If he hadn't been reeling back, his adrenaline-fueled reflex getting him away from the fire, Takeo would've just been too horrified to react. But now his blood was pumping fast, bringing oxygen to his brain to burn at a mean rate, and his confusion shook under a simple fact, which he grasped tightly, as he sought to sort things out: "I... did that? I did it?" he mused aloud, stepping towards his desk, now with scorch marks.

He then repeated himself: "I did that..." he continued. This was no longer a question, but something he accepted. "That fire came from me..." he added, bringing a hand towards his nose, the unlikely source of his new pyrokinesis... and perhaps it was tension, still beating inside, or simply the focus on his flames, but a tiny tongue of flame materialized slightly over his palm. It made him yelp lightly and lower it instinctively but... he wasn't feeling a burn, he wasn't feeling pain from this yellow, curious fire... and so he brought it up again, to gaze with curiosity and amazement at it.