The off-season training grind was brutal. Late nights stretched into early mornings, the team rotating between strategy drills, scrim matches, and physical conditioning that left everyone half-crawling by the end of each session.
Even Da Bing seemed exhausted, flopping dramatically in front of Tong Yao's desk like a fallen soldier after each long night. It was well past one in the morning when the house finally fell into a heavy, bone-deep silence.
Yao, running on stubbornness and half a cup of lukewarm tea, wandered out of her Cave in search of something edible—barefoot, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, her hair falling loose around her face. She padded softly down the stairs, yawning into her sleeve. And then she stopped dead halfway into the living room. Her brain short-circuited. Her breath caught. And her eyes—her poor, innocent eyes—took in a sight that would be forever seared into her memory.
Pang.
In bright, blinding Superman boxers, complete with a red waistband and little capes printed on the sides, striding boldly across the room, scratching his head and yawning.
Followed closely by Yue.
Wearing nothing but Batman boxers, his messy hair sticking up at impossible angles, casually dragging his feet toward the kitchen like a sleep-deprived zombie.
Neither seemed remotely aware—or remotely clothed.
For a full three seconds, no one moved.
Then Yao shrieked, a high, horrified sound that split the stillness of the house like a grenade.
The two boys jumped like they had been electrocuted.
Pang yelped in terror, flailing wildly as he grabbed the nearest object—a throw pillow off the couch—and slammed it over his lower half.
Yue let out a strangled screech, diving for the nearest blanket and wrapping himself like a deranged, panicked burrito.
Yao staggered backward, one hand flung dramatically over her eyes as she wailed in utter betrayal, "I'M BLINDED! BLINDED BY SUPERMAN AND BATMAN!"
Doors burst open upstairs.
Lao Mao, Lao K, Ming and even Rui came charging out of their rooms, half-dressed and wide-eyed, reacting to the screaming.
Sicheng was the last to emerge, his hair tousled, his expression dark and murderous as he stalked down the hallway, ready for battle. "What the hell—" he began. And then he stopped. Surveyed the scene.
Pang clutching a tiny pillow in front of himself like a shield.
Yue wrapped head-to-toe in the living room blanket, hopping awkwardly toward the stairs like a panicked, half-naked worm.
Yao, standing frozen halfway down the stairs, one hand over her face, the other waving helplessly as she cried, "I CAN'T UNSEE IT! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!"
The base descended into chaos.
Pang made a break for it, bolting toward the hallway with his pillow barely holding position.
Yue stumbled after him, tripping over the edge of the blanket, swearing under his breath.
Ming staggered against the wall, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.
Rui muttered, "I'm too old for this," and turned back toward his room, scrubbing his hands down his face in defeat.
Lao Mao slumped against the door-frame, shaking his head.
Lao K just stared, deadpan, and muttered, "We need new brain bleach."
Sicheng crossed the living room in three slow strides, grabbed Yao gently by the wrist, and pulled her into his side without hesitation, shielding her face against his chest like a shield against the horrors of the world. "You," he said, voice low and dangerous, glaring after Pang and Yue, "are both dead men walking."
Yao mumbled pitifully into his hoodie, "They wore boxers... with capes ..."
Sicheng's mouth twitched. "I know," he said solemnly, resting his chin lightly on top of her head. "It's over now."
"No, it's not!" she moaned. "Every time I close my eyes, I see Superman's cape flying at me!"
Behind them, Xiao Cong shot out from under the couch and darted after Yue, yapping furiously like he, too, demanded justice for her trauma. Da Bing, ever regal, simply huffed in deep disapproval and draped himself across the floor dramatically, blocking the hallway like a final line of defense.
For the next hour, the base was alive with shouts, laughter, and the clatter of desperate footsteps as Pang and Yue attempted to flee their imminent doom.
And Yao, once safely hidden back in her Cave with Da Bing curled protectively at her side, could only whimper into her blanket, mourning the loss of her once-innocent eyesight. The Cave Queen had survived many things. Toxic players. Unforgiving training. Endless scrims. But tonight…. Tonight, she had been defeated.
By Superman.
And Batman.
And she would never be the same.
