Chapter 153: Sharp enough

Tom’s attention stayed on the trainer. He had no idea some four men at just a nearby corner were putting a plan B in place... To ensure he didn’t participate in this runway.

"There are things you need to know... Rules of catwalk if you want to put it that way..." James, the runway trainer stood at the head of the practice floor and explained what a catwalk demanded from the body: the line of the shoulders, the control in each step, the way the arms stayed useful without becoming noisy, the balance between presence and restraint. It was basic instruction for a new recruit, but it was also the standard every man in the room was expected to meet without looking like he was thinking about it.

At that moment, Tom knew it was time to activate the Runway Imprint. He did.

The effect did not announce itself with light or noise. It simply sharpened the way his body received the information. When James began the demonstration, Tom watched once and felt the pattern settle in with unnatural clarity. The turn points, the timing of the stop, the length of each stride, the angle of the chin ; all of it locked into place as if his body had already rehearsed the sequence in advance.

Then he followed.

The first full walk came out well. Controlled, accurate enough that even James, the trainer seemed taken aback by the accuracy.

James opened his mouth slightly, caught between professional assessment and open surprise.

"I’m not exaggerating," he said after a second. "You’re the first trainee I’ve had who delivered that clean a demonstration after one practice."

"Yeah?" Tom muttered.

"Yeah, dude. I’m not exaggerating." James replied, nodding with all seriousness.

From the side of the studio, Bree watched with a small, proud look she did not bother hiding. Her boss had walked into a hostile training room and made the first important impression look effortless. She clapped her hands.

Tom felt the satisfaction of getting it right settle in his chest. For a brief moment, the hostility around him slipped out of focus. He smiled under the admiration, forgetting that there were men in the same room who did not want him on the runway at all.

Nat and the other three stood off to one side. Their own training was already light work. They were not newbies, so James had not needed to rebuild them from the ground up. They watched Tom with tight mouths and lowered voices.

"He’s not joining us on that runway," Jay muttered.

"No way." Stiles added, gritting his teeth.

The exhibition needed five men. Tom was supposed to be the fifth.

Nat calmed the others with a short look. "We still have Plan B." he reminded them.

Meanwhile, James and Tom continued their training. James clapped his hands. "Again," he told Tom. "I want to see it a second time."

Tom pushed aside the remaining awkwardness of doing this for the first time in front of established models and walked again. The Imprint held. The second pass was as clean as the first, maybe cleaner, because the floor under his feet already felt familiar.

James applauded, openly impressed.

"Good. Very good." Then he turned and called the others in. "Group work. All of you."

Nat and the other three walked forward.

James demonstrated the lineup, the order of movement, and the way the five of them would share the runway without colliding into one another’s timing. They repeated the sequence.

On the surface, the other men were quiet and calm. They took instruction. They hit their marks. But Tom could read their body language clearly enough. The stiffness in their shoulders, the brief hard glances, the way their jaws set when James used him as the example; all of it pointed to the same thing. They hated him. Under the professionalism, they were boiling.

Tom did not react. He kept his focus on the training.

After a while, James checked the time and nodded.

"Breaktime. Y’all should catch your breath before we continue."

The floor loosened at once. Personal assistants moved in with towels and water. Some of the models sat. Some checked their phones. Bree came straight to Tom with a bottle and a clean towel.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Tom took the water and nodded. "I’m having fun."

Bree’s mouth curved in satisfaction. "Fantastic."

Tom glanced toward an empty row of chairs at the side. "Sit. Let’s talk about the club setup while we have a minute."

Bree sat beside him and opened her tablet. The interior decorator’s proposed designs filled the screen one after another: main lounge layouts, private room structures, lighting directions, material choices. She swiped to the ones she liked best and angled the tablet toward him.

"These are the strongest. The flow is cleaner, and the private rooms don’t feel like an afterthought." she said.

Tom went through them carefully. Even with training sweat still cooling on his skin, his attention sharpened around the work. "Perfect. We’ll go with these."

While he checked the final pages, a studio staff member walked past behind them. Tom barely saw the man. His focus stayed on the cost breakdown Bree brought up next.

Maybe if he had looked at the man...

"This package is higher than the others," she said.

"That’s not a problem. I’ll take it. Send it through." Tom replied.

He collected his phone from her, confirmed the account details she had already transferred to him, and made the payment. The seed capital from the System was already sitting where it needed to be. The transaction went through without trouble.

"Tell the decorator she’s been paid," Tom said. "They can start. We have three days to finish the decorating."

Bree looked up with a slight doubt. "I’ll ask if that’s possible."

"Make it possible."

"Understood, sir."

"so the next thing I will need you to start working on is...," Tom continued, lowering the phone, "start staff recruitment."

Bree nodded at once. "I’ll get right to it."

Before they could go further, James’s voice cut across the studio.

"Break’s over. Back on the floor."

Tom stood up with enthusiasm. But the enthusiasm became short lived instantly...

He took one step forward and pain ripped up through his foot so sharply he yelled.

Bree jerked toward him instantly,panic and confusion written all over her face and posture; "Sir?"

Both of them looked down.

Blood was already spreading under his foot. From the floor where he had stepped, was a broken glass sharp enough and placed well enough that one stride had been all it took.

Tom’s face tightened as the pain pulsed harder...