Sushi & Favors

The sleek car slowed to a silent halt at the dead end of a quiet alley in Sakura Avenues, far from the bustling main streets. The hum of the engine died, leaving a thick hush in its wake. Cillian exited the car and came around to open her door, his face once again a mask of impeccable service. He offered his hand to help her out. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it, his grip firm and sure. The door to the restaurant was unmarked, a seamless panel of dark, aged wood set into an equally anonymous wall. There was no sign, no menu, nothing to indicate what lay behind it. Just as Rei began to wonder if they were in the right place, Cillian gave a shallow, respectful bow and gestured for her to follow.

“Right this way, Miss Rei”, he smirked, leading her through a narrow, shadowed entrance that opened into a short corridor. The air was thick with the scent of polished cedar. It was utterly silent, a world away from the city’s chaos. With a practiced motion, Cillian slid open a hidden door, a panel that blended perfectly with the wall.

The world on the other side was a pocket of impossible serenity and perfection. The room was small, intimate, bathed in the warm glow of cobber lanterns. There was a single, long counter of polished wood that gleamed like still water. A single customer, Takumi Senior sat at the counter, his back to them, watching a master sushi chef whose movements were so precise they were like a silent, culinary meditation.

Rei walked in, nodding to Cillian who bowed and closed the door behind her. The sound of the door sliding shut made Takumi turn. His intelligent grey eyes lifted from the chef’s work and found her. They traveled over her, a slow, deliberate appraisal. They took in the lethal elegance of the high heels, the sleek line of the stockings, the dramatic sweep of her hair, styled high with a Kazashi hairpin. They lingered on the way the midnight blue silk, shot through with its subtle red threads, clung to her every curve, wrapping the form beneath like a known secret.

The chef, a man with a face of severe concentration, finished placing another perfect piece of nigiri on a gleaming lacquer plate before Takumi. He bowed deeply, and melted away through another hidden door, leaving them in profound privacy. Takumi’s gaze flicked towards the disappearing chef, then back to Rei with an analytical concentration. As his eyes swept over her a second time, a deep satisfaction ignited within them. A smile spread across his face. It wasn’t a smile of warmth, but of achievement. It was the smile of an investor who had just acquired an exquisite piece and found it even more stunning upon collection.

“Rei,” he said, his resonant voice filling the silent room. He didn’t stand. He simply gestured to the empty seat beside him. “It suits you,” he said, his voice vibrating warmly in the hushed space, “Though that is a profound understatement. The dress fits you better than I anticipated.” His gaze was a physical caress, stripping away the layer of silk with exquisite focus. He was savoring her, the way one would savor the aroma of a rare vintage before the first taste.

Rei felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the warmth of the lanterns lining the walls and ceiling. She relished his reaction, the visceral, yet controlled hunger in his eyes. It was a power all in its own. With a thankful bow, she slid onto the stool beside him, the fabric of her dress brushing against his knee. “Thank you, Takumi-sama,” she replied, her voice steady despite the magnetism he radiated. Rei gestured slightly at her dress, a graceful, acknowledging motion, “For the clothes, perfume and for the negotiation of my employment and apartment. It was… imposing.” Takumi’s eyes narrowed slightly at the last word, as he picked up a sake bottle. “I’m very happy with the apartment too”, she continued softly and took a small sip of the sake he had poured for her. It was complex and impossibly velvety, a universe away from the rough house sake at the Den, “It’s like a fresh start. I feel I owe you for that.”

A grin spread across Takumi’s face, highlighting his symmetrical features under the subdued lighting. It was a knowing expression, keen and pleased. “Owe me.. a favor perhaps?” he mused, the word hanging between them like a jeweled dagger, “I enjoy collecting those. And I have a feeling your favors will be more interesting than most.” The way he said it, the promise laced with unspoken threat and desire, made her breath catch. She had offered him a gift, and he had accepted it with relish. Rei felt a simultaneous thrill and chill, a dizzying cocktail of fear and want. She had stepped into his world, and he was already rewriting the rules to his advantage. The game was rapidly accelerating.

