In seven years, she has achieved her first desire—she learned to speak (in a month), sure. But speaking means nothing if you don’t have voice—the real voice. The voice that never fears. The voice that never doubts. The voice that wins without being loud.

She speaks only 1% of her thoughts.

Even a brain that memorizes books after one reading doesn’t make it fair if you stutter before the High-Grades, if you can’t speak in a world that run with voice, if you can’t master words when they say: the universe began with words.

Not that she needs to mesmerize anyone in particular. She only needs to stop stuttering while her new family stares at her.