Summary: A botched night out ends with Tong Yao drunk, vulnerable, and rescued by a rival team's Jungler—sparking unexpected consequences, overdue apologies, and the beginning of something that just might change everything.
One-Shot
The night had started out innocently enough.
Yao had just wanted something cool to drink after a particularly tense scrim session with ZGDX the day before with TAT…where A'tei had used her own Shikigami against her. Soho Bar wasn't exactly her kind of place, but she'd let Jinyang drag her along to meet up with Ai Jia, who was clearly still trying to claw his way back into her good graces. Yao had scanned the menu and, trusting the calm aesthetic of the drink's name, ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. It wasn't until she was halfway through her sixth that she began to suspect something was wrong.
That suspicion turned into a half-drunken realization, then chaos.
Ai Jia had been too busy trying to convince Jinyang he deserved forgiveness to pay attention. And when Yao began hiccuping and giggling uncontrollably, Ai Jia, in the worst judgment call of the night, made a single phone call. Not to Jinyang's driver, not to Yao's team. But to Jian Yang.
Jian Yang. Tong Yao's Voldemort. The He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called, Snake-face, Voldemort's wannabe. The moment he showed up, striding into the bar like some suave savior, Yao recoiled. Literally. She tried to flee, but the world spun, and her coordination was shot to hell. Her stumbling turned into squawking, flailing protest.
"No! No! You're not allowed within ten feet of me, snake-face!" she shouted, her voice slurring but her point clear. "Back, Voldemort's budget cousin!"
He grabbed for her arm, and in that moment, right when Ai Jia looked away and Jinyang was too busy yelling at him to notice, an entirely different kind of presence swept in.
~
Xu Tailum moved like a storm.
The DQ-5 Jungler was on Jian Yang in seconds, his hand snapping out, seizing the other man's wrist with enough force to draw a strangled hiss of pain. His voice, quiet but sharp, cut across the noise of the bar.
"Let. Go."
Then, before either Jinyang or Ai Jia could process what was happening, Yao was no longer swaying on uncertain legs. Xu Tailum had scooped her up around the waist, turned, and without a word handed her off to Lin Mao—his Toplaner—who caught her with a deadpan sigh.
"Keep her there," Xu Tailum growled. "Do not let her wander off."
The rest of DQ-5 followed, slotting into place around the Midlaner like a protective wall. Jian Yang was still sputtering behind them, but he didn't dare move.
Jinyang stomped over. "I'm taking her back to my condo."
"No, you're not," Lin Mao replied flatly. "We're walking her back to ZGDX's base. And we're telling Lu Sicheng what your boyfriend let happen tonight. Also, Liang Sheng's gonna know Ai Jia stood there like a tree while she was being grabbed by a guy she clearly didn't want near her."
"I'm not drunk! I told Jinyang, I can't drink alcohol right now, so I was ordering ice tea." Yao declared from Lin Mao's arms, eyes narrowed and watery.
DQ-5's Support, who had been trailing the group quietly, let out a sharp laugh. "Six Long Islands, you said? Lady, those are about 95% alcohol. And you're what, 5'3"? Y'all really are out here letting a baby deer go toe-to-toe with vodka and gin?"
Xu Tailum didn't say a word. He simply pulled off his jacket, motioned for Lin Mao to pass her back, and crouched. "Get on. We're done here."
To everyone's shock, Yao muttered a suspicious "fine" and clambered onto his back, gripping his shoulders tightly as he stood.
~
They made it all the way back to the gates of the esports complex before hitting their final roadblock, security. The guard blinked at the group, then at the tiny girl on Xu Tailum's back who was now poking his cheek and asking why his ID was Dragon.
"You don't scale. You don't even breathe fire," she slurred in confusion. "False advertising!"
He said nothing.
The second her name was called from behind, though, she froze. Her eyes went round. Her grip tightened. She turned her head slowly to see six familiar figures approaching at a measured but purposeful pace, Rui at the front, Ming beside him, then Lao Mao, Lao K, Pang… and Lu Sicheng, expression carved from ice.
Yao let out a squeak and ducked behind Xu Tailum's shoulder, squishing herself lower on his back. "Oh no. No, no. Cheng's gonna murder me. Dragon! Do your job! Protect the damsel!"
Both teams nearly facepalmed.
Lin Mao cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Explanation time. She didn't know she was drinking alcohol. Jian Yang showed up and tried to drag her out. Ai Jia just stood there. Xu Tailum intervened. No one else was gonna help."
Yao poked her head out. "Not my fault! I thought I was ordering regular tea! Who names alcohol after tea?"
Xu Tailum's voice cut across hers. "Everyone knows I'm not a nice guy. I don't pretend to be. But what happened tonight? She needs better friends. That could've ended far worse and I think you all know what I am talking about."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Sicheng's eyes never left Yao.
Yao, still clinging to the back of DQ-5's Jungler, whimpered softly. "Cheng... he's judging me so hard..."
Xu Tailum shifted, muttering under his breath, "You deserve it."
"Rude!" she yelped.
And somehow, from that mess of chaos, a new, unlikely alliance was born.
~
Xu Tailum didn't so much as flinch when the girl on his back poked his cheek again, her small finger jabbing with all the might of a very tipsy, very insistent 5'3 Midlaner who clearly had no intention of letting go.
"I'm not getting off," Yao declared stubbornly, her chin planted firmly on his shoulder now as she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck like a particularly clingy koala. "You're comfy. And also, you scared Voldemort's budget cousin away. That makes you a nice guy."
Xu Tailum exhaled, slowly. "I am not a nice guy."
"You are to me!" she chirped, slapping his cheek gently like she was knighting him. "Even though you don't have scales. Or fangs. Or wings. Or fire breath. You're still a Dragon. A nice Dragon."
That earned several audible reactions.
Pang made a wheezing sound that he tried to pass off as a cough.
Ming pinched the bridge of his nose like he was warding off a migraine.
Lao K muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "She's bonding. We're doomed."
Lao Mao folded his arms, watching with an unreadable expression before his lips twitched and he muttered to Rui, "This is going to be one hell of a match replay to relive at the team dinner."
Xu Tailum, meanwhile, looked skyward, face deadpan as he addressed no one in particular. "Why am I being punished?"
Yao, not to be ignored, poked his cheek again, insistently, this time. "Because fate is mysterious, and you are tall. That's what happens. Tall people get used as public transit by adorable Midlaners."
"Adorable?" Ming asked, arching a brow as his gaze shifted to Sicheng.
Sicheng, however, had not moved from where he stood at the front of the group, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His eyes were locked solely on the small girl still stubbornly piggybacked on another man, another team's Jungler. "You done?" he asked calmly, voice dangerously smooth.
Yao blinked. "With what?"
"Climbing other players."
She tilted her head and squinted at him, then very deliberately leaned to whisper in Xu Tailum's ear, loudly enough that half the group still heard it. "See? Told you he's gonna murder me. Look at that face. That's a Captain-Execution expression."
Xu Tailum finally turned his head just slightly to give her a sidelong glance. "Get off."
"No."
He exhaled. "You weigh less than a tower shield and still manage to be exhausting."
"She's your problem now," Lin Mao said, biting back a grin as he folded his arms. "We carried her all the way here. You're welcome."
"I'd like my spine back," Xu Tailum added, deadpan.
"No refunds!" Yao chirped, snuggling down. "This ride has no return policy."
Pang collapsed forward against Ming's shoulder, wheezing with laughter now, while Lao Mao muttered something that might have been a prayer. Lao K pinched the bridge of his nose at what was happening before them and Ming? Ming looked like he wanted and needed a vacation.
Sicheng took a single step forward, his voice low and commanding. "Tong Yao."
She peeked up from behind Xu Tailum's shoulder again, wide-eyed. "Y-yes?"
"Get. Down."
She pouted.
Xu Tailum bent forward slightly, shaking her once like a cat dislodging a clingy kitten.
"Betrayal!" she hissed, but finally slid down, wobbling a little as her feet touched the ground. She turned and patted Xu Tailum's arm. "But thank you. Seriously. You saved me from emotional hex damage."
Xu Tailum blinked once, then gave the barest shrug. "Don't expect it again."
"Oh please," Pang teased from behind them. "She's got you wrapped around her pinky and you didn't even realize."
"I will set fire to your jungle camps and actively kill you the next time our teams have a training scrim together." Xu Tailum replied flatly.
Lu Sicheng stepped in then, his body language shifting as his arm extended to gently but firmly take Yao by the wrist, not tightly, but with quiet, anchoring pressure. "Come on, Shorty," he muttered. "You've embarrassed yourself enough for one night."
