Chapter 2: Malvern
Muhammed stood up from the hospital bed and took the first three purposeful steps he had taken in a long while.
He gazed out the window with a soft smile—a smile only for him. Not big or small, just a calm, knowing smile.
He wasn't worried about when he would meet Electro again. There was a mental nudge telling him not to worry.
He'd always had great intuition, whether it was games or just life in general. Whenever Muhammed said "probably," he was usually right. But now, it was becoming almost uncanny.
The "possession," the mental nudges, the urges—they all seemed to have seamlessly integrated into his life after the incident.
He didn't know what to call it, other than an "awakening."
More than that, he felt truly secure and satisfied—something he didn't think he would feel until he had proven everyone around him wrong, and himself right.
His declaration of being different had been an understatement. It was as if he were a new person entirely.
When he saw his family, part of him felt anger. But it was as though he were watching that feeling from a third-person perspective, letting it pass.
To go from questioning his own thoughts and feelings from a place of chaos, to simply watching them with peace—it was odd. But even so, everything made sense.
"Why is it that I always 'knew' I would feel happy once I proved everyone wrong? The only thing that was stopping me from feeling happy... was me. Me holding onto my suffering because it felt comfortable."
He laughed—not bitterly, but with forgiveness.
He didn't fully understand how he had shaped his reality like Electro said, but accepting it to be true, he realized that being angry at anyone or anything was simply a reflection of his internal state. And he was no longer consumed by that anger, so he forgave himself.
"And the worst part," he thought, "is that it was simple. Not easy—but simple. It's simply the act of detaching from what you don't like and embodying what you do."
"Be the change you want to see." What he once cringed at had become his saving grace.
Muhammed's mind began analyzing his experiences and thoughts.
And the more he did, the less attached he became. The more detached he was, the more he could view his emotions from a third-person perspective—understanding them, watching them, but not being consumed.
His mind was restless. He was aware, beyond measure. According to Electro, he had skipped two steps and jumped straight to the third. He felt a bit proud of that.
But he knew more was to come. This was only the beginning. And unlike most stories, he was starting from the end, at least emotionally.
He knew that to become his best self, he would have to move from a place he had never been before. So he asked himself, "Who would I be as my best self? How would I act?"—and he began applying it immediately.
His best self would prioritize sleep.
So he climbed back into the hospital bed.
As he drifted off into his breath, he felt full—as if the air were richer, more invigorating, healing.
He awoke in delight the next morning.
Without restricting himself, he stretched both arms all the way up and yawned.
He almost lay back down—but a thought flashed across his mind. He had to embody things he hadn't done before. So he hopped out of bed without hesitation.
He was present, but a little absent-minded. His focus was already on the day ahead.
It wasn't until he reached for his shoes that he realized—his arm was perfectly fine.
"Huh? My arm?!"
Just as he nearly yelped, someone opened the door.
"Hello, sir." A girl with black hair, dressed in a black suit and carrying a briefcase, walked in.
"Do I know you?" Muhammed asked, scanning her from head to toe.
"No. But I—and the other 29 people—do. We've been waiting all night to talk to you."
"Thirty people? And you just barge in? What if I were naked?" He asked calmly
"Me seeing you naked should be the least of your worries. You should be more concerned about concealing what we—and everyone else—can see."
Muhammed's pupils shrank. He didn't know what she meant, but he knew it had something to do with his awakening.
"What do you mean?"
"After a special awareness awakening, people gain the ability to channel spiritual and mental energy consciously. But without control, it's like a raging beam of light to those who can 'see.'"
"Special awakening?" His confusion deepened.
"E didn't tell you a damn thing, did he?" a muscular man with a mohawk and tattoos across his body said as he poked his head in.
Muhammed quickly realized he might have gotten ahead of himself the night before. The more time passed, the more confused he became.
Suddenly, a wave of calm washed over him, along with a single thought: "10 years." His eyes lit up.
"Electro said something about world alignment ten years ago... so I'm assuming you're recruiters for organizations that work with people with high awareness," Muhammed said, his confusion dissolving as calm took over.
"Oh, he is special," the man replied with a chuckle.
"Of course he is. It's been two years since the last possession-awareness awakening," said another voice—this one speaking directly into their minds.
Almost immediately, groans filled the room as many in the crowd started to leave.
"Why do you always scare everyone away?" the muscular man asked.
"Well, you're still here, aren't you?" the calming voice echoed again.
"We're going the same way. Might as well enjoy the show," the man replied as the girl stayed quiet, observing with a blank expression.
Muhammed stayed silent, slightly startled, and put on a smile, just for himself. It calmed him down.
He wanted to speak, but chose instead to observe.
Suddenly, he felt a tap on his left shoulder. But he had the urge to turn right. His urges hadn't failed him yet, so he listened.
He snapped his head to the right.
No one was there.
Slightly shocked and doubtful, he turned left—and then he heard a whisper in his right ear:
"Don't ever doubt yourself. That's your first self-law."
Muhammed turned back, slower this time.
There, the air shimmered and distorted—like a curtain lifting on a stage. A man was revealed, wearing round glasses, an orange vest, a red tie, and coffee-colored pants.
"Hello. I am Malvern—but you can call me Mr. Malvern. Your new teacher."