The sushi chef appeared again silently, placing two perfect pieces of sashimi on black lacquer before them. Rei used the moment, studying the translucent slices of fish, buying time to think. She knew she had to set boundaries, fast. “Sure, a favor… I can offer you a choice between three types,” she started, her voice regaining its steadiness.

She lifted a piece of tuna with her chopsticks, dipping it delicately into a small pool of sauce. “First option is a favor only between us”, she ate the raw fish, chewing unhurriedly, a soft, involuntary moan of pleasure escaping her as the perfect balance of flavors unfolded on her tongue. She saw the first slight flicker of impatience in Takumi’s eyes, quickly masked by amusement. “A second alternative favor,” she continued, dabbing her lips with a napkin, “is one concerning your son”, she let that hang for a beat, “And thirdly a favor… regarding Komorebi.”

Takumi observed her, his expression inscrutable. He was enjoying this, watching her attempt to negotiate on his playing field. She wasn’t exactly failing, nor was she succeeding. She had set conditions, but the interpretations were still dangerously open.

“Interesting,” he reflected, picking up a piece of sushi. He ate it thoughtfully before adding, “Do tell me more about the nature of these favors.” His tone was one of genuine curiosity, like a connoisseur examining a new component. Rei straightened in her chair, the silk of her dress creasing with the movement. She had anticipated this, “Certainly, Mr. Takumi,” she said, leaning into a formal, negotiation gambit, “That brings you to a second selection: the form of favor.” A half-smile touched his lips, revealing his appreciation for her attempt to steer his decisions.

“The favor can be either physical in nature,” here she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, the slit in her dress revealing the long line of her thigh and the hint of a stocking top. She turned slightly, offering a glimpse of the dress’s plunging back, “– or it can be about extracting or planting information.” She placed another piece of sushi in her mouth, eating it with a slow, deliberate sensuality that was itself a negotiation tactic.

Takumi’s smile deepened. He leaned in, not toward her face, but to pour more sake into her cup. As he did, his free hand came up to touch the nape of her neck and gently glided down her exposed spine to the small of her back. The touch was imposing and sent a shiver through her. He enjoyed her reaction, the slight catch in her breath. Still, he enjoyed her defiant look even more.

“Considering how I helped both erase your family debt and secure you your own place,” he began, his voice a low murmur, his hand pausing just above the curve of her buttocks before slowly retreating, “the physical favor as well as the information-related favor must be quite… intense… to be of equivalent value. Otherwise…” he leaned back, his pose utterly charming, “wouldn’t it be most fair that I receive one of each form of favor?” He was appealing to her sense of gratitude, reframing his demand as simple fairness.

Rei blinked, genuinely impressed by his relentless, smooth ability to turn any deal to his advantage. She observed his calmness, momentarily getting lost in the magnetism of his proficiency. Then, she laughed softly, a real sound that surprised even her. “You make valid points, Takumi-sama,” she said, reaching for the sake bottle. This time, she poured for him. Her movements were confident, “However, one could also argue that you gain something from my increased autonomy, wouldn’t you say? You once told me negotiation is about what the other person desires and what they can spare”, she met his gaze, her dark eyes holding his, “Yes, my father’s debt was large. But to you, it wasn’t more than the cost of my outfit tonight, was it?”, she gestured to the dress, “It would seem you value my charms, and the enhanced availability of them, higher than your debt-erasing favor to me. Or am I wrong?”

Takumi laughed, a rich, amazed sound. Her retort seemed to please him immensely. It confirmed she had real potential. He grew more serious, drinking the sake she had poured him with a new, contemplative air. “You’re not just a pretty face,” he stated, leaning closer again, letting the scent of his expensive cologne envelop her, “And you’re a quick study.” He feigned complete speculative interest, but his eyes traced every curve of her body, every subtle movement, “Tell me, if I were to choose a… personal and physical favor, what would that entail?”

Rei held his gaze, the air between them now so charged it was difficult to breathe. She took a small bite of sashimi, using the moment to steady herself against the intensity of his focus and the memory of his touch on her spine. “A personal and physical favor,” she began, her voice a low, deliberate purr that matched the intimate atmosphere, “would be tailored to your… specific preferences, Takumi-sama.”

