The dining room was… quiet.
Not the heavy, suffocating silence of a Sect Hall—where a misplaced breath could cost you a limb—but a softer kind of quiet.
Domestic.
Contained.
It smelled of rosemary and toasted bread.
Warm.
For someone who had spent a decade sleeping on stone floors and eating gray porridge, that warmth did not feel comforting.
It felt heavy.
Like something pressing gently against my chest.
Suspicious.
Foreign.
Emily placed the plates down.
Ceramic met wood with a clean, sharp clatter.
In my world, that sound would have been swallowed by mountain winds, by distant beasts, by the constant hum of cultivation.
Here—
It landed.
Clear.
Defined.
Loud in a way it should not have been.
I picked up the fork.
The balance was slightly off. The tines leaned a fraction too forward. The weight distribution was inefficient.
I did not simply observe how David held his.
I analyzed it.
Three fingers stabilizing the neck.
Index finger applying downward pressure.
Wrist relaxed to allow controlled arc through the forearm.
Force transfer minimal. Energy waste reduced.
I adjusted my grip.
Mimicked.
Refined.
To them, I was a boy learning how to eat.
To me, I was calibrating a new system.
"You're a fast learner, Li Shen," Emily said.
There was surprise in her voice.
Soft.
Unhidden.
For a moment—just a moment—something in me reacted to that.
Recognition.
Small.
Sharp.
Unfamiliar.
I pushed it down.
Irrelevant.
I focused on the fork instead.
On the resistance of meat against metal.
On pressure, angle, efficiency.
Safe things.
Predictable things.
"So," David said, leaning forward slightly.
His gaze was steady. Measuring.
Looking for logic in something that did not yet make sense to him.
"The officer mentioned the driver saw you just… appear. Do you remember anything before the accident?"
I did not hear the end of the question.
A fly.
It hovered near the light fixture.
Three meters away.
To a normal human, it was nothing more than a blur.
A nuisance.
To me—
It was slow.
Painfully slow.
Its wings beat in uneven rhythm.
I could see the thin, iridescent veins stretching through them.
I could hear the frequency.
Disorganized.
Imprecise.
Annoying.
It dipped lower.
Changed direction mid-air.
A chaotic vector.
Something in my chest tightened.
Not anger.
Not quite.
Closer to irritation.
Sharp.
Focused.
Buzz.
The sound struck the center of my skull like a needle.
Annoying.
My left hand moved.
No shift in posture.
No tension in the shoulders.
No preparation.
Just a small contraction.
A precise release.
My fingers closed.
Silence.
The buzzing stopped instantly.
For a fraction of a second, I felt it.
The faint, frantic vibration of the insect trapped in my palm.
Weak.
Insignificant.
Contained.
Claire's glass did not ripple.
The air did not move.
Nothing acknowledged the motion.
I blinked once and turned back toward David.
"Hm?"
The word came out light.
Casual.
Almost distracted.
"Question… I did not hear."
The room had changed.
David's fork hovered halfway to his mouth.
Frozen.
Emily's hand was pressed lightly against her lips, her eyes fixed on me.
Claire—
Claire was staring at my hand.
Her expression had shifted completely.
Eyes wide.
Focused.
Trying to process something that did not fit.
"You…" she said slowly, her voice catching.
"Did you just… catch that?"
A pause.
"With your left hand?"
I looked at my hand.
Then back at them.
For a brief moment, something rose again.
A flicker.
Awareness.
They are watching.
It was small.
But it was there.
And it wanted—
I shut it down.
Not now.
Too early.
My expression stayed neutral.
Calm.
Unbothered.
"It was… in the way," I said.
My English was rough.
Blunt.
Unpolished.
I opened my hand.
The fly dropped onto the table.
Whole.
Unbroken.
But still.
Completely still.
The force had stunned it.
Overwhelmed it.
Ended it, in a way that did not leave visible damage.
Silence settled again.
Heavier this time.
I tilted my head slightly, looking at David.
Then at Emily.
Then at Claire.
"Why," I asked quietly,
"are you all staring?"
No one answered immediately.
And for the first time since entering this house—
I did not feel like the smallest person in the room.
But I did not let that show either.