A Good Man
Suddenly, scenes from recent nightmares flashed through Su Zesui’s mind.
In those terrifying dreams, filled with danger and despair, he had been helpless—trapped between life and death. And now, the face of the person who had risked everything to save him in those dreams had merged into one. It was the same face as the man standing before him.
The crowd continued to retreat from the man who had beat Ro, keeping a cautious distance.
With the strangers no longer closing in, Su Zesui finally felt his tense spine start to relax.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Ro cut him off through gritted teeth: “Beating someone up in public like this—just wait for the lawyer’s letter. I’ll hire the best legal team and sue you until you’re ruined and disgraced!”
The man didn’t react, as if he couldn’t care less.
But that calm attitude only made Ro even angrier. He struggled to his feet and suddenly lashed out, grabbing the man’s wrist, looking as if he was ready to go down with him.
Even from a distance, Su Zesui could hear the collective gasps from the crowd and the sound of people stepping back quickly—like they were afraid of what was about to happen.
Sure enough, the man clicked his tongue in irritation, then, in front of everyone, rubbed his thumb against his fingers, twisted his wrist, and suddenly tightened his grip. His lean, veined hand showed the strength behind the motion.
In an instant, the situation flipped.
Without hesitation, he grabbed Ro’s forearm and twisted hard.
There was a sickening crack as joints popped out of place, followed by Ro’s howling scream of agony.
The man let go, standing over the writhing Ro with an even colder expression than before. His voice was icy: “The surveillance at the club is broken. The security team’s testimony aligns. And according to witness accounts, you—”
Su Zesui felt the man’s gaze flick briefly to him before shifting away.
But all Su Zesui could think about was the man’s deep, velvety voice—it was practically intoxicating. He didn’t even register the implication of the man’s words.
“You provoked me first,” the man continued, flexing his wrist. “Everything I did falls under justified self-defense.”
Ro, who’d clearly been around the block, understood the hidden warning in his words. Enraged, he shouted, “You!! %#&*# Damn you, rot in hell!”
The man didn’t look angry at all. With a blank expression, he replied: “God is all-knowing and merciful. God bless you.”
He emphasized “all-knowing,” which only made Ro’s blood boil further. But before he could unleash another tirade, the security guards finally stepped in and dragged him away.
As Ro struggled and cursed, Su Zesui heard a girl nearby gasp and whisper, “He’s so hot.”
But her friend immediately grabbed her shoulders and shook her, urgently warning her how terrifying, violent, and ruthless that man was. “Don’t get fooled by his looks!”
Seeing the girl’s stunned expression, Su Zesui was left speechless.
The man swept his gaze around the crowd, and in an instant, the onlookers scattered like startled birds, fleeing as if for their lives.
After that scene, no one dared approach the “incident site” again. The front desk queue instantly dwindled down to just the two of them.
Thinking of what that girl’s friend had said, Su Zesui hesitated for a long moment before finally turning to the man and awkwardly murmuring, “You’re very handsome.”
Right after saying it, he felt the compliment sounded too perfunctory, so he quickly rummaged through his sparse vocabulary and added, “And… you’re really strong too.”
He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he thought he saw the man pause for a split second.
It was only then that Su Zesui realized he had kept his head down the entire time and hadn’t really taken a good look at the man’s face.
To make his weak praise seem more believable, he hurriedly tilted up the brim of his hat and looked up—only to immediately lower his gaze again the moment their eyes met.
The man’s features were striking, his eyes a deep, inky black. Even in the brightly lit club lobby, they reflected no light at all—like a bottomless black hole, cold and heavy, as if they could swallow someone whole.
“Mm.” The man quickly returned to his calm self. He responded lightly, then pulled an SVIP card from his pocket and headed for the front desk—as if the earlier conflict had just been a minor, irrelevant episode.
A flash of vivid red caught Su Zesui’s eye.
Startled, he hurriedly tugged at the man’s sleeve and pointed at his arm with a pale finger. “You’re bleeding.”
The man paused at the tug and looked down at his arm.
The wound on his forearm had reopened from the earlier exertion, and fresh blood had soaked through the bandages, staining his white sleeve—a jarring sight.
