Chapter Text
It was a single rap at the door that ruined Brandon’s day entirely.
He was walking in circles in his living room; a relatively simple room, made mainly of wood, and with more tables than chairs in order to store his latest projects. A stone tablet that needed deciphering but was too worn to read, maps of various active dig sites, a supposedly cursed clamshell that he needed to organise pick-up for. There were few things in the house that weren’t related to his work; mainly gifts from his parents, and a couple of burning sticks of unscented incense.
He’d been rather busy, trying to organise access to a temple north of Mossdeep; but unfortunately anyone who talked with him directly tended to be unwilling to work with him. This left him with Joseph, the token democratic person of his small excavation crew, to try and convince Sootopolis Labs that they needed an archaeological expert on site; and that Brandon was the single most qualified person for the job.
He supposed it was for the best that he was interrupted- yelling at Joseph surely wasn’t going to make Professor Edapho check her emails any sooner.
Still, he’d much rather be getting a firm ‘no’ from the labs, than be dealing with who was behind the door right now.
“Brandon! Old friend, have I got a business opportunity for you~”
The man was short and round, with pointed sunglasses and a sleazy grin. And, gods, he was still wearing gaudy Alolan tourist shirts. Frankly, that was the only reason Brandon recognised him.
That still wasn’t reason enough to deal with this, so Brandon shut the door on him wordlessly.
“Oh, come on! Hear me out! Five minutes- and I promise you, they’ll be the most prosperous few minutes of your lifetime! The curiosity must be eating away at you- and it should! This could change the course of your history- of human history-!”
He needed a soundproof door, apparently. He’d certainly forgotten just how annoying this man could be. He vaguely remembered the man repeatedly breaking into the archaeology department at Rustboro University back when he still attended- with Scott being ten years senior to most other students, yet insistent on ‘befriending’ all of them, likely to push some sort of investment service. Brandon couldn’t stand economics majors.
Still, he had a feeling that if he didn’t let the guy talk, the guy simply wouldn’t leave him alone until he did.
He grabbed a timer out of a drawer before opening the door again, and twisted it into position.
“Five minutes. Then you shut up, leave me alone, and do not come back.”
He certainly wasn’t worried about getting convinced of anything. He was nothing if not stubborn.
“Brilliant! Let’s sit down. I knew you’d see reason- you’re a very reasonable man, Brandon.”
“What- get out of my house.”
It was no use, the other man already having pushed past him and waltzed in, heading straight to the kitchen.
Brandon closed the door and locked it, before he got an infestation of door-to-door salesmen, and followed. The man was already perched on a barstool, and spun slowly with that damned grin. All he needed was a Meowth on his lap to look like some sort of crime boss.
He patted the seat next to him. Brandon certainly was not going to get comfortable in this scenario, and bit back a scoff.
“Sit down, get the tension out of your shoulders.”
“No. Four-and-a-half minutes.”
The man’s demeanour seemed to change, realising Brandon was serious. He leant forwards on the chair, his voice measured and confident. He’d clearly being rehearsing this- must have expected Brandon to be less than cordial.
“I want to give you power. Influence. You need it, yes? Sootopolis Labs and the like won’t listen to reason, they’re not like you. You need an organisation backing you- something professional, to get them flocking to you.”
“Are you saying I’m not professional?”
Brandon tried to put as much malice in his voice as possible; not that he needed it. People were usually scared of him even when he was trying to be friendly. But his latest endeavours with Sootopolis Labs certainly weren’t public knowledge, which meant that this man had been digging up his personal information.
“Brandon, you’re the best archaeologist in Hoenn, of course you’re qualified. But companies like those don’t care about qualifications, they care about image-“
“What’s your name?”
There was a flash of hurt on the shorter man’s face, as if he was legitimately sad to know his ‘old friend’ didn’t remember him. Brandon tried to keep himself from rolling his eyes; he knew for a fact that the man had learnt how to do that on command in 1995.
“Scott Yoshikirizame, don’t you remember?”
“No. Three minutes.”
“You have a full team of legendaries, Brandon. Powerful Pokemon. How often do they get to let off steam? They’re too big to be defending you down in the kind of dig sites you do. How long do they spend cooped up in their pokeballs? Don’t you want them to be able to fight sometimes- and against opponents that are worthy of your time?”
Brandon scoffed.
...but it was true. His mons needed something to do; and while his Regirock would be more than happy to tussle with some route one bug catchers, Brandon refused to do anything that boring and trivial. He couldn’t even do the gym challenge- he’d have to start from the first gym and work his way up, and he’d have to stop before the E4 lest he accidentally became champion. He didn’t want that kind of attention. It sounded so, profoundly, boring.
“...what’s your proposal?”
Scott grinned triumphantly. As if he really thought Brandon could be convinced.
“The Hoenn Battle Frontier. A place for the best and brightest to battle- but with a twist. The gym challenge is boring, redundant- I want you as one of my eight Frontier Brains. You get to pick the twist of your facility- a different style of battle, or a challenge they need to complete to face you- heck, why not both! Perhaps your facility could resemble an archaeological site- and trainers need to solve riddles and battle obstacles to get to you! Learn a bit of-“
“You’ve already gotten seven other people to agree to this bullshit?”
Scott stopped dead, then tried to continue.
“-you could get trainers to have an archaeological experience, perhaps inspire them to join your profession- and with more people showing interest, the Hoenn government will have to increase their budget for the archaeological sector-!”
“How many Gym Leaders do you have.”
Scott tittered, nudging up his sunglasses and leaning back on the mahogany counter.
