he leaned forward, "he's fake crying. That little traitor's learned to fake cry."
"Did he just sneeze for dramatic effect?" Pang asked, gaping.
Sicheng finally glanced up, eyebrow raised as he stared toward the couch. "Yes."
Yao sighed again, shifting to lie flat on the ground, her platinum hair spilling beside her arm as she gently reached a hand beneath the couch. "Cheng-ge, please help me coax him out." she muttered without looking up.
Sicheng stayed seated for precisely five more seconds, clearly hoping Xiao Cong would come out of his own accord.
He didn't.
What did happen was another pitiful mew—followed by the sound of the kitten rolling over dramatically beneath the couch and kicking his tiny legs like he was moments from death.
"He's weaponizing guilt," Lao K stated blankly. "He's going full drama prince."
Lan, had she been present, would have been proud.
Sicheng stood, walked over, and crouched beside Yao, peering under the couch with an expression of a man trying to reason with a feline toddler. "Xiao Cong," he said flatly, "if you don't come out in the next five seconds, I'm telling Da Bing you tried to steal his tuna."
From under the couch came a warbling meep.
Sicheng narrowed his eyes. "Three."
Yao giggled softly.
"Two."
A slow, careful movement.
Then—a fuzzy gray head peeked out, ears pinned back, expression a perfect portrait of feline woe.
"One."
With a high-pitched mrowr, Xiao Cong dragged himself out from under the couch as if walking to his doom, his tail flicking like he was on trial for war crimes. Everyone watched, stunned, as he slumped dramatically onto Yao's lap, flopping belly-up in complete surrender.
"I feel like we just watched a soap opera." Yue whispered.
"Starring Xiao Cong," Pang added. "And co-starring his grief."
Yao, unfazed, cooed softly as she administered the vitamin drops with gentle precision. "Good boy. See? Not so bad."
Xiao Cong gave a tired little squeak, licking his nose once like he'd just survived an assassination attempt.
Sicheng stood again and returned to his seat.
Da Bing blinked slowly in judgment from his perch.
And Yao?
She gently kissed Xiao Cong's forehead as he let out one more exhausted mrrrow and flopped dramatically into the safety of her hoodie. "He's just sensitive," she said sweetly.
Yue muttered, "He's a whole damn drama club."
Sicheng had just settled back into his seat, the corners of his mouth tugged upward in that low, amused smirk of his, his hand resting idly across the top of the couch as Xiao Cong, freshly dosed with his salmon-flavored vitamin drop, nestled smugly in Yao's hoodie like he'd survived a great trial. With Da Bing once again assuming his position as the ever-watchful feline guard on the carpet, the chaos seemed to be winding down, laughter still lingering in the air like smoke after fireworks.
And then— He said it. "He inherited the flair for the dramatic from her side."
The moment the words passed his lips, it was as if time briefly froze.
Yao blinked once.
Twice.
Then, in one fluid motion, she stood.
Not abruptly. Not clumsily.
Deliberately.
Her platinum hair shifted over her shoulder like a silken banner, and her hazel eyes narrowed with surgical focus. Her foot came down in a sharp stomp against the floor that echoed with righteous authority and made even Da Bing lift his head and turn toward her. " Excuse me? " she snapped, pointing directly at Sicheng as her voice rose with the kind of incredulous fire that had every male in the room glancing between them like spectators at the beginning of a storm. " My side?" she echoed, her tone climbing just slightly with each word as she marched a step forward, her finger aimed at his chest. " The flair for dramatics came from my side? "
Sicheng raised an eyebrow, not yet saying anything, because he knew better. The rest of the team? They were already leaning back, alert and wide-eyed.
"You," Yao said, eyes blazing now as she continued her approach, "are the one who spent three days mother-hening me like some overbearing broody rooster. I so much as sniffled and you had Da Bing on patrol like he was my personal butler and Xiao Cong getting monitored for his hourly nap schedule."
Da Bing immediately got up from his resting spot and walked over to sit beside her, tail flicking in solemn agreement as he looked at Sicheng with narrowed blue eyes.
"And you ," she jabbed again, "called your father on your mother like a tattling teenager. A fully grown man calling in parental reinforcements because she was teasing you."
Xiao Cong squeaked once from the confines of her hoodie, poking his head out and letting out a tiny huff before disappearing again—clearly voicing his agreement.
Yao didn't even pause. And let's not forget the whole stamp collecting accusation. Accusing me— me! —of collecting dangerous connections like they were trading cards when I have done absolutely nothing but politely exist in the presence of people who just so happen to be a little overprotective of me!"
Sicheng blinked.
Once.
But before he could get a word in, her voice turned sharper, her expression tinged with that signature pointed clarity that could cut through any defense.
