In the market, An Bao suddenly heard everyone's inner voices—vendors calculating, passersby complaining, each as clear as whispers. More horrifying, when he unconsciously responded in his mind, the other person would answer aloud.
He realized in terror that he had become a two-way broadcasting tower.
The only one who couldn't hear him was his mother beside him. Her inner thoughts were a gentle static, as if filtered.
As countless voices layered into a sharp, buzzing hum, he roared inwardly: "**Quiet!**"
Instantly, everyone within five meters froze for two seconds, then continued as if nothing had happened—the "trial protocol" of his new cerebral cortex had activated automatically.
An Bao understood: the trial had never paused. This month of "daily life" was merely an expanded testing ground. In the corner, the emotional regulator auntie silently rehearsed her monitoring report in her mind.
The sun glared, yet his entire body felt cold.