Voice Control
When Su Zesui woke up again, it was already evening.
He was lying on a soft bed in the bedroom, covered with a ridiculously colorful blanket that was unmistakably from home.
The layout of the room looked a lot like his childhood home before he transmigrated—just more luxuriously decorated. The shelves were filled with expensive designer toys, and the few books he could find were all about models.
It took Su Zesui quite a bit of effort to figure out his situation in this world—
He was born into a wealthy family: a father in politics, a mother in business, never lacking food or comfort. But instead of appreciating his life, he had turned into a spoiled rich kid—bullying classmates at school, throwing tantrums at home, and causing trouble everywhere else.
Teachers sighed over him, his brother had headaches because of him, and his parents could only express regret. He was the classic “little tyrant”—wild, unruly, and untamable.
He started school early, but was an expert at skipping class, repeating grades, and taking breaks from school. As a result, even at eighteen, he was still only a second-year high schooler.
While he was rummaging through the room for clues, he could faintly hear arguments drifting from the living room.
The door was well soundproofed, but from the muffled voices, it sounded like his mother was coldly mocking someone, his usually quiet father occasionally chiming in, and his brother constantly trying to mediate.
This kind of family battlefield was too much for the socially anxious Su Zesui to handle, so with his stomach growling, he decided to wait until the noise died down before going out to look for food.
As he waited, there was a sudden knock at the door.
Su Mingyu’s voice came through: “You awake? Come out for some cake.”
Su Zesui’s eyes lit up, and he hurriedly opened the door.
On the dining table sat a custom-made three-tier French cake, right in the center, surrounded by an array of delicate and fancy desserts, creating a dreamy atmosphere.
But the mood between the four family members was anything but sweet.
Su Zesui sat practically glued to Su Mingyu.
Su Mingyu sternly reminded him several times to “sit properly,” and the boy nodded obediently each time, scooting back to his seat. But it wasn’t long before he’d start inching back over—little by little—until he was right next to him again.
Su Zesui was fully focused on eating the cake, head down and completely absorbed. Even when he reached for the small desserts, he didn’t look up—he just sneakily poked them with his fork, snatched one, and quickly reeled it back to his plate.
He didn’t look like the birthday boy at all—more like a little beggar trying to steal food.
It made Su Mingyu lose all his temper.
Mother Su smiled gently and lovingly picked out a large, bright-red strawberry, placing it on her younger son’s plate. “Eat more,” she said warmly.
Su Zesui stared at the strawberry, its vibrant red color gleaming on the plate, and froze.
Su Mingyu, who noticed the stiffness in his body, immediately sensed something was wrong.
Their parents were too busy with work to really understand Su Zesui, but Su Mingyu knew his little brother’s awful temper all too well. That kind of stunned expression usually came right before one of his explosive tantrums—next thing you knew, the kid would flip the entire table without warning, completely unreasonable.
God knew where the brat picked up that move—maybe some movie. But whenever he got upset, his favorite move was to throw a tantrum and flip the table. Maybe he thought it made him look cool.
Su Mingyu was silently thankful that the dining table this time was made of marble. With Su Zesui’s skinny arms and legs, he probably couldn’t flip it even if he tried.
Wearing a stern expression, Su Mingyu began preparing a lecture, ready to put his unruly brother back in line.
The newly bought ruler at home might finally come in handy—he didn’t mind giving the kid a beating at such a joyful moment.
But in the next second, a tiny voice as soft as a mosquito’s buzz came from beside him: “T-thank you… Mom…”
The boy’s voice was soft and delicate, barely audible. The word “Mom” at the end was so faint, it was almost just a breath.
Still, Mother Su beamed, her eyes curving into crescents. Her face lit up with a joy and satisfaction she had never shown before.
“Good boy. Happy birthday.”
Su Mingyu was stunned. It took him a long moment to realize that his little brother had “completely changed”—he wasn’t the same spiteful, sharp-tongued troublemaker who used to treat even his family with coldness and disdain.
He turned to look at Su Zesui, who was now eating with his shoulder pressed tightly against his.
It was the same face, but the atmosphere around him was completely different. The boy’s pale cheeks were puffed out, like a little hamster, happily munching on a strawberry, a bit of white cream still stuck to the corner of his mouth.
Su Mingyu felt his heart soften a little.