"And then— then —you tried to say I made A'guang cry at the arena! I didn't even raise my voice! I gave him constructive feedback, a few key stats, and encouraged him to improve! If anything, I was motivational! "
Yue let out a low whistle from across the room. "She's really going down the list."
Pang whispered, "She kept receipts."
Lao Mao muttered, "She might be more terrifying than Sicheng."
Da Bing shifted, his entire massive frame settling closer to her ankle, placing himself at her side as though to silently announce whose team he was on.
Yao folded her arms over her chest, her cheeks flushed, but her posture straight and unrelenting as she stared him down, defiance written in every inch of her frame. "Well?" she challenged.
Sicheng let out a slow breath and leaned back slightly, one arm draping over the back of the couch. His amber eyes flicked from her, to Da Bing, then briefly to the tiny traitor peeking out of her hoodie. His lips twitched. "Are you finished, beautiful?"
"No," she snapped. "But I'm pausing so you can explain how exactly you're not dramatic."
Sicheng tilted his head, his voice low and calm and far too pleased with himself. "You brought a feline entourage to your defense."
"They agree with me!"
"I can see that."
She narrowed her eyes again.
Da Bing let out a low, approving rumble.
And Xiao Cong gave a dramatic yawn like the matter had been decided.
Yao lifted her chin. "So?"
Sicheng held her gaze for a long moment.
Then, with a soft sigh and a shake of his head, he murmured, "Fine. Maybe the dramatics run on both sides."
Yao huffed. "Exactly."
He reached out, wrapped his fingers gently around her wrist, and tugged her back down onto the couch beside him, pulling her snugly into his side with practiced ease. "You know I like it when you get feisty," he murmured, brushing her platinum hair away from her face.
She scowled. "You're still in trouble."
He leaned in and kissed her temple. "I'm always in trouble."
Da Bing looked smug.
Xiao Cong purred.
And the rest of the room?
Was wisely silent.
As the chaos settled and the boys began to scatter—some heading for their rooms, others toward the kitchen in search of snacks they didn't need—Sicheng remained exactly where he was, calm and composed with one arm stretched along the back of the couch, the other curled loosely around the woman tucked snugly against his side. Yao, though flushed from her passionate outburst, had quieted in his hold, her chin lifted in dignified defiance even as her body had instinctively leaned into his warmth.
Da Bing had reclaimed his position at her feet, tail wrapped neatly around his paws like the stalwart defender he was, while Xiao Cong peeked sleepily from her hoodie with the bleary expression of someone who believed the battle had been won and it was time for well-deserved naps.
But Sicheng, with that slow, dangerous smirk playing at the corner of his lips and that glint in his amber eyes, was not finished.
Not yet.
Not when she had looked that fiery, that flushed, that breathtakingly indignant with her finger stabbing toward his chest and her voice vibrating with indignation.
He shifted just slightly, his arm drawing her in closer, and before she could register the movement, he darted down. His teeth closed gently around the curve of her ear—not harsh, not painful, but firm enough to make her freeze, eyes wide, spine locking in place with a gasp that didn't make it past her throat. He let his breath fan over her skin as his voice dropped low, husky, thick with amusement and something darker beneath. "I really do love it when you get feisty with me," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he spoke. "It's… incredibly attractive."
The squeak she let out was a high-pitched, utterly betrayed noise that had Da Bing lifting his head in alarm and Xiao Cong making a squeaky chirp of confusion from within her hoodie.
Yao lurched up from the couch like she'd just been set on fire, nearly toppling sideways over the coffee table before catching herself. Her face was a deep crimson, her eyes wide as she pointed at him with shaky hands that had forgotten how to function properly. "I—You— Bed! I'm going to bed!"
Sicheng merely leaned back again, far too relaxed for someone who'd just caused the system-wide shutdown of ZGDX's most fearsome little analyst. "Goodnight, Xiǎo tùzǐ," he called smoothly, his tone lazy, teasing, smug. "Sleep well."
Yao whirled, her hoodie bouncing as she stomped her way to the stairs, muttering under her breath, " Shameless Captain—evil man—disrespectful ear-biting lunatic— "
Da Bing gave Sicheng a look of sheer judgment before chasing after her with purposeful strides, while Xiao Cong peeked out again, blinked once at Sicheng, then ducked back into the hoodie like he was refusing to be involved.
From across the room, Yue, now holding a water bottle, shook his head and sighed. "She's going to write a thesis on psychological warfare at this rate."
Lao K snorted. "And the Captain will edit it."
Sicheng just smiled, unrepentant, as he leaned into the silence that followed. She always looked best when her cheeks were red, her steps were flustered, and his name was on her tongue like a challenge she hadn't decided whether to throw or kiss away.
