Warning! (PG16)

This episode contains adult themes of a sexual nature. Reader discretion recommended.

Analysis

Rei inclined her head gracefully, though the intensity beneath Takumi’s composure sent a shiver down her spine, “As you wish, Executive Takumi.” Her eyes slid to Yamamoto, the first guard. He held himself tall, jaw clenched, but she saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He approached her as a tactical objective, Takumi thought coldly, watching the man’s stoic facade.

Rei bowed faintly, “Yamamoto, you were strong, solid, but… too rigid. A kiss should breathe. Yours did not.” Takumi’s expression turned analytical. Rei’s phrasing intrigued him, a kiss should breathe, a poetic, human critique. Eidolon would need to understand that poetry. Not just pressure and duration, but the spaces between. “Rigid,” Takumi repeated, tasting the word, “An acceptable quality in a soldier. But so is pliability.” He gestured with two fingers.

Yamamoto bowed, his brow furrowed minutely, a crack in the granite. He’d expected to be faulted for overstepping, for the length of the kiss. To be dismissed for rigidity felt like a failure of spirit, not duty. As he turned, his steps were uniform yet held a new hesitation in them. He exited, shoulders stiff, shoes striking the floor in clipped steps.

Rei exhaled quietly, her pulse steadying. One down. Her gaze turned to Tanaka, the sales manager. He flushed under her eyes, already knowing. She smiled politely, though her voice carried clarity, “Tanaka, you were hesitant, then eager. But too much eagerness is desperation, it drowns the moment before it can grow.”

Tanaka’s blush deepened to a mortified crimson. He’d felt it himself, the dizzying shift from fear to a greedy hunger as she guided him. To have it named desperation in front of Takumi was a professional death sentence. He looked at the floor, as if hoping it would swallow him.

Takumi’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile, “Desperation… not marketable. People pay to avoid feeling desperate. You know this Tanaka – use that eagerness and learn to curb your desperate streak.” The reprimand was public, pedagogical. Takumi’s hand tapped once against his glass, sharp as a gavel, “Go.” Tanaka all but stumbled out, red-faced, bowing hastily before retreating, his exit a scramble of shame.

Now only Shoma and Cillian remained. Shoma smiled, chin raised, daring her to dismiss him. He was the only one who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, convinced of his own primacy. Rei met his look calmly, “Shoma. Yours was bold, confident, practiced… but confidence without surprise or malleability is simply arrogance. Predictable.”

Shoma’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of genuine offense. Predictable? He prided himself on his prowess. To be called arrogant stung, but to be called predictable was an insult to his artistry. His jaw tightened, and for a second, Rei saw a spark of real frustration, not at being dismissed, but at being misunderstood. 

Takumi’s eyes moved over him, “Predictable,” he echoed, “A fatal flaw. In business, in pleasure, in a fight.” He waved his hand, dismissing him. The dismissal was absolute. Shoma’s bow was tight, his exit charged with a frustrated energy that vibrated in the air after the door clicked shut.

Silence thickened. Now there was only Cillian. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t let a flicker of emotion cross his face. His calm was almost unnerving; so much so that Rei feared Takumi might notice. But she kept her own mask just as poised, bowing lightly toward Cillian without saying more.

Takumi’s attention lingered on her, not Cillian. His voice was a silken blade, “And what of Kelly? You’ve said nothing yet. Surely, Rei, you have your reasons for leaving him – or rather, for keeping him?”

Cillian remained a statue, but Rei, from the corner of her eye, saw the minute expansion of his chest as he took a slow, controlled breath. His gaze was fixed on a neutral point on the wall behind Takumi, the perfect picture of a security professional awaiting orders. But the stillness was too complete; it was the stillness of a man listening for a trapdoor to open beneath him.

Rei bowed low, hiding the storm in her eyes, “I believe his merits speak for themselves. He was everything the others were not – he was not rigid, not desperate and not predictable. Unless you would like me to rank them further, Takumi-sama?”

A flicker, just the faintest twitch of his fingers at her poised defiance. She’s protecting him, the thought lanced through Takumi, bitter and bright. By refusing to dissect the kiss, she was creating a sanctuary for it. By claiming his merits were self-evident, she was elevating that single moment above critique. It was an act of loyalty, and it was aimed at another man. The jealousy was a cold fire in his veins, but it was intertwined with a perverse admiration. She was fighting, beautifully, from within the cage he’d built. He let it hang, savored the rising tension, until he finally declared, “No. That will do.”

