The video call from Yi Xuan was not answered immediately; it took about twenty seconds for the connection to be established.
As soon as the video feed went through, Yi Xuan could clearly see the interior of Mislert’s office. Although this was his first time seeing it in reality, it felt somewhat familiar. The placement of the items was, if not identical to how he had described them in his book, at least remarkably close.
Mislert, who had just answered, sat stiffly in his office chair. His hands were clasped together, and his two index fingers were pressed so hard that they had turned white. Although his expression remained stoic, the slightly flickering look in his eyes betrayed his nervousness.
“Why are you so nervous? I am not going to eat you,” Yi Xuan said, half-leaning against his headboard as he watched Mislert. “Try to relax.”
“Understood. I am sorry.” Mislert replied. His lips were pursed, and although he tried to relax his body per Yi Xuan’s instruction, he still appeared rigid.
“You were not like this when you were in front of me two days ago. Why are you so nervous today when you see me? Did you sneak off to do something bad behind my back?” Yi Xuan raised an eyebrow, deliberately teasing him.
“No, I did not.”
Mislert answered quickly this time. Almost as soon as Yi Xuan finished speaking, he shook his head violently like a rattle, as if terrified that a second’s delay would lead to a misunderstanding.
“I was just teasing you. You certainly deny things quickly.”
Yi Xuan covered his mouth with the hand that was propping up his head, hiding a slight upward curve of his lips.
“You still have not answered my earlier question. Has your obsessive-compulsive disorder been getting more serious lately?”
To be honest, Yi Xuan meant no harm; it was just a casual comment. But to Mislert, it seemed as if he had been caught doing something wrong. He hung his head, looking guilty, which made it impossible for Yi Xuan not to dig deeper.
Yi Xuan propped his head up and casually grabbed a piece of snack to put in his mouth. The sweet honey-butter flavor of the potato chips spread on his tongue. He wanted to lick the powder off the corners of his mouth but suddenly remembered his non-existent idol image. He froze, then sat up straight, nonchalantly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as if nothing had happened.
“Are you not going to say anything? Are you choosing to remain silent?” Yi Xuan asked softly.
“No, I did not want to hide anything from you, Master.”
Mislert, head still bowed, shook his head after a long silence.
It seemed there really was a story he did not know about.
“Look up and look at me.”
Yi Xuan’s tone remained gentle, but it carried a rare imperative edge. Mislert instinctively obeyed. The atmosphere of the conversation shifted instantly. Yi Xuan narrowed his eyes, searching Mislert’s face as if he could see through his deliberate avoidance of eye contact.
Yi Xuan was the person in this world who understood Mislert best, more than Mislert understood himself. Every important or minor detail of his life had been crafted by Yi Xuan’s own hand. His story was not just the short 200,000 words in this novel; the missing background had been written long ago. His appearance was not an accident or a sudden flash of inspiration, but a long-planned, final objective.
If one said that all of Mislert’s traits were merely based on Yi Xuan’s personal preferences, that would not be entirely true. Mislert originated from the very first original character Yi Xuan created. Back then, Yi Xuan was young and idealistic, passionate about those strong figures on the mountaintops. He believed the chosen ones should stand between heaven and earth forever, like towering, admirable mountain peaks.
Thus, he created Mislert: a genius who achieved fame at a young age, constantly scaling new heights, indifferent to the world, like a heartless butcher who would not develop feelings for anyone.
Yi Xuan had initially designed him this way, constantly refining his background and personality. But by the fifth year of Mislert’s existence, Yi Xuan’s perspective had changed. Writing novels was exhausting, not to mention the social struggles he had to navigate in school, which was a microcosm of society. As he grew older and experienced more, he no longer looked at his creation purely. He wondered why he had to remain so noble, why he remained so indifferent when faced with unreasonable people, why he never regarded others in his eyes.
Yi Xuan inevitably felt a touch of jealousy. It was not quite the right word. As mentioned before, Mislert was written based on all the qualities Yi Xuan admired most. In a strange twist, he had fallen in love with his own creation. Even Yi Xuan had not understood this at first. Later, after finishing the finale of Mislert’s story arc, he could not bear to be cruel. He wanted the genius to fall into the mundane world, yet feared he would be stained by dust. He had secretly written an alternate ending, which he never published, saving it only in his drafts.
