Chapter 5


    The next morning, Daniel trudged into the office, his shoes soaked from the rain that still pelted down relentlessly. The one-hour delay had done little to ease his mood, though the faint scent of wet asphalt and coffee lingered in the air. As he shook out his damp jacket, he caught sight of Ray and Joe huddled near Ray’s desk, their expressions grim and tense.


    Ray was speaking in a low, urgent voice. “It’s the Chief Director’s computer. The motherboard’s fried beyond repair. We’re in deep if this isn’t fixed soon.”


    Daniel’s ears perked up at the mention of Chief Director Michael, the highest authority in the building. He hadn’t even settled into his seat before his curiosity got the better of him. He approached cautiously, trying to gauge the severity of the situation.


    “What’s going on?” he asked Ray.


    Ray glanced up, his forehead creased with worry. “Chief Director Michael’s system crashed. Motherboard damage. We’re talking complete breakdown.”


    Joe sighed, shaking his head. “This isn’t just any computer. If we don’t fix it today, it’s going to be hell for everyone.”


    A surge of confidence bubbled up in Daniel, pushing aside the usual apprehension. He took a steady breath and looked directly at Ray. “Leave it to me. I’ve got this.”


    Ray’s eyes searched Daniel’s face for a moment, doubt lingering before he finally nodded. “Alright, it’s all yours.”


    Daniel grabbed the CPU from Ray’s desk and carried it to the workbench — a long, sturdy table scattered with tools for repairs: screwdrivers, pliers, thermal paste, and dust blowers. The hum of the office seemed to fade as he set the CPU down, his hands steady and purposeful.


    Ray and Joe returned to their workstations, their chairs squeaking softly as they settled back down. Daniel waited until they were engrossed in their tasks before he closed his eyes for a brief second, focusing.


    I want this CPU to be faster. I want it to be completely repaired.


    That strange warmth surged through his fingertips, a pulse of energy he’d come to recognize. He felt the change ripple through the machine, subtle but unmistakable. When he opened his eyes, the CPU sat there, looking no different, but he knew it had worked.


    He was about to test the system when the door swung open, and Leo Zam walked in. The usual arrogance was absent, replaced by something Daniel hadn’t seen before — genuine worry. Leo’s eyes landed on him immediately.


    “Is it done?” Leo’s voice was edged with urgency, but his expression was a stone wall. No hint of kindness, no trace of respect.


    Daniel straightened up, masking his own irritation. “I’m just about to test it.”


    Leo folded his arms, his gaze cold and unwavering. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching as if waiting for Daniel to fail.


    Daniel swallowed his frustration and methodically connected the cables, attaching the monitor and peripherals with practiced ease. His fingers lingered over the power button for a moment before pressing it.


    The monitor flickered to life. The computer booted up in less than five seconds — a speed that even high-end systems rarely achieved. The screen glowed, the desktop ready and waiting. It was flawless.


    Daniel turned to Leo, a flicker of pride in his eyes, but Leo’s face remained impassive. The worry had vanished, but no relief, no appreciation took its place. Just the same indifferent mask he always wore around Daniel.


    “Take it to Chief Director Michael’s office,” Leo said flatly, his tone devoid of warmth. He turned on his heel, dismissing Daniel without another word.


    A weight settled in Daniel’s chest, his heart sinking like a stone. No thanks. No acknowledgment. Just a cold command, like he was a tool — a cog in the machine.


    He lifted the CPU, his muscles tightening with frustration, and carried it down the hall to Chief Director Michael’s office. The room was empty when he arrived, the faint scent of leather and polished wood lingering in the air. Carefully, he set the CPU down and began assembling the entire system: the monitor, the keyboard, the mouse. Each piece clicked into place with precision.


    As the final cable snapped in, he paused, his reflection staring back at him from the dark screen. His thoughts circled around Leo’s expression — that blank, dismissive look that refused to recognize his effort.


