Gregor raised an eyebrow at the device, a small, spherical object no bigger than a tangerine. Its sleek metallic surface gave off a faint hum, as though it vibrated at a frequency just beyond hearing. It didn't look dangerous at first glance, but there was something quietly menacing about the way Tom had presented it, almost like he was offering a choice rather than a suggestion.
Tom leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. "It's kind of like a genjutsu," he said casually, like he hadn't just implied they'd use psychological torture as a backup plan.
Gregor blinked. "I don't watch anime."
That made Tom glance up with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Then how do you even know the term genjutsu?"
Gregor shrugged, giving a dismissive wave of the hand. "What other Japanese words do you use, ones you didn't pick up from anime? Sushi? Samurai?" He tilted his head, giving Tom a look that said he'd nailed it.
Tom gave him a quiet chuckle, not bothering to defend himself. Fair enough.
Scene Break
The next day, the atmosphere was entirely different. Tom and Gregor sat side by side aboard a commercial jet heading toward Ashoma State. The smooth hum of the plane blended with the soft murmur of conversations, the occasional clink of glasses, and the muffled whoosh of air conditioning. It was a peaceful kind of chaos, everyone wrapped in their own bubble of distraction.
Tom sat with one arm draped lazily across the armrest, his fingers tapping an idle rhythm against his thigh. The window beside them framed the clouds like an oil painting, serene and distant. But Tom wasn't looking outside. His attention was firmly locked on the two women sitting directly behind them.
One of the women had a cascade of sleek red hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. She was flipping through a thick, glossy magazine with perfectly manicured fingers, her expression mildly entertained. The other, her companion, had a vibrant green tint to her shoulder-length curls and was watching something on a tablet, white earbuds plugged in. Every so often, her brows would twitch slightly, either from a plot twist or a particularly spicy scene.
Tom had noticed them the second they boarded. They weren't just attractive, they were striking. Confident. Stylish. And noticeably older than him. While most guys his age might've hesitated, Tom wasn't most guys. If anything, their age just made the whole thing more exciting. It was a challenge. And Tom Polo never turned down a challenge.
Leaning slightly toward Gregor, he whispered, "I'm going to talk to one of them."
Gregor didn't even look at him. "We're on a mission."
Tom grinned. "We're also on a plane for three hours."
Gregor sighed, still not looking at him. "Whatever happens, I'm not covering for you if you embarrass yourself."
"Fair," Tom muttered under his breath.
Straightening up, Tom adjusted his shirt collar slightly and turned to face the red-haired woman. She looked up from her magazine, clearly surprised by the sudden attention from the guy in front of her. Her eyes were sharp, curious, maybe a little wary.
"Hi," Tom said, voice smooth but not forced. "I'm Tom Polo."
She blinked, then offered a small, polite smile. "Hello."
Tom's eyes dropped briefly to the earrings dangling from her ears, small but elegant hoops with a recognizable design. "Are those… Jenny Bird?"
That caught her off guard. She tilted her head, smile widening just slightly. "Yes. They are."
Tom grinned. "I thought so. You wear them beautifully."
There was a pause. Then: "Thank you," she said with a nod. "I'm Daisy."
He caught the hesitation in her tone but didn't push. Instead, he let the conversation breathe, offering his signature half-smile, the one he knew worked on nine out of ten people. "Daisy. That's a beautiful name."
She inclined her head again, the smile still polite but not cold. "You're quite the charmer."
Tom gave a soft chuckle. "Only when I meet someone worth charming."
She shook her head, clearly amused but keeping her guard up. "You're quite handsome. But… aren't I a bit old for you?"
Tom leaned in slightly, not enough to invade her space, but enough to make his point. "Age is just a number. I'm legal, by the way," he added quickly, flashing a playful grin. "And I promise, I'm a lot more mature than most guys my age."
Daisy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely," he replied. "Give me ten minutes and you'll be shocked at how deep I am."
She laughed, but it was more of a polite chuckle than genuine interest. Still, her posture softened slightly. She wasn't throwing him off. Not yet.
Behind her, the green-haired woman pulled out an earbud and glanced at the two of them, clearly having picked up on the energy. Tom shot her a quick smile too, just in case.
But his focus returned to Daisy. There was something about her, maybe the way she held herself, or maybe just the challenge of breaking past her polite defenses, that made this conversation more interesting than it had any right to be.
"I'm guessing you don't get approached by guys like me very often," Tom said casually.
Daisy sipped from a glass of orange juice that had been resting on her tray. "You'd be surprised."
Tom tilted his head, intrigued. "So how do I measure up?"
She gave him a long, evaluating look. "Too early to say."