Still looking slightly dazed, slightly pleased, and entirely unrepentant, Yao let herself be led inside, though not without casting one last look over her shoulder at Xu Tailum. "Nice guy!" she called sweetly.
Xu Tailum's eye twitched.
Lin Mao grinned wide. "She's naming you in her will."
~
The return walk to the ZGDX base was not unlike escorting a war criminal back to headquarters, except the war criminal was five-foot-three, tipsy as hell, and currently trying to lead the parade herself while stubbornly declaring her sobriety to the night sky.
"I am not drunk!" Yao stomped her foot against the pavement, her voice a slightly slurred growl of offense as she wobbled in place. "I drank tea! Ice tea! I'm hydrated!"
"You drank six Long Islands," Pang muttered from somewhere behind her, his tone halfway between horrified and impressed. "That's not hydration. That's alcohol in disguise."
Ming sighed long and deep as he and Lao Mao walked on either side of her, just close enough to catch her if her legs gave out again. Lao K was already two steps ahead, scouting like they were on a secret mission, while Rui was walking with his phone clutched in one hand, his other rubbing at his temple like the headache was already in full bloom.
"I'm calling that damn bar first thing in the morning," Rui muttered under his breath. "I don't care what kind of name it has on the menu, she's not even twenty-one yet! Who the hell serves six of those to someone who looks like a goddamn college freshman!"
Yao spun on her heel to face them, promptly lost her balance, and staggered directly into Lao Mao's side. "Excuse you, I'm twenty-three in October of this year, meaning I am 22! I'm legal in China, you judgmental mother hen!" She squinted at Rui's phone, then pointed at it accusingly. "Don't you dare yell at that bar. They gave me tea! TEA!"
Rui's expression did not change. "That 'tea' has vodka, gin, rum, tequila, and triple sec."
She paused. Blinked. Looked betrayed. "...Why would they do that?"
"Because it's a cocktail," Lao K deadpanned.
"A what?"
"A trap," Ming replied blandly. "For people like you who drink it thinking it's harmless hydration."
Pang leaned forward to whisper loudly, "And here I thought Sicheng would be the one giving us gray hairs. Turns out it's our Mid."
Sicheng, walking silently at the rear of the group with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, said absolutely nothing but the glance he shot Pang was sharp enough to slice through armor.
Yao turned and walked backward for a few steps, facing her team with a smug little smirk and both arms out wide. "But did I die? No! I am healthy! I'm—" She tripped over a sidewalk bump and nearly face-planted, only saved by Lao Mao grabbing the back of her hoodie like she was a misbehaving puppy. She flailed briefly, scowled, then leaned against him like it was his fault. "I was fine," she grumbled.
"You were about to eat concrete," Lao Mao muttered.
"I hate all of you."
"Love you too," Pang replied cheerfully.
They reached the front gate of the base, and Rui swiped his card, muttering to himself in rapid-fire frustration as the security lock disengaged. "Long Islands, of all things. Six. We're lucky she didn't start karaoke with traffic signs."
Sicheng finally came up beside her and placed a single hand on the top of her head. "Shorty."
She blinked up at him, eyes wide, face flushed from the alcohol and the effort of defending herself all the way home.
"You're grounded."
"I'm an adult."
"You're grounded harder," he said, flatly.
"I want takoyaki."
"You're getting water."
She gasped like he'd stabbed her.
Behind them, Pang whispered to Ming, "And that's why he's the Captain."
~
The door to the ZGDX base clicked shut behind them with the heavy finality of a submarine hatch sealing before descent—though it felt more like they were locking a very small, very drunk hurricane inside.
Yao immediately kicked off her shoes with the dramatic flair of someone who had conquered death and dishonor. "I live!" she declared, throwing her arms up in triumph and nearly taking out Rui's face with one wild gesture. "And I still have both kidneys!"
"You almost lost consciousness," Rui muttered, tossing his keys into the bowl by the entrance and heading straight for the kitchen. "And if I have to deal with your liver's funeral tomorrow, I swear I'm dragging you there in a lecture hall casket."
Lao Mao steered Yao gently onto the couch as Ming pulled over the trash bin, just in case. Pang returned with a towel and a bottle of water, holding it out like he was offering tribute to a very tipsy goddess.
She took the water with great suspicion, sniffed it, then glared. "Where's the carbonation?"
"It's water," Pang said patiently.
"It's betrayal in a bottle," she muttered but drank anyway. She sat quietly for all of thirty seconds before she perked up suddenly, her eyes bright. "Did you guys know octopuses have three hearts and that two of them actually stop beating when they swim?"
Everyone froze mid-motion.
"What?" Ming asked slowly.
"It's true!" she said, sitting straighter, now swaying like a ship. "Also, the inventor of the Pringles can is literally buried in one. Like cremated. In the can."
"I—what," Lao K said, blinking.
"And killer whales? They hunt great white sharks just to eat their livers. Just their livers. They're nature's scalpel."
"She's broken," Pang muttered. "Reset the Midlaner."
"Oh oh oh!" Yao raised her hand like they were in class. "And human bite force is stronger than a lion's when adjusted for skull size! But no one tells you that because then you'd be terrified of toddlers."
Rui came back from the kitchen with two water bottles and a very large mug of ginger tea. "Drink this," he said, passing it to her. "And stop talking."
But she took the mug with a grateful smile and kept going.
"Also, if you need to get rid of a body—"
Ming, who had just sat down beside her, slowly turned his head. "Please tell me this is a segue into a video game strategy."
"Nope," Yao chirped, completely unaffected. "First, you don't move the body. You destroy the evidence on-site. Hydrogen peroxide and strong acids break down organic material fast. But if you must move it, you dismember. Never drag. Drag marks are easy to spot. Oh, and don't burn it in a fireplace. Chimneys don't reach cremation-level heat—use an industrial-grade incinerator or, better yet—"
"Yao," Rui barked.
She looked up sweetly. "Yes?"
"Shut. Up."
"I was just saying Voldemort's reject cousin deserves it."
Sicheng, who had been standing silently this entire time with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression, finally spoke, his tone flat as a desert plain. "That's it. No more true crime documentaries before bed."
"But they relax me," Yao whined.
"Your version of 'relaxing' is planning body disposal in between League patches," Lao K muttered, rubbing his face.
"You're all just mad I'd get away with it."
Pang raised his hand like a game show buzzer. "Can we go back to the part where she said she was hydrated?"
Yao took another dramatic sip of tea, then pointed her finger at the ceiling. "I regret nothing. Except… maybe not noticing Voldemort had slithered into the bar sooner. I would've demanded garlic bread and a silver dagger."
"That's vampires," Ming deadpanned.
"I can multitask."
Sicheng finally walked over, his voice lower this time as he knelt beside her, eyes scanning her flushed face, the slightly trembling fingers around the mug, and the exhausted slump starting to settle into her frame. "Drink your tea, then you're sleeping. Don't argue."
Yao leaned forward, eyes wide and earnest. "Cheng."
"What?"
"If I throw up, will you still like me?"
He didn't blink. "If you throw up on me, I'm making you scrub the kitchen with a toothbrush."
She grinned. "So you do like me."
Rui sighed as he grabbed a blanket and tossed it over her. "I'm never letting her out with Jinyang and Ai Jia again."
"Agreed," said five voices in perfect unison.
~
Just as Sicheng shifted to ease Yao against the cushions, preparing to lift her properly and carry her up the stairs, her hand gripped his sleeve. Not tightly, just enough to halt him. Her head rested on his shoulder still, the mug empty now on the coffee table. The room had finally begun to calm, the worst of the chaos ebbing out.
Then, softly, her voice broke the silence. "Hey…"
Sicheng glanced down, his brow raised, expecting another one of her odd facts or rambling questions about dragon taxonomy.
But instead, she asked, "How come… the only one that actually likes me is Pang-ge?"
The air in the room changed, just a fraction, as everyone shifted, subtle, unspoken tension winding through the room like a thread pulled too tight.
Pang, who had been halfway through making a dramatic joke about dodging vomit, blinked and froze with his hand still midair. "What?"
She didn't lift her head, but her voice was clearer now, slurred but earnest in the way only alcohol could make someone spill what they never meant to say. "I mean… I've been here for, like, two months now," she mumbled, her eyes starting to shine though she didn't cry—yet. "And Lao K's always mean to me. He barely speaks unless it's to tell me I'm doing something wrong… like I stole Ming-ge's spot and I should apologize just for existing."