The base was quiet with the kind of focused tension that only came before a match, and not just any match— FNC . Even with the others moving around the lounge and finalizing their gear, the air held a particular weight that only came when rivals stood waiting on the other side of the arena.
Sicheng had just finished zipping up his uniform jacket when he heard footsteps above. Slow but steady. He glanced up, gaze sharpening the moment she appeared at the top of the stairs.
Yao descended, her platinum hair pulled back into a loose braid and her ZGDX uniform fitted neatly beneath her half-zipped jacket. Though her skin still held the faint undertone of recovery, she looked composed, purposeful. Her hazel eyes swept the base as she moved, calm but tired in a way that didn't go unnoticed by anyone.
Sicheng was already waiting for her at the bottom, straightening slightly as she reached the final step. He said nothing at first, just looked at her. Not in that teasing way he usually did—no quiet smirk or playful remark—just a quiet assessment, his gaze fixed on the subtle tension in her shoulders and the slight rasp still clinging to her breath.
She stopped in front of him and adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
Before she could speak, his voice cut in low.
"How are you feeling," he asked, quiet and serious. "Not the version you give the others. Truthfully."
Yao blinked at the weight behind his words before answering, voice soft but clear. "My throat's still a little rough," she admitted, "and I'm still feeling a bit tired. Not awful, just... not completely there yet." She drew in a slow breath, then continued. "But I think I'll be fine to come with you. I won't be on stage, I'll just sit in the lounge. I can rest there just as easily as I can here."
Sicheng frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing just a little. "You sure?"
Yao nodded, her tone firm this time. "I've already had two full days of rest. It's just a lounge seat, and I want to be there with you."
A pause. Then, "I won't push past what I can do," she added, knowing what he needed to hear.
He didn't respond right away, only lifted his hand to adjust her collar, fingers brushing lightly against her neck. His jaw flexed like he wanted to argue—but didn't. "Alright," he said quietly. "But if anything changes, anything, you tell me. You're not staying there out of pride."
She gave a small smile. "You'd drag me home yourself if I didn't."
"I would," he said without hesitation.
Yao glanced over her shoulder toward the stairwell, her expression softening. "I already gave Da Bing and Xiao Cong their treats. They're staying in my room, and I locked the door so Xiao Cong doesn't try to start climbing furniture again."
Sicheng grunted. "Last thing we need is another shattered lamp."
Yao gave a half-laugh. "It was one time."
He didn't reply, just picked up her team jacket and handed it to her before quietly adjusting the zipper with a gentleness only she ever saw. "Let's go," he said simply.
And as the others filtered out ahead of them, Sicheng fell into step beside her—never behind, never ahead, always right where he needed to be.
At her side.
The ride to the arena was smooth, the usual silence in the van broken only by the occasional exchange between Lao Mao and Lao K over last-minute review notes. Yue was munching on dried squid, Pang was alternating between checking the team group chat and complaining that he hadn't eaten enough, and Sicheng sat near the front, legs stretched, one arm resting casually along the seat behind Yao.
Yao, curled comfortably beside him with her phone in her hands, had been quietly scrolling until a soft buzz lit up her screen.
She blinked.
YQCB_Hierophant: If that pain-in-the-ass little brother of mine steps even one toe out of line today, I expect you to tell me. No soft passes, no holding back.
Yao stared at the message for a second, then bit the inside of her cheek to stop the amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It was classic Kun Hyeok—blunt, cutting, and not even remotely subtle. She typed back with careful, polite diplomacy.
ZGDX_TinyBossBunny: If Hang Suk acts out, you'll be the first to know. But I'll be in the lounge, so he probably won't get close.
She'd just pressed send when she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye.
Sicheng's head had turned slightly. His gaze—casual in appearance but razor-edged in substance—was locked on her phone screen with the kind of precision that said he didn't miss a single detail. His amber eyes narrowed a fraction as he caught the sender's name.
Hierophant.
Sicheng said nothing, didn't flinch, didn't blink. But he shifted. The quiet hum of irritation rolled off him like static. Within seconds, his phone was in his hand, and his thumb moved with a calm, deliberate rhythm as he opened their private contact and started to type.
[ZGDX_Chessman] → [YQCB_Hierophant]: Message Yue if you're bored. Leave my Xiǎo tùzǐ alone.
No emojis. No punctuation flourish. Just a blunt, territorial message from one captain to another—and best friend or not, it wasn't a suggestion.
Yao, catching a glimpse of the message over his shoulder, blinked twice and lightly smacked his arm. "Sicheng—seriously?"
"Your mine," he replied without even looking at her, voice low and flat. "He knows better."
