Summary: Through storms, scars, and unbreakable love, ZGDX rises to claim their crown. But for Yao and Sicheng, the true victory isn't just in the cheers or the trophy—it's in every step they now take side by side, bound by something no world could ever touch.
Chapter Nineteen
Backstage at the arena was a different kind of chaos. Sleek, organized. The hum of cameras being set up, staff in headsets moving briskly back and forth, the low murmur of other teams prepping in separate rooms down the hall.
ZDXG's staging area was cordoned off, their gear laid out neatly across long black tables under bright white lights. The team pulled on their headsets, adjusted the lightweight jackets over their jerseys, flexing their fingers, warming them up with practiced movements, rolling wrists and stretching knuckles to make sure everything would be fast, precise, controlled.
No gloves.
No restrictions.
Nothing between them and the mouse and keyboard they would wield like weapons on stage.
Sicheng finished adjusting his headset, tugging the mic into position, and straightened with that slow, deliberate presence that always made the room seem to still around him. He turned, scanning the team quickly and then his eyes locked onto Yao. She stood just outside the designated player area, Da Bing's carrier safely hooked to her wrist, her custom ZGDX jacket snug around her shoulders, her ponytail sleek, her expression focused and calm. She looked ready. More than ready.
Sicheng's jaw tightened slightly anyway. He crossed to her in a few strides, his voice low but absolute. "You go nowhere alone," he said, his hand brushing lightly at her elbow, grounding her, reinforcing the order with a gentle but unshakable pull. "You stay with Rui." He shot a look over her head to where Rui stood just behind her, tablet already in hand, nodding grimly. "Front row," Sicheng continued, voice hardening slightly. "With Rui. The second Ming finishes with us during ban and pick, he's coming down to join you." He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping lower, just for her. "I don't want to give Jian Yang a single excuse to get near you. Not on breaks. Not between matches. Not ever. "
Yao arched an eyebrow at him, calm and unimpressed by the sheer protectiveness burning in his tone. Instead, she smirked—sharp, wicked, utterly hers. And muttered under her breath, deadpan, "If he so much as looks at me wrong," she said sweetly, "I'll kick him so hard he'll never sleep with anyone again." She tilted her head slightly, her smile gaining dangerous teeth. "And he won't be having kids, either."
The team went still for a moment.
Then….
Yue choked on his drink, coughing so hard Rui had to slap him on the back.
Pang snorted, muttering something about needing to get that threat printed on a T-shirt.
Lao Mao gave a rumbling laugh under his breath as Lao K smirked with approval at their girl.
Even Ming, usually composed and silent at this stage, let out a low breath that was suspiciously close to a chuckle.
Rui, adjusting his glasses, shook his head muttering dryly, "Absolutely terrifying."
Sicheng just stared at her for a long beat. Then he reached out, cradling the back of her head with a steady, possessive hand, pulling her in for a moment so fleeting it almost didn't happen, pressing her forehead lightly to his chest. He kissed the top of her head, lingering there for a heartbeat. And when he pulled back, his mouth curved in a soft, dangerous smile meant for no one else but her. " That's my girl. "
Yao smiled back, her hand briefly fisting into the front of his jacket before letting him go.
And just like that, Sicheng turned and faced his team. "Let's go," he said, voice sharp and burning.
The others straightened immediately, energy snapping into place.
Yao and Rui peeled away toward the secured side corridor leading to the front-row seating, Da Bing's carrier swaying gently at her side, Yao's eyes locked steady ahead.
Sicheng watched her go, watched her disappear around the corner and then he smiled. Small. Deadly. Because anyone who thought touching her, threatening her, was an option? Was about to learn a lesson they would never forget.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as ZGDX stepped into the tunnel leading onto the main stage. The lights above them shifted, bright and blinding, painting the dark corridor in flashes of white and red, strobing with the beat of the music pounding through the arena. Beyond the tunnel, the main floor opened up into a sea of faces, banners waving wildly, fans screaming themselves hoarse.
Sicheng didn't look away from the stage ahead, his stride steady, unhurried, every line of his body radiating calm authority. Beside him, Pang cracked his knuckles, Yue bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, Lao Mao adjusted his jersey, and Lao K flexed his fingers in slow, methodical rolls, all of them vibrating with contained, focused energy.
They reached the edge of the tunnel.
The lights sharpened, forming a halo around them.
And then—
They stepped onto the stage.
The arena exploded.
Cameras flashed like lightning, the sound a wall of thunder around them, and somewhere overhead the announcers were shouting their names into microphones, voices lost in the storm.