For some reason, he had the strange illusion that this boy—this version of his brother who had hit his head and changed—was actually how his little brother was always meant to be.
. . . . .
Maybe it was a side effect of transmigrating, but for several nights in a row, Su Zesui had nightmares.
The scenes in his dreams kept changing—sometimes it was a post-apocalyptic world of cannibalism, sometimes an endless survival game full of deadly bosses, and other times a chaotic, crime-ridden foreign country.
But one thing stayed the same: he was always the cannon fodder.
Always being hunted, always being chased. His life constantly hanging by a thread. Fear gripped his heart, and he was helpless and lost.
Fortunately, in every nightmare, at the critical moment, a powerful figure would always appear—strong, silent, and efficient—pulling him from the jaws of death.
He could never see the person’s face clearly, but he always felt an overwhelming sense of security and reassurance from them.
Su Zesui figured it was because he lacked a sense of safety in his heart. So he went to the storage room and dug out the plush toys the original owner had loved as a child. After giving them a good wash, he planned to cuddle a pile of little bunnies, pandas, and baby seals to sleep at night.
Other than that small nightmare interlude, he was actually adjusting quite well to this new world.
He had forgotten many things from before the transmigration, but he had gained so much more—he now had parents who loved and accepted him unconditionally, and a brother he had gotten back. He was content. Sometimes, he could even overcome his social anxiety enough to say a few simple words to his mother and father.
Today, Su Zesui discovered a few books in the corner bookshelf of the living room.
Just one look at the familiar covers, the familiar red, yellow, and blue, and it already felt like his hair was about to fall out. Wasn’t this every Olympiad student’s nightmare and every competition coach’s treasure? <The Feynman Lectures on Physics>, <The Road to Gold>, <Higher and Deeper Physics>…
Su Zesui’s beautiful eyes lit up.
He tugged on Su Mingyu’s sleeve and pulled his brother over to the corner. Then he pointed at the bookshelf and said, “Want to study.”
“Pharmacy?” Su Mingyu followed his hand and looked at the shelf. Once he saw clearly, he chuckled. “Silly kid, it wasn’t enough that your brain got knocked loose—now your eyes are broken too?”
Su Zesui scrunched up his little face at the comment.
Not daring to glare at his brother directly, he puffed out his pale cheeks and instead glared at the cartoon puppy on Su Mingyu’s slippers with its beady little eyes. Enunciating clearly, he repeated, “I want to study.”
This time, Su Mingyu understood—and was even more shocked.
He was half a head taller than Su Zesui. Raising an arm, he took down one of his old high school textbooks and waved it in front of his brother. “You’re sure? This is what you want to study?”
Su Zesui nodded with satisfaction.
Su Mingyu tossed the book onto the table, grabbed his younger brother by the back of the collar with a blank expression, and dragged him toward the front door. “Let’s go. Emergency visit to the mental hospital.”
As the door loomed closer, Su Zesui flailed in a panic and broke free from his brother’s grasp. “N-No! Not going!”
A homebody like him would rather die than go outside.
“Alright, quit it.” Su Mingyu let go, grabbed the Speedsters Club membership card from the entryway, and hung it around his brother’s neck. “We’ll talk about the books later. Since I’ve got time today, let’s go cancel your racing club ID.”
Su Zesui continued to resist. “N-Not going.”
“I can’t cancel it without you. Or are you planning to go street racing again someday? Hm?” Su Mingyu gave his brother a cold, fake smile, his natural presence exuding that big-brother intimidation aura.
In the end, all Su Zesui could do was grab a bulging backpack before he was dragged away by Su Mingyu.
Inside the speeding black Cullinan.
Su Mingyu was turning the steering wheel with one hand and glanced at his brother, who looked fully armed and ready for war. “What are you, a celebrity?”
“Mm?” Su Zesui turned to look at him.
He had just put on a baseball cap and a mask and was digging through his little backpack for his sunglasses. When Su Mingyu didn’t say anything else, he hesitated briefly—then decided to go all the way and perched the oversized sunglasses on his high nose bridge.
Maximum security achieved!
Su Mingyu sped down the road, and before long, they arrived at the club entrance.
He parked, then casually snatched Su Zesui’s sunglasses. “Fine with the rest, but lose the sunglasses. What if it’s dark inside and you trip flat on your face? I’ll wait in the parking lot. Go on.”