Lao K stiffened from where he was leaning against the wall, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he said nothing.
She kept going, words tumbling now, more truth than filter. "And Cheng," her voice trembled slightly on the name, "he always teases me, always pushes and mocks like it's fun, but sometimes it's just… it's not teasing. It's cruel. It hurts, but no one notices."
Sicheng's jaw tightened, but his hand didn't move from where it rested lightly against her back.
"Lao Mao doesn't even look at me half the time because he's besties with Lao K," she muttered, hiccupping. "So if K hates me, guess that means I'm on the blacklist."
Ming straightened where he sat, lips parting, but she shook her head before he could interrupt.
"And you, Ming-ge… I know you're busy. With everything. The doctors, the transition, the practices, your body hurting but you don't have time to talk to me unless it's about macro lanes or target timing. That's all I get. Rui-ge…" her voice faded a bit. "You've got the whole team to manage. I know I'm just another file on your desk." Then she lifted her head finally, her eyes finding Pang through the dim living room light. "But Pang-ge… you're the only one who made space for me," she whispered. "You decorated my room, even though it looked like Barbie exploded in there. You got snacks I liked. You remembered my stupid tea thing. You helped me figure out the kitchen light without laughing. You talked to me."
Pang looked like he'd been hit in the chest. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, throat working as his gaze flicked across the room, daring anyone else to speak.
Yao laid her head back down on Sicheng's shoulder, quieter now. "I don't think I belong here. I try. I play. I stay up late reviewing scrims. I memorize patch changes and ward maps and champion counters. I try so hard." She blinked once. "But I still feel like a placeholder."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was full of guilt and words unsaid.
Lao K's arms dropped to his sides, his lips pressing into a hard line as he looked away. Lao Mao's expression flickered, guilt flashing there before he ducked his head. Ming exhaled slowly, like a man who just realized he missed something important while he was too focused on holding everything together.
Sicheng didn't speak. He didn't crack a joke. He didn't brush it off. He only moved his hand to the back of her head and let it rest there, warm and steady, holding her against him like a tether. She was asleep again seconds later. ut none of them moved. Not for a long time.
The silence held. No one moved. No one spoke. It just lingered. Yao's words sinking into every corner of the room like a slow bleed that no one could bandage. Her breathing had evened out again, soft and warm against Sicheng's shoulder, lips parted slightly, lashes fluttering as her body gave into sleep with the trust of someone who hadn't realized just how much she'd needed to say all of that aloud. And across the room, every single one of them stood—or sat—still in its wake.
Lao K's jaw was clenched so tightly his teeth ached. Lao Mao had turned to stare blankly at the far wall, eyes shadowed. Ming was frozen on the edge of the couch, one hand curled into a fist on his knee. Rui hadn't touched his phone again.
Pang, his voice low, rough, almost apologetic, broke the silence with two words. "…Ouch." It wasn't loud. But it hit harder than any shouted argument. He wasn't teasing this time. Not even a little. He looked over at Yao, then toward the others, and gave a single shake of his head. "I thought she was just adjusting. That the noise was normal, like it always is when someone new joins. I didn't know she was carrying that."
"She's not wrong," Ming said quietly, finally breaking his stillness. "Not about me. I've been so focused on transitioning everything and making sure she performs that I… forgot she's not just a player. She's a person. A young one. New to all of this."
Lao Mao finally exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. "She's not on any blacklist. I've just… always had K's back. I didn't think I needed to choose sides."
"You don't," Pang muttered. "But damn, you could've at least offered her a water bottle. She thinks you hate her."
Lao K's eyes flicked toward the couch. His mouth opened, then closed again, his face unreadable. "I was angry," he admitted, voice stiff. "Not at her. At the situation. At the league. At Ming leaving. And maybe I did take that out on her. Maybe I didn't give her a fair chance."
Sicheng's voice came last. Soft, quiet, but threaded with something sharp and brittle beneath. "I didn't realize she thought I was being cruel." He looked down at her in his arms. Her brow furrowed slightly in sleep, like the weight of all she had held in hadn't quite let her go even now. He reached up with his free hand and gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. "I tease," he murmured, "because that's how I connect. That's how I've always kept distance. But she… she's not like the others. I forgot that teasing can feel like a weapon to someone still trying to find their footing." He didn't ask for forgiveness. He just looked at her like someone who had finally seen something he should have noticed long ago.
Pang finally broke it, rubbing a hand over his face. "We're gonna fix this, right?"
Rui nodded, once. "Yeah," he said quietly. "We are."
Ming exhaled heavily, the weight of the moment etched into the lines of his face as he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes tracking the girl who had just unknowingly gutted them all with truths spoken in the rawest state possible. There was no blame in his voice, no anger—only the quiet thud of understanding landing hard in his chest. "She should probably sleep in the downstairs room tonight," he said softly, the weariness audible. "Closer to the kitchen. Just in case." Without missing a beat, he lifted a hand and waved toward the guest room off the main hallway, stepping over to unlatch the door. "Pang," Ming added, glancing toward the Support who was already halfway to the kitchen. "Go get Da Bing. That fur-ball likes you best, besides his mama. He'll want to be close."
Pang nodded once, his usual humor gone, replaced by a seriousness rare for him as he moved off without a word. The sound of his slippers scuffed lightly against the floor as he went. Rui didn't say anything either, just turned on his heel and made for the freshly opened guest room, flipping on the light and quietly pulling back the covers with clinical efficiency. His expression was tight, jaw locked, but his movements were careful. Gentle. Deliberate. Across the room, Lao K shifted from the wall, grabbing the glass Yao had left behind and heading to the kitchen with that same focused silence. He didn't need to be told, he filled the glass with water and reached for the honey ginger concentrate Sicheng always forced down his throat after long scrims, mixing it into a second cup and setting both carefully on a tray. No grand gestures, no excuses—just quiet atonement, done in motion. Lao Mao returned a moment later with a sleeve of crackers and a small container of salted almonds, muttering something about her blood sugar and stomach lining. He placed them on the tray beside the drinks without a word and stepped back.
And through it all, Sicheng never let her go. His arms were strong but not tense, holding her like she wasn't a burden, not even for a second. Like he had always been meant to carry her weight when no one else thought to. He hadn't spoken since she'd fallen asleep against him, hadn't tried to explain himself, hadn't justified a thing. He just looked at her the way a man looks at something precious that he didn't realize was already breaking. And when the room was ready, blankets pulled back, pillows fluffed, water and food set gently on the nightstand, lights dimmed, he moved.
No drama. No show.
Just a quiet, careful walk down the hall.
Yao murmured something unintelligible as he passed through the doorway, her fingers curling lightly in the fabric of his shirt.
He shifted her in his arms, one hand supporting the back of her head, the other beneath her knees as he knelt down to place her on the bed with the kind of gentleness no one would ever associate with Lu Sicheng if they hadn't seen him like this. He didn't drop her. He settled her, like she was made of glass and memory and things that shouldn't be jostled. As he tucked the blanket up to her chin, Pang returned with Da Bing in his arms, the massive white cat letting out a tiny, anxious meow the moment he saw his girl. Pang lowered the creature onto the bed beside her, and Da Bing didn't hesitate, he curled up tight against her side, nose pressed to her ribs, as though to shield her himself.
Sicheng stood slowly, his hand lingering at her crown for one last second before he let it fall away.Then he turned to the others, gaze passing across each of them. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. The next time any of them slipped, forgot, or dismissed her again, there would be consequences. Not from Rui. Not from the league. From him.
Morning never truly came for the members of ZGDX. The sun might have risen outside the thick blackout curtains of the base, but none of them had made it to bed. Not really. They had drifted in and out of half-sleep, stationed like sentinels around the living room and the guest room, flinching each time they heard a shift from behind that door, a murmur, a soft gasp, or the telltale rush of someone bolting to the bathroom.
Yao had woken up three separate times, disoriented, flushed, and violently sick. Each time, Sicheng had been the first to move, always silent, always ready, holding back her hair without comment, steadying her against him as she trembled through the worst of it. He never said much, just whispered the occasional quiet, grounding instruction, passed her water she could barely keep down, and held her upright with an arm wrapped tight around her shoulders when her strength gave out. By the third time, her body had started to shake with chills, her skin gone pale and clammy as a low-grade fever began to set in. She'd passed out after that, completely still, finally breathing somewhat evenly again, her cheek resting against Da Bing's fur as the massive cat refused to move from her side. Sicheng hadn't left either. Not for a minute.
