The Telepathic Office Worker

Yamada was a twenty-eight-year-old programmer who worked at a busy software company called TechnoSoft in the heart of Tokyo.

Every day, he arrived at the office at nine in the morning and rarely left before midnight, often staying until two or three in the morning during particularly busy periods.

His desk was a chaotic landscape covered with empty coffee cups, instant noodle containers, energy drink cans, and countless sticky notes reminding him of deadlines that seemed to multiply like rabbits.

"Yamada, can you fix this critical bug by tomorrow morning?" his manager, Mr. Sato, asked for the third time that week, appearing at his desk with a concerned expression that didn't quite hide his relief at having someone to dump the problem on.

"Of course, sir," Yamada replied automatically, his fingers never stopping their rapid dance across the keyboard, even though he knew it would mean another sleepless night fueled by convenience store coffee and determination.

His colleagues often dumped their most difficult and time-consuming programming tasks on him because he had never said no in his three years at the company.

Yamada was too polite and considerate to refuse anyone, and his coworkers had learned to take full advantage of his kindness and expertise.

He had been working overtime every single day for the past eight months, and his health was starting to suffer in ways that even he couldn't ignore anymore.

His mother called him every Sunday, worried about his pale complexion and the dark circles under his eyes that seemed to grow deeper each week.

"You look like a ghost in our video calls," she would say with maternal concern.

"Are you eating properly? Are you sleeping enough?"

Yamada would always assure her that everything was fine, but deep down, he knew she was right to worry.

His reflection in the office bathroom mirror showed a man who looked far older than his twenty-eight years, with hollow cheeks and eyes that had lost their youthful sparkle.

On a particularly stressful Thursday evening in late November, Yamada was debugging an incredibly complicated piece of legacy code that three different programmers had worked on over the past two years.

The code was a mess of conflicting styles and poorly documented functions, and he had been staring at the same error message for over six hours.

His vision started to blur around eleven PM, and he felt a strange tingling sensation in his fingertips.

The office was nearly empty except for the security guard and a few other unfortunate souls working late.

Suddenly, the room began to spin, the fluorescent lights became impossibly bright, and everything went black as Yamada collapsed face-first onto his keyboard.

When he woke up the next morning in the hospital, Dr. Taniguchi, a stern-looking woman in her fifties, was checking his vital signs with obvious disapproval.

"Young man, you've suffered from severe exhaustion, dehydration, and acute stress," she said, making notes on her clipboard.

"Your blood pressure is dangerously high for someone your age, and your body is showing signs of chronic sleep deprivation."

"You need to rest for at least one week," the doctor warned, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had seen too many young office workers destroy their health.

"Your body is sending you a clear message, and if you don't listen, the next collapse could be much more serious."

Yamada spent the weekend at his small apartment, sleeping more than he had in months and trying to ignore the constant buzzing of his work phone.

His colleagues sent him worried messages asking about various projects, but for the first time in years, he didn't immediately respond to every request.

He returned to work the following Monday morning, feeling slightly better but still tired and somewhat disoriented.

The office seemed louder than usual, with the typical sounds of keyboards clicking, phones ringing, and conversations about weekend plans.

As he sat down at his freshly cleaned desk, something extraordinarily strange happened.

He could hear his colleague Tanaka's voice, but when he looked over, Tanaka's lips weren't moving at all.

"I really hope Yamada can handle the Peterson project alone," the voice said with crystal clarity.

"I promised Keiko I'd take her to that new restaurant this weekend, and I really don't want to work on something so complicated."

Yamada looked around, completely confused and wondering if he was still suffering from the effects of his collapse.

Tanaka was sitting at the next desk, typing quietly on his computer and occasionally sipping his morning coffee, saying absolutely nothing out loud.

"Did you say something about the Peterson project, Tanaka?" Yamada asked hesitantly.

"No, I didn't say anything," Tanaka replied with his usual friendly smile, though there was a hint of confusion in his eyes.

"Are you feeling alright, Yamada? You still look a bit pale."

Yamada shook his head and tried to focus on his work, but throughout the morning, he kept hearing voices that didn't match what people were actually saying.

It was as if he had developed some kind of auditory hallucination, except the voices were far too clear and specific to be random brain misfiring.

During the ten o'clock team meeting, the phenomenon became even more pronounced and undeniable.

Mr. Sato was presenting the quarterly results with his usual enthusiasm, nodding seriously and pointing at various charts on the projection screen.

"As you can see, our productivity has increased by fifteen percent this quarter," Mr. Sato announced with obvious pride.

But simultaneously, Yamada heard a completely different voice that was unmistakably his manager's: "This presentation is so incredibly boring, and these numbers are mostly made up anyway."

"I wish I could skip this meeting and go play golf instead. Maybe I can wrap this up quickly and sneak out for an early lunch."

