Jared didn't touch the blade again.
That was intentional.
Not because he rejected it.
But because—
It wasn't optimal anymore.
Method flaw: physical damage.
Recovery time: inefficient.
Instability: high.
"…need alternative," he muttered.
He sat in the dark.
Thinking.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Focused.
Acceleration trigger: stress.
Amplification source: biological response.
A pause.
Then—
A realization.
Pain is not required.
Silence.
Jared's eyes sharpened slightly.
Only the response matters.
Heart rate.
Adrenaline.
Cognitive spike.
External stimulus.
He stood up.
Moved toward his desk.
Opened a drawer.
Took out his phone.
Scrolled.
Stopped.
A video.
Not entertainment.
Something else.
High-intensity stimulus.
Loud.
Sudden.
Unpredictable.
Jared placed the phone down.
Test: induce stress without damage.
He pressed play.
The sound hit immediately.
Sharp.
Explosive.
Jared didn't flinch.
But his body reacted.
Heart rate increased.
Attention spike.
Then—
It happened.
Clarity.
Not as violent as before.
But faster.
Cleaner.
Jared's pupils adjusted.
Effect achieved.
He paused the video.
Silence returned.
But his mind—
Stayed sharp.
"…repeatable," he said.
No blood.
No damage.
Just stimulus.
Jared leaned forward slightly.
Refinement required.
He adjusted the volume.
Changed the clip.
Tested again.
Louder.
More chaotic.
The response—
Stronger.
But this time—
Controlled.
No shaking.
No overload.
Just—
Speed.
Jared exhaled slowly.
Optimal range identified.
A faint sound came from behind.
"…you're serious."
Jared didn't turn immediately.
Because he already knew.
"…yes," he said.
Iris stood at the doorway.
Watching.
Not shocked this time.
Something else.
Concern.
"…what are you doing?" she asked quietly.
"…improving efficiency."
"…by scaring yourself with loud videos?"
"…external stimulus."
She stared at him.
"…that's your new plan?"
"…temporary method."
Silence.
Iris stepped inside.
"…this is better than cutting," she said.
"…yes."
"…but it's still not normal."
"…irrelevant."
She exhaled.
"…you really won't stop."
"…no."
Silence stretched.
Then—
"…does it hurt?" she asked.
Jared paused.
Considered it.
"…no," he said.
That—
Was the problem.
Iris looked at him differently now.
Not angry.
Not frustrated.
Just—
Worried.
"…that's worse," she said quietly.
Jared didn't respond.
Because from his perspective—
This was improvement.
Cleaner.
Safer.
More efficient.
But what he didn't account for—
Was dependency.
Because now—
He didn't need pain.
He needed stimulus.
And without it—
His baseline felt slower.
Weaker.
Jared picked up the phone again.
Eyes focused.
"…optimization ongoing," he said.
Iris didn't stop him this time.
But she didn't look away either.
Because now—
The problem wasn't just what he was doing.
It was what he was becoming.