"You're being ridiculous. He was just—"
"Trying to make sure his little brother behaves, yes. He can do that without texting you. "
Yue, not even involved but clearly sensing chaos, leaned forward between the seats again. "Did Kun Hyeok message her again?"
Yao buried her face in her hands with a groan.
"Yes," Sicheng answered.
"No," she corrected at the same time.
"Yep," Yue said brightly. "We're going to have a fistfight on the main stage before the match even starts."
"Don't tempt me," Sicheng muttered.
Yao gave him a look. "You are not fighting Kun Hyeok over a text message."
"I'm not fighting," Sicheng said blandly. "I'm warning."
A soft buzz interrupted them again—this time on Sicheng's phone.
[YQCB_Hierophant]: Relax, Captain Overkill. She's still wearing your jacket. Not trying to steal your girl. Just making sure Hang doesn't screw it up for everyone.
Sicheng didn't reply. But he did pull Yao closer against his side, his arm dropping back around her waist as if to physically reassert what apparently needed no words.
"This is why you don't get any sympathy when people say you're scary." Yao exhaled, long and slow, and leaned in without fighting it.
He didn't deny it.
He didn't have to.
The lounge at the arena was comfortably chilled, the overhead lights dimmed just enough to ease the tension without dulling the edge of anticipation. The stage crew was still prepping, screens running highlights, and they had a good thirty minutes before the call to head backstage. Most of the team had scattered across the space in their usual fashion—Lao K sitting in the corner reviewing footage, Lao Mao quietly stretching with his earbuds in, and Pang perched near the snack table complaining that everything here was too healthy.
Yao sat near the back, cross-legged on the couch with a bottle of water and her tablet in her lap, fingers lazily scrolling. She wore her uniform with the sleeves pushed up, the ZGDX logo bold against her shoulder, her braid draped down her chest. Her hazel eyes flicked up every so often to check on her boys—her team—but mostly to track one man in particular.
Sicheng.
Their fearless, strategic, occasionally terrifying Captain was currently brooding in a chair near the far end of the room, one leg bouncing in irritation, arms folded, his phone clutched in one hand while he glared at the screen like it had personally offended him.
Yue glanced over. "Okay, what the hell did your best friend do this time?"
Sicheng didn't answer.
Yao lifted her eyes. "He's sulking."
"I noticed," Yue replied, "but why?"
Sicheng finally exhaled sharply, clearly trying not to snap. He shoved his phone into his jacket pocket and muttered, "Your favorite Hierophant thinks he's funny."
Yao blinked once. "Kun Hyeok?"
Yue perked up. "What'd he say?"
Sicheng gave him a look like he was considering murder as a valid tactic. "He said, and I quote, 'You're lucky I have a professional filter, because I swing both ways and your brother's cute and your Bunny is my type.' "
Pang choked on his protein bar.
Lao K's head whipped up. "What?"
"He—what?!" Yao's face flushed a brilliant red as her mouth fell open slightly.
Yue, however, looked almost smug. "I mean... I am cute."
"Not the point! He's messing with me on purpose. He knows it gets under my skin." Sicheng growled, slumping back in his chair, his tone laced with pure sulking fury.
Yao was still frozen, blinking rapidly. "He called me his type?"
Sicheng's eyes snapped to hers immediately, sharp and lethal. "Yes." Then he turned the glare right back onto Yue. "And you."
Yue threw his hands up. "Hey, I'm not even trying to attract anyone right now. Blame genetics."
Pang snorted into his drink. "I told you Hierophant liked chaos. Now he's just doing this because he knows it'll make Cheng sulk."
Lao Mao muttered, "He's doing a damn good job."
Sicheng rubbed the bridge of his nose, his expression murderous as he leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling like it had betrayed him too. "I'm going to kill him. Slowly. I'll start by unplugging his mouse during finals." Yao slowly covered her face with her hands, but not before he caught the way her lips twitched. "You're laughing." he accused darkly.
"I am not," she said behind her fingers, voice muffled.
"You are," he growled, sitting up straighter and pointing a finger at her. "You think this is funny? The man said he's into you and my brother. That's not funny."
"It's a little funny," Pang muttered.
Yue leaned in toward Yao with a grin. "Should I be worried your Intended is jealous of me again?"
"He's not jealous. He's sulking." Yao dropped her hands just enough to reveal her deadpan glare.
"I'm territorial," Sicheng snapped.
Yue raised both eyebrows. "You pouted when she replied to Kun Hyeok's text."
"I did not—"
"Yes, you did. You pouted. Your mouth did that thing." Lao Mao chimed in, not even looking up from his phone.
Sicheng slumped again, muttering under his breath.
