Gemotions

He slammed the door, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. The silence, normally a welcome respite, was now a suffocating blanket. His hands clenched into fists; the muscles in his forearms pulsed. He’d expected at least a phone call, a heads-up. Instead, just an email: "Moving on. Best of luck." His mentor, Mr. Ito, the man who’d shaped his entire career, gone.

He ripped open the fridge, grabbed a beer, and chugged it down, the cold liquid barely registering. He needed to process. He paced the living room, the polished wooden floorboards creaking under his weight. He had to keep moving. He threw open the window, the city lights a glittering expanse below. He needed to conquer something.