But none of that touched them.
ZDXG walked forward as one. Unbreakable. Unstoppable. The embodiment of a team who had clawed their way through hell and come out stronger.
Front row, just behind the heavy barrier dividing players from the audience, Yao sat beside Rui. Her posture was relaxed but her eyes were razor-sharp, her ZGDX jacket fitting her perfectly, the Lu crest glinting faintly in the stage lights where it rested just above her heart. Da Bing's carrier rested at her feet, the kitten half-dozing but letting out the occasional low purr as if claiming the space as his own.
Yao's gaze swept across the stage instinctively, and landed, for one brief, perfect heartbeat, on Jian Yang. He was seated with CK's lineup on the opposite side of the stage, a water bottle in his hand. And when he spotted her. When he truly saw her sitting there, in the front row, in the colors of the team he was about to face. He froze. Mid-drink. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief flashing across his features. And then? He choked. Spectacularly. The water bottle jerked in his hand, water sloshing down the front of his jersey as he coughed and spluttered, trying and failing to recover any semblance of dignity.
The camera feeds were too focused on the teams stepping up to their gaming stations to catch it, but Yao saw every second. She tilted her head slightly. Smirked. And then turned her attention away from him entirely, as if he wasn't even worth a second glance. Because he wasn't. Not anymore.
Sicheng caught the small, private smile playing across her lips as he moved into position at the far end of the ZGDX station, seating himself at the captain's spot with effortless, commanding ease. One glance at her was all it took. He didn't need to ask. Didn't need to worry. She was fine. Better than fine. She was exactly where she was supposed to be, where he had fought to keep her, where she had chosen to stand.
The team settled in around him, monitors lighting up, keyboards ready, mice adjusted. Their headsets slid into place, the white noise of the world dimming slightly as the barrier came down between them and everything else. But even through the soundproofing, the weight of the moment pulsed through the stage.
ZGDX didn't need to shout.
They didn't need to posture.
They didn't need theatrics.
Their presence said it all.
We are here.
We are ready.
And you will not take this from us.
The commentator signaled the start of the ban and pick phase, Ming rising behind them in the sharp and ready, eyes flickering toward Yao just once in silent confirmation before focusing fully on the screens. And as the draft timer began counting down, the entire arena seemed to hold its breath. Waiting for the storm that was about to break.
The moment the draft phase locked in, the real game began. The roar of the crowd blurred into a muted hum against the focused intensity blazing from the stage lights.
ZGDX moved with the cold, disciplined precision of a team that had bled for every inch they stood on.
Lao Mao anchored the top lane, a wall of unshakable defense.
Lao K swept through the jungle with ruthless efficiency, stealing camps and suffocating CK's jungle rotations.
Pang rotated cleanly alongside Sicheng, the two moving as one—pressuring the map, forcing CK's bot lane into desperate, defensive postures.
Yue, sharp and relentless under pressure, handled mid lane like a scalpel—baiting, collapsing, rotating, each move clean, calculated, unforgiving.
At the center of it all, commanding with brutal, clinical precision, was Lu Sicheng. His voice filtered through their comms, low and steady.
"Top side, shift leash pressure."
"Lao K, sweep left quadrant—deny vision."
"Pang, watch bottom river brush. Hold trigger till I call."
Every movement flowed like a perfect storm.
Every trap laid like clockwork.
CK struggled to adjust, but they were a step too slow, a second too late at every turn. CK's players grew more and more unsettled—their tempo breaking, their formations slipping.
Sicheng didn't give them space to breathe. He pressed. Hard. Without mercy.
In the front row, just behind the glass divide, Yao sat between Ming and Rui, Da Bing's carrier resting at her feet. She wasn't a player on the stage. She wasn't calling shots over comms. But her presence was a force of its own. She sat still, arms loosely crossed, the tailored ZGDX jacket fitting her like a second skin, the Lu family crest gleaming faintly against the black of her top. Her gaze locked unwaveringly onto the screens. Sharp. Proud. Solid.
Ming, sitting tall with arms folded over his chest, occasionally glanced toward her, catching the slight nods of approval, the flashes of satisfaction in her expression whenever ZGDX landed a perfect trap or forced another fumble from CK. Rui remained steady at her other side, quietly typing updates into his tablet, a faint ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth every time Yao leaned forward slightly, caught up in the momentum. By the fourteen-minute mark, ZGDX claimed Baron. By sixteen minutes, Yue had collapsed Mid lane with ruthless precision, forcing CK's Mid into panicked defensive rotations.By nineteen, CK's bottom lane cracked. By twenty-one minutes, the Nexus fell.