Yao reached out slowly and tugged on the edge of his sleeve until he looked at her. "I'm yours, Cheng-ge," she said softly, her tone amused but fond. "You don't have to go full murder mode on your best friend. Though if he texts me that again, I will block him for your sake."
Sicheng narrowed his eyes. "You promise?"
She leaned closer, brushing her shoulder against his. "Cross my heart."
His eyes softened—just barely—but it was enough. He grunted something noncommittal, his fingers finding hers where they rested on the cushion between them and giving them a firm squeeze.
"So, am I flattered or worried that I'm part of the tension?" Yue flopped dramatically into the chair across from them.
"You're flattered," Pang replied dryly. "But if you keep talking, you'll be flattened."
Sicheng, fingers laced with Yao's, finally allowed the edge in his jaw to ease, muttering low under his breath, "Should've let him go to America when they tried to poach him, instead of telling him about the ADC position on YQCB. Maybe then he wouldn't have time to be texting my Bunny.."
Yao gave him a sidelong look, expression amused even as she squeezed his hand back. "You'd miss him."
His gaze didn't shift from her as he replied, smirking now with that slow, deliberate confidence that always carried a deeper weight when aimed at her. "Not if he keeps flirting with what's mine." And just like that, the sulking didn't disappear. It simply turned into something quieter, darker, and very, very Lu Sicheng.
The lounge had emptied in quiet, staggered steps, the hum of stage lights just beginning to bleed through the hall beyond as Rui stepped out to make a call and Yue muttered something about the bathroom before disappearing with a dramatic flip of his jacket. Lao Mao, Lao K, Ming and Pang with Kwon had already filed out toward the stage, leaving only her and him in the suddenly still room.
Sicheng had just reached for the zipper of his jacket, eyes fixed on the hallway ahead, his body already falling into match-day mode, when Yao's fingers curled gently around his wrist.
"Wait." she said softly.
He stopped instantly. His head turned, eyes narrowing slightly—not with annoyance, never with her—but with that silent focus that always came when she did something unexpected.
She took a step closer, her cheeks blooming with color, that distinct rose-tinted hue that reached the tips of her ears and crept down her neck like it had bloomed from her chest. Her hazel eyes flicked up to meet his, determined despite the flush warming her skin, and then—
Before he could even ask what was on her mind—
She rose onto her toes, delicate fingers braced against his chest, and kissed the corner of his mouth.
Soft.
Certain.
Undeniably hers.
Sicheng froze, the warmth of her lips against his skin sending a sharp, grounding jolt straight through him.
And then she pulled back just enough to whisper against his skin, her voice quiet, trembling, and laced with truth. "I'm yours," she murmured. "Your Intended." Then, with the same bold softness that undid him, she whispered it. "…Baobei."
Something in him snapped. Not in a harsh way. Not in a violent way. But in the way that heat flooded his chest and every instinct he'd ever spent a lifetime controlling surged forward like fire behind ice. That single word from her lips—spoken so shyly, so unguarded—ripped every restraint from him in a breath. His hand rose immediately, curling around the back of her neck with firm possession, not hard but certain, anchoring her in place as his head dipped and his mouth found hers in a kiss that swallowed the last space between them.
Deep.
Slow.
Deliberate.
His lips pressed against hers with heated reverence, coaxing rather than rushing, and when she gave the smallest whimper against his mouth, he shifted—nibbling gently on her bottom lip, drawing it between his teeth until she parted for him on instinct. And then he took her mouth fully. His other hand slid to her waist, pulling her against him, his chest flush to hers, her heartbeat frantic beneath his fingers.
She melted. Right there, standing in the center of their quiet sanctuary, while the arena outside waited, while the others moved through corridors and cameras came alive—she melted into him. Because there was no one else she would ever belong to and he made sure she remembered exactly why.
His mouth lingered on hers just a moment longer, the heat of her breath still mingling with his, her lips swollen and soft beneath the press of his own. His fingers curled gently at the back of her neck, anchoring her in place not because she would pull away—she hadn't—but because he needed that last second of closeness before reality returned. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled back, his amber eyes opening to find her flushed and breathless, her hazel gaze dazed and wide, her lips parted just slightly as if she hadn't quite caught up to what had just happened between them.
He didn't speak.
Not at first.
He just looked at her like he could memorize the sight—her platinum braid falling slightly over one shoulder, her cheeks burning with color, and that vulnerable, glowing softness that only ever came from her when she was completely, unequivocally his. His thumb brushed along her jaw, slow and reverent, like he was grounding himself in the reality that she'd just called him Baobei.
And then—
A loud knock interrupted the moment, sharp and precise.
" Cheng! " Ming's voice rang through the door, muffled but unmistakably annoyed. "Move your ass, let's go! We've got five minutes!"