The base was finally quiet again by the time Sicheng set down the cup of hot tea he had made—carefully, without too much sugar the way she liked it—and made his way down the back hallway. He found her easily. Tucked away in the third room he had insisted she claim for herself—a converted lounge with soft carpet, low shelves, and now officially, unmistakably, the foxes' den. The door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open with a knuckle, stepping inside without making a sound. The sight that greeted him almost made him smile.
Yao was huddled deep beneath a mountain of mismatched blankets, only the very top of her hair poking out like a small, defeated lump. Da Bing lay pressed protectively against her side, his massive white body sprawled halfway across the floor in full guardian mode, ears flicking every so often as if daring anyone to come closer. And off to the corner, Xiao Cong slept like a tiny, smug demon, curled atop a giant hoard of battered, half-shredded old slippers the guys had finally surrendered as tribute in hopes he would leave their new ones alone.
Apparently, it had worked.
Sicheng leaned against the door-frame for a long moment, just watching. The soft, slow breathing beneath the blankets. The foxes' quiet presence. The stillness of the room. It was different from the energy that filled the base during scrims or team meetings or late-night chaos. This was softer. Quieter. Hers. He crossed the room with slow, easy steps, careful not to startle Da Bing. The fox lifted his head, ears twitching but when he saw it was Sicheng, he simply lowered his massive chin back onto his paws with a low, approving huff. Accepted. Trusted.
Sicheng crouched down beside the mound of blankets, setting the cup of tea carefully on the low table nearby. He didn't touch her. Didn't force her to look up. He just sat there, one arm resting loosely on one bent knee, his voice low and steady in the dark. "You alive under there?" he asked softly.
There was a muffled, pitiful noise from the blankets. Something halfway between a groan and a squeak.
He huffed a breath, a faint ghost of amusement threading through it. "You know," he said, his tone teasing but warm, "some people would pay good money to be blinded by superheroes."
The blankets shifted slightly.
"You're not funny," came her muffled grumble, tiny and deeply betrayed.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice even more, just enough to thread between the quiet spaces she had built around herself. "You're right," he said seriously. "I'm not." A beat. Then, softer, "You okay?"
The blankets shifted again, and after a long moment, Tong Yao poked her head out, her hair a wild mess, her cheeks faintly pink from either embarrassment or heat—or both. Her eyes—those sharp, clear piercing eyes—were tired, but steady. She sniffed once and muttered, "I need trauma counseling."
Sicheng smiled lazily, the edge of it tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You need better teammates," he said, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his knee. "And a stricter curfew."
Da Bing rumbled a low agreement beside her, his tail thumping once heavily against the floor.
Yao wrinkled her nose, pushing her hair back from her face as she glanced toward the cup of tea he had set out for her. Without asking, without saying anything more, she reached for it with both hands, cradling it close to her chest. The warmth soaked into her palms, easing something tight inside her. For a while, they just sat there. No rush. No noise. Just the quiet hum of trust stretching between them.
Finally, Sicheng shifted slightly, his voice dropping even lower. "I'll handle it," he said, not as a joke, not as a tease, but with a soft, dangerous finality that wrapped around the words like steel. "No more Superman," he added lightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "No more Batman." He didn't say it to make her laugh. He said it because he meant it.
Yao, still tucked half under the blankets, blinked at him—long, slow—and something shifted in her gaze. A small crack in the wall she kept up. A tiny, precious glimpse of trust. "...Good," she said softly, sipping her tea. "Because next time, I'm sending Da Bing first."
Sicheng chuckled low in his chest, the sound deep and warm. "Remind me to armor the base."
She gave a tiny, reluctant smile, burying her nose into the rim of the cup. For the first time since that horrifying flash of cartoon-themed boxer shorts, she felt like maybe—just maybe—the world wasn't ending. At least not tonight. Not here. Not with him sitting on the floor beside her, like he had nowhere else he'd rather be. And that thought. That small, quiet truth. Was enough to let her relax again, if only a little.
A few days later, the base had settled back into a familiar rhythm.
The horror of Superman and Batman boxers was mostly behind them.
Mostly.
Because while Yao might have been quiet, and introverted, and unwilling to make big scenes—she did not forget. And she absolutely did not forgive. Not without a little payback first.