So when Rui finally returned from the war room, what had once been the conference table and was now scattered with empty mugs, late-night snacks, and the cold ashes of exhaustion—he didn't have to ask where the Captain was. He just walked to the threshold of the guest room where Sicheng sat in a low chair beside the bed, his arms resting loosely on his knees, his eyes never straying from the unconscious girl before him. "She's sleeping again?" Rui asked quietly.
Sicheng nodded once, without looking up.
Rui didn't speak again until he crossed the room and held out the slim folder of papers, the blue light of the hallway catching the sharp lines of the manila file. "I drafted them," he said simply. "All three."
That finally drew Sicheng's gaze. He lifted the folder and flipped it open with a quiet snap, his eyes scanning the contents with that same cold, razor-sharp focus he used when dissecting enemy team comps.
"The first's to CK's headquarters," Rui continued. "Formal complaint regarding Jian Yang's presence at the bar last night, despite no affiliation to the venue or safety clearance for an active OPL member. I included statements from DQ-5's Xu Tailum and Lin Mao. The bar's cameras back up their timeline."
Sicheng didn't react. Just flipped to the next page.
"The second's to YQCB's management," Rui said, his voice now edged with steel. "Outlining Ai Jia's failure to intervene when he witnessed a known ex attempting to coerce and intimidate a female pro. I also made note of the fact that Ai Jia called Jian Yang to the scene in the first place, which—under our league's ethics policy—can be interpreted as a direct act of negligence and professional endangerment."
A pause.
A breath.
"And the last," Rui said carefully, "is to the head of the Chen family."
Sicheng stilled. "Chen Jinyang's family?" he asked, his voice low.
Rui nodded. "You're not the only one who has strings to pull. Her actions last night, allowing Yao to drink that much, refusing to step in, and then getting into a shouting match with Ai Jia while your Midlaner was being harassed, all of that is unacceptable. I don't care if she's a socialite, a board member's daughter, or the Queen of the South. She's lucky Xu Tailum showed up when he did."
Sicheng closed the folder slowly, then turned his gaze back to Yao, who lay curled in the bed, her face too pale, lips chapped, hair damp with sweat. She didn't stir. He lowered the folder to his lap and said nothing for a long moment. Then, "Send them."
Rui nodded once. "Already did."
~
The lounge was dim and quiet, every light softened, voices low, as if even sound itself dared not disturb the fragile calm coming from the guest room down the hall. Da Bing hadn't moved from his post at Yao's side, and neither had Sicheng since carrying her there hours ago—but the rest of the team had migrated to the lounge, sitting or pacing or just… waiting. Listening. Because if she stirred again, if she cried out or needed anything, every single one of them would be there in a heartbeat. There was no teasing. No background music. No half-played scrims. Just six men in the depths of guilt, reckoning quietly with their own shortcomings.
"I was harsh," Lao K muttered, breaking the silence first, arms folded as he leaned against the far wall, his voice gruff. "I was angry at the wrong person. I let her think she was the reason for everything falling apart."
Lao Mao nodded slowly beside him. "And I let that happen. Didn't step in. Didn't say a damn thing."
Pang let out a heavy breath from where he was curled on the floor, back propped against the couch. "She didn't even expect anything. Not a welcome, not kindness. Just… basic decency. And we still failed that."
Rui pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "We need to do better. We will do better."
Ming didn't speak at first. He was seated at the far end of the table, phone in his hand, unread messages open. His brow was furrowed, his face darkening by the second until finally he exhaled sharply and looked up. "Lu Yue just messaged me."
That drew everyone's attention instantly.
Pang sat up straighter. "Seriously?"
Lao Mao leaned forward. "He hasn't reached out in months."
"Yeah, well… this isn't just a check-in." Ming's voice was grim now. "He said someone from the board contacted him. Told him to cut his trip short. He's flying back."
Sicheng, who had just entered silently from the hallway, his steps slow but steady, narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
Ming didn't sugarcoat it.
"CEO Bao. Yue said Bao told him ZGDX might be needing a new Midlaner. That since our current one couldn't help us beat TAT from Korea in scrims, maybe it's time to bring someone else back in." The silence that followed was sharp. "He's not coming back to start," Ming clarified before any of them could explode. "He said that himself. Yue's not dumb. He told Bao flat-out he's not going behind your back, Cheng. Said he's got no death wish and he knows what pulling that kind of move means."
Sicheng's voice came slow and dark, rumbling low in his chest. "No. He's not that stupid."
"But Bao is," Rui snapped, his tone laced with disgust.
Ming's jaw tightened. "Yue said Bao's reason is that we didn't win against TAT and A'tei's been making noise again. Using Yao's own shikigami against her. Saying ZGDX's legacy has fallen because we let a girl take over Mid."
Pang swore under his breath. "A'tei is a walking violation of everything good in esports."
Lao K growled low. "The man only lives to break other Midlaners. Especially ones with promise."
Sicheng's fingers curled into fists slowly, expression unreadable but his voice turned lethal. "Maybe I should remind that old fool who owns ZGDX," he said coldly. "Sixty-four percent. Me. Not the board. Not the league. Not even Bao." His next words were slow, deliberate, and sharp as glass as his eyes flashed dangerously and the air around him seemed to get colder. "And the only reason he still draws breath is because my mother, his superior, hasn't buried him yet. If he thinks he can go behind her back and mine, and try to push Yao off this team—when she's already being hounded, judged, and dragged every damn week by fans and media—he's writing his own death sentence."
Rui let out a short breath through his nose, almost a laugh. "I'm not standing between you and him if you go through with it."
"No one should," Lao Mao added. "Man's been asking for a lesson in humility since last season."
Lao K's gaze shifted toward the hallway, voice dropping. "She doesn't even know this is happening. And she's already tearing herself up inside thinking we don't want her here."
"She'll know soon enough," Sicheng murmured. "And when she does… she won't be the one apologizing."
The door to the hallway creaked open with a quiet groan, and six heads snapped toward it in perfect unison.
Yao stumbled into the lounge wrapped in the blanket Pang had tucked around her hours earlier, her platinum hair tangled and matted from restless sleep, one slipper missing, and Da Bing trailing behind her like a loyal yet judgmental guard. Her eyes were squinted almost shut, one arm flung dramatically across her forehead as she whined, "Why is the sun so loud? Who gave it permission to scream at me?"
Pang looked like he was about to laugh until he caught Sicheng's pointed glare and quickly bit down on it.
She blinked blearily at the gathered group, all of them staring, silent, still very much processing the weight of the night before. Her steps faltered as her eyes swept from Ming to Rui, from Lao Mao to Lao K, to Pang... and then to Sicheng, standing dead center with that unreadable expression he wore when something mattered more than he wanted to admit. Yao went dead still. And visibly paled. "…Wait," she whispered. "This—this isn't a nightmare, is it?" No one answered. She swallowed, her hand rising to clutch the blanket tighter around her shoulders like it could protect her from the truth. "Oh no," she whispered again, lower now. "I didn't just drink regular iced tea, did I…"
Ming sighed softly, his tone carefully gentle. "You drank six Long Island iced teas."
Yao stared at him.
"Six," Lao K echoed for emphasis.
Her head turned slowly toward Pang, the only one she wasn't instinctively shrinking away from. "Why didn't anyone stop me?"
Pang raised both hands in surrender. "I wasn't even there, Xiao JieJie."
She whimpered.
Da Bing meowed softly and bumped his head against her leg.
"I think I threw up," she muttered in horror, eyes wide now, voice hoarse and small. "Multiple times."
"You did," Rui confirmed quietly. "A few of us are considering trauma counseling."
Yao immediately dropped down onto the nearest couch cushion like her legs had given out, burying her face into her blanket. "And I told Xu Tailum, he was a nice dragon," she mumbled, mortified.
"You insisted he had no scales and should breathe fire," Pang added, far too helpfully.
She groaned into the fabric. "I want to die."
"No dying," Sicheng's voice cut in, calm but firm.
Yao peeked up from her blanket, eyes still puffy, face flushed from embarrassment and fever in equal measure. "You're mad at me."
"No," he said flatly. "I'm mad at the people who let you get that way."
She blinked, startled.
"I'll explain," Rui added, softer now, "but first—water, electrolytes, then food. You're still recovering."
"I said I was hydrated," Yao whispered.
"You were poisoned," Pang corrected.
Rui moved to the kitchen without another word while Ming leaned forward on his knees. "You don't have to apologize for last night, Yao."
She looked at him, then at the others, confused. "Why not?"
Lao Mao answered this time, quiet but certain. "Because we should've been there before it got that far. And we weren't."