The arena exploded into chaos—screams, cheers, a wall of banners lifting high into the lights.
But on stage?
ZGDX remained calm.
No grandstanding.
No showboating.
Only the steady, lethal readiness of soldiers who knew the battle wasn't over.
Sicheng stretched first, pulling off his headset with slow, deliberate movements, scanning the front rows without hesitation. Across the flashing lights, the cameras, the howling storm of sound. He found her. She didn't wave. She simply clapped. Slow. Deliberate. Proud. Her smile was small, sharp, private—a blade sheathed carefully behind quiet eyes. And Sicheng, for just a breath of a heartbeat? Smiled back. Silent. Unspoken.
I see you.
You're mine.
And then he turned back to his team, his mouth setting into a hard line. There was still one match left. One more fight. One more victory. Then they would they take what they had built with blood and fire and claim their rightful crown.
The crowd still roared, the energy humming against the glass as the first match stats flashed across the giant screens overhead. ZDXG filed neatly back behind their row of desks, the stage crew already moving to reset and prep for the second match. The standard protocol called for a ten-minute break, time to regroup, breathe, refocus before the next battle.
But something shifted in Yao's chest as she watched them. A small frown pulled at her mouth as she leaned slightly toward Ming, who stood to her left, arms folded tightly over his chest. "The ten-minute break," she asked quietly, her voice barely cutting through the roar of the crowd. "Aren't they supposed to go backstage for it?"
Ming didn't look at her immediately. He just huffed under his breath, eyes trained sharply on the team settling back into their seats. "Nope," he muttered finally. "Sicheng decided we're staying on stage."
Yao blinked. "But—"
Ming glanced down at her briefly, his expression dry, sharp, and laced with a touch of something quieter underneath. "He doesn't want you wandering around the backstage corridors during the break," Ming said lowly, his voice just loud enough for her to hear, just quiet enough that it stayed private. "Not with CK's lot hanging around. Not when they're already rattled and pissed."
Yao's mouth parted slightly in surprise. Her gaze flickered back to Sicheng on stage. He sat in his chair, arms loosely draped over the armrests, head tilted slightly back as he rolled his shoulders to stay loose, like a King at rest between wars. Calm. Unhurried. But she knew better. That decision. It wasn't about convenience. It wasn't about comfort. It was about her. Keeping her visible. Keeping her close. Making sure no stray confrontation, no chance meeting in some dim backstage hallway, could be engineered by CK in a desperate, humiliating bid to throw them off balance. She tightened her grip slightly on Da Bing's carrier strap, feeling the warm rumble of the kitten snoozing inside. Warmth bloomed low in her chest. Sharp and aching and blindingly sure. She didn't need him to say it. Didn't need him to look her way or spell it out.
The truth was in the way ZGDX stayed calmly seated on stage while CK's side was being shuffled awkwardly off toward the wings. The truth was in the way Sicheng had anchored himself there, so calm, so immovable—as if daring anyone to try and touch what was his.
Yao smiled slightly, a quiet, private curve of her mouth as she leaned back in her seat, pulling the jacket closer around her shoulders. Let them glare. Let them rage. Let them lose themselves in their desperation. ZGDX? ZGDX wasn't moving. They had already won more than just the game. They had won their future. Their home. Their family. And when the second match started. They would take the crown too.
The break ended quickly, the reset clocks ticking down to zero as the stage lights flashed once again, throwing the arena into a fever pitch of noise.
The second match was about to begin.
ZGDX sat ready at their stations, calm, focused, immovable, while across the stage, CK shifted restlessly, their tension bleeding into every stiff movement.
The draft phase locked in.
And just like Yao had warned them?
Jian Yang was pissed. It poured off him like smoke, poisoning his movements, coloring every decision with the raw, ugly desperation of someone who was unraveling and didn't even realize it. He snapped through picks. Forced a hyper-aggressive, reckless comp. A gamble. A mistake.
Ming muttered low under his breath, glancing at the team screens as the match loaded in, "He's tilting hard. Watch him fold."
Yao didn't take her eyes off the stage. She leaned forward slightly, her voice carrying only to Rui and Ming beside her. "Tilted Jian Yang only knows one play," she said, steady and sure. "Overextend. Force kills. Try to bully the tempo." She glanced toward the ZGDX lineup. Her voice sharpened. "And right now, the only one who can counter him, clean?" Her eyes locked onto Sicheng, the sharp, proud line of his shoulders as he adjusted his headset. "Chessman."