Su Zesui quickly pulled off his backpack and fumbled through it in a panic. After digging around for a while, he only managed to find a few cartoon band-aids that might barely help.
He held them out awkwardly—adorable ones printed with cartoon animals—but the man didn’t take them. He declined coldly: “No need.”
Since the injury had been caused because of him, Su Zesui’s eyes welled up with anxious tears. He stood frozen, completely at a loss.
Then, he heard the man speak again: “The wound reopened. I’ll bandage it again once I’m back. It’s nothing serious.”
Su Zesui knew full well that his little cartoon band-aids were basically useless in this situation.
He wanted to show concern, but he was terrible at making conversation. After struggling for a while, he finally squeezed out a stiff question: “H-How… did it happen?”
The man looked at the boy blocking his path and frowned slightly, as if considering something. After a moment, he casually replied, “Got grazed by a car while helping an elderly lady cross the street. Nothing to do with you.”
Su Zesui was stunned.
He hadn’t expected that this man—so strong and capable—would also be kind, righteous, and compassionate enough to help an old lady cross the road!
Since childhood, fortune tellers had warned him that he was prone to attracting the wrong kind of people. Sure enough, most strangers he encountered were either like Ro—who’d harass him physically—or the type to slander and bully him.
But today… he had actually met someone so genuinely good!
Tears welled up in Su Zesui’s eyes. In that moment, the sense of justice radiating from the man seemed even more dazzling than the impact of his mesmerizing voice.
The man stepped around him and tossed out, “Weren’t you going to permanently cancel your ID too? Watch the process.”
At that, Su Zesui quickly followed him to the front desk—only to be momentarily blinded by the dazzling black-and-gold card the man placed on the counter.
Speedsters Racing Club was world-renowned, known for its cutting-edge modification technology and top-tier equipment rental. Becoming a VIP or SVIP required investing anywhere from hundreds of thousands to even millions.
Because of the huge financial commitment involved, canceling one’s membership required being there in person—and once it was done, only 20% of the investment would be refunded, plus the member would be blacklisted from the club for three years.
So unless absolutely necessary, no one chose to cancel.
Except for two common reasons—either the family went bankrupt and urgently needed the money, or the older generation disapproved and demanded the person leave the scene.
Su Zesui belonged to the latter group.
Then… what about him?
The process of canceling membership was long and tedious: signing written applications, termination contracts, returning club property, even deleting the digital ID on one’s phone.
As a major shareholder, the man clearly knew the steps by heart.
Su Zesui’s head was buzzing with curiosity and couldn’t absorb any of the details. Still, worried about the man’s arm injury not being treated in time, he made sure to nod seriously whenever the man glanced at him—as if he was diligently learning.
“This is your expense summary and written record of your membership updates. Thank you for choosing Speedsters Club. We hope to see you again someday,” the staff member said, bowing deeply and handing over the documents with trembling hands, voice slightly shaky.
The man took the file, gave Su Zesui a glance, and said, “Goodbye.”
Su Zesui quickly waved his little hand. Only when the man’s tall, straight figure disappeared from sight did he murmur like a repeating machine, “S-see you again… someday.”
“Hello, are you here to cancel your membership ID as well?” the front desk staff asked respectfully, yet cautiously.
Su Zesui turned around and nodded. Carefully, he removed the ID card hanging from his neck—while silently repeating the name he had seen printed in gold on that black VIP card:
Gu Yilan.
. . . . .
With Gu Yilan setting the stage earlier, the staff became even more efficient.
Su Zesui’s ID cancellation process flew by—he didn’t have to say a word, just keep his head down and sign, sign, sign. Extremely social-anxiety-friendly.
Once he got his cancellation certificate, he pulled down the brim of his hat and dashed straight for the parking lot without wasting a single second.
“What’s with your neck? It’s all red,” Su Mingyu asked, eyeing him curiously.
Only then did Su Zesui realize his heart was racing and his face was burning hot under the mask.
He handed the cancellation form to his brother and, while fastening his seatbelt, mumbled a little guiltily, “Ran.”
Luckily, Su Mingyu didn’t press. He took the document, then handed Su Zesui a piece of paper and a pen before starting the car.