The weight of their stares pressed in around her, not judgment, but something deeper. Guilt. Accountability. Recognition. She clutched her blanket tighter and asked, voice cracking just slightly, "I didn't say anything too awful, right?"
Sicheng stepped closer, stopping just in front of where she sat. "You said the only person here who liked you was Pang," he said calmly as her heart stuttered. "And that I was cruel," he added, lower now.
Her lips parted, eyes going glassy. "Cheng, I didn't mean—"
"I know you didn't mean to say it," he cut in gently. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't true."
And somehow, that made it worse.
Sicheng moved first. He didn't speak, didn't ask, just reached down, arms steady as ever, and gently guided her back until she was settled more comfortably against the couch cushions. Her face was still pale, her limbs trembling slightly, but she didn't resist. Not when he tucked the blanket more securely around her shoulders. Not when Da Bing jumped up beside her with surprising grace for a thirty-five-pound cat and immediately settled against her hip like a weighted comforter.
Ming passed over a fever-reducer and a packet of stomach-safe electrolyte powder dissolved into water, the faint citrus scent barely there. Pang emerged from the kitchen with a small bowl of congee, soft, plain, warm, nothing fancy, just simple food meant to soothe and settle.
Yao accepted the spoon with fingers that trembled slightly, not from fear, but from exhaustion. For a long moment, no one spoke. They just let her eat, quiet and slow, as Da Bing purred beside her and the others found places around the room, not looming or distant, but close enough to be present. Close enough to let her feel, finally, not alone.
When she had finished about half the bowl and handed it back with a tired sigh, it was Ming who broke the silence, his voice carefully measured. "Yao," he said gently. "Can I ask you something?"
She nodded hesitantly. "How much do you actually know about alcohol?"
She blinked. "…Um."
He waited.
She shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher under her chin as her eyes darted between them. "I don't really… drink," she admitted slowly. "I only ever really tried RIOs. And only when Jinyang used to sneak them into dorm movie nights back in university."
"It makes sense we keep those in the base as they barely have alcohol in them." Pang nodded, blinking.
Yao nodded. "They're sweet. Taste like candy. I'd sip on one for the whole movie. That's it. I didn't think… Long Island iced teas would be that different. I just thought it was fancy tea. Cold. With lemon."
Lao K let out a soft, strangled sound that might've been a mix between a scoff and a groan.
Even Rui pressed his thumb to his temple.
Ming leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So you didn't know they were basically a liquor bomb in a glass?"
Her brows furrowed. "No…? No one told me. Jinyang said it would help me 'relax'—and then got distracted yelling at Ai Jia, and the next thing I remember clearly is Xu Tailum's shoulder and telling him he wasn't dragon-y enough."
"You called him a scaleless imposter," Pang added helpfully.
Yao sank lower into the couch with a pained whine. "I want to crawl into Da Bing's fur and never come out."
"He'd allow it," Sicheng said dryly.
She peeked up at him, her voice quieter. "I really didn't mean to make trouble."
"You didn't," Rui said firmly, and for once, there was no managerial neutrality in his voice—only steel.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Ming added, softer but with that same conviction.
"You thought you were drinking tea," Lao Mao muttered. "The rest is on them."
"And it's never happening again," Sicheng said flatly, crossing his arms. "No more drinks unless one of us orders it. Or checks it first. And if anyone even hints at dragging you to a bar, I don't care who they are, they go through me first."
Yao blinked up at him. "Even Jian Yang?"
"Especially Jian Yang."
Lao K grunted in agreement. "Girl doesn't even know what a whiskey sour is and she's being fed full-grade cocktails."
Pang shook his head. "I'm still stuck on six. Six, guys. That's like… 'regret everything and question life' territory for full-grown men."
Yao groaned again and pulled the blanket over her head.
It was Lao Mao—quiet, dependable Lao Mao—who spoke next. His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. "I want Jinyang banned from our base for a while."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Even Yao, under the blanket with just her eyes peeking out, froze.
No one moved.
No one expected him to be the one to say it.
Not Lao Mao, who rarely raised his voice unless the scrim room was on fire or someone had fried the last egg. Not the one who always kept the peace, who joked gently and hit the gym instead of confrontation. He wasn't joking now. His arms were folded, jaw clenched tight, and his eyes, usually calm, even sleepy, were hard as stone as he glared across the lounge. "She let this happen," he said, his voice a low rumble. "She brought Yao to that bar. Knew she doesn't drink. Knew she's not used to it. And still handed her six Long Islands without saying a word."
"No one's arguing that," Ming said quietly, carefully. "But—"
"No." Lao Mao's tone cut like a blade. "Don't 'but' this, ge. Yao's what, five-three? Maybe a hundred and ten, a hundred fifteen pounds at most? She drank six of those things. She probably didn't even eat beforehand."
Pang's face shifted, guilt biting deeper as he looked away.
"She could've ended up in the hospital," Lao Mao continued, and now there was heat under his words, rising in waves. "Alcohol poisoning. Respiratory issues. She was throwing up all night and ran a fever, and if Xu Tailum hadn't been there…" His jaw locked. "If he hadn't stepped in, she would've been alone with him. With Jian Yang."
Yao's hands gripped the edge of the blanket tighter.
Lao K muttered under his breath, "He's not wrong."
Rui ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. "You want me to draft something official?"
"No." Sicheng's voice was low, but final. "I'll tell her myself."
Yao poked her head out of the blanket fully now, eyes wide. "Wait—you're banning Jinyang?"
Sicheng looked down at her. "Temporarily. Until you say otherwise."
"But she's—"
"Your friend. We know." Ming's voice was calmer now, steady. "But she failed you last night, Yao. She made choices that put you in danger. That doesn't mean she's out forever, but until you've had time to think, to feel safe again, we're protecting you. That's what this team should've done from the start."
Yao swallowed hard. "You're all really… mad at her?"
"Yes," said Pang, without hesitation. "Because we care."
Da Bing, sensing her rising emotion, nudged his nose under her hand and meowed softly.
Yao blinked several times, cheeks flushed not from fever now but from something else, disbelief, maybe. A bit of awe. She lowered her gaze. "You're really all here for me now, huh."
Lao Mao's voice softened, but didn't lose its edge. "We should've been from the beginning."
Sicheng didn't move for a moment after her words settled into the quiet, didn't glance at the others, didn't break eye contact with the small, pale figure bundled beneath the blanket on their team couch, with Da Bing now acting as her very large emotional support heater. When he did finally sit down beside her, it wasn't with his usual aloof, too-cool weight. He didn't lounge. He didn't throw his arm behind her or slouch like nothing mattered. He sat upright, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him as if bracing for what he needed to say. "There's more you need to know," he said quietly, not cold, not sharp, just steady. "Rui sent out emails early this morning."
Yao blinked. "Emails?"
"To CK's headquarters about Jian Yang showing up at the bar. To YQCB's management about Ai Jia calling him there and just… watching while you tried to get away. And to the head of the Chen family," he added, his gaze hardening for just a second, "about Jinyang."
She stiffened, confusion and guilt flashing in her expression. "W-why the Chen family—?"
Sicheng's voice was flat. "Because her actions put you in danger. And unlike her, we're not looking the other way. We're holding people accountable. Even the ones close to you."
Yao swallowed hard, her hands tightening in the blanket. "Cheng, I—"
"Let me finish," he said softly.
She quieted.
"Ming got a message from my brother too," he continued, casting a glance toward the coach before turning his attention back to her. "Bao reached out to Yue. Tried to pull him back early from his trip to Kenya. Said maybe ZGDX needed a new Midlaner. Because we didn't beat TAT in scrims. Because you didn't beat A'Tei."
Yao went still.
Ming's voice joined then, calm but layered with frustration. "Yue refused. He said he's not coming back unless it's as a substitute and only if it's what you want, Yao. He made it clear he wasn't going behind Cheng's back or yours."
"But the fact that they even tried that…" Rui muttered, shaking his head. "Unacceptable."
Yao blinked, stunned, her throat working as if trying to force words out that wouldn't come.
Then Sicheng added, voice low but burning beneath the surface, "I reminded them that I own sixty-four percent of this team. That Bao doesn't speak for ZGDX. I do. And that trying to go around me—or my mother—isn't just disrespectful. It's suicidal."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Your mother?"
"She's supported you being here since the start," he said. "She's been trying to get more women into this league for years. She chose you. I chose you. And you're staying."
No one else spoke.
Then Lao K stood from the arm of the couch, his voice quiet but unflinching. "I owe you an apology."
Yao blinked again, caught off guard.