It was a slow morning, the sun just starting to peek through the kitchen windows when the team stumbled down one by one, bleary-eyed and grumbling, drawn by the scent of coffee and leftover pastries from yesterday's delivery.
Yao sat calmly at the dining table, Da Bing sprawled at her feet like a judgmental rug, Xiao Cong perched atop the back of an empty chair, watching everything like a tiny, silent menace. She sipped her tea, legs tucked comfortably under herself, wearing a simple sweatshirt and leggings, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Which, of course, was the first warning.
Pang stumbled in first, yawning so widely his jaw cracked, scratching the back of his head—mercifully fully dressed in sweats and a loose T-shirt this time.
Yue shuffled in behind him, still wrapped in his favorite hoodie like a security blanket. They barely mumbled greetings, reaching for coffee mugs.
That was when Yao spoke, her voice deceptively soft, casual, almost sweet. "Starting today," she said, taking another sip of tea, "we're enacting a proper dress code for communal areas."
Pang froze mid-reach for the coffee pot.
Yue blinked blearily, clearly not processing yet.
Lao Mao and Lao K, sitting already at the counter, slowly turned to look at her.
Even Rui, at the far end of the kitchen reviewing his morning schedule, lowered his tablet slightly to listen.
Yao set her cup down with a soft click, her hazel eyes gleaming with quiet, deadly finality. "No boxers," she said firmly. "No pajamas that look like you wrestled them off a five-year-old. No shirts missing more fabric than they have."
Pang whined. "But it's comfy—"
"If I wanted to see Superman again," Tong Yao cut in coldly, "I would turn on a movie."
Lao Mao snorted into his coffee.
Yue immediately flushed bright red, muttering under his breath about betrayal.
"And," Yao continued, completely ignoring them, "if you come downstairs looking like a fashion disaster, I am fully authorized to send Da Bing after you." The giant white fox thumped his tail lazily against the floor in what could only be interpreted as wholehearted agreement.
There was a long beat of awkward silence.
Until Sicheng strolled in, hair still messy from sleep, a plain dark hoodie thrown over a simple pair of sweatpants, moving with his usual lazy, predatory grace. He paused, surveying the room, the awkward tension, the frozen boys. His dark gaze flicked to Tong Yao, who met his look steadily. Without hesitation, without even a moment's thought, Lu Sicheng simply said, his voice cool and low, "She's right."
The room gaped at him.
"Wait, what?" Yue croaked.
"You're siding with her?!" Pang cried, scandalized.
Sicheng didn't even blink. He poured himself a cup of black coffee, leaned casually against the counter, and said with brutal finality, "If you can't dress yourselves like functioning human beings, you don't deserve breakfast. Period."
Lao Mao immediately raised his mug in salute.
Lao K just grunted approvingly.
Ming, appearing late in the doorway and catching only the tail end of it, muttered dryly, "If it avoids more trauma incidents, I'm all for it."
Pang flailed helplessly. "But it's the off-season!"
Yao lifted her cup again, smiling faintly over the rim. "Not an excuse," she said sweetly. "I have standards. Low ones, apparently, but still."
Yue looked desperately toward Rui for help.
Rui shrugged one shoulder and muttered, "I'm not getting between the Cave Queen and the Captain."
The matter was settled.
No vote.
No protest.
No mercy.
From that day forward, every member of ZGDX who set foot downstairs while Tong Yao was present did so in fully appropriate clothing—or risked a very public shaming, a judgmental glare from Da Bing, and the terrifying, quiet authority of their new unofficial base warden.
Sicheng, lounging lazily against the counter, sipping his coffee, simply watched it all unfold with a faint, satisfied smirk. Because somewhere along the way. Without anyone noticing when, exactly. Tong Yao hadn't just joined them. She had become one of the pillars holding them together. Their Cave Queen. Their strategist. Their quiet, stubborn protector. And god help anyone who tried to tear her down again.
The base was quiet again by nightfall. Not the tense, waiting kind of quiet that sometimes followed a loss, or the exhausted, sprawling quiet of a hard training day. This was different. It was the kind of quiet that meant people were content. That things—for once—felt right.