Back in the day, he definitely would’ve gone in with his brother and watched the ID cancellation happen with his own eyes, just to make sure there were no tricks. But now, seeing the nervous, awkward teenager in front of him, he decided to give him some dignity—just this once.
Su Zesui got out of the car, still trying to think of a polite way to protest, but the black car zoomed off toward the parking lot before he could say anything, leaving him alone in a cloud of dust.
He pouted slightly, then smacked the brim of his baseball cap with both hands as a silent show of protest to the air.
Just then, someone happened to walk out of the club entrance and, seeing his strange gesture, gave him a curious glance.
Su Zesui instantly froze, stiffening his neck and quickly shuffling into a quiet, ignored corner.
…He was air. Don’t look at him.
After waiting a while, it became clear his brother really wasn’t coming with him. Left with no choice, Su Zesui reluctantly accepted reality.
He didn’t dare talk to strangers. The moment he opened his mouth, his heart would race, his words would get stuck, and he’d stutter uncontrollably. In his past life, people at school used to chase him around, calling him “Little Mute.”
As the saying goes about social anxiety: “Breaking into pieces is nothing to fear, only speaking a word is.”
“H-hello. Th-this is… no, no, that’s not right.”
After practicing over and over, he finally managed to say a simple sentence smoothly—
“H-hello, this is my membership card. I want to permanently cancel my ID. Thank you.”
“Hello, this is my membership card. I want to permanently cancel my ID. Thank you.”
“…”
Once he had these few sentences down to muscle memory, Su Zesui quietly lifted the brim of his hat and sneaked a glance, silently memorizing the route to the club’s front desk. Then he pulled the brim back down, kept staring at his toes, and started moving forward slowly.
“Hello, this is my membership card…”
He kept silently repeating it while staring at the carpet beneath his feet, like a school kid rehearsing a passage in line.
“I want to permanently cancel my ID…”
Bang!
Not paying attention, Su Zesui inevitably bumped straight into someone’s back.
So absorbed in his recitation that he blurted out: “Th-thank you, thank you…”
If he hadn’t caught the faint scent of soap on the person’s clothes, he might’ve thought he’d bumped into a mountain—the other person stood completely still while Su Zesui staggered back a few steps, stars spinning in his head.
“No, no, that’s not right.” Su Zesui held his hat brim, dizzy, and tried again: “Hello, this is my…”
After a moment, with his language system still sparse, he suddenly realized something was off and quickly corrected himself: “…I-I’m sorry.”
Su Zesui’s heart pounded loudly, and under his mask, his face flushed all the way down to his neck. He kept his head down, not daring to look up, as if his baseball cap was his last stubborn shield.
The air was silent. Just when Su Zesui thought the person had walked away, a light but eerie voice floated down from above:
“Which part of that was your s-s-sorry?”
A distinctly adult male voice reached Su Zesui’s ears, mixing with the loud thumping of his own heartbeat.
Low and magnetic, with a natural laziness and edge—there was an indescribable quality to it.
Su Zesui felt his cheeks instantly burn. His fingers nervously gripped the ID card hanging from his neck.
He had never been good with words, so he deeply admired people who were articulate—especially those with pleasant voices and a talent for eloquence. People who could command a room while offering a feast for the ears were the ones who made his eyes sparkle with admiration the most.
In short, he was totally into voices.
Usually, he’d be so shy he wouldn’t say another word. But now, faced with such a beautiful voice, his mouth moved before his brain could catch up: “This is…”
Thanks to muscle memory, he instinctively raised the ID card in his hand: “My membership card.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to go bang his head against a wall.
He felt like a robot, programmed with only a few preset lines. The second someone triggered his “chat mode,” he’d start blurting out nonsense responses.
He caught a glimpse of the man spinning a sleek black card between his fingers. The man simply gave a noncommittal “Mm” in reply.
From the narrow world beneath his cap, Su Zesui could just barely make out the man tucking the black card away and turning to leave. Judging by his reaction, he probably hadn’t taken him—or any of his rambling—seriously.
Only then did Su—the Human-Chatbot—Zesui slowly lower his own ID card, watching the man’s shoes disappear into the distance.
When the man finally vanished from sight, Su Zesui’s breathing gradually returned to normal.