    His jaw tightened. It didn’t matter how hard he worked, how much he fixed, or how well he performed. Leo wouldn’t see it. He wouldn’t see him.


    But Daniel’s resolve hardened. He was done hoping for Leo’s approval. He was done being invisible.


    You won’t ignore me forever, he thought, a spark of determination igniting in his chest. I’ll make sure of it.


    When Daniel returned to his section, he paused just before reaching his desk. Ray and Graham were locked in a tense conversation, Ray’s brow furrowed in irritation while Graham wore his usual nonchalant expression. The hushed intensity of their exchange was unmistakable.


    “I’ve been waiting on these evaluations for weeks, Graham,” Ray said, his voice clipped. “You need to get them done. This is dragging the whole section down.”


    Graham leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lazily on the armrest. “I’ll get to it, Ray. There’s just a lot on my plate right now.”


    Daniel shook his head as he slid into his chair. He’d seen this too many times. Graham’s habit of shirking responsibilities was an open secret in the office. The guy knew how to dodge work and still come out looking good — especially with Leo in his corner.


    As Ray opened his mouth to press the issue further, the door swung open. Leo Zam stepped in, his face lighting up with a positive expression — until he registered the tension in the room. The shift in his demeanor was almost instantaneous. His eyes narrowed slightly, his mouth setting into a thin line of disapproval.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Daniel’s stomach sank. He knew that look all too well. Leo had overheard enough to form his own biased conclusion.


    Leo walked up to Ray and Graham, his voice a controlled calm. “What’s going on here?”


    Ray hesitated, his lips thinning before he finally spoke. “Graham’s evaluations are overdue. I’ve been trying to get him to finish them, but it’s taking too long.”


    Leo’s eyes flicked between Ray and Graham. The irritation Daniel had hoped to see directed at Graham never came. Instead, Leo’s face softened, his tone dropping into something close to reassurance.


    “Ray,” Leo said, his voice smooth and patronizing, “take it easy on Graham, will you? He’s been handling a lot for the section. He’s got more on his plate than most people realize.”


    Ray’s jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing, his eyes dropping to his desk as he settled back into his chair with a resigned sigh. Daniel could see the frustration simmering beneath Ray’s stoic expression.


    Leo turned to Graham, and the difference in his tone was palpable. “Just try to get those evaluations done as soon as you can, alright?” he said warmly, a soft smile curving his lips. The kind of smile Daniel had never once seen directed at him.


    Graham nodded, the casual grin still on his face. “Sure thing, Leo. I’ll take care of it.”


    Daniel clenched his jaw, his fists balling under his desk. The blatant favoritism was sickening, the double standard glaringly obvious. Graham, the habitual slacker, was coddled and praised, while his own hard work was dismissed or stolen.


    A bitter thought crept into his mind: It doesn’t matter what I do here. Leo has his favorites, and I’ll never be one of them.


    The frustration churned in his chest, a swirling vortex of anger and disbelief. He could feel the injustice of it gnawing at the edges of his resolve, but he forced himself to breathe slowly, to stay calm. He wouldn’t let them see him break.


    As Leo and Graham exchanged a few more pleasantries, Daniel stared at his screen, the words blurring before his eyes. His mind buzzed with a singular, burning determination:


    This won’t last forever. They can ignore me now, but one day, they’ll know exactly what they lost.


    And when that day came, Daniel intended to be far, far away from this suffocating office, where his worth would be finally seen — not dismissed.


    After Leo finished his idle conversation with Graham, he drifted toward Ray, his demeanor shifting once more into that casual, almost jovial air he reserved for his select few. Their voices floated through the section — talk of the upcoming monthly staff meeting, half-hearted remarks about company goals, sprinkled with gossip about employees Daniel barely knew. It was the kind of conversation that carved an even deeper divide between those who belonged and those who didn’t.


    Daniel kept his head down, pretending to focus on his screen, his mind far away from the chatter. His fingers curled slightly, the keyboard’s plastic edges digging into his skin. It was as though the office existed in two different realities: one where effort and respect flowed freely, and another where his own contributions vanished like smoke.