"I judged you," Lao K said plainly. "Thought you were just some replacement. A risk. I blamed you for things that weren't your fault. I made it harder for you. You didn't deserve that. And I'm sorry."
Lao Mao nodded beside him, his voice quieter. "I never said anything. I let K's silence become mine. That wasn't fair to you. I should've seen you for who you are, not who you replaced."
Ming looked at her next. "You were right. I've been treating you like a player I needed to mold, not a teammate I needed to support. I missed the signs. I let everything else get louder than you. I'm sorry too."
Rui didn't hesitate. "I should've seen the strain. Checked in more. Asked better questions. I let the pressure keep me distracted. That's on me."
Then Pang, still sitting cross-legged on the floor, exhaled heavily and looked up with a small, regretful smile. "And me? I was the one who joked the most. I made you laugh, yeah—but I never asked if you were okay. I should've. I'm sorry, Shorty."
Yao stared at them, her lower lip trembling, her eyes glistening but not yet falling. She didn't say anything for a moment, only sat there wrapped in warmth and Da Bing and too many emotions to name.
"I didn't want to cause trouble," she whispered. "I just wanted to belong."
The room held its breath.
Yao's whisper—fragile, raw—still lingered in the air, hanging over them like something sacred, something they didn't dare disturb. She sat curled beneath her blanket, one hand resting on Da Bing's soft fur, the other clutched in her lap. Her eyes shimmered, but not a single tear had fallen yet, held back by some stubborn force of will the entire team now saw in a painfully new light.
Sicheng hadn't moved. He hadn't looked at the others. He just kept his eyes on her. And then, quietly, he said it. "I'm sorry." The words were so soft they might have been mistaken for a breath, except every man in that room heard them with crystal clarity.
Heads turned.
Lao K blinked. Lao Mao looked like someone had just dropped a server on his foot. Pang actually stopped breathing mid-sip from his water bottle. Ming froze with his phone halfway to the table, and Rui's eyebrows lifted higher than anyone had seen in recent memory.
Because Lu Sicheng, ZGDX's Captain, the man who did not apologize, not in public, not in front of the team, not even when caught red-handed microwaving noodles with the metal fork still inside, had just said sorry. To her. Out loud. And not as a joke. Not to smooth something over. Not as an empty gesture. It was real. It was his. He didn't flinch, didn't smirk to soften it, didn't follow it with sarcasm. His gaze stayed locked on Yao's, serious and unflinching. "I should've seen it sooner," he said, voice low but steady. "I thought teasing would make you feel included. That if I treated you like everyone else, you'd know you were part of this. But you weren't like the others. You were new. Alone. And I was supposed to be the one who made sure you felt safe here. That you belonged." A pause. "I failed at that."
Yao stared at him, completely still.
"I pushed too hard. Joked too much. And when you needed support, I gave you pressure instead." His hand opened and closed once at his knee. "So… yeah. I'm sorry. For all of it."
She didn't answer right away.
Didn't know how.
Because that wasn't just Lu Sicheng speaking. That was the Captain. The man who'd once said "Don't need to explain myself to anyone" in a post-game interview when the whole internet was demanding it. The same man who had benched a former teammate mid-season for disrespecting Rui, then refused to offer a comment. That man was apologizing to her, a still-green Midlaner barely two months in, in front of the team he'd led for years. And he meant every damn word.
Yao's voice came out a little broken, a little breathless. "…Okay." Not because it was enough. Not because everything was instantly fixed. But because she heard him. And she believed him.
Sicheng gave a small nod and leaned back, not satisfied, not relieved—just steady. Waiting. Willing to carry whatever came next.
The team didn't speak. No one dared ruin the moment.
Finally, Pang broke the silence, softly, reverently. "…Holy…. He does know how to apologize."
Ming didn't even scold him. He just nodded faintly, still absorbing it.
Yao swallowed hard. She looked around the room, at their faces, at their apologies still hanging heavy in the air like smoke after a storm, and did what she always did when the weight felt too much, when the pressure behind her eyes stung too fiercely and her chest started to cramp with the ache of everything she hadn't meant to say. She reset. Straightened slightly, pulled the blanket around herself like it was a cape, cleared her throat, and then, in a voice that quivered only once, lifted her chin and chirped,
"Hi! I'm Tong Yao. Also known as Smiling."
The team blinked, several in clear confusion.
"I was contacted by ZGDX's manager Rui," she continued, her tone clipped, formal, mock-cheerful, the edges of her embarrassment still very much there but now layered beneath something practiced and light. "On behalf of Lu Sicheng and Yu Ming to join as ZGDX's new Midlaner. It's an honor to be here."
Lao K stared at her for half a beat… then narrowed his eyes. He got it. She was giving them a reset. And for the first time since she'd joined, she was offering it out loud. He stood from where he'd been leaning against the wall, one brow raised, voice perfectly flat as he played along. "Lao K," he said, giving her a nod. "ZGDX's Jungler."
Ming smiled faintly, catching on immediately and tapping the table once like a buzzer. "Yu Ming. Coach. Former Midlaner. Tactical genius and full-time schedule tyrant."
Pang threw up a peace sign from the carpet. "Pang, Support, chief morale officer, and closet Barbie fan apparently."
Lao Mao stepped forward, folding his arms with a grin tugging at his lips. "Lao Mao. Toplaner. Resident gym rat and backup bouncer in case Pang gets flattened."
Rui, surprisingly, followed too, setting down his tablet. "Rui. Manager. I handle the budget, contracts, travel schedules, and emotional damage control when needed."
Finally, all eyes turned back to Sicheng.
He met hers evenly, then gave the smallest tilt of his head. "Lu Sicheng," he said. "Captain. ADC. Resident Tyrant of a Captain, work in progress."
Yao blinked at him, then laughed, actually laughed, the sound small and scratchy but real. Da Bing meowed like he was part of the roll call too and promptly stretched across her lap. She grinned, pressing her palm against his back as the heaviness in her chest began to lift, piece by piece. "Well," she said softly, "it's very nice to meet you all."
Pang was the first to stretch with a groan, rubbing the back of his neck as he flopped more fully onto the rug, arms stretched out like a cat waking from hibernation. "Well," he drawled, "now that the world's scariest emotional purge is over and our Mid isn't dying, I vote we make her spill her secrets. Time to properly interrogate Smiling."
Yao blinked, sitting a little straighter on the couch, still wrapped in her blanket with Da Bing now shamelessly draped across her lap like a personal heater. "Secrets?"
"Yes," Pang said seriously, pointing. "Like, what are your favorite snacks? Do you like horror movies or rom-coms? And if you could be any kind of vegetable, what would you be?"
She blinked again. "That's a weird question."
"It says everything about a person," Pang replied solemnly, ignoring Rui's sigh from behind him.
"Mushroom," Yao replied immediately.
"Why?"
"Versatile. Underestimated. Kind of everywhere. Grows quietly in the dark."
There was a short pause.
"…Okay, yeah," Pang muttered. "That was disturbingly on brand."
Lao Mao snorted. "What about favorite food?"
"Takoyaki," she replied without hesitation.
"Pet peeve?" Ming asked, eyes a little more focused now.
Yao narrowed her eyes. "People who click pens over and over again in quiet rooms."
Rui, caught mid-clicking his pen, slowly set it down without a word.
"Favorite champion that isn't part of your main pool?" Lao K chimed in.
"Jorogumo," she said with a tiny grin. "Pure chaos."
"You would pick the creepy spider woman," Pang muttered with a fake shudder.
Ming smirked faintly. "Okay, okay. What about schooling? Did you go local or did Rui poach you internationally?"
That made her pause.
Yao tilted her head, blinked once, and answered, "I'm a recent graduate. Yale."
The room went quiet.
Pang frowned. "Wait. The Yale? The Ivy League Yale?"
She nodded. "Yup."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Lao Mao's eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. Did you just say graduate?"
Yao blinked innocently. "Technically, I graduated four months before Rui contacted me."
Sicheng, who'd been quiet but attentive through the entire back-and-forth, raised a brow. "You already have your undergrad?"
"No," she replied. "I had my Ph.D."
The silence shattered into stunned choking.
"WHAT?" Pang yelped, sitting bolt upright.
"Wait, wait, hold on." Lao K held up a hand. "You're telling us you're not just some genius Midlaner—you have a doctorate?"
"Ph.D.," Yao confirmed cheerfully. "In Mathematical Modeling and Scientific Computation."
Lao Mao actually dropped his protein bar.
Ming's eyebrows nearly shot off his face.
