Akio stepped into the vast hall of the auditorium and was immediately greeted with an amusing tableau.
On the stage, Damien stood with the stiff poise of a mildly inconvenienced aristocrat, holding the projector controller high above the ground like a royal scepter. His expression was one of profound disappointment—aimed equally at the world, the situation, and most likely at Gabriel.
Gabriel, meanwhile, looked like a mischievous cat in the middle of plotting a heist. He kept darting toward the remote with quick, playful swipes, each attempt more shameless than the last. As Akio approached, their voices drifted through the otherwise empty auditorium.
“Give me the pointer,” Gabriel chirped, stretching his arm forward with wide, innocent eyes that fooled exactly no one.
Damien shifted the controller out of reach, one hand still in his pocket as he regarded Gabriel with the withering disdain of a disappointed monarch.
“Absolutely not. I refuse to let this presentation devolve into another one of your experimental folly compilations.”
Gabriel straightened, clasped his hands behind his back, and adopted the expression of a misunderstood visionary.
“Why, Damien! I thought you were a champion of the avant-garde. There’s nothing wrong with adding a little dynamic flair—”
He lunged mid sentence.
Damien swatted him away with the reflexes of a seasoned duelist.
“I fail to see,” he said, voice clipped, “how adding a vine-boom sound effect to the end of every bullet point qualifies as ‘avant-garde.’ Bullet points are effective because of their precision, not because you bury them beneath meaningless noise.”
Gabriel flanked to Damien’s other side immediately, circling like a playful predator. “Exactly why I made sure each point landed. The boom is essential for memory retention.”
Akio couldn’t help the smirk curling at his mouth. Smoothly, he vaulted onto the stage, footsteps quiet against the polished wood. Folding his hands behind his back, he joined them with all the serenity of someone supervising toddlers in a museum.
“Gentlemen,” he greeted lightly, “what seems to be the issue here?”
Gabriel beamed. “Just a little team building exercise!”
Damien shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “The only thing you’re building is my blood pressure.”
Akio nodded sagely. “Well, think of it this way: getting used to pressure now will help you handle it when we’re in front of the audience.”
Damien dismissed him with a wave.
“Some people,” he said pointedly, “are naturally born for the spotlight. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s begin. You’re late.”
Gabriel gasped dramatically. “Who said you’re the one in charge, O Hallowed Keeper of the Sacred Slides?”
Akio added smoothly, “Precisely. Authority is often contextual—and last I checked, I didn’t vote for him.”
Damien turned to both of them with perfect calm.
“That’s because,” he said, adjusting his cuffs with regal certainty, “this is my stage.”
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He snapped his fingers.
On cue, a single, overly dramatic spotlight slammed on from above, illuminating him in a perfect white circle while the rest of the room fell into shadow. It was so extra Akio actually blinked.
Before either he or Gabriel could protest, the stage mechanism beneath Damien whirred to life with a mechanical groan. Slowly, Damien began to rise on a hidden platform, ascending like an irritated theater deity being summoned by peasants who didn’t rehearse properly.
He rose a few feet off the ground, dust settling around him like aristocratic plumage. In one hand, he lifted the pointer remote as if it were a divine mandate.
Damien looked down at them, smug and radiant in the spotlight.
“As you can clearly see,” he declared, voice echoing far more than necessary, “you are beneath me.”
Akio crossed his arms, entirely unfazed.
“You really are a theater kid,” he said dryly. “Of course you’d spend all your prep time programming stage cues instead of working on the actual presentation.”
Gabriel cupped his hands around his mouth. “WHERE’S THE FOG MACHINE, DAMIEN? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE IN THE VISION WITHOUT FOG?”
Damien didn’t break composure. “Budget constraints,” he replied with elegant disdain. “Not that either of you would understand artistic compromise.”
Akio nodded solemnly. “A truly great director,” he said, “could achieve greatness even with limited budget.”
Damien scoffed, flipping a hand. “All my productions are great.”
Gabriel perked up instantly. “Except the time I rewrote your script and derailed the entire plot.”
Damien’s eye twitched. “You replaced my antagonist with a sentient cheese wheel.”
Gabriel looked proud. “Because the dairy industry is a metaphor for fascism.”
Damien blinked like he needed a moment to reboot. “You are… profoundly exhausting.”
Gabriel beamed. “I do my best.”
The back and forth continued to spiral so quickly it stopped being an argument and became a full theatrical production. Damien delivered another sweeping gesture from atop the rising platform, pointer remote raised like a divine artifact, face lit in a dramatic halo of spotlight. He looked unbearably pleased with himself.
Akio watched him with a flat, unimpressed stare.
We need to get him off his high horse, he thought. Or high platform, in this case.
Gabriel was already booing with the enthusiasm of an underpaid live studio audience.
“BOOOOOO! THIS GUY SUCKS!”
Damien snapped his fingers again, and soft orchestral music began swelling in the background, violins rising as if underscoring the climax of an overly long opera. He threw his arms open.
“My vision for this presentation is one of sophistication, grace, unmatched academic artistry—”
Akio tuned him out. He slipped a hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against a small slip of paper. Perfect. Folding it took seconds—clean angles, practiced precision—until the projectile sat neatly between his knuckles.
His eyes locked onto his target—and with a quick, ruthless motion, he flicked the paper.
Thwip.
It struck Damien dead center on the forehead.
Damien’s monologue cut off mid sentence. He blinked. Wobbled—
And toppled off the platform with the gracelessness of a startled cat.
“GET HIS ASS!” Gabriel yelled, already lunging like Damien owed him three months’ rent.
“DON’T YOU DARE—!” Damien shrieked as they hit the ground in a disorganized scuffle.
They wrestled for the pointer—Damien hissing indignantly, Gabriel cackling like a gremlin. The remote was swatted loose, spinning into the air.
Akio stepped forward. His hand rose as he caught it smoothly before allowing himself a very smug smile.
“The age of tyranny is over,” he declared. “Now, we usher in the era of democracy.”
Gabriel popped up beside him instantly, grinning wide enough to be unsafe. “I vote to delegate the projector pointer to me.”
Akio placed it into his hand with solemn ceremony. “The senate approves this notion.”
Damien stood up, dusting himself off, hair slightly mussed and dignity noticeably dented. He glared at them. “This is rigged. The number of seats in the house is uneven.”
Gabriel didn’t hesitate. “Have you tried gerrymandering?”
Damien stared at him, appalled. “And how exactly am I meant to redraw district lines that do not exist?”
Akio shrugged lightly, tone dry. “Use your creativity. Imagining images is a high functioning cognitive skill.”
Damien glared at both of them, knowing full well it was always going to be a 2 to 1 vote. Akio didn’t deny it—he thought it was hilarious—but he also knew they actually did need to finish this presentation. So he proposed a compromise.
“Gabriel keeps the pointer,” he said, “but Damien gets full say over the slide aesthetics and overall cohesion.”
Damien considered. Gabriel shrugged. Negotiation followed—brief, huffy, and deeply dramatic on Damien’s part. But eventually, they reached an agreement.
Akio straightened, satisfied.
“Well then, gentlemen,” he said, gesturing toward the screen, “Let’s begin.”
─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─
Akio
