Morning came slowly.
Not because the sun was late—
but because the light didn't feel real.
It slipped through the blinds in thin lines, stretching across the floor, climbing the walls, touching everything—
yet somehow…
it felt distant.
Kenji was awake before it arrived.
Sitting in the same position.
Unmoving.
The place where the shape had stood still held his attention.
Nothing had appeared again.
No flicker. No distortion. No delay.
Just a wall.
Plain. Silent.
But the silence wasn't the same.
It hadn't been the same since last night.
A knock broke through it.
Sharp. Measured.
The door opened before he could respond.
Two people stepped in.
Not nurses. Not doctors.
Different.
Their presence shifted the room immediately.
Controlled. Quiet. Observant.
They didn't rush. Didn't speak right away.
They just looked at him—
like they were confirming something.
One of them stepped forward.
Mid-40s. Clean suit. No badge.
The other stayed by the door.
Watching everything.
"Good morning," the man said.
Calm voice. Careful tone.
Kenji didn't answer.
The man didn't seem surprised.
"I'm going to ask you a few questions. Just answer what you can."
A pause.
"Do you remember what happened to you?"
Silence.
Kenji stared at him.
Not confused. Not lost.
Just… empty.
"I see," the man nodded slightly. "That's fine."
He pulled out a tablet and tapped it once.
The screen lit up.
And for the first time—
something in the room reacted.
Not the machines.
Not the people.
Kenji.
A faint pressure pulsed in his chest.
Small.
Immediate.
The crimson echo.
The man glanced up.
Just for a second.
He noticed.
"…interesting," he murmured.
He turned the tablet slightly.
Not enough to reveal everything—
but enough.
"Let's try something simple," he said.
"Do you recognize this?"
The screen displayed a name.
Nothing.
No reaction.
Then—
it flickered.
For a fraction of a second—
the name changed.
Not visibly.
Not to anyone else.
But Kenji saw it.
A different name.
Unfamiliar.
Wrong.
His breath hitched.
The man caught it immediately.
"Your heart rate just increased," he said calmly. "Why?"
Kenji didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
But his body did.
The pressure in his chest tightened again.
Not pain.
Recognition.
The screen flickered again.
This time—
the man saw it.
He froze.
Just slightly.
Then tapped the tablet again—harder.
The display stabilized.
The original name returned.
"…that shouldn't happen," he muttered.
The second person stepped forward.
"System glitch?"
The man didn't answer right away.
His eyes stayed on Kenji.
Focused.
Sharp.
"No," he said finally.
A pause.
"Not a glitch."
The room felt colder.
Kenji didn't know why—
but he felt it.
The man lowered the tablet.
Then asked—
"Do you feel anything… unusual?"
Silence.
Kenji considered the question.
The answer should've been simple.
But it wasn't.
Because everything felt wrong.
"…yes."
His voice came out rough.
Barely above a whisper.
The first word since waking up.
Both of them reacted.
Subtle.
"What do you feel?" the man asked.
Kenji searched for the word.
Couldn't find it.
"…something."
Not helpful.
But true.
The man nodded slowly—
as if that answer meant more than it should.
He stepped back.
The second person leaned closer.
"Is he—"
"Not confirmed," the man cut in.
Another look at Kenji.
Measured now.
Careful.
"We'll continue later."
They turned to leave.
The door opened.
And just before they stepped out—
the lights flickered.
Again.
Both of them stopped.
Slowly—
they turned back.
But this time—
they weren't looking at Kenji.
They were looking behind him.
At the wall.
The exact same place.
The air shifted.
Heavy.
Wrong.
The man's voice dropped.
"…you saw it too, didn't you?"
Kenji didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Didn't blink.
He didn't need to.
The silence answered for him.
The man stared at the wall for a long moment.
Then said something that didn't belong in a hospital.
"…it's not supposed to manifest this early."
The second person tensed.
"We need to escalate this."
"No," the man said immediately.
Firm.
Controlled.
"…not yet."
A pause.
"Because if this is what I think it is…"
He looked back at Kenji.
"…then we're already too late."
The lights stabilized.
The pressure faded.
The room returned to normal.
But something had changed.
They had seen it too.
Which meant one thing—
whatever was watching him
wasn't hiding anymore.
And now—
it had more than one witness.