Yamada stared at his manager in shock, watching him continue his professional presentation while his inner voice revealed thoughts that were the complete opposite of his public demeanor.

The realization hit him like a lightning bolt: somehow, impossibly, he could hear people's thoughts.

At first, he convinced himself that he was experiencing some kind of stress-induced psychosis, a delayed reaction to his recent collapse.

But as the day continued, he heard more and more thoughts that proved his new ability was terrifyingly real.

When his colleague Suzuki offered to help him with a difficult programming problem after lunch, Yamada heard her real thoughts with perfect clarity: "I'll pretend to help him, but I'll just ask a few basic questions and then let him figure everything out himself."

"That way, I'll look helpful without actually doing any work."

The revelation was both fascinating and deeply depressing.

Over the next few days, Yamada discovered that most of his coworkers saw him as nothing more than a convenient person to dump their unwanted tasks on.

They smiled at him, spoke politely, and praised his technical skills, but their thoughts revealed their true feelings with brutal honesty.

"Yamada is such a pushover," thought his teammate Kimura while patting him on the shoulder and thanking him for staying late to fix a problem that Kimura had created.

"He never complains or stands up for himself, so I can basically give him all my difficult assignments."

"The guy has no social life anyway," thought another colleague, Watanabe, while asking Yamada to work over the weekend.

"He probably prefers being at the office to being alone in his apartment."

For the first time in his adult life, Yamada felt genuine anger burning in his chest.

He had been working himself literally to the point of collapse while his colleagues relaxed, took credit for his efforts, and privately mocked his dedication.

But his telepathic ability also revealed more complex and sometimes touching truths about his coworkers.

He discovered that Suzuki was secretly struggling with anxiety about her performance reviews and genuinely admired his programming skills, even while taking advantage of his willingness to help.

Watanabe was dealing with financial problems at home and felt guilty about dumping work on Yamada, but was too proud to ask for help with his own tasks.

Most surprisingly, he learned that Yuki, the quiet designer who worked two desks away, had been harboring a secret crush on him for over a year.

Her thoughts revealed a complex inner world of romantic fantasies and genuine concern for his wellbeing.

"He looks so tired lately," she thought while glancing at him during a meeting.

"I wish I could take care of him, make him proper meals, and help him get some rest. But he probably doesn't even notice me."

This discovery made Yamada incredibly uncomfortable, especially since he had never thought of Yuki in a romantic way and wasn't sure how to handle this knowledge.

Gradually, Yamada's workload became significantly more manageable and reasonable.

His colleagues had to start taking responsibility for their own tasks and deadlines, and the office atmosphere began to change in unexpected ways.

Some people were frustrated and resentful, but others actually seemed relieved to have more ownership and control over their work.

However, Yamada's telepathic ability also created numerous unexpected problems and ethical dilemmas that he hadn't anticipated.

During a team lunch at a nearby restaurant, he overheard his colleague Watanabe thinking about serious personal financial troubles, including mounting credit card debt and difficulty paying his rent.

Yamada felt genuine sympathy and wanted to offer help or advice, but he couldn't reveal how he knew about such private problems.

The knowledge created an awkward barrier in their interactions, and he found himself walking on eggshells to avoid accidentally revealing information he shouldn't possess.

The situation with Yuki became increasingly complicated as well.

Now that he knew about her feelings, every interaction felt charged with unspoken emotion.

She would bring him homemade lunch occasionally, and her thoughts would reveal how much care and attention she put into preparing food she hoped he would enjoy.

"I made his favorite curry recipe," she would think while placing a carefully wrapped bento box on his desk.

"I hope he knows how much I care about him, even if I'm too shy to say it directly."

Yamada appreciated her kindness but felt guilty about not reciprocating her romantic feelings.

Her thoughts also revealed her disappointment when he treated her gestures as simple friendly acts rather than romantic overtures.

One evening, while working late by choice rather than necessity for the first time in months, Yamada overheard a conversation between two senior managers in the conference room next to his desk.

But more importantly, he also heard their thoughts, which painted a completely different picture from their spoken words.

"The Sakura Electronics project is proceeding smoothly," said Manager A, consulting his notes with apparent confidence.

"Yes, the client expressed satisfaction with our progress during yesterday's meeting," replied Manager B, nodding seriously.

But their thoughts told a dramatically different and alarming story:

"This project is an absolute disaster," Manager A was thinking.

"We're over budget by at least forty percent, and the client is furious about the delays."

"If the CEO finds out how badly we've mismanaged this contract, we'll both be fired."

"The client threatened to cancel the entire project yesterday," Manager B's thoughts revealed.

"We're basically lying to everyone above us in the company hierarchy, but we can't figure out how to fix the situation without admitting our massive mistakes."