He had loved his character before they even met in the story, yet he was also the one who wounded him the most.
Upon transmigrating here, he had intended to avoid him, but Mislert acted as if he did not see Yi Xuan’s resistance, frantically testing his bottom line. Since it had developed this way, Yi Xuan did not want to think about the ultimate outcome anymore.
Yi Xuan pulled at the corner of his mouth, seeing Mislert’s panic. “I do not like Zergs who lie to me, Mislert.”
His voice was low, like a helpless whisper, but the content was easily misunderstood.
“No, no, I would not lie to you, Master. Please do not be angry.”
Mislert, already uneasy, grew instantly tense. He was so anxious that he did not even notice the tone of Yi Xuan’s voice. The office was climate-controlled, but Mislert felt a cold shiver run down his back. Had he said the wrong thing again?
“Mislert, come over after you finish work.” Yi Xuan saw that Mislert’s thoughts were in a mess, and the best solution was to see him in person. The distance made Mislert nervous; video calls lacked the directness of face-to-face interaction.
Yi Xuan remained calm throughout, hiding whether he was truly angry or not.
“Understood.”
Mislert loosened his tightly clenched fingers. Perhaps even he did not notice the sigh of relief he let out.
“Mislert, push your chair aside and open the second cabinet from the top on the far left.” Yi Xuan did not ask anything else, simply giving orders.
“Huh? Okay.”
Mislert leaned down, following instructions, but paused when he saw the medical kit inside.
“Master?”
“Open it and use the disinfectant to clean the bleeding palm of your left hand. There is gauze in the drawer below. Wrap it up.” Yi Xuan’s expression remained indifferent.
When Yi Xuan mentioned his left hand, Mislert instinctively tried to hide it behind his back.
“Try hiding it again? Bring it out and let me see what you have done to yourself.” Yi Xuan’s initial words were harsh, but he followed them with a concerned question.
“I am sorry, Master.”
The hand was brought out, revealing a palm mangled by his own fingernails. Yi Xuan’s brows furrowed tightly. His tone softened, but the frustration remained. “Do not do this again. If you have something to say, say it properly. Why are you digging into your own hand?”
“I am so far away; can I eat you? Why are you so nervous? You were not this nervous when you confessed to me last time.”
“Come over after work. Do you have any other conditions I do not know about besides OCD? If you do not say it now, do not bother saying it later!” Yi Xuan’s anger flared up; the harsh words slipped out.
“I am sorry.”
It was always the same. Every time Mislert angered Yi Xuan, he offered no rebuttal or explanation, only a lowered head and a soft, lingering apology. Only now did Yi Xuan realize how infuriating that could be.
“Tsk! Stop apologizing. Clean your wound. I do not understand why you can be so cruel to yourself.” Yi Xuan’s brows remained tightly locked.
“Mm. I am sorry. Please do not be angry.” Mislert’s voice was so soft that Yi Xuan barely heard it.
“You are the one who is hurt. Why are you apologizing to me?” Looking at his pitiful appearance, Yi Xuan could not bring himself to say anything harsher, leaving only a dry: “Hurry up and clean it.”
Yi Xuan hung up only after watching Mislert apply the medication and wrap the bandage. Before hanging up, he added one final, worried instruction: do not use that hand today, and come over after work. Throughout, Mislert had been quiet and obedient, listening to every word and nodding along.
“Knock, knock, knock.”
“Master, would you like to eat?”
Yi Xuan had not realized that an hour and a half had passed. Just as Dingdang finished speaking, Mislert’s video call ended. Mislert had clearly heard Dingdang, but Yi Xuan’s speed in hanging up had been faster.
“Master, did I disturb you?” Dingdang stood at the door, its robotic hand still mid-air, looking inexplicably embarrassed.
“No, haha.” Yi Xuan suppressed a laugh. “No need for now. Prepare dinner for two people later.”
“Understood.”
Dingdang felt something break inside, likely its non-existent fragile heart. Can robots feel embarrassment? How strange.