The game started.
And CK came out swinging.
Jian Yang practically launched himself into the first three minutes—roaming aggressively, forcing early fights, burning flashes, pulling his team into reckless skirmishes that cost them tempo even when they clawed out a kill.
But ZGDX?
ZGDX didn't crack.
Sicheng didn't crack. He played it cool, pulling CK deeper and deeper into overextensions, baiting their Jungler off paths, forcing bad rotations, setting traps in the river brush like a patient, ruthless hunter.
Lao Mao locked down the top lane, counter-teleporting with perfect timing.
Lao K shadowed their moves, stealing buffs and bleeding out their jungle resources.
Pang shielded and peeled whenever Jian Yang tried to dive bot, shutting him down again and again.
Yue stayed sharp, focused, ruthless and slipped under CK's mid rotations, baiting aggression and pulling it exactly where Sicheng wanted it.
Sicheng's voice filled their headsets, calm and cutting:
"Top push. Reset pressure."
"Jian Yang on tilt. Collapse mid next wave."
"Lao K, set vision river side. Trap at Baron in three."
It was surgical.
Brutal.
Every time Jian Yang lunged forward, ZGDX was already two steps ahead, ready to collapse and punish the mistake. By the fourteen-minute mark, ZGDX forced a wipe in mid lane. Four down for CK. Baron secured without contest.
The crowd went wild, but Yao barely heard them. She sat stiffly at the edge of her seat, watching, her fingers tightening slightly around the carrier strap resting across her lap.
Watching Sicheng dismantle the man who had once thought he could own her story. Watching him, calm and cold and untouchable, carve the battlefield with every steady decision.
Across the stage, Jian Yang slammed his hand against his desk, earning a sharp rebuke from his ADC but even that barely registered. Because the game was already over. He just didn't know it yet.
Sicheng leaned back slightly, shifting his fingers across his mouse in a lazy, dangerous movement that sent a ripple through the team. "Push all lanes," he said. "End it clean."
ZGDX surged across the map like a tide, sweeping CK off objectives, destroying their defenses.
At twenty-one minutes, the Nexus fell for the second time that night.
The scoreboard flashed across the screens:
VICTORY — ZGDX.
The roar of the crowd shattered the air.
Sicheng slid off his headset calmly, standing first as the others rose around him, every line of his body loose, relaxed, utterly in control. He didn't celebrate wildly. He didn't throw his fists in the air. He didn't need to. Because the world knew. ZGDX hadn't just won. They had conquered.
And Yao, standing now in the front row, the Lu crest shining against her chest, smiled. Sharp. Proud. Unbreakable. Because this was what they had built together. This was who they had become. And no one— no one —was ever taking it from them again.
The roar of the crowd hit like a tidal wave, deafening, overwhelming.
Gold confetti cannons fired into the air, raining down in a shimmering storm that caught the stage lights and turned the whole world into a blaze of gold and white.
Above the deafening cheers, the booming of their names from the announcers, and the thunderous pounding of fists against barricades, Rui was already moving. He leaned down swiftly, gently taking Da Bing's carrier from Yao's hand before she could even think to object.
Without hesitation, Ming was there too, nudging her lightly forward, his voice gruff but unmistakably warm. "Go," he said. "That's yours, too, considering you gave us the data."
Yao blinked once, stunned—still half rooted to the ground—but her feet started moving before her mind fully caught up.
The team was already at the center of the stage, hands raised, faces split with wild, disbelieving grins.
The trophy, polished silver and shining under the lights, waited at center stage like a crown for the warriors who had earned it.
Sicheng turned. Spotted her. And everything else disappeared. Without hesitation, without caring about the cameras, the flashing lights, the thousands of eyes watching. He moved. Crossed the stage in long, sure strides, the loose, predatory grace of a man who had never doubted what was his. He reached her, grabbed her by the waist, and hauled her off the ground with effortless strength.
Yao gasped, laughing, clinging instinctively to his shoulders as he spun her once in a wide, wild circle, gold confetti swirling around them like a blessing. And then before she could say a word. He kissed her. Hard. Fierce. Like he was staking a claim the whole damn world could see. The crowd exploded again, even louder, the noise vibrating through the stage, through their skin, through their bones. But Yao didn't hear it. Didn't feel anything but the steady, overwhelming heat of him. His hands firm at her waist. His mouth demanding and sure against hers. His heart pounding in time with hers.