Sicheng let out a slow breath, his gaze never leaving hers. "Of course," he muttered, voice flat and dry, "he would be the one to ruin the moment."
Yao blinked, still breathless, then let out a nervous little laugh that died the moment he leaned in again—not to kiss her, but to press his forehead to hers, just long enough for her to feel the weight of his intent settle over her like a vow.
"I'll win this for you," he whispered, the low promise slipping across her lips like heat. "Watch me." And then he stepped back—slow, reluctant, but steady. His hand brushed along hers for the briefest moment before he turned, the edge of that dangerous calm sliding back into place as he walked toward the door, his voice sharp and clear now. "I'm coming, Ming. Keep your headset on and your mouth shut."
The door opened.
Then closed behind him.
Leaving Yao standing in the lounge, fingers brushing her lips, her heart pounding far too loud for anyone to hear but her.
The stage lights roared to life, flooding the arena in a sea of electric blue and steel white as the opening round of ZGDX versus FNC launched with the thunder of the crowd behind it. The casters barely had time to introduce the match before the atmosphere shifted—something sharp and undeniable laced into the rhythm of ZGDX's movement, something cold, calculated, and utterly ruthless.
From the first second, it was clear there would be no warm-up phase. There was no pacing, no playing safe. Only intent.
And at the center of it all sat Lu Sicheng, his amber eyes like ice on fire beneath the visor of his headset, his fingers gliding across the keyboard and mouse with the kind of precision born of pure focus and unresolved fury. Because Hang Suk had run his mouth. Because Kun Hyeok had stirred the pot. Because his Bunny—his—had flushed and whispered Baobei in a voice that still echoed like a spark in the back of his mind.
And now?
Now Hang Suk was going to suffer for all of it.
Mid-lane was a slaughter, Ming covering it with no effort. Lao K and Lao Mao played with brutal synergy, each gank perfectly timed, every trap executed with surgical efficiency. Pang's timing as support was merciless, landing hard crowd-control setups that left no room for retreat.
And Sicheng—
Sicheng didn't play like he was looking for a win. He played like he was hunting. Every time Hang Suk tried to press forward, Sicheng tore through the map like a blade in water, punishing every misstep, tracking every rotation, and forcing FNC to retreat before they even had time to group.
By the ten-minute mark, the score was 12–1 in favor of ZGDX.
By fifteen, it was 19–3.
And when the twentieth minute passed with a full team wipe against FNC just outside their inhibitor turret, the crowd exploded, the casters shouting breathlessly over the roar.
"Z–G–D–X is relentless today! This is not just control—they're dismantling FNC, piece by piece!"
Backstage, in the team lounge, Yao sat still in her seat, eyes fixed on the monitor, not speaking, barely blinking. She knew her team. She knew their rhythm. But what she was seeing now wasn't just strategy—it was fury, discipline, and punishment disguised in perfect form.
Sicheng was in that state.
Unflinching.
Lethal.
His every play screamed mine without ever needing the word spoken.
And as the final Nexus exploded and the announcers declared ZGDX's first round victory with near disbelief, the camera cut briefly to the players' booths.
Sicheng leaned back in his chair slowly, headset sliding down as he glanced at the monitor, his jaw set, his expression cold. He didn't smirk. He didn't smile. He simply stood. Because that round? Was a message and Hang Suk had better damn well received it.
The moment the first round ended, the ZGDX boys left the stage to the thunderous applause of a hyped arena and the glow of a flawless scoreboard still burning behind them. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that ZGDX had steamrolled FNC, and no one watching could deny that every single member had played like they had something to prove.
But as they stepped back into the lounge—sweat still cooling on their skin, adrenaline still humming through their veins—the victorious high dulled just a little when they came face-to-face with the singularly unimpressed figure waiting near the corner of the room.
Tong Yao.
Their Tiny Boss Bunny.
And she was not amused.
Still in her uniform, her arms were folded neatly across her chest, one foot tapping softly against the floor, hazel eyes narrowed beneath furrowed brows as she stared down the returning players one by one. Da Bing might not have been present, but his spirit of judgment lived and breathed through her.
She didn't say a word at first.
Which was worse.
Because that silence?
That silence screamed you're in trouble.
Yue, still not fully seated, immediately muttered, "I'm not involved. I was in the bathroom. I have an alibi."
Pang slid behind Lao Mao like a shield.
And Ming, who had only just taken off his headset, winced as he stepped in beside them.
Yao finally exhaled a slow, tight breath and spoke in a deceptively calm voice. "You won." she said flatly.
They nodded. Lao K even started to smile.
She lifted a finger. " Yes, you won. But what I just watched out there? Was not the game plan Coach Kwon and I laid out."