Rui threw his hands up as all eyes turned on him like he was guilty of concealing national secrets. "She never said what kind!" he protested. "I asked if she was still in school! She said no, that she'd just graduated! I thought she meant undergrad or maybe a master's! Not Yale Ph.D. in quantum-level brainpower!"
Yao, still smiling sweetly, pointed at him. "I did say I had just graduated. You didn't ask for details."
"I assumed!" Rui spluttered. "That was my first mistake!"
"You assumed," Pang echoed, face slack with disbelief. "She's been living with us for months, and no one thought to ask why she solves champion math faster than a patch note leak!"
"I did wonder how she calculates neutral objective respawn cycles faster than the in-game timer," Lao K muttered.
"I thought she just had a freakish photographic memory," Lao Mao added.
Sicheng, finally, smirked faintly and leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. "Of course," he said dryly, "our Midlaner's a literal doctor."
"She's Dr. Smiling," Pang said reverently, dropping his head into his hands. "We're all idiots."
"Surprise?" she echoed sweetly, lifting her water bottle like she was toasting their collective mental breakdown.
Pang dragged a hand down his face, looking as if his entire understanding of the universe had just been rewritten. "We've been living with a literal genius," he groaned. "No wonder you stared me down over the Shikigami stat sheet and made me question all my life choices."
"I was just pointing out your math was off," Yao replied innocently.
"It was one number!"
"One number that would've gotten your lane killed in two seconds."
Ming stared at her like he was seeing her in a completely different light. "Yao," he said slowly, "do you still use what you studied? Like… do you actually apply your doctorate to the game?"
"Of course," she said, as if it were obvious. "I built my own model for teamfight probability in real-time and mapped it against cooldown cycles. I've been tweaking the algorithm to account for sudden enemy initiations and snowball variables."
There was a long pause.
Pang blurted, "English, please!"
Yao looked at him patiently. "I basically built a calculator that runs in my head mid-game to figure out the best position and timing for our composition versus theirs, based on resource and cooldown management."
Lao K squinted. "So that's how you always know when to rotate up and cut them off mid-jungle path?"
She nodded.
Rui just exhaled slowly and sank back into the couch, muttering, "I need a raise."
"I'm asking you everything during scrims now," Ming said, only half-joking. "That kind of processing can completely change how we build comps."
"Careful," Yao said with a mock-smile. "If I do everything, you might forget how to think."
Sicheng snorted quietly at that one.
Pang, of course, wasn't done. "Alright, Doc—what's the probability of me making it out of Diamond 1 if I keep refusing to learn ADC mechanics?"
Yao tilted her head thoughtfully. "Assuming 60% win rate, no duo queues, no mental breakdowns, and you stop auto-locking Fire Kirin as a support?"
"Obviously never," Pang muttered.
"Then less than 3%. And dropping."
The groan he let out was theatrical enough that even Da Bing gave him a disapproving meow.
But the laughter—their laughter—was real. Warm. Loose. Familiar. It had been a long time since it felt this light.
Sicheng, who had been content to just listen and watch her interact with the others now, shifted slightly. His voice was quieter but carried the weight of the one thing none of them had yet asked. "So why us?" he asked simply.
Everyone turned back toward her.
Yao blinked, caught off-guard but only for a moment. She looked around the room, took them all in, then glanced down at Da Bing, who blinked slowly up at her in return. "Because," she said softly, "I knew I could win anywhere. I didn't join ZGDX just to win. I came here to fight with people I wanted to believe in. Because when Rui called me, he didn't ask about my GPA or my thesis or what streaming numbers I could bring in." Her gaze shifted to Rui for a brief second, warm and grateful. "He asked if I wanted to play with a team that didn't care about me being a girl. He asked if I wanted to play in a lane that mattered."
Sicheng didn't look away from her. "And now?"
Yao smiled. "And now I know I belong here."
The room, still humming with warmth from Yao's quiet declaration and the soft beat of shared laughter, shifted in an instant.
Sicheng blinked slowly. His head tilted. The wheels behind his gaze clearly turning. Then, his eyes narrowed. Not at Yao. At Pang. That calm, dangerous quiet that only ever meant one thing when it came from Lu Sicheng. Death was imminent. "You've been trying to use my Fire Kirin?" he said coldly, voice like ice over a whetstone.
The room froze.
Pang immediately went stiff, eyes wide, palms up like he was staring down the barrel of a loaded weapon. "Wait—wait—let's not do anything hasty—!"
Sicheng rose from the couch in one smooth, terrifyingly calm movement. "You went behind my back. Picked my ADC. The one I use. The one no one on the team touches unless they have a death wish."
"It was one match!" Pang squawked, scrambling to his feet and stepping back, only to bump into the arm of the sofa. "Yao said if I was stuck in Diamond 1, maybe it was because I was using supports like a coward, and I wanted to prove her wrong!"
"You tried to fix your rank," Sicheng said evenly, stalking forward now, "with my Fire Kirin."
"I asked for her to duo with me!" Pang wailed. "Yao said no, and then I got tilted and—I didn't know you'd find out this fast!"
"You have a replay history, you moron," Lao K said dryly, already shaking his head as if mourning Pang's soon-to-be short-lived existence.
"I told you I wasn't helping you with that," Yao added, raising her bowl of congee like a judge passing sentence. "You're reckless, and your reaction time is slow when you get flustered."
"It was one match!" Pang repeated, like shouting it would somehow reduce the weight of his crime.
"I don't care if it was half a match," Sicheng muttered darkly. "You used my Kirin. You didn't even ask."
"Technically," Rui said blandly, "we have no policy against that."
Sicheng turned a look on him that could have frozen fire.
"Okay, never mind," Rui amended. "It's a war crime. Carry on."
Pang was already halfway behind Ming. "Tell him he can't kill me! You're the coach!"
Ming sighed but did not, in fact, offer him protection. "You knew the rules," he said wearily. "You brought this on yourself."
Yao, still curled up with Da Bing and sipping slowly from her water, blinked innocently at Pang's panicked flailing. "He asked me which ADC would help him climb faster. I said something strong with mobility, burst, and a decent lane clear."
"And you knew what that meant," Sicheng growled.
Yao gave a small, dangerous smile. "Of course I did."
Pang, cornered now, looked around in horror. "You set me up!"
Sicheng's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Training match. Tonight. You're my support."
Pang paled. "Wait—what? No! That's cruel and unusual punishment! I'll die!"
Yao grinned behind her cup. "Better pick a tank."
Ming leaned back in his chair, satisfied. "Guess we're back to normal."
Rui sighed into his tablet. "Normal for us is concerning."
The chaos was just beginning to settle.
Pang had stopped trying to hide behind Ming after realizing the coach was about as useful a shield as a paper towel, and Sicheng had relented only slightly, enough to stop plotting the man's digital execution, but not enough to call off the mandated duo queue death sentence he had declared.
Yao, meanwhile, sat on the couch now fully upright, her color slowly returning, the bowl of half-eaten congee resting on her lap as Da Bing sprawled sleepily across her feet like a living blanket. Her eyes were thoughtful as she watched Pang sulk into his water bottle, grumbling about betrayal and how loyalty clearly meant nothing in this team. Then she tilted her head slightly and asked, casually but sincerely, "Hey, Pang-ge… can I ask something?"
He perked up a little at the "ge," his bruised pride clearly grasping for affection wherever it could be found. "Yeah?"
Her eyes narrowed a bit, curious. "Why do you try to use ADC Shikigami?"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I mean… you're really good with Support roles. You know vision control better than anyone I've played with. You can predict enemy positioning like it's nothing, you coordinate callouts that pull our team together. But you keep trying to use ADC Shikigami, even though you say you hate the mechanics and get motion sick when the screen gets too chaotic."
Pang looked like he'd been caught with a forbidden snack. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "I mean… yeah. I know Support's my thing. I like it. I'm good at it. But…" The room quieted a little, the teasing dying down as they all glanced his way. "…but sometimes, I just want to prove something," he admitted. "Like—prove that I'm not just the guy holding the leash. Not just the ward guy or the one who gets blamed when a teamfight goes south because I missed one shield or one stun. Everyone talks about how flashy the ADCs are. The triple kills. The duels. The highlight reels. Sometimes I just wanna be the carry. Just once." He shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but it didn't land. Not really. "I guess… I just wanted to feel like I could."
There was a pause.
Yao said, voice soft, "But you already are." Pang looked up, startled. "You are the carry," she said plainly. "Not in kills. In cohesion. No one talks about how the Support controls the rhythm of the map. How the lane survives or falls depending on what you see first. That's not small. That's everything. If you think ADCs are the ones carrying—" she tilted her head— "why do you think Sicheng loses his mind when he doesn't trust his Support?"