    Half an hour later, Leo finally left the section, the door closing behind him with a muted click. The air seemed to lose some of its oppressive weight.


    Ray turned in his chair, his gaze settling on Daniel. “Hey, Daniel.”


    Daniel straightened, meeting Ray’s eyes, his expression neutral. “Yeah?”


    “I need you to prep some specs for a camera for the Media Unit,” Ray said, his tone businesslike. “I’ve sent you a link to a model that I think will work best. Put together the specifications and send it back to me for review.”


    Daniel nodded. “Got it.”


    The email pinged in his inbox — the link to the camera, a few rough notes from Ray, and a vague outline of what was needed. A task that would normally take a solid hour of research and meticulous detail. But Daniel no longer played by those rules.


    He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a brief moment. I want this done, perfect and complete.


    That warmth surged through his fingertips, a subtle but certain pulse of energy. When he opened his eyes, the screen was filled with a perfectly formatted specification sheet — details laid out with precision, covering every requirement Ray could possibly need. It was thorough, polished, and beyond anything a rushed hour of work could produce.


    He clicked Send and leaned back in his chair, waiting.


    A minute later, Ray’s voice rose above the hum of the office. “Nice work, Daniel. This is exactly what I needed.” He held up the stamped approval sheet. “Take this to the Media Unit.”


    For the first time in what felt like forever, Daniel heard it — a genuine note of appreciation. Just a simple acknowledgment of his work, but one that pierced through the endless fog of disregard. He stood up, took the sheet from Ray’s outstretched hand, and gave a curt nod. “Thanks.”


    He walked toward the Media Unit’s office, the stamped paper firm in his grip. The praise, the recognition — it was what he had craved for so long. But as he moved through the hallways, the weight in his chest didn’t lift. The hollow satisfaction of that one fleeting compliment only highlighted how starved he had been for basic respect.


    One time. That was it. A single moment of acknowledgment, after months — years — of being overlooked and dismissed.


    It was too late.


    The decision had already settled deep within him, as solid and immovable as stone. He would leave this place, leave the suffocating walls of this office and the poisoned hierarchy that held him down. He had more to offer, more to achieve, and he wasn’t going to waste another second where his worth was an afterthought.


    As he handed off the paper to the Media Unit, he felt a calm resolve take hold. This wasn’t defeat; this was freedom. His plan was in motion. His escape was on the horizon.


    Nothing — no fleeting praise, no temporary relief — would keep him here.


    Daniel handed the stamped specification sheet to Rog Brown, the head of the Media Unit. Rog took the paper with a warm smile, his eyes filled with genuine gratitude.


    “Thanks for the quick turnaround, Daniel,” Rog said, his voice sincere. “I don’t know how you managed to finish this so fast, but you’ve saved us a lot of time. I wish the rest of the IT section had your efficiency and attitude.”


    Daniel felt a flicker of warmth in his chest. Rog had always been that way — respectful, appreciative, and fair. Even before Daniel’s strange abilities had given him an edge, Rog was one of the few who saw his hard work and treated him with dignity. In a sea of indifference and hostility, Rog had been an anchor of decency.


    “Anytime, Rog,” Daniel replied, his voice steady. “I appreciate it.”


    Rog nodded, his expression softening. “Keep up the good work, Daniel. People notice, even if they don’t always say it.”


    Daniel’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile. Those words, simple as they were, held more weight than any praise he’d received in the IT section. It was nice to be seen — really seen — even if it was just by one person.


    He turned and walked back to the IT section, his footsteps lighter, though the weight of his decision to leave hadn’t lifted. Rog’s acknowledgment was meaningful, but it wasn’t enough to outweigh the toxic environment he endured daily.


    The office was the same as he left it. Ray and Joe were focused on their screens, Graham was half-heartedly typing, and the hum of the computers, mixed in with servers filled the background. Daniel slid into his chair, the familiar stiffness of the seat barely registering.