Su Zesui glanced at the paper—
“Consider a classical atomic model with atomic number Z, neglecting interactions between electrons. Assume…”
Su Zesui: ?
“You said you wanted to study, didn’t you? Go ahead,” Su Mingyu said flatly, eyes on the road.
Before transmigrating, Su Zesui had already been a university student majoring in physics, long disconnected from competition-style problems—and the memory loss from his transmigration didn’t help.
Luckily, the problem was beginner-level. The moment he saw the diagram, force analysis and conservation formulas—energy, angular momentum—automatically resurfaced in his mind.
What Su Zesui didn’t know was that Su Mingyu had been watching him from the corner of his eye the whole time.
He knew his brother was impulsive and rarely thought things through. This question, though not impossible, was meant to discourage him—a tough competition-style problem designed to make him back off on his own.
The prompt was long, stuffed with data and unfamiliar variables. Even seasoned contestants might feel like ripping it in half and screaming.
So his brother…
Su Mingyu’s hand froze slightly on the steering wheel as his peripheral vision caught sight of something.
—His brother had not only finished reading the question but had already taken out the pen and was writing on the paper with focused, meticulous seriousness.
Su Mingyu: ???
When they got home and pulled into the garage, Su Mingyu couldn’t even wait to get inside. He grabbed the paper his brother handed over, still skeptical—
But instead of a doodle of a turtle or some “blah blah blah” mocking him, he saw clearly written steps of a proper solution. The logic was sound. The answer was… correct.
Now it was Su Mingyu’s turn to be stunned.
Could hitting your head really unlock some kind of hidden genius?
Just then, Su Zesui tugged on his sleeve. His clear, beautiful eyes looked up at him and said, “I want to study.”
Su Mingyu’s mouth twitched. After a pause, he forced out a word:
“…Study.”
. . . . .
Faced with the towering pile of competition preparation materials, Su Zesui felt as if he had been transported back to those countless late nights training for the CPHO.
The only difference now was that all the books were brand new—and his brain had only recovered to about half its former sharpness.
“Suisui wants a higher degree now?” Father Su adjusted his glasses and asked.
As a seasoned political veteran, he had seen and judged more people than most. Calm and composed, he remained unshaken by even the most bizarre situations and always had something steady to say.
Su Zesui nodded furiously, then pointed a finger at his older brother.
“You want to graduate from the same university as your brother?” Father Su immediately caught on. “Why don’t I send you to an American high school and college? You’ll be guaranteed a spot back at A University afterward—much easier.”
Su Zesui shook his head just as vigorously and pointed to the stack of books, repeating firmly, “I want to study.”
Seeing that Father Su was about to start persuading him again, Mother Su rolled her eyes. “Trust Suisui. Call the academic office.”
With no choice, Father Su gave in and took out his phone.
Thanks to his connections within the city government, it took only a moment for him to get the direct number of the academic affairs director at Su Zesui’s high school.
He put the phone on speaker and laid it on the table.
“Hello?” Director Jiang answered.
Father Su explained the situation. Director Jiang, caught off guard, hurried to bring in the school’s team leader of the competition program, and the two began a joint consultation over the phone.
“Mr. Su, entering competitions isn’t a shortcut—it doesn’t make someone inherently superior on college entrance exams. Competitions rely heavily on talent…”
Glancing at his nervous youngest son, Father Su responded calmly, “We’ve already thought it through. If he wants to try, we should support him.”
The school’s team leader of the competition program tried again to talk him out of it. “Most students start physics competition preparation in their third year of middle school. Su Zesui’s just entering his second year of high school. To switch from liberal arts to science now… there’s an obvious gap.”
Father Su’s mouth opened slightly in surprise.
He remembered that Suisui had skipped and repeated grades multiple times over the years. The most recent notice said he was repeating a grade, and he’d assumed it meant redoing first year. That would’ve given them a little more time.
…When did the little rascal move up to sophomore year?
Meanwhile, Su Zesui’s own mouth had dropped even wider.
Switching from liberal arts to science? What do you mean, switching from liberal arts to science?
No one had told him that the original person had been studying liberal arts in high school.
He just wanted to take a shortcut, not be treated like some science genius freak and get captured for research—aaahhh!