Eidolon

Warning (PG16)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

Reon’s whole body seemed to vibrate with scarcely controlled fury, his frustration a nearly visible energy glowing around him. He was more annoyed, frustrated, and openly angry than he could recall being in decades. The logic was insulting.

He wasn’t allowed to pummel Kumi because the man had to go and manage a ‘digital brothel’ and he needed Kitsu because a billionaire CEO was captivated by her? Bjorn Jorgensen, one of the seven richest men in the world, had also fallen under her spell?

His gaze snapped to Kitsu, catching the way she leaned into Takumi like a seeking, dependent kitten. She felt the weight of his stare and looked up. Her expression shifted through a rapid sequence: caution, a flicker of apology, a silent plea, and finally a sudden flinch as Takumi’s hand undoubtedly found the tender skin of her tattoo again.

Reon’s eyes flicked to Takumi, who smirked, having clearly choreographed the exchange. A fresh, poisonous bolt of envy and aggression pulsed through Reon, and a decision crystallized in an instant. A menacing smile touched his lips.

“It sure sounds bothersome that Jorgensen, of all men, has also noticed Kitsu’s charms,” Reon professed, his tone dripping with false congeniality, “Of course, that cannot be helped, and the Eidolon project is important to the syndicate, certainly.”

He paused, letting the concession hang in the air, “Still, two hours holds many minutes. I insist we spare just fifteen.” Without waiting for a reply, he stood and strode to a corner hidden by dividers, emerging with two gis; a plain white one and his own formal gold. He threw the white one callously in front of Takumi and began changing into his own.

The irises of Takumi’s eyes narrowed, streaked with white lightning. He rose to his feet and began to shred his Bordeaux suit, its fine wool giving way with rigid, decisive movements. “Kitsune,” he said, his voice a low command. Rei moved to help him, her fingers working quickly to undo buttons and loosen fabric.

Reon watched, seething, as she folded each piece of the exquisitely tailored suit with meticulous care, her hands lingering, her eyes drinking in the sight of Takumi’s balanced musculature. Takumi, however, kept his gaze locked on Reon, observing the surge of jealousy with a mixture of cold achievement and discomfort.

By the time Takumi began tying the belt of his white gi, Reon was fully dressed in gold, a statue of impending violence. “Why not make it interesting?” Reon proposed, his voice brazen with dark intent, “The one who wins gets to discipline Kitsu tonight. The other, tomorrow.”

Takumi paused, his hands still on the knot of his belt. Surprise flickered across his features, quickly followed by a wave of irritation. But beneath it, an unwelcome, competitive thrill surfaced. The challenge was undeniably a direct hit to his pride. He finished tying his belt with a final, sharp tug. A calculating smile graced his lips as he walked forward to meet Reon’s challenge.

“All due respect, Honored Master,” he began, his tone impeccably humble, “I’m not so insolent as to think I could ever beat you. A certain loss is hardly… interesting.” He paused, letting the logic hang in the air, “However, if we agreed to a format in which I had a fair chance, I would be all for it.” Reon’s eyes narrowed, recognizing the seasoned negotiator from corporate boardrooms now applying his skills to their brutal dance, “Go on, Kumi.”

“For example,” Takumi continued, his gaze steady, “if, within the fifteen minutes, I land three hits, then I will keep her with me tonight.” Reon’s lips curled. He saw the opening gambit. “Interesting”, Reon crooned, then paused, letting a wave of false relief wash over Rei in the background and seeing the subtle relaxation in Takumi’s stern posture before continuing. “Five hits,” he countered, “If you land five hits, you keep Kitsu today… fail and you leave her with me tonight – and you don’t ascend the stairs with her.”

Takumi’s expression grew colder, his eyes turning frigid. Reon’s smile was a beast’s flash of teeth, as he delivered the final twist, “But no matter what, you bring her to me tomorrow.” It was not the reprieve Takumi had hoped for, but it was a negotiation; better than a flat, unchangeable order from a superior, which he could not refuse. He gave a formal bow, “Very well, I accept the terms.”

