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Chapter 2: Whispers of the Past

Mori Kiyoshi sat in the dim light of his bedroom, the glow of his laptop screen illuminating the shadows that loomed in the corners. The day had ended, yet the feeling of anxiety still clung to him like a second skin. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. I need to understand this, he thought, his heart racing with a mix of trepidation and determination.

After the conversation with his grandmother, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his glitch than mere anxiety. The concept of reality manipulation lingered in his mind, an unshakable whisper beckoning him to dig deeper. He opened a browser window and began his search, typing the words hesitantly. Reality manipulation.

As the results populated, he was struck by the sheer obscurity of it all. Articles and blog posts popped up, some laden with scientific jargon, others tinged with conspiratorial undertones. Most were pseudoscience at best, but a few seemed to hint at individuals who had experienced similar phenomena, people who spoke of bending reality to their will, if only for a moment. Could this be what I'm experiencing?

He clicked on the first link, a blog post titled "The Hidden World of Reality Manipulators." The author, a self-proclaimed expert on the subject, described a myriad of bizarre occurrences—from slight changes in the environment to complete alterations of perception. Mori's fingers trembled as he scrolled down the page, the words dancing in front of him, forming a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve.

Each paragraph resonated with him, each anecdote striking a chord of familiarity. Stories of people who felt out of place, individuals who experienced moments where the world seemed to slip through their fingers. As he read, flashes of memories flickered through his mind, swirling around the figure of his mother, who had always been a source of both comfort and mystery in his life.

A sudden pang of nostalgia gripped him, and he leaned back in his chair, eyes closing as he surrendered to the memories. Mom. The word hung in the air like a whisper, calling him back to a time that felt both distant and vivid.

He was eight years old, a summer day bursting with sunlight that streamed through the windows, casting playful shadows across the living room floor. Mori sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by a chaotic spread of toys and books, blissfully lost in his own world. His mother was nearby, tending to her plants, her gentle hands moving deftly among the leaves, coaxing life from the soil.

"Mori," she called, her voice soft but filled with a peculiar intensity. "Come here for a moment."

He looked up, curious. "What is it, Mom?"

"Watch this," she said, a smile dancing on her lips. She reached out, her fingers brushing against a pot of vibrant green ferns. In that moment, something remarkable happened: the ferns shimmered, their leaves bending and twisting as if responding to her unspoken command. Mori's eyes widened in awe, a mixture of fear and wonder flooding his senses.

"Did you see that?" she asked, glancing at him with an expression that was part joy, part apprehension.

"Yeah! How did you do that?" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of excitement and disbelief.

She hesitated, a shadow passing over her face. "It's a gift, sweetie. But it's important to be careful. Not everyone understands. You have to keep it a secret."

"Why?" he asked, his small brow furrowing. "It's amazing!"

"Sometimes, amazing things can be misunderstood. It's safer this way." Her tone was firm but gentle, a warning laced with love.

The memory lingered, and Mori remembered how he had nodded obediently, entranced by her power yet wary of the implications. Was this what had caused her absence? Did she become a part of the whispers, the secrets of their family?