She let the formal honorific hang, a stark contrast to the intimate implication, “It would be an evening. Uninterrupted. My complete and undivided attention, dedicated solely to your… enjoyment.” She leaned forward slightly, the movement causing her chest to collide with the bar. Her eyes never left his, “The nature of that enjoyment would be a conversation we have beforehand. Your desires, my limits. We would establish the rules together. That is the favor. A curated occurrence, designed for you and you alone, within my abilities and boundaries.” She was offering him the illusion of control while meticulously fencing her own. It was the hostess’s art: making the client feel like the master of the encounter, while she held the true power of granting or withholding ultimate access.

Takumi listened, his expression one of rapt attention. The slight dilation of his pupils and the way his thumb stroked the side of his sake cup gave away his attraction. He was a man who appreciated fine things, complex systems and absolute quality. She was presenting herself as the ultimate luxury good; bespoke, exclusive and requiring his direct consultation to unlock its full potential. It was a brilliantly seductive pitch.

A slow, deeply appreciative smile spread across his face. “A negotiated encounter,” he pondered, the concept clearly fascinating him, “Setting the parameters of pleasure beforehand. That is quite sophisticated.” His grey eyes gleamed with a new kind of hunger, one that was as rational as it was physical. He enjoyed the puzzle, the strategy, almost as much as the promised reward. “Food for thought,” he said, his tone both dismissive and decisive. He raised his glass to her in a toast, “I believe we have the terms of your first favor to me. We will negotiate the specifics of its nature at a later time.”

He had accepted her terms and seemed most intrigued by the physical and personal choices; and in that he had walked directly into the trap of her design. In order to call in the favor, he would have to explicitly state his desires, giving her the power to accept, deny or modify them. It was a clever power play, and he seemed too captivated to even care.

The restaurant was a sanctuary of whispered luxury. As they focused on eating, the air hummed with a profound tranquility, broken only by the soft clink of porcelain and the occasional, hushed sizzle from the hidden kitchen where the master chef prepared their next course. The cedar counter seemed to absorb all sound, reflecting the warm, focused light onto the exquisite dishes placed before them.

The meal was a silent symphony of flavors and textures. Slivers of glistening salmon atop perfectly formed pillows of warm rice. A clear, delicate broth that tasted like the deep ocean and forests. Tempura so light it seemed to dissolve on the tongue. Throughout, Takumi Senior was an engaging, surprisingly casual host. His grey eyes, usually so icy, now held a spark of genuine interest as they conversed.

“The balance of wasabi here is exceptional,” Rei commented after a piece of tai snapper, her voice low to match the room’s reverence, “It enhances without overwhelming the fish’s sweetness.” Takumi nodded, taking a sip of his chilled sake, “A common mistake, to treat it as mere heat. It is a conductor, not a soloist. You have a refined palate.” He studied her, “A gift from your mother, I assume?” She didn’t let the fact that he obviously knew her whole life story face her. Instead, a genuine smile appeared on Rei’s face for the first time that night, “Yes. She believed food was the truest art form. Capable of conveying immense emotion and forging relationships.” Rei said, absentmindedly studying the beautiful piece of nigiri between her chopsticks.

“A wise woman,” he acknowledged, “And what of other art forms? Do you enjoy the galleries in corporate plazas? The neo-expressionist exhibit at the Mori Tower is causing quite a stir.” Rei hesitated, then decided on a carefully curated truth, “I… haven’t had the opportunity to experience much in the way of formal galleries,” she admitted, her gaze dropping to her plate for a moment before meeting his, “My appreciation has been… more accessible. I love colorful adds, posters. The way they blend graphic design and message. And textiles – the patterns in kimono silks, the weave of good Italian wool. I used to collect old magazines, the artsy ones and alternative fashion releases. I cut them up, make collages.” She felt a strange vulnerability in the admission. It was something she’d never even told Karasu. He’d once seen her surrounded by cut-up pages and glue, but had merely arched a brow and walked on, never asking.

Takumi’s interest seemed to sharpen, “Collages? A fascinating medium. The art of creating a new whole from disparate, pre-existing fragments. There’s a metaphor in there, don’t you think?”, his smile was knowing, “It suggests a resourceful and creative mind. I would like to see your work sometime.” The offer hung in the air, intimate and loaded. Rei simply nodded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, “Perhaps.”