The smile died instantly.
Her gaze flicked to Pang first. "What happened to holding that support lane pressure and staggering your rotates?"
"I—he was wide open for the combo, and I—"
"That's not what we drilled."
Pang shut his mouth.
Then to Lao Mao and Lao K. "Why were you overextending mid-lane pushes before fifteen? Where was the discipline on the rotation timer?"
Lao Mao opened his mouth. She lifted her hand. "Don't answer that. Because I already know it was adrenaline. Or ego."
"A little of both." Lao K coughed quietly.
"And you," she said, voice dropping lower as her eyes zeroed in on Sicheng.
He didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
But he definitely felt it.
Her arms uncrossed slowly as she stepped forward. "You set the entire tempo of that game. And you deliberately sped it up."
He raised a brow, cool as ever. "It worked."
"It was reckless," she snapped. "You weren't thinking about macro. You were thinking about Hang Suk."
The others immediately found somewhere else to look.
Yao didn't break eye contact, her voice quiet now, but sharper. "We're not playing to prove something to him. We're not playing to punish him. You're not playing to mark territory, Baobei."
Sicheng's jaw flexed at the word but he didn't argue.
She exhaled, some of the fire dimming in her shoulders as she took a breath. "Save that for after we've secured a clean sweep. One more game. Stick to the plan. Make it clean. Professional."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Pang raised his hand hesitantly. "So… we're not having our pay docked or snacks taken away?"
"You will be if you go off-script again."
Yao turned on her heel and walked toward the screen to load the second game's data, braid swinging, voice calm but still laced with steel. "Now sit down. We're fixing your pathing before you go back out there."
Sicheng watched her move across the room—barely five feet and inches of cold fire and data-fueled precision—and muttered beneath his breath to Lao K. "…Why is that even hotter?"
"Because you're a masochist," Lao K replied underneath his breath back to the man as he snorted.
And with that, they all sat the hell down.
Yao might have been soft-spoken, introverted, and the one most likely to slip out of a crowded room without a sound—but in that moment, standing in front of the whiteboard with a marker in one hand and Coach Kwon backing her up with an expression that read don't look at me, she's in charge, she was every inch the Tiny Boss Bunny that had earned her the nickname they dared not say too loud when she was annoyed.
The boys sat in a crooked line across the lounge couch and extra chairs, heads angled in varying degrees of guilt and fatigue, still in partial gear, half-listening while pretending to focus as she pointed to the whiteboard filled with tight columns of timing marks, rotation lines, and visual cues she and Kwon had mapped out meticulously for this match.
"And here—here," she said, tapping a bold red circle with the butt of the marker, "was where we were supposed to split aggro. Not collapse mid and force a push without vision."
No one moved.
Sicheng leaned back like he hadn't just blown the tempo on purpose, his arms folded, his jaw ticking subtly.
Lao Mao's head was tilted, eyes on the board but glazing.
Lao K was twiddling with his sleeve.
Pang blinked twice too slowly.
And Ming? Ming was absolutely zoning out.
Yao's hazel eyes narrowed.
She didn't yell.
She didn't raise her voice.
Instead?
She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a tiny, pastel-colored handful of vengeance.
Miniature Shikigami erasers.
Cute, soft, utterly harmless—
Unless launched with the righteous fury of a tactical analyst who had been ignored.
She pinged the first straight at Pang's forehead. It bounced off with a soft boop and made the man jolt upright.
"What the—?!"
Next, Lao K caught one to the shoulder, blinking like he hadn't just been reawakened by divine bunny wrath.
"Hey!"
Lao Mao ducked and got pegged anyway, dead center on his temple.
And then—
With surgical precision born of long practice—
She flicked one right at Sicheng's chest.
He didn't even flinch when it hit, but he definitely narrowed his eyes at her, one brow raising slowly like you dare.
She met his gaze flatly.
"Don't test me, Baobei," she said, tone even, "or next time I'm pulling out the stickers."
Coach Kwon coughed loudly into his fist to hide the bark of laughter.
Sicheng stared at her for one more beat… and then sat forward, elbows on knees, eyes finally fully on the board.
Yao pointed again, unbothered, calm and precise.
"Now. As I was saying. If you all don't follow the script in game two, I'm going to update your bios on the ZGDX website to include your ELO drop projections from before you joined the team."
A beat of silence.
Pang leaned toward Yue and whispered, "Why is that actually terrifying?"
"Because she means it," Yue whispered back.
Yao turned around slowly.
And Yue immediately shut up.
The eraser was still in her hand. And everyone suddenly remembered why the Tiny Boss Bunny didn't need to raise her voice to command a room.
She owned it.
