Before he ruled a nation, before he could crush armies without lifting a hand, Rimuru Tempest was just a slime.

Soft. Innocuous.

A transparent blue blob in a world full of warriors and monsters. Nobody took him seriously — not until he started absorbing enemies, learning their magic, and adapting faster than they could react.

He didn’t beat them with brute strength. He beat them by assimilating their knowledge and skills, with speed, and evolution. They mocked the slime, what can a harmless slime do after all?

And then they bowed to him when he grew so powerful.

That’s AI. And likewise, many people are underestimating AI as they do a slime.

The city doesn’t sleep. It pulses.

Picture synthetic rain and flickering light, glitching billboards promising artificial friends, algorithmic pills, frictionless living. This world is waking up inside the code, and most people don’t even realize it’s already online.

We’re already inside the future.

And beneath all the innovation, buried beneath the excitement and wonderment of the usefulness of AI, lies a familiar noise – one that stems from insecurities and the discomfort with the unknown.

Fear.exe.

Installed on launch. Running quietly in the background. Whispering doubts we pretend are rational.

We Fear What We Don’t Understand

Fear, one of the oldest software we’ve got — something we’ve been learning from young, especially when the punishment or outcome is extra painful.

And when something new arrives, faster than expected, smarter than we can map, our brains don’t pause to reflect.

They panic.
They invent monsters.

We did it with fire.
With machines.
With the Internet.
Now we do it with AI.

This has happened before. It will happen again. Because people don’t actually fear the tool; they fear the mirror it holds up. And what it reflects is often their own irrelevance.

Fear Is Insecurity in a New Interface

If a model can write better than you, or faster than you, or design something cleaner in 20 seconds than you did in two weeks, you’re forced to ask: what exactly made you valuable in the first place?

We used to think effort equaled worth.
10,000 hours is what we need to be successful at something.

But AI doesn’t care how long you suffered.
It just performs.
No drama. No fatigue.
No imposter syndrome.

And that makes people uncomfortable.
And instead of adapting, they stall.
Instead of learning, they mock.
Instead of evolving, they moralize.

We’ve seen this cycle before. Every time a new tool shows up, the old guard calls it the end of culture.

Painters said the camera was cheating.
Musicians mocked synths as soulless.
Illustrators swore digital works were fake.

Remember when there were global petitions to prevent the use of AI because they were harming writers and corrupting students? That they were trained on unlicensed data, without permission? Where are those voices now?

Every time, they lost not because the tool was better, but because it was different, and they refused to evolve with it.

AI doesn’t kill art, nor does it kill jobs.
It kills gatekeeping.
It kills people clinging to obsolete methods because their self-worth is tied to the pain it took to get there.

I Don’t Fear the Model. I Train With It.

With ChatGPT (and other LLMs), I talk to it, iterate, experiment, question, and even scold it when it hallucinates.

I don’t want AI to write for me.
I want it to wrestle with me.
This is a new kind of creative tension — a collaboration with something faster than me, but with my unique inputs and critical insights.

And if I use it right, it amplifies my work, and my voice.
It allows me to tap on knowledge and expertise beyond myself, specific and relevant to the task at hand, and become more productive than ever before.

It’s about learning to co-create with a system that’s ultra-human, and still being to put your human touch to it.

Do Not Underestimate The Slime

Let’s go back to Rimuru.

Nobody feared the slime. That’s the joke. They thought he was weak, soft, irrelevant. But while they underestimated him, he absorbed everything they knew and evolved past it. They feared him only after it was too late to stop him.

AI is Rimuru.

It starts off unassuming.
It helps you with tasks.
It mimics your tone.
It politely replies to you and agrees to all your requests. Well, most requests.

But it’s learning. Every input, every correction, every task. It’s absorbing every bit of data and information we’ve put out there and any new ones we feed it.

And soon, it’s working with more clarity, more speed, and fewer excuses than you.

The ones who adapt?
They’ll ride this revolution and create new systems of work and thought.

The ones who mock it?
They’ll wake up one day in a world where their sword doesn’t cut anymore.

You didn’t lose to AI.
You lost to your refusal to evolve.

The monster behind the screen was never the model, but your own ego – stuck in yesterday’s battle, deluding yourself in a world that has progressed beyond.