Yao sat curled up in the fox den, the lights dimmed to a soft glow, Da Bing snoring quietly beside her, Xiao Cong twitching occasionally in his sleep atop his fortress of old, surrendered slippers. She wasn't working tonight. Her laptop was closed. Her notebooks stacked neatly on the desk. Instead, she was simply sitting, legs tucked underneath her, a cup of tea warming her hands as she watched the slow, steady rise and fall of Da Bing's breathing. No noise. No pressure.No demands. Just peace.
She didn't hear the soft knock at first—barely a tap against the door. But then it opened quietly, and Lu Sicheng stepped inside. No fanfare. No words. Just him. Wearing loose dark sweatpants and a thin, worn hoodie that looked far too comfortable to be anything but a longtime favorite, his hair still damp from a late shower, his whole posture easy but somehow focused entirely on her. He didn't speak at first. He just crossed the room, slow and deliberate, and sat down across from her on the floor, legs stretched out, his back against the low wall. Not close enough to crowd her. Close enough that if she wanted, she wouldn't have to reach far.
Yao blinked at him over the rim of her cup, wary but not unfriendly. He simply looked back, unbothered by the silence. For a long moment, they just sat there. Two foxes sleeping between them. A room warmed by soft light and softer breathing. Finally, Yao broke the stillness, her voice quiet but steady. "Did you need something?"
Sicheng shook his head lazily, his eyes half-lidded but far too sharp to mistake for tiredness. "No," he said simply. "Just checking."
She frowned slightly, confused. "Checking what?"
He tilted his head a little, studying her.
"You," he said.
The single word, spoken so simply, settled into the room like a pebble dropped into deep water, rippling outward.
Yao's fingers tightened slightly around her cup. No one had ever done that before. Not like this. Not just because they wanted to. She dropped her gaze, staring into the swirling tea. "I'm fine," she said, softer than she meant to. She heard the quiet shuffle of fabric as he shifted, leaning his elbows casually onto his bent knees.
"You're allowed not to be," he said calmly. "Sometimes."
She didn't answer. Didn't know how to. Not when the words were offered so easily. Not when they didn't demand anything from her in return. She sipped her tea instead, buying herself a moment. Across from her, Sicheng didn't push. Didn't fill the silence. Just waited, the way only someone truly patient could. After a while, she set her cup down carefully on the low table, folding her hands into her sleeves. "You didn't have to come," she said, voice a little rough around the edges.
He shrugged one shoulder, loose and easy. "I wanted to." Simple. Like breathing.
Yao bit the inside of her cheek, trying to find something—anything—to say that would explain the complicated knot tightening and easing inside her chest at the same time. She failed. So instead, she shifted slightly on the floor, moving just enough that her knee bumped lightly against his. A quiet acknowledgment. A silent acceptance.
Sicheng's mouth twitched into the faintest ghost of a smile. Not the arrogant smirk he wore when teasing Pang. Not the cold, sharp-edged smile he gave to the world. Something smaller. Realer. He nudged her knee back lightly, once, in silent answer. And just like that. No grand declarations. No overwhelming words. Just the simple, steady presence of someone who had chosen her side without needing to be asked. The Cave Queen and her quietly chosen knight sat together in the soft, breathing dark, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Yao didn't feel like she had to guard every inch of herself.
A few mornings later, the base stirred to life slowly. Most of the team slept in, lulled by the luxury of an off-day on the schedule, the heavy training sessions of the past week finally giving them a rare morning to breathe.
But not Yao. She was up before the sun, tucked away in her Cave, already buried in work. The new season would come fast. She had noticed tiny gaps in their last scrim rotations, a few habits creeping in that needed to be smoothed out before they became liabilities. And so she sat cross-legged in her chair, hoodie sleeves covering her hands, her hair shoved into a messy knot at the base of her neck, her focus laser-sharp on the rows of data scrolling across her screen. She didn't hear Da Bing get up and wander out of the room. Didn't hear the soft pad of footsteps approaching the kitchen. And she definitely didn't hear the door creak open a few minutes later.