Takumi studied Cillian. The others were easily categorized and discarded; Kelly was the anomaly. The kiss that generated the most complex biometric readout from the Bicoca, and the one she refused to verbally corrupt. That refusal was the most telling data point of all. It created a silent, shared space between them that excluded him. In that moment, Takumi understood the next phase of the experiment with crystal clarity. The driver was a control variable, a live benchmark against which Eidolon’s approximations, and his own eventual claim, would be measured.

Cillian inclined his head, still stone-faced. But Rei, watching closely, caught the faintest shift in his green eyes, a subtle breath, a dark, unreadable glint; relief, fear or desire, she could not tell. Takumi poured himself another glass of sake, taking a slow sip, letting the moment drag. The sweet, dry liquor was velvet on his tongue. Then, with icy calm that sealed a verdict, “Very well. It seems the choice has been made.”

He clasped his hands behind his back again, surveying Rei and Cillian as though they were already arranged pieces on his board, “With that settled. I’ve rented a penthouse for the two of you. Tomorrow evening, the recording begins. You’ll remain there for the day, undisturbed. Rei will stay there tonight, and I’ll brief her myself,” his eyes flicked to Cillian, sharp and dismissive, “Kelly. Rest tonight.”

Cillian bowed smoothly. His face didn’t shift, but his green eyes caught Rei’s for the briefest moment, an unspoken flare of protectiveness, almost concern. Then he was gone, silent as always, the door closing behind him with a weight Rei felt in her chest. Takumi gestured for her to follow, “Come, Rei. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. Best to familiarize yourself.”

The hallways of the tower were hushed at this hour, the sunset and city’s neon glow seeping in through tall panes of glass. Rei walked half a step behind him, every sense alert. He always spoke most freely in these moments, and that made it dangerous. “Shoma’s kiss didn’t please you because it was predictable?”, Takumi said suddenly, his voice smooth, “Yet you choose your driver and bodyguard?” Rei tilted her head, arching a brow, “I’m predictable?”

“Comfort, safety. You may play fierce, Rei, but in the end, you cling to what is familiar,” he said evenly. Rei smiled steadily, “Most people, faced with such a request, would gravitate toward someone they knew – even a little. That isn’t predictability, it’s pragmatism.” She let her pause linger, then added with a spark in her tone, “Shoma was quite skilled. A little too polished, perhaps, but clearly experienced in the art of making out”.

Takumi’s step faltered. Just for a second, but Rei caught it. His jaw tightened, the muscle twitching once, before a low laugh broke out, controlled but edged, “Rei. You are many things, occasionally even predictable, but boring – that’s is not one of them.”

They reached the penthouse suite. The door opened with a soft chime, revealing a space awash in soft lighting and sharp modern lines, wide glass windows framing the city’s chaos below. A mirrored hallway opened to a vast chamber, at the front a seating area sprawled over a plush carpet, to the left a built-in glass bar was stocked with every beverage imaginable. Delicate yet huge sliding screens of rice-paper stood to the right of the couch area, behind them an ensuite bedroom with a huge bamboo canopy bed as the centerpiece. Deeper into the room stood a metal furnished dining area beside a cobber kitchen. It was like something out of a Corpo dreamscape, a high-end model unit.

But what seized Rei’s breath wasn’t the view. It was the array of garments laid out across the woven wool sofa. Silk, lace, leather, lingerie in shades from innocent ivory to devouring black. All of them meticulously arranged, as if curated for an exhibition. Takumi walked past the display, straight to the bar, pouring himself a glass of soda water, as if nothing were amiss. Then he turned, glass in hand, his eyes glinting. “Try them on”, he said, gesturing casually at the spread, “All of them. I’ll decide what you’ll wear tomorrow.”

Rei felt her blood freeze, but she schooled her features into calm elegance, stepping closer to the sofa. Each piece was a choice, each a message. Takumi, glass in hand, leaned back against the bar to watch; half collector, half predator, his gaze sharpened with something that was not quite business, not quite pleasure, but the precise cruel edge of both.