Kenzo woke with a strange calm sitting in his chest — not peace, not fear, but something in between. It felt borrowed, like a coat that fit too well to be his.

All day, the feeling followed him.

At work, he watched a coworker argue, voices raised, hands shaking. Kenzo felt nothing. No discomfort. No urge to look away. Instead, a quiet thought slipped into his mind:

They’re revealing themselves.

The thought startled him. He didn’t think like that. Or at least, he didn’t used to.

Later, walking home, he noticed how easily he could read people now — the tension in their shoulders, the lies in their smiles, the small cracks they tried to hide. It felt natural. Useful. Dangerous.

That night, Tunde called him. “You okay?” he asked. “You’ve been distant.”

Kenzo opened his mouth to reassure him… then paused.

For a split second, he knew exactly what to say to make Tunde feel small. To make him doubt himself. The words lined up perfectly in his mind.

Kenzo swallowed hard and chose something kinder instead.

After the call, he sat alone in the dark, heart pounding.

“That wasn’t me,” he whispered.

The room stayed silent — but inside him, something stirred, amused.

You’re learning, the thought replied. And you like it.

Kenzo pressed his hands against his chest, shaking. He finally understood the feeling he couldn’t name.

It wasn’t fear.

It was power .

And the terrifying knowledge that it didn’t feel wrong.

Kenzo woke with a strange calm sitting in his chest — not peace, not fear, but something in between. It felt borrowed, like a coat that fit too well to be his.

All day, the feeling followed him.

At work, he watched a coworker argue, voices raised, hands shaking. Kenzo felt nothing. No discomfort. No urge to look away. Instead, a quiet thought slipped into his mind:

They’re revealing themselves.

The thought startled him. He didn’t think like that. Or at least, he didn’t used to.

Later, walking home, he noticed how easily he could read people now — the tension in their shoulders, the lies in their smiles, the small cracks they tried to hide. It felt natural. Useful. Dangerous.

That night, Tunde called him. “You okay?” he asked. “You’ve been distant.”

Kenzo opened his mouth to reassure him… then paused.

For a split second, he knew exactly what to say to make Tunde feel small. To make him doubt himself. The words lined up perfectly in his mind.

Kenzo swallowed hard and chose something kinder instead.

After the call, he sat alone in the dark, heart pounding.

“That wasn’t me,” he whispered.

The room stayed silent — but inside him, something stirred, amused.

You’re learning, the thought replied. And you like it.

Kenzo pressed his hands against his chest, shaking. He finally understood the feeling he couldn’t name.

It wasn’t fear.

It was power .

And the terrifying knowledge that it didn’t feel wrong.