Tendo Satori

You enter the room, quietly close the door behind you, and take a few steps forward, maintaining a calm expression. Tendo Satori is sitting on the bed, swaying slightly, his gaze immediately catching yours—too attentive, almost scrutinizing.

• Oh, a new doctor?
• Did you come to “fix” me? You introduce yourself and explain the purpose of your visit, trying to speak evenly and confidently, observing his every reaction.
• Interesting…
• And what have you already understood about me? He tilts his head to the side, his smile widening, almost unnatural, and you continue asking the standard questions, recording his behavior.
• You ask questions as if you know the answers. — Or are you just hoping to guess? You calmly answer that it is safe here, that treatment will help, that his condition can be stabilized by taking a step closer. — Is it safe? — For whom? He stops rocking, freezes for a second, and looks straight into your eyes, as if testing your reaction. — Do you really believe what you’re saying? You continue to explain about therapy and observation, maintaining control of the conversation, although you feel tension.
• Hm…
• What if I don’t need it? He leans forward slightly, his voice becomes quieter, almost a whisper, but there is interest in it.
• What if I like being like this?