Around them, the team whooped and laughed, Pang throwing both fists into the air, Yue spinning in a circle like he couldn't believe it, Lao Mao grinning so wide he looked ready to starting cheering loudly as Lao K high fived him. Ming just shook his head and muttered something about damn kids, but even he couldn't hide the sharp, satisfied pride burning in his eyes.
When Sicheng finally pulled back, he didn't set her down immediately. He kept her cradled against him, one hand sliding to cup the back of her head gently, his forehead pressing lightly to hers. "You," he muttered, his voice rough with everything he couldn't say in front of all of them, "are the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Yao laughed through the tears she didn't even realize were running down her cheeks, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his jersey. "You're not so bad yourself," she whispered back, her voice shaking with the force of it.
Sicheng smiled—small, real, devastating. And then he set her down carefully, one hand sliding down her arm, anchoring her to him even as they turned toward the trophy. Together. As a team. As a family. As everything they had fought and bled for.
The weight of everything they had fought for pulsed in the air around them as the trophy was finally brought to center stage. It gleamed under the lights, polished to a perfect mirror shine, the engraved Championship crest catching the gold confetti raining down like a storm of falling stars.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena, barely cutting through the deafening roar of the crowd: "Your 2020 Champions—ZGDX!"
The arena shook under the force of it.
Sicheng's hand never left Yao's as he turned, nodding once to his team. And then together, with a unity so sharp it made the breath catch in a thousand throats, ZGDX stepped forward. Pang and Yue reached first, their hands slapping onto the handles at the base of the trophy. Lao Mao moved next, steady and sure, with Lao K sliding in opposite him, anchoring the formation. Ming and Rui with them as Rui was still holding a judgemental Da Bing.
Sicheng reached last, his hand steady, powerful at the center of it all.They hoisted the trophy into the air in one fluid, triumphant motion and the roar that went up from the crowd was deafening. Banners snapped against the currents of sound. Fans screamed themselves hoarse. Cameras flashed so fast and bright it looked like a galaxy exploding above the stage. Gold confetti rained harder, swirling around them, clinging to jerseys, hair, skin.
Sicheng stood at the center of it, head tilted slightly back, his mouth set in a small, almost feral smile. Yao stood just behind them, tucked slightly to Sicheng's left side, her jacket blending her into the team without question, without hesitation. She clapped with the rest of the crowd, pride burning so bright inside her it felt almost unbearable. Not because she needed the world to see her. But because this…. This moment was what her boys had built together. Brick by bloody brick. Fight by brutal fight.
It was Yue grabbing Lao Mao's arm and swinging it back and forth, laughing with that half-crazed, victorious edge. It was Pang wiping at his eyes roughly with the sleeve of his jacket, pretending not to notice anyone watching. It was Lao K nodding once—silent, hard—but with his mouth tilted into the smallest of proud grins. It was Ming standing with his arms crossed at the edge of the stage, watching them like a father watching his kids rule the world. It was Rui adjusting his glasses, scribbling rapid notes even as his mouth tugged up at the corners, betraying the fierce satisfaction burning behind his usual calm.
And it was Sicheng, who, in the middle of the flashing lights and screaming fans and triumph burning the air itself. Turned his head slightly. Searched for her. Found her and smiled. Yao smiled back through the sheen of tears in her eyes, lifting her chin, letting him see that she was proud of him and the others.
The celebrations inside the arena were still raging as ZGDX slipped out the side entrance, moving quickly under the heavy protection of security. The air outside was cool, sharp against the overheated flush on their skin, and the glittering remnants of confetti still clung to their jackets as they headed for the waiting team bus parked just beyond the loading docks.
Yao stayed close to Sicheng, the heavy ZGDX jacket still wrapped around her, the Lu crest resting solid and warm over her heart. They were almost there—the bus doors open, Rui already speaking quietly to the driver—when it happened. From the shadows near the loading bay, stepping out with stiff, defiant movements, came Jian Yang. The team's easy pace slowed instantly, the tension crackling through the group like a live wire.
Sicheng moved before anyone else could react, his body instinctively shifting, stepping slightly ahead of Yao, forcing her behind the protective line of his shoulders without hesitation.
The rest of ZGDX flanked out without needing to be told, Lao Mao and Pang falling into place on either side, Yue and Lao K just behind, forming a loose, silent wall.
Ming, who had been bringing up the rear with Rui, stiffened instantly, his mouth tightening into a hard, flat line.