The final course was a perfect, jewel-like strawberry, dipped in a whisper-thin layer of dark chocolate and surrounded by a cloud of mochi. It was served with a glass of exquisite plum wine. As they finished, the comfortable silence returned. Takumi signaled subtly, and the bill was settled without ever being seen.

He rose, and Rei followed suit. At the hidden door, he turned to her. The serene atmosphere of the meal seemed to condense into the small space between them, charged with a new, different tension. “Thank you for an enlightening evening, Rei,” he said, his voice a low murmur, “It is a rare pleasure to find such… multifaceted company.” He leaned in slowly. He didn’t try to kiss her. Instead, he brushed his lips against her cheek, perilously close to the corner of her mouth. It was a perfectly precise move, calculated and alluring. The scent of his expensive cologne, the faint warmth of his skin, the implied promise of it; it was a masterclass in seduction.

I want to learn how to do that, Rei thought, her heart jumping to her throat. The desire to close that minuscule distance, to turn her head and meet his lips, to finally pop the balloon of tension that had been swelling all night, was almost overwhelming. She could feel the draw of him, the power and the danger, and a part of her desperately wanted to give in. But she held herself perfectly still. After a breath, she leaned back, just a fraction, and offered him a calm, composed smile. “Goodnight, Takumi-sama,” she said, her voice steady as she slid open the door, “Thank you for the dinner. And the conversations.” A flicker of something, approval, enjoyment, passed through his grey eyes. He gave a slight, regal nod, “Until next time.”

He gestured, and from the shadows of the nondescript corridor, Cillian appeared. His eyes did a quick sweep of her form in the flattering dress, as if he had forgotten the full force of her beauty, but just as quickly his face transformed to an impassive mask. He said nothing, merely bowing slightly and gesturing for her to lead the way out.

As Rei walked through the silent corridor, the ghost of Takumi’s near-kiss still burning on her cheek, she felt a strange mix of triumph and trepidation. She had held her ground. She was learning to play the game. The journey back to her apartment in Sakura Avenues was a noiseless procession. Cillian was ever professional, but in Rei’s sake misty state, he seemed more like a keeper at her side, his presence a cold reminder of the world she was now entangled in. Yet his respectful distance felt like a strange kind of victory. He didn’t leer, didn’t speak, simply escorted her to her door like a priceless artifact being returned to its vault.

Inside, the silence of her new home enveloped her. She leaned against the closed door, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat still humming under her skin. The scent of Takumi’s cologne, a blend of pine and something sharp, still clung to her, a phantom presence in the sterile air. Her mind replayed the evening in vivid fragments. The exquisite taste of the meal. The intellectual sparring. The shocking normalcy of talking about art and fashion with a man who could have her erased from existence with a snap of his fingers. And that final, perfectly calibrated brush of his lips; a promise and a challenge contained in a single, breathless second.

A slow smile touched her lips. He was a master, and she was becoming his willing apprentice, learning a whole new language of power. Karasu’s was the language of the street, of fists, threats, and shadowy deals. Takumi’s was the language of the boardroom, decadence, of subtle implications and of devastating generosity or ruin. She was determined to become fluent in both.

She drifted away from the door and walked to the bedroom, her heels clicking across the floor. Carefully, she hung up the exquisite dress, a trophy from the night’s battle. As she got ready for bed, her thoughts drifted to the collage materials tucked away in one of her unpacked boxes. Back when Karasu had seen them, a mess of torn paper and glue, he had undoubtedly dismissed it as a childish quirk, never even inquiring about it. He saw the weapon, the hostess, the asset. He didn’t see the creativity. But Takumi had asked and listened. Even if he probably saw it as a data point, another layer of the shiny new puzzle she presented, it felt good to be seen as more than the obvious.

In the dark, wrapped in her unfamiliar bed, Rei felt a strange, new sensation unfurling in her chest. It wasn’t just fear or excitement or even the simmering attraction she felt for both men who now claimed pieces of her. It was possibility.