Corporate Training

Over the next days, the training began at full intensity. Different tutors drilled Rei in between lunches, learning sessions and dinners with Takumi. She learned how to stand properly, how to pour tea for executives without spilling a drop, how to present a new product and how to listen to hours of complex financial reports without her eyes glazing over. She stood beside Takumi or vain faced teachers, a beautiful, compliant, silent ornament. He would occasionally give her an approving nod, a reward for her obedience, or scold her condescendingly for slouching, pouring water too fast or stifling a jawn.

She endured it all dutifully, withstanding the demeaning digs and boredom motivated by concentrating on noticing certain things; mainly Takumi’s calculated choice of words whenever the topic of Eidolon’s source material came up. The way he’d quickly change the subject when she asked what, exactly, the mutable experiences were based on. When she once pointed to a line item on a hologram about neural imprint harvesting and asked what it meant, his gaze had chilled substantially. “That is proprietary technical data, Rei,” he had said, his tone smoothly reproachful, “Focus on the presentation skills I’m teaching you. That is your role. Understanding the underlying architecture is beyond your purview. Don’t overreach.” The warning was clear, wrapped in a patronizing dismissal.

She was to be the pretty face, the charming shell. The inner workings were none of her concern. Regardless of that she sensed the immense, important details he was keeping from her, the true scope of what her likeness could be used for. But she also sensed the danger of pushing too hard, too fast. His supremacy was absolute. So, she smiled, nodded, learned and waited; she would gather the pieces of the puzzle, until she could see a fuller picture of what they were so carefully constructing.

That weekend with Karasu, she kept the report vague, stating simply that Takumi was giving her lessons in corporate boardroom etiquette, leaving out the nature of the Eidolon project. After all the excessive drilling, she longed for a reprieve, an imperfect and less complicated way of being. Karasu seemed suspicious but didn’t push her, permitting her a slow weekend of home cooking, movie nights and his signature dominating intimacy.

By the end of the following week Takumi brought her along to her first real meeting. Despite the sun filtering through the panoramic window of the Kuroda office, it was devoid of warmth. Rei stood beside his obsidian desk, her posture mirroring the perfect, still elegance her teachers had disciplined her in the past weeks. Rei wore another one of his selections; a sheath dress of metallic gunmetal that was both dignified and stunning, its neckline confined grace. “Posture,” Takumi’s voice cut through the silence, not loud, but sharp as a scalpel. He didn’t look up from the data slate he was reviewing. Rei subtly straightened her spine another fraction, her chin tilting to the precise angle he’d prescribed, “Yes, Takumi-sama.”

“The stakeholders from the Tokyo office will be here in ten minutes. You will stand there,” he pointed to a spot precisely two feet to the right and slightly behind his chair, “You will not speak unless directly addressed. You will pour the tea when their cups are half empty and you will not make eye contact for longer than two seconds. You are an accessory, a beautiful, silent testament to my taste and control. Understood?” She bowed her neck, as he had taught her, “Understood, sir” she replied, her voice a neutral, pleasant murmur.

The meeting began solemnly. Three men in impeccable suits, their faces masks of corporate politeness, settled in their seats after bowing deeply for Takumi. Rei performed her role flawlessly, seemingly drifting about; the remarkably soft click of her high metal heals, the quiet clink of porcelain, the exact amount of tea poured. It was a hushed ballet of subservience. Her mind, however, was anything but still. She listened as they discussed bandwidth allocation, server latency and experiential fidelity thresholds. Then one of the Tokyo men, a Mr. Tanaka, gestured with his slate.

“The initial tester feedback on the Eidolon alpha constructs is promising. The responsiveness of the avatar to personalized desire-input is… unprecedented. The behavioral algorithms are synthesizing remarkably complex emotional outputs from the base neural imprints.” Rei’s hand, hovering over his cup, did not tremble though her grip tightened. She finished pouring and retreated to her spot. Takumi smiled thinly, a satisfied curve, “The source material was exceptionally high-fidelity. It provides a robust framework for the algorithms to build upon.” Another executive chuckled, “A framework of wildness and sweetness. The market research indicates a strong appeal for that particular… dichotomy. The combination of perceived innocence and latent ferocity is a potent mix.”

A cold knot tightened in Rei’s stomach. She saw her opening. As she stepped forward to refill Takumi’s cup, she let her voice be light, curious, the perfect tone of a dimly intelligent accessory seeking to understand, “The avatar sounds fascinating, how realistic does it behave?” she asked, smiling gently at Mr. Tanaka.

The room went quiet for a half-second. All eyes flicked to her, then to Takumi. His smile remained, but it froze at the edges. Mr. Tanaka opened his mouth to answer, but Takumi spoke first, his voice a silken lash of dismissal, “Miss Morita’s curiosity is one of her more charming traits,” he said, his tone fond but firm, as if speaking of a pet that had performed a trick at the wrong time. He didn’t even look at her, “But the technicalities aren’t relevant to her. Forgive the interruption, gentlemen. Please, continue with the latency report.”

The dismissal was absolute, humiliating and designed to remind everyone in the room, especially her, of her place. She was part of the product, not the production. Rei’s cheeks warmed, but she allowed a faint, apologetic expression to touch her lips and gave a graceful bow of her head. “My apologies,” she murmured, and retreated to her designated spot.

She stood perfectly still once more, the picture of contrite duty. But behind the demure facade, her mind was racing. His reaction was more telling than any answer could have been. Har scan was most likely not just for security protocols or promotional stills. They recorded her; her movements, her voice, her neural patterns. They were probably at least potentially feeding her into this Eidolonavatar itself.

The meeting concluded with handshakes and polished pleasantries. The moment the elevator doors closed on the executives, the pleasant atmosphere in the room vanished. Takumi didn’t raise his voice. He never did. “Come here,” he said, his back to her as he looked out over the city. She approached, stopping only when he raised a hand. By then she was standing mere centimeters from him. “You overstepped,” he stated, his reflection watching her in the glass. “I’m sorry, I spoke without being asked. I was only trying to understand the project I am to represent, Takumi-sama,” she replied, keeping her voice neutral, walking the fine line between explanation and excuse.

He turned slowly, “Your role is to be seen. To be desired. To be the face that makes them want to buy into the product and project. Understanding how the product is made or how it works is not your concern.” He reached out, adjusting a strand of her hair, his fingers lingering near her temple, “The inner workings of Kuroda are a labyrinth, Rei. You are my… trainee of sorts, but still mainly a guest here. A special one, but a guest nonetheless. Do not wander where you have not been invited.”

The threat was velvet-wrapped, but the steel beneath was unmistakable. He was reminding her that her newfound access was an illusion he controlled completely. Rei lowered her gaze, a perfect picture of chastened understanding, “It won’t happen again, Takumi-sama.” He smiled, a tense line in his composed face, “Good. Remember – only do exactly what I tell you.” She nodded, her expression one of willing compliance, “Yes, sir.”

But as she turned to clean away the tea, the obedient smile strained. Her mind was filing away every clue, the technical jargon, his defensive reaction, the threat. He was building a digital ghost, and she could not shake the feeling of being a much more integral part of it than he let on. If he thought she was too naive to see the signs, he was wrong. She was biding her time, gathering the pieces dropping before her, waiting for the right moment.