“Frontier Brains, not Gym Leaders. Branding is incredibly important- plus, its an entirely different-“
Brandon slammed the timer down on the counter, leaving it there in favour of looming over Scott. Maybe the salesman would get intimidated into leaving him alone.
“How. Many.”
Scott floundered for a second, then sighed.
“None.”
Brandon scoffed and strode away.
“And you want me to join your dud operation.”
“Its not a dud operation! I simply wanted to extend an advanced offer to you, before approaching my other candidates-“
“Everyone else said no.”
“They did not- look. Brandon. You’re incredibly talented, and I decided that you were the first person I wanted to approach-“
Brandon turned his full glare on the shorter man.
“Scott, do I look stupid to you? I’m stubborn, abrasive, and haven’t met a single person who wasn’t intimidated by me. I would be the worst and last choice for a potential celebrity, and you know that. I’m clearly the final name on your list, if I was even on it before you got desperate. I am not joining your fantasy-land ‘business’.”
The salesman finally deflated. It seemed like a genuine emotion this time, but Brandon kept his guard up just in case. Scott was pressing buttons, trying to appeal to pride, ego, guilt. Testing any possible way of convincing Brandon. This could easily just be another strategy.
“Brandon.”
“Do not lie to me.”
Scott took off his glasses and polished them, beady black eyes visible for the first time.
There was silence for a moment, Scott idly tilting the glasses to catch the orange hues of the kitchen lights. Brandon bit his lip, wanting to tell him to hurry up- but five minutes was five minutes, and if Scott chose to waste them, that was his own fault.
The salesman finally spoke up, still looking at the reflected glimmers of light.
“I have battled two-thousand, six hundred, and eighty-one trainers in my time. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been taking notes. I then interviewed five-hundred and nineteen of those trainers- nothing too formal, nothing too long. Most of them didn’t even realise I was interviewing them. Many of these will make up the underlings, the challenges for challengers of the Battle Frontier.
“I have asked eighty-two of those trainers to join the Frontier as Frontier Brains, not including you.”
Scott looked up finally.
“You are correct. They all told me- in no uncertain terms- no.”
Brandon just stood there silently.
He hadn’t realised the man was so... dedicated. Or so foolhardy, keeping on going for this impossible dream.
“You are also correct,” Scott continued, “In that I am desperate. However; this will not influence my decisions. It will not lower my standards. If my dream is impossible, so be it. I will not give up and do things halfway.
“...I want you, Brandon. You are remarkable, drawing powerful Pokemon like no one else can. And you’re steadfast, confident in battle-“
“You haven’t seen me battle.”
“A man with six legendaries. You think no one noticed? No teenagers took a video of you and slapped it up on MewTube with a clickbait title about a mysterious man, to get views and bragging rights? I’ve seen you battle. Very low quality footage, with various emojis and sound effects plastered on top, but I’ve seen you battle.”
Scott put his sunglasses back on, and slid off the stool, approaching Brandon. The height difference was stark now.
“And you are correct, in that you’re stubborn, a pain to work with, and I’ll probably get endless complaints due to you insulting the challengers and yelling at any miscreants. I’ve weighed the pros and cons of having you as a Frontier Brain, Brandon. I think keeping the ‘mysterious man’ aspect would be a good thing- you would be an awful celebrity- but that’s why there’ll be eight of you. The others can be friendly, or flamboyant, or incredible on a big stage. But that’s not what battling is about. Battling, for you, is about power. I. Want. You.”
Brandon furrowed his brow, the seconds ticking by in silence.
“I don’t want to battle.”
“Yes, you do. You just don’t want me to waste your time.”
Brandon had to concede to that point.
“Will this be worth my time?”
“Your underlings will dispatch anyone too weak for you. And you don’t necessarily need to stay on site- I can supply you with a psychic pokemon, to teleport you in when a worthy challenger approaches. You’ll have warning of course, and we can always give challengers a future date to battle you, instead of it being an immediate thing-“
Brandon shook his head, waved Scott off.
“That doesn’t matter. You don’t have a frontier. If you get other Frontier Whatevers, you can come back here. Otherwise, its a no.”
He glanced over at the timer. Surely, five minutes was almost up.
“Everyone has the same qualms, Brandon. I need one Frontier Brain, in order to prove to future candidates- I guarantee, with you there, everything else will fall into place-“
“Did you mess with my timer?”
It currently read as having fourty-three minutes remaining, and was closer to where Scott had been sitting than Brandon had left it.
“...well,” Scott said, “You’ve asked me not to lie to you, so I’m going to choose to not answer that question.”
A beat of silence.
“Get out.”
“It’s proof that you’re interested, isn’t it? You were so engrossed in our conversation, you didn’t realise that-“
“Out. Now.”
Scott gulped, backpedaling. A tinge of panic flashed across his face.
“You know what, its not important that you’re the first, but if you’d just let me come back once I have a first-“
“What? Yes, I already agreed to that. Shut up and get out.”
Scott stopped, seeming to take a moment to realise he’d gotten what he wanted. Most of it, anyway.
The two stood in silence for a handful of seconds. Scott then gave a curt nod, tipped his sunglasses with a grin, and walked out the door.
At least he’d listened to Brandon’s order to shut up; though Brandon realised with a sinking feeling that he might’ve just been out-stubborned.
Oh well. It’s not like Scott would ever find someone stupid enough to agree to be his first Frontier Brain anyway.
As he firmly re-locked the door, Brandon looked forwards to never having to meet that guy again.