Eidolon

Warning! (PG18)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

Takumi seemed somewhat placated, for the moment. The immediate threat momentarily banked. But as he sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving hers, Rei knew he was still plotting. He had accepted her narrative because it served him to have her perform as willing and ambitious, but his ultimate aim hadn’t changed. He would make her entirely his. Karasu would be abandoned, stripped of her, in due time. His calmness testified to that and it made her skin crawl.

Dinner ended in surprisingly comfortable silence. Takumi settled the bill and guided Rei to the elevator, a hand hovering near the small of her back, only almost touching. The elevator doors hissed shut, sealing them in a capsule of polished brass and soft, descending light. The cloying opulence of the restaurant was replaced by a private, pressurized vibration. The faint hum of the descent was the only sound.

Takumi let the corporate mask slip another inch. He leaned against the railing, his body angled towards hers, the grey of his eyes shimmering as he traced the lines of the emerald dress with an appreciation that felt more personal than any touch under the table in the crowded restaurant.

“A fabulous performance tonight,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration in the small space, “Both the professional display during the meeting – and the one at the dining table. It was an entertaining piece of storytelling.” Rei’s breath caught. His acknowledgment was a menace and a compliment woven together. He knew she’d lied by omission, and he was admiring it.

He glided along the railing and closed the modest distance between them. His fingers didn’t grab or touch; they simply traced the silk covering her hip, a suggestion of a touch that was somehow more electrifying than full contact, “This dress does… remarkable things.” Then he bent his head, his lips brushing the bare skin of her shoulder near where the fabric plunged down her back. The touch was feather-light, almost nonexistent, but it sent a violent shiver through her. She tensed, her poise a fragile shell. She held her breath, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fully unravel.

Acting on an impulse she barely understood, she raised a hand. It was a defensive move, to create space, but it landed lightly on his shoulder. Through the wool of his suit, she felt the solid, unyielding muscle tensing strongly beneath. Surprised, her fingers drifted to his chest, mapping the hard plane. This was not the soft body of a desk-bound executive. The strength was different from Karasu’s; less the brute power of a brawler, more a refined, symmetrical perfection, as if every muscle had been developed with precise intention.

He works out systematically, constantly. The thought was a shock. Her curiosity, a dangerous flame, flickered to life. Her hand slid down, over the crisp line of his shirt, across and under the edge of his vest. Her fingertips found the clear definition of his abdomen, a sculpted landscape beneath the pristine cotton. It was flawless, balanced. A swimmer’s body, the thought came unbidden. She looked up at him, her dark eyes heated with a genuine, startled wonder she didn’t bother to hide, “Does Kuroda Tower have a pool?” The question was absurd, a non sequitur, but her wandering hand gave it a blatant, sensual context.

Takumi looked down at where her hand rested on his stomach. A low, genuine laugh escaped him, a rich, unexpected sound in the quiet elevator. He didn’t answer. He simply enjoyed her boldness, her tactile exploration, the unspoken compliment in her surprise. The elevator chimed, a soft, polite sound.

The doors slid open to reveal the stark, minimalist lobby. The spell shattered. Takumi’s indulgent demeanor vanished, smoothed back into the impassive mask of the Kuroda executive in the blink of an eye. He took a neat step back, putting a professional distance between them.

Cillian was already there, a statue in his tailored suit, waiting precisely where he knew the elevator would open. His green eyes flicked from Takumi’s collected face to Rei’s slightly flushed one, his expression remaining neutral. “Executive Takumi,” Cillian muttered with a slight bow, “The car is ready for Miss Morita.”

Takumi gave a curt nod, “See her home safely, Kelly.” He didn’t look at Rei again. He simply turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor, leaving her standing with the ghost of his lips on her shoulder and the phantom feel of his impossibly perfect body under her fingertips. The unanswered question about the pool hung in the air; a tiny, intimate secret Takumi had chosen to keep.

The silence inside the luxury Rolls-Royce was weighty. The city lights streamed past the tinted windows, a river of neon that did nothing to illuminate the turmoil in Rei’s mind. She sat stiffly in the backseat, the emerald gown feeling less like a gift and more like a uniform she couldn’t take off.

Her thoughts were a frantic loop. He knows about Karasu and me. He only half-believed me. The threat to cut her off from Karasu was a cold knot in her stomach. Takumi’s indulgent moment in the elevator hadn’t been a reprieve; it had been a demonstration. He could switch from corporate predator to sensual provocateur in a heartbeat, keeping her perpetually off-balance. Worst of all, was how her own cursed body had responded to him. The shiver at his lips on her shoulder, the shocking discovery of the perfection of his sculpted body beneath the expensive suit; it all worried and fascinated her in equal measures. The unanswered question about the pool gnawed at her, a symbol of the hidden depths of a man who presented himself as nothing but accomplished surface.

Ret couldn’t sit silent anymore. She needed to know, to regain some sense of control, even if it was just a piece of information. Leaning forward cautiously, she addressed Cillian’s reflection in the rearview mirror, “Mister Kelly?” His green eyes flicked up to meet hers for a fraction of a second before returning to the road, “Miss Rei?”

She bid her bottom lip in thought. “I was thinking…” she began, weaving her lie with a casual tone, “With all this corporate training… I should probably work on my stamina. My posture is good, but I could be stronger”, she paused, letting the practicality of the request settle, “I was wondering if there’s a gym at the Kuroda Tower I could use? Perhaps on the mornings I have meetings with Mr. Takumi, if you picked me up a little earlier… ?” She let the question hang, hoping it sounded like ambition, not interrogation.

Cillian was silent for a long moment. The only sound was the whisper of the tires on the road. His hesitation was palpable; a man like him could smell a fabricated story a mile away. “There are training rooms for employees with sufficient clearance,” he said finally, his voice neutral, “Your access would require Executive Takumi’s authorization.” It was a polite, professional shutdown.

Rei tapped her fingers thoughtfully on her knee, feigning disappointment, “I understand. Of course.” She waited another beat, letting the car glide through a few blocks before she played her next card, layering it with a touch of wistful nostalgia. “What about a pool?” she asked, her voice softening, “I’ve always loved swimming. I haven’t had much chance for it, though. The public pools in Chochin…”, she let her sentence trail off with a slight, distasteful shudder that wasn’t entirely acted, “…are rarely clean enough for a proper swim.”

This time Cillian’s pause was shorter, though no less measured. He’d likely memorized a full background check on her; the statement about Chochin’s pools would ring true. “There are pools,” he confirmed, his tone giving nothing away, “Multiple. For lap swimming and recreation.”

Multiple pools. The confirmation sent a strange little thrill through her, even as it deepened her unease. Takumi was a man of immense, hidden resources. The symmetrical strength she’d felt didn’t seem so improbable now.

“I see. Thank you, Cillian,” she said, leaning back into her seat, her curiosity momentarily sated but her anxiety far from settled. She had her answer, and the image of Takumi cutting through water with that same ruthless efficiency he applied to everything else was now permanently etched in her mind, making him seem both more formidably attractive; and almost human.