This conversation gave Yamada a troubling insight into the true state of TechnoSoft's business operations.

Over the next few days, he began listening more carefully to his coworkers' thoughts and discovered that the company was in much more serious financial trouble than anyone publicly acknowledged.

Many employees were secretly looking for new jobs, having heard rumors about potential layoffs through various informal channels.

The management was desperately trying to maintain appearances while dealing with multiple failing projects and dissatisfied clients.

Armed with this insider knowledge, Yamada quietly updated his resume and started applying for positions at other companies.

His telepathic ability gave him an unfair advantage in understanding the true situation, and he used it to prepare for an uncertain future.

When layoffs were officially announced three months later, Yamada was already well-prepared.

He had received multiple job offers from competing companies, including one with significantly better working conditions, higher pay, and a more supportive corporate culture.

On his last day at TechnoSoft, Mr. Sato approached him with a desperate expression that bordered on panic.

"Yamada, are you absolutely sure you want to leave?" his former manager pleaded, his voice carrying genuine distress.

"We really need your technical expertise here, especially during this difficult transition period."

Yamada heard his thoughts simultaneously: "Without Yamada doing all the difficult work, I'll actually have to manage my team properly and maybe even do some programming myself."

"This is a complete disaster. Who's going to handle all the projects I don't understand?"

"I'm confident you'll manage perfectly well without me," Yamada said with a genuine smile that reflected his newfound peace of mind.

"You have a talented and capable team, and this transition will give everyone an opportunity to grow and develop their skills."

As he packed his personal belongings into a small cardboard box, Yamada reflected deeply on how his telepathic ability had fundamentally changed his life and perspective on human relationships.

At first, learning about people's true thoughts had been painful, disappointing, and disillusioning.

But it had also given him the courage and knowledge necessary to stand up for himself, make better decisions, and recognize when it was time to move on.

His new job was at a smaller, more innovative company called CreativeTech Solutions, where the atmosphere seemed genuinely friendlier and more collaborative.

The team was smaller, the projects were more interesting, and the management appeared to value work-life balance as more than just a meaningless corporate buzzword.

Interestingly, Yamada discovered through experimentation and practice that he could control his telepathic ability, turning it on and off at will with concentration and mental focus.

He decided to use this power sparingly and ethically, only when absolutely necessary for his safety or wellbeing.

On his first day at CreativeTech Solutions, his new manager, Ms. Nakamura, welcomed him with apparent warmth and professionalism.

"We're genuinely excited to have you join our team, Yamada," she said, shaking his hand with a firm grip and making direct eye contact.

"Your portfolio and interview really impressed everyone here."

Out of curiosity and caution, Yamada briefly activated his telepathic ability to read her thoughts: "I hope he'll be happy and productive here."

"We really do value work-life balance and collaborative teamwork. It's refreshing to hire someone with both technical skills and a strong work ethic."

For the first time in many months, Yamada smiled with genuine happiness and relief.

Perhaps his telepathic gift would help him find not just better working conditions, but also better, more honest people to work with.

Six months later, Yamada was thriving in his new environment in ways he had never imagined possible.

He worked reasonable hours, had time for hobbies he had forgotten he enjoyed, joined a weekend hiking club, and even started dating a colleague from the marketing department who liked him for his personality and sense of humor, not for what he could do for her professionally.

His relationship with Akiko developed naturally and honestly.

She was intelligent, funny, and refreshingly direct in her communication.

When Yamada occasionally used his telepathic ability around her, he discovered that her thoughts closely matched her words, which was both rare and wonderful in his experience.

Sometimes, late at night in his comfortable apartment, Yamada would reflect on whether his telepathic ability had been ultimately a blessing or a curse.

It had certainly shown him painful and uncomfortable truths about human nature, selfishness, and the gap between public personas and private thoughts.

But it had also given him the strength, knowledge, and confidence necessary to change his life dramatically for the better.

He rarely used his power anymore, preferring to judge people by their actions, consistency, and behavior over time rather than their momentary thoughts.

After all, he had learned that what people think and what they actually do are often very different things, and that thoughts can be fleeting, context-dependent, and not always representative of someone's true character.

And sometimes, Yamada thought with genuine amusement, it was simply better and more peaceful not to know exactly what people were thinking at any given moment.

His telepathic adventure had taught him the most important and valuable lesson of all: the courage to stand up for yourself, set boundaries, and demand respect doesn't require supernatural mind-reading powers.

It just requires believing deeply that you deserve better treatment, more interesting work, and healthier relationships.

As he fell asleep in his comfortable apartment, no longer exhausted from chronic overwork and exploitation, Yamada smiled with contentment.

Tomorrow would be another normal day at his fulfilling job, surrounded by colleagues who genuinely respected him and valued his contributions.

And that was exactly how he wanted his life to be.