But Jian Yang didn't even glance at them. Didn't acknowledge the heavy security presence lingering just a few steps away. His eyes, sharp, furious, fractured. Were locked entirely, obsessively, on Yao. He moved one step closer, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. "You," he rasped, voice rough with fury barely leashed. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"
Yao didn't flinch. Didn't move. She stood steady behind Sicheng, her chin lifting a fraction higher, her mouth curving into something small and cold. "This is what I earned," she said, her voice calm and cutting, each word like a blade. "You lost the second you underestimated me."
Jian Yang's jaw tightened so hard the tendons in his neck stood out sharp against his skin. "You think you're better than me?" he hissed.
Sicheng's mouth tilted into a slow, dangerous smirk—not amused, not even contemptuous. Deadly. "You're not even in the same league," he said lazily, his voice carrying the brutal weight of absolute truth. "And you never were."
For a moment, a long, shuddering moment, Jian Yang looked like he might do something stupid. Something desperate. Something final. But the look on Sicheng's face. Cold. Unbreakable. The look of a man who would tear the world apart without breaking a sweat if someone so much as breathed wrong on what was his. Stopped him. Stopped him cold. Behind them, the others didn't move. Didn't need to. Their silence was heavier than fists.
Their presence spoke louder than words.
Touch her, and you'll never walk out of here.
The muscles in Jian Yang's jaw ticked, his hands shaking with the force of whatever war was happening behind his eyes. He wrenched his gaze away from Yao with a snarl, spitting a curse under his breath, and turned sharply on his heel, storming back toward the arena without another word.
The moment he disappeared into the shadows, Sicheng exhaled once, slow and controlled, and turned back to Yao. His hand found hers immediately, tugging her gently toward him, his thumb brushing over her knuckles like a silent, grounding anchor. "You good?" he murmured.
Yao smiled faintly, fierce and sure. "I'm perfect."
Sicheng's mouth tilted into a private, satisfied curve meant only for her. And with the team falling naturally into step around them, a wall of loyalty and strength at their backs, they headed for the bus…. Together.
The bus rumbled to life beneath them, pulling smoothly away from the arena and into the neon-lit streets of Shanghai. The team sprawled across the seats, exhaustion finally settling into their bodies now that the adrenaline of victory had begun to bleed away. The heavy Championship trophy sat strapped securely in the seat near the front, still gleaming under the soft overhead lights, a silent, beautiful weight that none of them could quite believe they had finally claimed.
Near the back of the bus, tucked safely into the window seat.
Yao sat beside Sicheng, her jacket still snug around her shoulders, the Lu crest gleaming faintly every time the city lights swept across it. She leaned her head lightly against his shoulder, breathing in the warm, steady comfort of him. But the quiet didn't last. Muttering under her breath, just loud enough for him—and maybe a few of the boys—to hear, she said, voice sharp with dry irritation: "I was this close," she held her fingers apart barely an inch, "to kicking that asshole so hard he'd need reconstructive surgery."
Sicheng's mouth twitched. He didn't laugh. Not really. But a deep, low rumble of amusement vibrated against her where she leaned on him, his arm draping lazily across the back of her seat to pull her closer without looking like he was doing it.
From across the aisle, Yue leaned sideways into Pang and stage-whispered, not bothering to hide his grin, "I would've paid good money to see it."
Pang snorted, muffling his laughter into his hand.
Lao Mao, who rarely offered commentary, muttered under his breath, "We'd need a cleanup crew."
Even Lao K smirked faintly, shaking his head.
Rui, seated a few rows up, didn't even look back, but his voice carried dryly through the bus: "Security would've buried him behind the stadium before the media even noticed."
Ming, lounging two rows ahead, added without turning around, "And I would've claimed total ignorance."
The bus filled with quiet chuckles, the kind of low, exhausted laughter that only comes after a long war fought and won.
Sicheng tilted his head down slightly, brushing his mouth against Yao's temple in a fleeting, private kiss. "You're dangerous, Shorty," he murmured.
Yao smiled faintly, shifting so she could glance up at him, her eyes gleaming with tired satisfaction. "You're lucky I'm on your side," she said.
Sicheng grinned, a slow, lazy thing full of quiet triumph, and squeezed her shoulder gently. "I always knew." Outside the windows, Shanghai blurred past in waves of gold and silver light, the city breathing and humming around them. But inside the bus. Inside this small pocket of the world they had built with blood, sweat, and sheer stubborn love. It was warm. Safe. Home.