It's Monday morning. The sun filters weakly through gray clouds, the air heavy with the quiet hum of the city. Yukio steps out of his apartment, his usual calm face unchanged.
Yukio (Internally): Another week. Let's make this one more productive.
He walks down the familiar street, past the same vending machine, the same stray cat that always sleeps under the lamppost. Everything's the same—except something feels different today.
Cut to Hololive HQ. The bright, colorful lobby is buzzing with chatter. The elevator dings as Yukio steps out, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor. The moment he walks in, the air subtly changes.
Conversations soften. Eyes shift away. A few forced smiles flicker, then disappear.
Yukio (Internally): … Hmm. Strange atmosphere today.
He keeps walking, scanning the hall. His eyes, calm yet sharp, move from one group to another. His mind begins to work on its own.
Yukio (Internally): That group near the vending machine, eyes averted, fake smiles. They're uncomfortable, not hostile. Probably talking about me before I walked in. Those two near the printer—glanced once, whispered. They seem annoyed. Maybe something I did last week? No, something they think I did. The rest, neutral expressions. Unbothered, but distant. A collective silence… interesting.
He walks toward his desk, the whispers behind him faint but audible.
Worker (Murmuring): Why is he always so quiet… it's creepy.
Another Worker (Murmuring): I heard he reports directly to A-chan now. Must think he's special.
Worker 3 (Murmuring): He acts like we don't exist.
Yukio (Internally): Wrong. I just… don't talk unless needed.
He sits down at his desk, turns on his monitor, and begins typing. His movements are steady, precise, but his ears stay open. Every sound, every sigh, every whisper in the room—he registers them without turning his head.
Minutes stretch into hours. The office around him hums with life, laughter, and casual chatter. Yet Yukio's corner remains untouched—quiet, isolated.
Yukio (Internally): I see. So this is what depreciation feels like. They've stopped seeing me as a coworker. More like an outsider. No, not yet, more like a shadow in their workspace.
He keeps working, his calm face betraying nothing. Time moves forward, the sun lowers, and soon the office lights flicker on. One by one, people start packing up. No one says goodbye to him.
Yukio (Internally): Typical Monday.
Fade to his apartment. Nighttime. The soft glow of the city leaks through the curtains. Yukio sits on his bed, still in his work clothes, eyes blankly staring at the ceiling.
Yukio (Internally): I finally got a stable job. A purpose. Something I could be proud of. Something… my parents would be proud of. He closes his eyes for a moment. I can't fail. That's a promise.
He sits up slowly, resting his elbows on his knees.
Yukio (Internally): But what can I do now? They're ignoring me. Avoiding me. Even when I try to be useful, they act like I don't exist. What am I doing wrong?
His voice becomes quieter, like he's speaking into the void.
Yukio (Internally): I've always been logical. Calm. Rational. But this time… there's no clear answer. If I stay silent, they'll keep drifting away. If I speak up, they'll take it the wrong way. If I try harder… they'll only think I'm desperate.
He exhales, frustration flickering briefly in his calm eyes.
Yukio (Internally): … So this is the limit of my mind. No solutions left.
Suddenly, the room grows darker—not in light, but in presence. The air feels heavier. A voice echoes inside his head, calm yet sharp, identical to his own.
Yukio (Other Self): You've been unserious this whole time. Of course you'd give up.
Yukio:Looks around slightly, realizing the voice came from within. Who… are you?
Yukio (Other Self): Me. You. The part of you that actually understands what must be done.
Yukio: …And what do you mean by unserious? I've been doing everything I can.
Yukio (Other Self): Have you? Or have you been hiding behind your calm face—thinking logic alone solves everything?
Yukio: Emotions don't fix problems.
Yukio (Other Self): Neither does apathy. You're pathetic. You call yourself "focused," but you're blind. You let people trample over your work. You let others take credit while you stay silent, thinking you're above it.
Yukio:Stays silent, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Yukio (Other Self): You cannot do things right if you're like this. You're wasting your potential. Let me handle it.
Yukio: Handle what?
Yukio (Other Self): Everything.
Yukio flinches slightly as a pressure grips his mind. The air in his room stills. His heartbeat echoes faintly, and the world slows down for a moment. His reflection in the dark window begins to change—his calm eyes darken to a deep, cold blue, his expression sharper, colder, focused beyond reason.
Yukio (Other Self):Smirks faintly. Leave it to me.
His real body exhales softly, posture straightening, expression unreadable yet commanding.
Yukio: … I'll teach them.
The scene fades out with a faint hum in the air, as if the world itself recognizes that something inside Yukio has changed.