Yao stood there with calm certainty, her platinum braid shifting slightly as she turned back to the whiteboard, arms folding slowly as she fixed each of them with that piercing hazel-eyed stare that somehow managed to be both soft and soul-skewering. The Shikigami erasers had returned to her pocket, but the warning lingered thick in the air—each of the boys sitting straighter, more alert, and now definitely paying attention. And just when they thought she was done, when they assumed they had narrowly escaped further wrath from their adorably lethal analyst—
She turned.
Her voice, gentle as ever, carried no edge… but there was a subtle threat laced within the warmth, the kind that made their collective spines stiffen. "Just so we're clear," she said quietly, "if I do decide to follow through with those bio edits? I'm not doing it alone." Her gaze landed firmly on Pang first. "Aunt Lan finds it way too entertaining when I get like this."
Pang visibly paled. "No. No, she does. She really does."
Yao's eyes shifted, locking on Lao K, Lao Mao, then finally, finally back on Sicheng—her gaze sharper now, more deliberate. "And if she's too busy?" She tilted her head slightly, the way only she could, so very innocent and yet wholly unforgiving. "I'm quite sure Uncle Lu—" her tone sweetened deceptively, "—would be happy to help. He did say, quote, 'If you ever need anything, sweetheart, anything at all, just say the word.'"
Sicheng's brow ticked.
"Oh god." Yue groaned, covering his face with both hands.
"And," Yao added cheerfully, "he did message me again this morning to remind me of that offer."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Lao Mao muttered under his breath, "We're so screwed."
Yue peeked over his fingers. "You have our father on speed dial?"
"I'm his daughter in law now," she said primly.
Sicheng looked like he aged five years in that moment. And then, very softly, very evenly, he muttered, "I'm going to delete his number out of your phone."
Yao didn't blink. "He already saved it under 'My Favorite Daughter-in-Law.'"
A pause.
Pang choked.
Coach Kwon turned to the whiteboard to hide his laughter.
Sicheng leaned back with a dark glare, muttering to no one in particular, "I blame Kun Hyeok for all of this."
Yao raised a single brow. "Off-script again," she warned, "and I will text Uncle Lu and let him know you're being uncooperative."
Sicheng narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't."
"I would," she said sweetly. "And you know he'd answer."
The whole team nodded. Of course he would. Because no one—not even the terrifying Lu Sheng—could resist the command of the Tiny Boss Bunny.
As they gathered their gear and adjusted their jackets, the tension in the lounge finally began to ease, the collective sigh of narrowly-avoided doom hanging in the air like a storm cloud that had passed just wide of its mark. Lao Mao was already moving toward the exit, muttering something about stretching before they got called again. Lao K double-checked his headset, and Pang cautiously retrieved another energy drink like it might shield him from future Shikigami projectiles.
Yao stood near the doorway now, arms still crossed but the fire in her gaze had cooled to a soft ember, something more amused than annoyed. She watched them quietly, platinum braid resting against the side of her uniform, expression unreadable—until she finally took a slow step forward and spoke. "Boys."
The room stilled again.
They turned toward her.
Yao uncrossed her arms, letting them fall to her sides as she tilted her head slightly, a small, rare smile curving the corners of her lips. "I want you to stay on script," she began, her voice calm, deliberate. "That's what I spent the last two days refining with Coach Kwon. That's what's going to make this a clean sweep."
They nodded in unison, even Pang not daring to look away this time.
"But," she added, pausing just long enough for them to catch the shift in her tone, "just because I want precision—just because I want discipline—does not mean I expect you to be nice." A beat of confused silence passed. Then her hazel eyes flicked directly, intentionally, to Lu Sicheng. The air between them thickened as she let the smallest smile touch her lips. "Especially not to Hang Suk."
Sicheng's entire posture shifted. The slow, satisfied, utterly dangerous smile that curved across his lips in response was nothing short of lethal.
Yue groaned dramatically. "She just gave him permission to murder the kid on stage."
Lao Mao muttered, "More like threw gasoline on a fire."
Yao, entirely unapologetic, folded her hands neatly behind her back, her tone sweet. "He ran his mouth. Disrespectfully. About the team. About me." She paused again, and the weight of her words landed exactly where she intended. "I see no reason why you shouldn't remind him what it means to play against ZGDX."
Sicheng's amber eyes locked on her with a look that was possessive and razor-sharp all at once, the corners of his mouth twitching just slightly. "Beautiful," he murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear, "you're dangerous."
Yao blinked innocently. "Only when necessary." Then she turned away, motioning for them to leave.
Sicheng followed behind the others, expression composed but his knuckles flexing with anticipation.
Hang Suk had no idea what was coming.
But ZGDX did.
And they were ready.