‘It’s fine,’ he reassured himself. ‘He doesn’t know who I am, didn’t even see my face. Honestly, with a voice that nice, even that embarrassment was kinda worth it.’
Forcing himself to forget the awkward little incident, he shrank back into a corner of the club lobby.
This time, he secretly scoped out all the possible routes to the front desk. Only after confirming that he could navigate them without making another blunder did he cautiously move forward.
Su Zesui clenched his fists and gave himself a pep talk.
‘Get this over with fast. Get home faster. Curl up in bed where it’s safe.’
A few minutes later, he finally made it to the back of the front desk line.
Whether it was a bad day on the lunar calendar or just his luck acting up again, another ten minutes passed before it was almost his turn—when suddenly, an arm draped over his shoulders, bringing with it a wave of sweaty stench.
Startled, Su Zesui flinched hard. Then a voice whispered into his ear:
“Hey, I’m Ro. Wanna get to know each other?”
“I-I…”
Caught off guard by the sudden social interaction, Su Zesui trembled as if someone had grabbed his throat. Not a word would come out.
But Ro didn’t notice a thing. In fact, he acted even more familiar—reaching out through his mask to pinch Su Zesui’s cheek.
The boy was bundled up from head to toe, only revealing a pair of bright, starlike eyes. A faint beauty mark lay just beneath the outer corner of one eye, occasionally visible with the subtle shift of his mask. Just one look and it was obvious—he had to be stunning.
Seeing him so nervous at a simple pickup, his long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings before flight—Ro found it ridiculously cute.
This racing club had more drama than a bar. Feeling the taut softness of Su Zesui’s skin beneath his fingers, Ro licked his lips and said, “Don’t be shy. The Speedsters Club has an attached hotel. If you’re free tonight…”
Su Zesui didn’t know how to say no.
Unfortunately, Ro seemed to take that silence as permission.
He could feel Ro’s other hand slowly sliding down his back. Maybe he thought Su Zesui was a male escort or something. Su Zesui wanted to push him away, but his body wouldn’t listen.
…Brother, help me.
He figured he must be trembling pretty badly and looking utterly pitiful, because before Ro could slip a business card into his pocket, he was suddenly launched off him.
No exaggeration—he flew. Like, an actual whoosh, followed by a solid thud as he crashed to the ground half a meter away.
Su Zesui spun around in shock and saw the man who had kicked Ro now standing behind him in line. He wore a bored expression, his eyelids half-lowered, like he was looking at a corpse.
The man was nearly a head taller than Su Zesui, with an athletic build and strikingly handsome features. His nose was sharp, his thin lips pressed into a tight, impatient line. A terrifying aura surrounded him, like a demon fresh out of hell—overwhelming and suffocating.
Tiny droplets of water still clung to the ends of his dark hair. He must’ve just washed his face after a race.
Su Zesui was hesitating—should he say “thank you,” or should he quietly step aside and let the man handle things at the front desk first? Before he could decide, Ro suddenly sprang to his feet, fists clenched, and lunged at the man.
Instinctively, Su Zesui squeezed his eyes shut.
Only after the sound of fists hitting flesh finally stopped did he cautiously squint one eye open—just in time to see Ro sprawled on the floor again, clutching his stomach and groaning, “Where’s club security?! You dare assault someone in public? Is there no law and order left?!”
Su Zesui could see the security guards standing not far away, but none of them made any move to help Ro.
The people nearby backed away warily from the man, whispering among themselves with a mix of curiosity and fear. He caught snippets like “scary,” “can’t be helped,” and “his family funds the club.”
Ro clearly heard it too.
Usually proud of being an unmatched playboy, being humiliated like this in public made his face flush red and green. He straightened his neck and barked out, “So what if you’re rich and powerful?! I’ll cause a scene at your family’s company, expose your crimes online, and ruin your reputation! Let’s see how your elders clean up the mess then!”
Su Zesui was still spacing out, lost in thought. He found himself silently admiring the man’s muscular build—nothing too bulky, but clearly powerful. Who knew he could hit that hard?
The next moment, the man finally spoke. His voice was calm but laced with menace: “No one can control me.”
Su Zesui’s head jerked up, eyes wide, staring at the man.
—This voice… wasn’t he the one Su Zesui had accidentally bumped into at the entrance earlier?