The Spirits and Such Consultation Office was enjoying a rare moment of peace.
Shigeo "Mob" Kageyama carefully watered the office plant while Reigen Arataka leaned back in his chair, feet propped on his desk, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk.
"See, Mob? That's how you handle a high-level poltergeist," Reigen said, gesturing vaguely. "A little bit of my patented Salt Splash, a firm, authoritative tone… the spirit never stood a chance. The client was so grateful, she even paid a bonus."
Mob nodded, his expression as placid as ever. "You were very brave, Master."
He didn't mention that the "poltergeist" had been a loose floorboard and the "chilling moan" was the wind whistling through a cracked window pane. His master's confidence was a fragile, precious thing.
Suddenly, Reigen winced, rubbing his temples. "Ugh, got a weird headache. Probably all the psychic energy I expended."
Mob felt it too. It wasn't a headache. It was a soundless, high-frequency scream that was rapidly blanketing all of Seasoning City. It wasn't an attack on the mind, but on the heart. It was a wave of pure, unadulterated negativity.
Outside the window, a car horn blared. Then another. A shouting match erupted on the street below. A distant crash was followed by a chorus of panicked screams. The emotional temperature of the entire city was skyrocketing.
Reigen jumped up, peering out the window. "What the hell is going on? Is it a sale at the mall?"
Mob's eyes were wide. He could feel it all. Every flare of road rage, every spike of anxiety, every simmering resentment bubbling over into open hostility. A psychic storm was brewing, and everyone was drowning in it.
Progress Toward Mob's Explosion: 12%
The counter in his mind ticked upward. The wave of external emotion was like a current, threatening to pull his own tightly controlled feelings along with it.
A figure had appeared in the sky above the city, visible only to those with a flicker of spiritual awareness. It was a shimmering, human-shaped distortion, like heat haze off asphalt. It had no face, only a swirling vortex of clashing, ugly colors where its heart should be. A Discord Redactor. It wasn't erasing anything. It was corrupting everything.
Its purpose was simple: to prove that every story, left to its own devices, would inevitably devolve into tragedy and rage. It was an editor that believed in nothing but bad endings.
"Master, we have to go," Mob said, his voice tight.
The negativity was getting stronger. It was an infectious despair. Down on the street, people were shoving each other, fighting over nothing. It was chaos born from the amplification of every petty, human flaw.
Progress Toward Mob's Explosion: 34%
They reached the street, which had descended into a low-grade riot. Reigen, surprisingly, seemed almost immune. His usual bluster acted as a bizarre sort of emotional shield.
"Everyone, calm down!" he yelled, striking a dramatic pose. "You are in the presence of the 21st Century's Greatest Psychic, Reigen Arataka! Your negative energy is merely empowering me!"
It was a total lie, but his absolute, unwavering confidence created a small, bewildered pocket of calm around them.
The Redactor in the sky sensed this pocket of resistance. It focused its power, sending a direct, concentrated beam of psychic poison toward them. It wasn't an attack. It was a "suggestion."
He's a fraud. He uses you. Your power is a burden. You're alone.
The thoughts weren't Mob's, but they echoed his deepest insecurities. He flinched, his head throbbing.
Progress Toward Mob's Explosion: 68%
His psychic energy began to leak out, swirling around him in a visible, shimmering aura. Pebbles began to float. The ground cracked beneath his feet.
Reigen saw the look in Mob's eyes. He saw the numbers climbing in his student's subconscious, the numbers that always preceded destruction. But this time was different. Mob wasn't angry. He was drowning.
Putting a firm hand on Mob's shoulder, Reigen leaned in, his voice cutting through the psychic noise.
"Mob. It's just noise," he said, his tone simple and direct. "It's loud, yeah. But it's not yours. You decide what you listen to. You're in control."
It was the same thing he'd told him countless times. A simple truth. A kind lie. A lifeline.
It was enough.
Mob closed his eyes. The rising tide of panic, anger, and fear crashed against him. He stopped fighting it. He stopped trying to hold it back. He just… let it pass through him.
He opened his eyes. The swirling aura around him did not explode. It turned a gentle, serene blue. The air grew still. The frantic, screaming heartbeat of the city quieted.
Progress Toward Mob's Explosion: 100%
State: Calm
Mob lifted a hand, and from him, a wave of his own power rolled out. It wasn't a shockwave. It wasn't a blast. It was a sigh. It was a silent, psychic hum that blanketed the entire city.
It didn't erase the negative emotions. It simply... soothed them.
The man who was about to punch a stranger suddenly felt a deep sense of exhaustion. The woman screaming in fear found a quiet pocket of reason in her mind. The endless, shrill panic was enveloped in a profound, unshakable stillness. The city took a collective, calming breath.
The storm was over.
The Discord Redactor shrieked, a feedback loop of pure static. Its power source—the chaos, the emotional turmoil—had been cut off. It was now an engine with no fuel.
It turned its attention to Mob, the source of this infuriating peace. It tried to project pure, undiluted despair directly at him. It was like throwing a bucket of water at the ocean. Mob just stood there, his expression gentle, feeling not anger, not pity, but a simple, quiet sadness for it.
The Redactor's form began to break down. Deprived of emotional chaos, its very existence was a contradiction. With a final, silent pop, it dissolved into nothing.
As the quiet stillness settled, a screen shimmered in front of Mob's eyes. It was soft around the edges, the text a gentle, reassuring blue.
[Psychic Wave neutralized by EMOTIONAL PACIFICATION.]
[Shigeo Kageyama has demonstrated canon-level Empathic Authority.]
[Synchronizing… Welcome to the Gate, Kind Soul.]
The screen changed, showing him fleeting images. A boy with furious, protective eyes guarding a cursed shield. A girl made of blood, cackling with manic glee. A demon with gentle eyes weeping as she burned away a curse. A king with an impossibly lonely smile.
He saw their pain. He felt their struggle.
Mob wasn't alone. And there were a lot more people who needed help.