"I don't lose my mind," Sicheng muttered.
"You bench people." Ming replied without missing a beat.
Pang stared at her for a long second, then finally cracked a sheepish smile. "…Well. Damn. That's actually the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me during scrims."
Yao smiled a little and went back to her congee. "I'm a doctor," she said. "Fixing delusions is part of my job."
Lao Mao laughed quietly.
Lao K muttered, "Should've put her on team comms sooner."
The noise had finally faded.
One by one, the others had drifted off, Pang mumbling something about needing to emotionally recover from being humbled by a girl barely taller than his keyboard, Lao Mao and Lao K retreating to the kitchen for their usual protein-bar-post-meeting ritual, and Ming following Rui out with a promise to email scrim breakdowns by morning. The base quieted into that familiar late-evening hush, the only sound the occasional hum of electronics and the soft purring of Da Bing.
Yao lay curled on the couch, Da Bing nestled tightly against her chest like he knew she needed something warm to hold. Her fingers ran gently along the length of his spine, her touch absent, distracted. She let out a slow, tired sigh, eyes still open but unfocused as she watched the low light of the lounge catch in the glass of the trophy case across the room. She didn't hear the footsteps at first. But she felt the presence.
Sicheng didn't say anything when he stepped back into the room. He just crossed the space with quiet, even steps, his expression unreadable but his eyes never leaving her. He stopped beside the couch, one hand still tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, the other lifting to rub the back of his neck like he wasn't sure if he should speak or just leave her to rest.
Yao looked up at him slowly, her cheek still pressed to Da Bing's soft fur. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for training match reviews or your ADC reps?"
"I'm the Captain," he said simply. "I decide when we rest."
She blinked, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her exhaustion. "Is this you resting?"
"I'll rest when you stop looking like the weight of the entire league is still sitting on your shoulders."
Her fingers paused in Da Bing's fur. Her eyes flicked away. "I didn't mean to cause all this," she murmured. "I didn't even know what I was drinking. I was just… trying to relax. I thought I could let myself be normal for once."
Sicheng didn't sit. Not right away. Instead, he reached down, careful and slow, and gently tugged the blanket higher over her shoulder, making sure Da Bing didn't shift too much with the movement. His voice, when it came again, was lower. Softer. "You're not responsible for how others fail you, Yao." She looked up, startled by the gentleness in his tone. "You didn't cause this. You didn't invite Jian Yang. You didn't pour your own drinks. You didn't beg Bao to question your place on this team. All you did was trust people who should've had your back." He finally lowered himself to sit on the edge of the couch, one hand resting loosely beside her leg, close but not touching. "And I'm not letting anyone blame you for that," he said quietly. "Not the league. Not the team. Not you."
Her eyes welled again, but she blinked fast, furious, refusing to let them fall.
Sicheng noticed. Of course he did. He reached out, slowly, carefully, until his fingers brushed the top of her head once, a warm weight that didn't push, didn't trap, just lingered long enough to let her know he was there. "I've got you," he said, barely above a whisper. "Sleep. I'll be here."
Yao didn't answer right away. Just closed her eyes, the tension finally slipping from her body as Da Bing rumbled a deep, comforting purr against her chest. And slowly, she breathed out, soft and steady, as if, for the first time in a long while, she actually believed it.
The soft hum of the lounge lights and the muted flicker of the monitor screens in standby mode painted a low, quiet rhythm through the ZGDX base. Da Bing had barely moved except to shift closer to Yao's chest, his massive paws tucked neatly under his chin as he nestled against her like a breathing stuffed animal. Tong Yao, finally asleep, hadn't stirred in over an hour. Her breathing was deep, even. For the first time in days, she looked… at peace.
Sicheng hadn't left his spot on the couch. He sat beside her still, one arm resting loosely on the back cushion, his fingers idly brushing against the hem of the blanket. Not enough to wake her. Just enough to remind himself she was still there. Still warm. Still safe.
The sound of the front door unlocking was barely audible, but his head turned the moment he heard it.
Ming stepped in first, his expression unreadable, a tablet tucked under one arm, and Rui followed just behind him with a quiet nod. Both men immediately noticed the stillness of the room—and more specifically, the girl curled on the couch beneath a mountain of soft blanket and cat fur. "She's asleep?" Ming asked, voice pitched low.
Sicheng nodded once. "Out cold."
"Good," Rui muttered. "She needs it."
Ming moved to sit across from them while Rui sank into the single chair, glancing once more at Yao with something more than just concern in his eyes. He exhaled, then exchanged a look with the Captain. "We've been talking," Ming said quietly.
Sicheng's gaze sharpened. "About?"
"Her," Ming replied, and then, more deliberately, "Her future here."
Rui nodded. "We reviewed her original contract. It doesn't reflect everything she's capable of. Not anymore."
"We weren't thinking far enough ahead," Ming added. "Back then, we were just trying to fill a spot. But she's not a placeholder, and we all damn well know it now."
Sicheng didn't interrupt, just waited.
Ming continued, "We want to redo her contract. Expand it. Make her an official dual-role. Midlaner and Analyst."
At that, Sicheng's brow lifted faintly.
Ming nodded. "She's got the brain for it. You've seen how fast she processes rotations, enemy paths, set-ups. The modeling work she's already doing for herself—if she applies that to the team, our side? She could help restructure the entire scrim prep system. Game plan executions. Macro strategies. Split-second lane adaptation."
"She could help you," Rui added, glancing at Sicheng. "The way you always carry half the strategy planning burden on your own—she could actually match you in that space."
Sicheng leaned back slightly, eyes flicking toward Yao. Still asleep. Still unmoving. "And if she accepts?" he asked, quiet.
"We cut her practice hours down," Ming said. "Majorly. Because she's going to be helping me run team reviews, pattern analysis, and future training adjustments. She won't have to do everything. But if she wants in—she'll be more than just our Midlaner."
"She'll be one of the minds behind how we win," Rui said simply.
Sicheng looked at them both, then back to the girl curled up in sleep beside him. Tong Yao, Midlaner. Tong Yao, the one with the golden mind and the iron spine. The one who still didn't fully believe she was wanted. The one who had walked into their storm and made herself a pillar without anyone asking. He looked back up. "She'll say yes," he said quietly.
"You sure?" Rui asked.
"She wants to belong," Sicheng replied, his voice steady now, certain. "This gives her the choice. That's all she's ever needed."
Ming nodded slowly, then looked down at his tablet. "I'll get the draft ready by morning."
Sicheng's gaze lingered on Yao a moment longer, watching as her breath rose and fell beneath Da Bing's weight. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned back against the couch again, his voice low and tired but edged with something far sharper underneath. "What did we decide on for her uniform?"
Rui shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck like he already regretted the answer. "Standard jacket, same color scheme, nameplate positioning matched yours. For bottoms…" He hesitated.
Ming narrowed his eyes. "Rui."
Rui winced. "They drafted a back skirt. Said it was 'more in line' with her brand as a female player. Meant to sit just above mid-thigh. Marketable. Youthful."
The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
Ming's eyes narrowed to slits. "What."
Sicheng sat forward slowly, the deliberate movement of a man who had just decided someone was going to regret breathing. "And she was given no say in this."
"Not in the draft version," Rui admitted, already wincing again. "They assumed it'd fit the current media image. Fan engagement and—"
"Change it," Sicheng cut in sharply.
Rui blinked. "What—"
"She gets a choice," the Captain said coldly. "Skirt or pants. And the skirt better not be some cheap publicity grab with a hemline designed to bait headlines."
Ming, arms now folded, added darkly, "I want the material list and the cut specs by morning. If this is even close to what FNC's HQ tried to pull on that poor girl from FNC last year that joined them as a technical analyst before she quit, we're ripping the whole design department out by the roots."
"She's not a showpiece," Sicheng said, voice low. "She's one of us."
Rui held up both hands, nodding quickly. "Alright, alright. I'll get on it. I'll make sure the final call is hers. We'll add both bottom options and let her decide what she's most comfortable with."
"Good," Ming muttered. "Or the League can deal with a headline called 'Captain and Coach Declare War Over Skirt Fabric.'"
Sicheng leaned back again, arms crossed, gaze still fixed on the girl asleep beside him. She wasn't going to find out about this part. Not yet. Not until they'd made sure every part of her place on this team—from the contract to the fabric on her damn uniform—was on her terms.