I read this with that slow, sick oh no grin you get when the horror is entirely administrative. Nothing dramatic—just better lighting, cleaner optics, nicer bags. Bread instead of drugs. Notes instead of answers. A bell instead of a conscience. Chilling.
The way goodness turns into branding one tiny choice at a time is so quietly nasty. Hashtags creeping in. The cropped photo. The LEGEND mug. The bell shifting from signal to summons. And the worst part? How the suffering isn’t inconvenient because it’s sad—but because it interrupts the schedule. That moment did damage.
By the end, stepping over the blanket without checking felt like the thesis delivered without raising its voice. No villain speech, no judgment—just a man who likes being announced. And yeah. That landed hard.
I read this with that slow, sick oh no grin you get when the horror is entirely administrative. Nothing dramatic—just better lighting, cleaner optics, nicer bags. Bread instead of drugs. Notes instead of answers. A bell instead of a conscience. Chilling.
The way goodness turns into branding one tiny choice at a time is so quietly nasty. Hashtags creeping in. The cropped photo. The LEGEND mug. The bell shifting from signal to summons. And the worst part? How the suffering isn’t inconvenient because it’s sad—but because it interrupts the schedule. That moment did damage.
By the end, stepping over the blanket without checking felt like the thesis delivered without raising its voice. No villain speech, no judgment—just a man who likes being announced. And yeah. That landed hard.
Thanks Asuka!