"You'll be the bait!"

The words came out in his usual tone, firm and natural. But Gen sensed it. Something was wrong. Behind Senku's confidence lurked an almost imperceptible hesitation, a subtle tremor in his voice. And it didn't make sense. Senku had always been logical, cold, rational. A man who placed science above emotions. So why, in that moment, did he seem so human?

He remembered well the bitter feeling that had welled up in his chest: fear. Insecurity. The discomfort of realizing that, among all the variables, calculations, and alternatives, the equation always pointed to the same answer: you were the key piece on his board. A precious card, one he didn't want to use. Not like this. Not as bait.

It was as obvious as daylight. Senku tried to mask his thoughts, to display his usual arrogant confidence. But that night, not even he could fool himself. The weight of that decision kept him awake, eyes fixed on the makeshift ceiling, his mind racing with scenarios, alternatives, risks.

The wind whistled through the tall canopies, dragging dry leaves across the ground. An owl hooted solemnly, while insects swirled restlessly, as if reflecting the turmoil in Senku's mind. The harmony of the Amazonian night was shattered by clumsy footsteps: leaves crunching, branches snapping, an uncomfortable hissing. The sounds of someone unsure of how to handle the density and weight of the Brazilian forest.

"Why do you always come so far... to see so little?" The question echoed rhetorically.

His voice reached you effortlessly, even muffled by the branches. It was him. The same Senku who, seconds before, had been irritated with himself, stumbling through the branches as if he were a newcomer to hostile territory.

You weren't the only one sleepless that night. And how could you sleep? Every time he closed his eyes, the thought returned: soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe in the next few days, you would be the bait. The distraction. The front line against a relentless enemy: Stanley Snyder and his armed-to-the-teeth squad.

It was madness. Senku would never put you in danger for nothing. But still, he had made the choice. Not because he wanted to—but because he needed to believe. To believe there was a loophole, an alternative. To believe that you could not only survive, but also make the plan possible. Even so, knowing little of Stanley, there was a certainty that gnawed at him: if you posed any real threat, he wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

And it was this thought that kept Senku awake at night. This risk that drew him to you again and again, as if, by getting closer, he could trick his own mind into believing everything would be okay.

He stopped a few steps away, his eyes half-closed in the dim light, and murmured:

"Rest is part of your job, too."

 The sentence seemed simple, but it carried weight. Senku didn't handle silence well. Especially yours, since he'd decreed you would be the bait. He wanted to cheer you up, lighten your load somehow. Maybe even convince himself he was right.