Reon returned the bow, a mirror of lethal courtesy. They turned and moved to the center of the hall, where the tatami mats were a deep, warning red, demarcating the fighting arena. They took their stances, the air between them crackling with focused intent.

With a frantic heartbeat Rei moved quietly to the very edge of the red mats. Settling onto her knees, her hands clutching the fabric of her gi sleeves tightly. She was the prize, the spectator and the cause, all at once, as the two most dangerous men in her world prepared to fight over the terms of her possession. Rei hated it, being traded and fought over like some object. The worst part was the fact she legally was one, Takumi had the papers to prove it, and Reon had the gang authority to override it.

The fight began not with a signal, but with a shift in the air. Reon moved first, a blur of gold. Moving masterfully and mercilessly, a force of nature contained within the perfect lines of his form, he had no intention of giving Takumi an advantage; the respect for their difference in skill was a luxury he wouldn’t afford.

Every strike, every jab, was delivered with brutal, controlled force, aimed to bruise deep into the muscle, a painful reminder of his dominance that would be hidden beneath the fine wool of Takumi’s suit. He wanted to break bones, to hear the satisfying crack of a humbled rival, but the knowledge of the corporate meeting stayed his hand, a leash of pragmatism on his exasperation.

Takumi was a study in focused survival. He was impossibly fast, his body reading Reon’s intentions a fraction of a second before they fully manifested. He absorbed the punishing blows on his forearms and shins, strategic blocks that wouldn’t show, his evasions a breathless dance at the edge of the red mats.

He was not trying to win a fight, he was trying to win a bet. His mind worked faster than his body, calculating openings, feigning fatigue and maneuvering with a clever, deceptive grace. Within the first eight minutes, he had landed four sharp, clean strikes; a jab to the ribs, a kick to the thigh, a chop to the shoulder, a palm-heel to the diaphragm.

Reon’s eyes widened with a flash of pure, incandescent anger. He had underestimated the corporate shark’s tenacity. With a guttural sound, he unleashed his true speed, becoming a whirlwind of golden silk and hardened flesh, his attacks coming so fast they were nearly invisible.

For six minutes, Takumi was on the defensive, a fortress under relentless siege. He blocked, rolled, and parried, the impacts vibrating through his bones. The clock was a ticking bomb in his mind. At the fourteenth minute, his body screamed in protest, his breath ragged. He saw his chance, a desperate gambit. He let his guard drop for a split second, feigning a stumble, his shoulders slumping in exaggerated exhaustion.

It was the bait Reon, in his arrogant confidence, took. He surged forward to deliver a final, humiliating blow. And Takumi struck. Pivoting on his back foot, he used Reon’s own momentum, uncoiling like a spring to land a fifth, perfectly placed jab squarely on Reon’s jaw. The sound of the blow echoed in the silent hall.

They froze, chests heaving. Reon stared, shocked. The pain was nothing, but the implication was a seismic shock. He was reluctantly, furiously impressed. For a subordinate who operated in the polished world of corporate towers, Kumi was terrifyingly good.

“The victory is yours,” Reon forced out, the words clipped. He waved a dismissive hand, his jaw beginning to throb somewhat, “Now get going. I’m heading for the hot spring.” His eyes found Rei, a heated look that sent a visceral memory of steam and skin crashing through her, making her breath hitch. 

In a final, provocative act of power play, he strode to her, spun her dramatically, a whirl of red gi, and set her down close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. “Unfortunately, I won’t see you until tomorrow evening Kitsu,” he murmured, leaning down so his whisper was for her alone, his breath ghosting her ear, “I look forward to your cooking… and your other concubine talents.” Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t the brutal, claiming kiss of a victor, but something worse: soft, lingering, and intimately gentle. Rei’s hands came up to push him away, her mind screaming of Takumi’s presence, but her body betrayed her. Her lips parted, inviting him in, and for a heartbeat, she lost herself in the surprising warmth, the novel tenderness she was still trying to understand. Just as she began to lean into it, he broke the kiss. Reon straightened, gave a casual, infuriating coy wave and strode out towards the hot spring without a backward glance.