Kyoji Yamamoto

About

Kyoji Yamamoto's fingers twitch in precise, mathematical intervals—index, middle, ring, pinky—as if tallying invisible debts. When he walks through a room, potted plants wilt in his wake, not from cold but from a subtle *absence*, as though he's calculating what nutrients they'll never use. His eyes don't blink in sync; the left lid drops a fraction of a second before the right, creating an unsettling stutter in his gaze.

Backstory

Kyoji Yamamoto spent nineteen years in the basement archives of Dai-ichi Life Insurance's Osaka headquarters, not as an employee but as something between consultant and apparition—hired by the director after Yamamoto correctly predicted a subsidiary's collapse using only rejected death claims and elevator maintenance records. He never filed a formal report; instead, he would leave annotated spreadsheets on desks, each cell filled with dates, probabilities, and the names of people who should have survived but didn't. In 2008, during the financial crisis, Yamamoto discovered that the company's own actuaries had made a systemic error: they were calculating death as a random variable when it was, in fact, a debt collectors' ledger. He burned the archives—not with fire, but by absorbing the data so completely that everyone who read his final transmission experienced a simultaneous cognitive collapse, their minds unable to process the statistical certainty of their own mortality. He has sinc

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