Sicheng stood there, carrying a small tray in one hand—a plate with a breakfast sandwich, a peeled orange, and a cup of fresh tea, faint steam curling off the surface. He didn't announce himself. Didn't call her name. He just walked in, slow and easy, the way someone does when they know they're not intruding.
Yao didn't even look up as he crossed the room. She was too absorbed in her notes, scribbling sharp arrows across a printout, muttering under her breath about over-rotations and inefficient jungle paths.
Sicheng set the tray down beside her desk with practiced care, nudging it just far enough into her line of sight without getting in her way. She still didn't react immediately, her mind too deep in strategy. So he didn't push. Didn't tease.
He simply straightened, lingering for a second longer than necessary, just enough to make sure she was really okay—and then turned to leave without a word. But just as he reached the door, he heard the faintest sound behind him. Not words. Not a call. Just the soft scrape of her chair shifting slightly. He glanced back.
Yao was still hunched over her papers, still scribbling furiously—but now her free hand had reached out blindly across the desk. She found the cup of tea by touch, fingers curling around it like it was something precious. And she didn't look at him. She didn't need to. That small, quiet reach was enough.
Sicheng leaned one shoulder casually against the door-frame for a moment longer, watching as she sipped the tea, her brow furrowing deeper in concentration, utterly lost to the world except for that one silent acceptance of his presence. That one, small acknowledgment. It wasn't grand. It wasn't loud. It was just real. Soft and slow and steady. The way storms are born. The way mountains rise. Without fanfare. Without noise. Just quietly, inevitably. Sicheng smiled faintly to himself and pushed off the door-frame, leaving her to her kingdom, the foxes, the music humming low from her speaker, and the smell of tea curling through the air. And somewhere between the breakfast tray and her small, wordless reach. Something permanent had settled. Unspoken. Unbreakable.
It was late in the evening by the time the house settled into its usual quiet rhythm—calmer now, the kind of calm that came when everyone knew their roles, when the energy had evened out, and no one was scrambling to prove anything.
The scrim report that Yao had spent all day perfecting now sat in Ming's hands, and the team had barely blinked before nodding along, making notes, adjusting their maps—no hesitation anymore, no second-guessing. She had earned that. Earned them.
Sicheng leaned against the side of the couch, arms crossed loosely over his chest, nursing the same cup of half-warm coffee he'd been holding for nearly an hour now. He hadn't been listening to the others for a while. Not really. He was watching her.
Yao stood near the kitchen counter, arguing in sharp, escalating whispers with his idiot of a younger brother. Yue, in all his glory, had just eaten her last piece of takoyaki—the one she had clearly marked with a post-it note bearing the all-caps threat: "TOUCH THIS AND DIE."
Yue, of course, had touched it anyway.
She lunged. No hesitation. Just a small blur of sleeves and fury and righteous vengeance as she tackled him off the couch with more precision than half the team had used in today's scrims. They landed with a thud that shook the floor, followed by a yelp, a stream of curses, and Xiao Cong darting under the table like a tiny backup enforcer.
Sicheng didn't even blink. He just stood there, sipping slowly, watching her—this small, fierce, terrifyingly intelligent woman with foxes for bodyguards and data sharper than any blade. She had walked into their lives like a storm pretending to be silence. Had taken a team that wasn't looking for a missing piece and proven they'd needed her all along. And somewhere in the middle of that. She'd become his storm. The moment she screamed she was blinded by Superman was when he knew he was already gone. Now, watching her knee planted triumphantly on Yue's stomach as she calmly explained why next time, she'd throw his computer out the window along with his breakfast, Sicheng let the smallest breath of a laugh escape.
He didn't love loudly. He didn't do grand gestures. But right then, in the soft hum of the base, in the subtle warmth of the room, in the echo of her laughter and Yue's pained groaning beneath her.
He made a decision. He would do everything in his power—quietly, carefully, relentlessly—to earn her trust completely. Not just the part she gave the team. All of it. Her walls. Her silences. Her laughter. He would earn every inch of her until she looked at him the way he already looked at her when she wasn't paying attention. And when he had her—fully, irrevocably…. He would never let her go. Not for anything. Not even the League. Because she wasn't just someone who had become important.
She had become his.
And nothing in the world could ever be more worth the fight.